corner to the next and the sickness of his stomach was replaced by a
queasy and tightening horror while he cowered in the embrace of his
legs. Thinking himself in a net where there was no extrication he
experienced the adrenalin of bravado. He wanted to confront his fears.
Trying to reach for a religion to formulate a rational perspective in
the irrational, he argued that the snare outside had to be less
poignant than the snare of gluttonous appetites that were the cell, the
bunk, and the chained wall within the underground prison that was he.
This mosquito evoked in him, or he invoked in himself, such trepidation
that he imagined an equal: prehistoric peoples of Thailand watching
their halcyon harmony with nature execrably disparaged in the vehement
winds of a hurricane--the trees along the river, which had offered
protection now torn and lethally slapped at them.
The mosquito landed, crawled, and looked at the bodies on the
floor. "Everyone is separated out into little forts. The others are
under two different nets," it flared its voice in a quasi-question
without looking at Jatupon's face. "Who are these creatures?" it asked.
"My brothers"
"There's one woman," it said pugnaciously. "They can't all be your
brothers. Let's have an inventory. Be specific!"
"My eldest brother's friend and my brother, Kazem, are under one
tent. My brother, Kumpee, and his girlfriend are in a second tent. My
brother, Suthep, is here with me."
"And you I know. Don't you think this is a bit overdone: three
forts around a few microscopic insects?"
Jatupon opened his mouth but failed to say anything. Then he
closed his mouth in fear of an insect flying into it.
"At any rate, why isn't one tent used throughout the room."
"I don't know. I didn't ask."
"Aren't you a little dummy," it said. "Considering the fact that