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Miles east of Third Road and more miles south of the rainy season lake in a Siamese Eden where dengue fever and malaria will still rule after the flip flop imprints are gone; there was an Amazonian mystery in the form of an anaconda black power cable that came down through the tops of the trees. Trees marking the confluence of rice paddy dikes that sheltered a laundromat. Whence the power grids origin for the machines was not nearly as interesting as the result.

Eight double banked washing machines in a row; and four dryers heating, and humming, and spinning, and moaning, and jumping under a Third World shelter of frond, and tarp, and corrugated roof. An oasis surrounded by trucks, and chickens, and the rusting guts of appliances, and worn out dogs, and motorbikes, and the litter of an uncaring people. Small dirty children squatting in puddles poking with sticks at swimming things. Ancient fissured faces chewing on betel nut, and smoking bongs, and burning their unfeeling arthritic fingers with barrel shaped hand rolled cigarettes. Hot. So so hot. And humid.

Only me and her and her helper on this hot hot sultry day. Talking, and smiling, and laughing, and pantomiming back and forth over the row of jumping grunting washing machines. Her name was Som and she made her wheelchair go by - well, it doesn't matter how she made her wheelchair go. Technology gave her dignity. She had no arms and she had no legs. Her name was Som and she had no arms and she had no legs. Some things you have to repeat. It takes a while for the picture to form in your mind.

Malay dark and darker and darkest under the wide spaced almond eyes, brown skin stretched drum tight over high cheek bones, blinding white teeth, lipstick her able bodied helper had applied, flat stomach, salad bowel breasts, and black shiny hair down to her waist. An Eve with no arms and no legs in a rice paddy laundromat Eden. A Devil's joke of temptation and me in a land without time. Primal emotions without shame, and pure intentions unsullied by social measuring.

I was teetering on the cusp of a decision when I noticed that she had a decal on her power wheelchair that said:

"My love is like a raven, at my window with a broken wing." Bob Dylan

God bless the literate flirt, and I didn't have to be asked twice. Her helper drove us to Som's house and showed me how to help with the wheelchair, and how to start the generator that charged the chair's battery. Between the two of us Som and I had one arm and one leg apiece. All that people need who also have two hearts full of love.

The next morning: "Goodbye Som. I will never forget you."

"Goodbye also to you Khun Dana. Someday I will be a good mother and a loyal wife; but I will never forget the most loving man I ever met."

"Before I go Som: I just have one question. What is the private place called on a woman with no arms and no legs?"

"Good question Dana. A lot of men ask me that. Pilots call it the Bermuda Triangle because they want to get lost there. But that is just silly. The honey pot on special girls like me is called - oops, I hear my cell phone ringing. I've got to go."

"Goodbye Som."

 

© Dana. All rights reserved by the author.