Breathing Water Read Online Free PDF Page A

it here, don’t you?” Pan asks, and Rafferty feels a sudden dip in the center of his stomach.
    Studying Pan’s face, Arthit says, “I don’t know about this.”
    Pan looks at Arthit and then at Rafferty. “Aren’t we looking for a way to walk out of this room?”
    Rafferty says, “We are.”
    “Then these are the stakes,” Pan says. “If you lose, you will voluntarily leave Thailand.”
    “Poke,” Arthit says.
    “I can’t do that,” Rafferty says. “I have a wife and daughter to take care of.”
    Pan shrugs the higher shoulder. “That should make the game more interesting.”
    “Forget it.”
    The flush on Pan’s face deepens. “Consider the alternative,” he says. “I destroy your friend here, and then I have you thrown out of the country, and then your friend undertakes some act of vengeance that probably gets him killed.”
    A vista of emptiness opens up in front of Rafferty. It feels like part of the walls and floor have fallen away and there is nothing above or below but gray, empty space with drizzle falling through it. Life without Thailand: life somewhere else, uprooting Miaow, explaining it all to Rose.
    Possibly losing both Rose and Miaow.
    Rafferty says, “And if I win?”
    Pan shrugs. “Name your bet.”
    Suddenly Rafferty thinks of something he might actually like to have. More important, it’s something Pan will never give him. If Pan won’t bet, they might all be able to walk away from the table. “I’m a writer,” he says. “I want your permission to write your life story, without interference.”
    “You’re joking,” Pan says. His biography is a kind of holy grail among Thai publishers, as unattainable as it is desirable. Several well-known writers have announced plans to write the man’s life, only to abandon the project later for unspecified reasons. The only book that actually made it to press was lost when the printing plant burned down.
    “That’s what I want,” Rafferty says. “Gives you something worth playing for.”
    Without taking his eyes from Rafferty’s, Pan raises his right hand and massages the lower left shoulder as though it is still sore from the seed sack’s strap. He seems completely unconscious that he is doing it. Then he laughs, but without much conviction. “Write my life story? And I don’t try to stop you?”
    Rafferty says, “You not only don’t try to stop me. You cooperate.”
    “I’m leaving,” says one of the businessmen. “Send the money to myoffice.” The other joins him to leave, but Pan says, “You’re staying here. Keep an eye on the farang . I’m not going to get cheated again.”
    His eyes drop to the green surface of the table and then come up to Rafferty’s. The room is silent and as motionless as a window display. He purses his lips and drums his fingertips on the table for a second. His eyes make their quick circuit of the room. Then he says, “I can beat you.”
    “Poke,” Arthit says. “Don’t do it.”
    “Got an alternative?” Rafferty still can’t believe that Pan will accept the stakes. He reaches over and grabs the deck of cards, squares it, cuts and shuffles it once, puts it in front of the spot where Pan had been sitting, and waits to see what the man will do. With an abrupt jerk, almost a muscle spasm, Pan lifts the low shoulder and lets it fall again. Then he adjusts his jacket and points to his fallen chair. One of the bodyguards picks it up and puts it back in position, and Pan sits. He puts out a hand, and a bodyguard gives him a cigar, which he centers in the pink mouth. He waits a moment, until the lighter has come and gone, and then shuffles the deck twice and passes it to Rafferty to cut again.
    “So tell me,” he says, picking up the deck. “Why are you so interested in writing about my life?”
    “Something Balzac said,” Rafferty answers. “I just want to know whether it’s true.”
    The first two facedown cards hit the table, one for Rafferty, one for Pan. “Who is