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A week almost passed since the incident at the forest near the temple. The sun hadn’t risen that high yet the manor was swamped. Everyone’s attention was centered on the chamber of the manor’s eldest son. People took turns entering the room, one with betel leaves and areca nuts, one particularly brought new cloths and fresh flowers, someone brought delicately folded banana leaves adorned with beautiful orange marigolds and some others brought candles and incense.
The eldest son’s room was packed with almost everyone from the primary manor. The star of the house, Phop, was sitting at the edge of his bed in company of his childhood friends, Jom and Kaew. Mae Prayong, Phop’s mother, stood tearfully near the bed’s end while a senior servant called Auntie Muan tried to calm her down.
Phop’s shallow breathing collided with everyone’s cries. It was already more than his body’s fourth attempt of the day to reject anything entering his mouth and his stomach couldn’t seem to stop heaving its fluid. His head was ponderous, his vision grew hazy and his chest felt as if it was about to burst at any given moment. And the stomach gurgled once again. The stone in his throat began to burn. One last attempt from his stomach to hurl any fluid left and his body collapsed alongside people’s surprised shriek. His friends’ hands were busy catching and holding him back from hitting the basin with his own vomit while Kong, the servant who had been holding the basin, stepped back and left in hurry. Sai took his position, taking the dirty blanket from Phop’s lap, wiping any spillage on the floor, then followed Kong in equal haste.
The other servants who had been going back and forth to the eldest son’s room with various items raced against time, putting everything they brought into the additional table with frantic urgency.
“Do- done, Madam!” exclaimed one of the servants nervously, making his way to join the other servants outside of the room while glancing at both the house owner and her son who seemed to have lost all of his color.
Mae Prayong marched to her son. She took a moment to pray before quickly wrapping the white sacred thread into Phop’s right wrist. She then switched to assist Kaew in changing her son’s dirty clothes while Phop let all of his body weight fall onto Jom’s hands, slipping into faint consciousness with heavy panting.
“Chuay… Chuay, go help Doctor Jom,” Mae Prayong ordered Klao’s servant while she and Kaew put Phop’s dirty clothes away.
“Slow… yes, slowly. Meun Phop, can you hear me by any chance?” Jom asked, his hands stayed firm to hold half of Phop’s weight as Chuay gently pulled him to lean against the wall.
Kaew maneuvered to Jom’s side after setting the pillows as fast as he could from Phop’s right side, now trading places with Chuay who made sure the owner of the house could safely and comfortably lean against the wall. Phop answered Jom’s question with a frail groan, both of his hands slowly sweeping his bed.
“P’Klao’s clothes? Is this what you’re looking for, P’Phop?” Kaew asked, gently handing Phop the white clothing from the end of the bed. The familiar fabric that now feels more like a sacred object is welcomed with a squeeze, tight embrace and another soft sob from the young man.
That cloth was successfully saved by Auntie Muan when the young man was hit by a severe nausea, only a few seconds before he finally let out another vomit that took him his own clothes and blanket.
Jom kneeled on the bed, both hands busy reaching for every pulse and checking on Phop’s vital signs. Kaew sat back by Phop’s left leg, softly patting and massaging it once in a while.
Some of the servants who had been running around with tasks were gradually returning to the room. Mae Prayong sat by her son’s right side, tenderly dabbing his chest, leading him to breathe slower and more relaxed.
“The body temperature is still too high. The fire element seemed to have outraged all of the water element. And the air element is also way too strong to the point it almost blows out the heart element…”
Jom brushed away Phop’s cold sweats in between his dear friend’s whimpers.
“These elements’ imbalance could also cause repeated nausea. I suggest we try the coconut water again and also give him a little warm compress, Khun Ying.”
The doctor went silent for a moment. He eyed the whole room, panning back to observe his longtime childhood friend who appeared as frail as a dry leaf, watching him carefully before finally turning to Kaew.
“Jasmine is too sweet, no?”
Kaew agreed with him, albeit a bit surprised by his lover’s sudden question.
“The smell of the potpourri? Yeah. I think we can change it to pimsen or bullet wood flower for a softer fragrance.”
“P’Buaphan,” Kaew called, a bit firmer while he stood up, reaching for a small cup with pleasant aroma from his personal servant.
“This is a mix of lemongrass and wild mint I purposefully brought for P’Phop. We can use this to reduce the nausea while waiting for the potpourri to be changed,” Kaew explained shortly, offering the cup to Mae Prayong.
Jom signaled Chuay to come closer with the new coconut water in the glass he had been holding onto for dear life.
“If the coconut water couldn’t get in this time– or worse, thrown out again,– I’ll make him another compound of ginger, turmeric and betel leaf just like the past days to at least stop the vomit and nausea.”
The middle-aged woman nodded, gratefully glancing at both Kaew and Jom. Her attention then completely returned to her son, who was still sobbing and whimpering every now and then.
“Kong, get the warm water and the clean cloth ready.”
“Sai, go change the potpourri to agarwood, bullet wood flower or pimsen and mint leaves just like this.”
“And bring all of the offerings out of the room for now, especially everything with jasmine,” Mae Prayong instructed, eyes glued to her son.
“Yes, Madam!”
“I’ll go find some mint leaves in the kitchen!” Auntie Muan exclaimed in her panic.
And the servants of the Phichaiphakdi Manor were back to a scrambled run, some crawled back into the room to get the offerings and some others directly rushed out of the room with their own missions.
Mae Prayong’s left hand deliberately puts the small cup with lemongrass and wild mint near her son’s nose. Her right hand constantly tapped her son’s chest. She occasionally wiped the stream of tears in Phop’s dull face while her heart prayed for him to be able to breathe normally and managed to communicate properly at least for a while.
Jom took a spoon of the coconut water and honey, brought it closer to Phop’s mouth and looked at Mae Prayong.
“Poh Phop, Poh Phop my dear son. Kindly try to take another sip, will you? Let’s try the coconut water again, now with some honey. Will you, my dear?”
Phop stayed silent. His breathing got slower but his expression remained hurt. His left hand still faithfully enfolded Klao’s white clothes against his left chest, the body part he lately deemed always hurting, to the point it scared Jom to death with the possibility of cardiac arrest.
Kaew witnessed his lover and Phop’s mother’s effort in persuading his longtime childhood friend-turned-older brother with such a big lump in his throat. Every breath he took in this manor was poisonous and full of thorns ever since Phop crumbled.
“Oh my, Khun Phop…” Chuay anxiously checked outside the room since his wife and other peers didn’t seem to be coming back anytime soon.
“Khun Klao khorab, kindly come and talk to Khun Phop in his dream or anything alike. It’s been such a nightmare…”
Phop’s breathing gradually slowed down per his mother’s lead, but no sign of peace was painted on his tired face. Slowly, the eldest son opened his eyes. His gaze was empty and still full of agony. Everyone in the room held their breath, some even exchanging worried but also relieved glances.
“Meun Phop, do you hear my voice?” Jom repeated his question and waved a hand before Phop’s face. Silent. The tired young man chose to look at the crumpled clothes in his left hand, all thanks to his own grip and heartfelt hugs for almost a whole week.
Jom’s question had to willingly stay hanged in that morning’s thick air. And the doctor turned to Kaew who had also been eyeing him with sorrow. They were locked in each other’s eyes for quite some time, solemnly discussing serious matters only by gazes.
“Poh Phop, my dearest son. Are you feeling better yet?” Now it was Mae Prayong asking.
Another silence. Phop’s breathing was now nearing normal, no more heavy panting. His body looked way more relaxed, as if something just arrived and engulfed him in a calm yet gloomy aura. Jom and Kaew realized this new presence. They went on with their silent discussion, anticipating any worst outcome possible.
Kong was the first person to return to the chamber. He offered the clean cloth and warm water to Phop’s mother who took the initiative to wipe her son’s body after Jom’s little nod of approval.
“Let me wipe your body, son, so your body’s temperature will go down…”
Kaew shifted over to Mae Prayong and helped her roll up Phop’s sleeve.
“Meun Phop, may I give your lips a little honey so they won’t hurt?” Jom asked for permission while swapping the glass of coconut water and honey in his hand with another cup of pure honey. He then washed his right hand in a small bowl of fresh water that always on stand by on the nightstand and took a tiny amount of honey with his index finger. He put it carefully on Phop’s now parched lips as long as the patient didn’t show any resistance.
The coconut water with honey sat idly at the nightstand since its destination still didn’t seem to be willing to open his mouth anytime soon. Sai and Auntie Muan finally returned with a new potpourri made of agarwood, bullet wood flower and lemongrass since they couldn’t find any mint left.
Auntie Muan, Sai and Kong crawled their way to Chuay and bombarded him with questions.
“Khun Phop has opened his eyes and is now being wiped! Has he drunk anything yet?”
“Has he said anything but ‘hurt’?”
“The vomit stopped, no?”
Chuay shook his head unenthusiastically.
“Not even a second of him opening his mouth. Not even a word, only whimpering and sometimes sobbing…”
Phop still very much loved his quiet. He didn’t seem to care anymore about anything anyone would do for him. His eyes were locked onto the fabric in his left hand. His breathing stayed steady, with every inhale chanting for a name that everlastingly echoed in his head. A name whose owner resided in his heart, a name now only God knows his body’s whereabouts: Klao.
Jom rechecked the pulse in Phop’s left hand. Kaew observed the wound in his brother’s right arm when Mae Prayong cautiously wiped the wound’s surroundings.
“P’Jom, I think the wound is still not completely healed. Might still need another batch of medicine.”
Jom shifted his gaze to Phop’s right arm, examining the wound after Kaew’s observation.
“Right. I’ll add more areca nut leaves later,” said Jom.
And everyone was back to their own endeavors in holding Phop stay whole in between his own memories and longing as the young man was gradually dragged back into his own void and agony.
“Duangjai Phi…”
“Duangjai Phi.”
The uproaring wail in his head turned into a broken whisper. He caressed the crumpled fabric in his hand lovingly. His mind replayed how the incident had happened. Still he remembered that night, crystal clear.
That night, they were both cold and fully drenched thanks to the rain. And the gunshot thundered, breaking the serene. His right arm was burning. Still he could feel his sweetheart, shivering in cold and fright in his embrace.
And then silence.
His dearest heart was gone.
But the rain kept on pouring. And his arm was bleeding. And his focus was lost, locked in the last moment he felt his dearest love’s cold body shivering in his tight embrace.
And that focus was faithfully etched in his mind to this very second. In his head, Phop was still wholeheartedly enveloping his dearest heart. In his head, they were still deep in the forest, soaked in rain and fright, still inches away from death.
The rain rushed down heavily…
As heavy as Phop’s tears rushing down his face without him even noticing.
No exclamation. No resistance.
Only a stifled sob that effectively destroyed the defense of everyone who loved him, who were crying for him, and who were now sobbing with him, wailing for a soul they knew for sure won’t make it home anymore.