that the proud people of Korea had needed the help of the Americans had been an anchor around the survivor's necks, holding them down like a ton of shame.
The pool boy was nowhere to be found. She spied an inviting chaise lounge, adjusted it so the sun wasn't in her eyes, and then reclined. She thought about reading her magazine, but tossed it aside as she closed her eyes and attempted to relax.
But her great secret, that terrible thing she'd done, played itself in her mind. Rage Against the Machine had played a private party that night last summer. She'd reveled in the excitement and the attention her exotic five-foot eight-inch Korean frame had commanded. At the afterhours party at the Viper Room she'd met the members of the band and several movie stars who were doing their own raging across the box office marquees. That special moment outside where she'd felt the still warm side-walk where River Phoenix had died of an overdose had been the perfect bookend to the evening, as she allowed herself to lament the loss of someone who could have been great. Then inside her Lexus, the old man crossing the street, trying to change the radio station, the car jumping as the tires rose and fell, and rose and fell, the old man behind her screaming and dying.
The memory sent her off the chaise and pacing along the length of the pool. Closer now, the stains she saw were deep and indelible. Some red, some brown, they looked all the world like bloodstains. The realization made her look upwards towards her room. She spied Bob staring down at her, and turned away. A row of lavender and white bougainvilleas grew on one side of the pool, hiding the view of the ocean. Tamarinds trees, their re-curving fruit hanging like bats, rose above the flowers, the thick branches acting as a wind block. The hotel sat on the other side of the pool. The image of 22 stories of rooms rising towards the heavens stayed with her. Twenty-two balconies rose above her. Twenty-two stains beneath her. She leaned down and felt one, the sensation similar to when she'd felt the place River Phoenix had died in front of the Viper Room. For a moment she stared transfixed at the stain, captured by the possibilities it all represented. "Suki, there you are," Bob said, shattering the moment. "I made reservations at La Playa. They're supposed to have langoustines to die for."
She stood, walked to the ladder and slipped silently into the water. She dove deep, drowning out his next words. She only rose when she ran out of breath. Daring to look around, she found that he'd gone.
Sighing, she vowed to end their relationship once and for all. She'd never meant for it to last as long as it had. Fear had been the bond that held them together. She began sidestroking the length of the pool, the rays of the dying sun casting red and gold hues onto the surface of the water.
Bob had followed her from the Viper Room that fateful night. He'd seen her deeds, and then found her in an alley, crying and retching into some trash cans. She'd been too distraught to drive, so he'd taken her home. So understanding at first, it wasn't until much later that she realized how insecure he was—how terribly clingy he was.
But still she'd stayed, feeling a sense of obligation to the man who'd saved her from some jail. But as time passed, so did the vividness of the event, until she'd reached the point where she understood her father and his own bitterness at being saved.
Definitely time to end the relationship. After this vacation, she'd make it official. She floated for a time, satisfied with her decision.
As the sun set, she began to hear the sounds of whispers. At first she mistook them for the wind, whispering through the bougainvillea and the tamarind trees. The bat-like seedpods rattled in the breeze. But the sounds she heard were more than that. Here and there she could make out words.
"God bless us all."
"¿Por qué soy alambique aquí?"
"Help...now."
"Gott speichern mich."
"Faça o batente ferindo."
"Please God."
"I don't want..."
The words were like echoes of something past, barely discernable. Some of the words weren't English. She recognized Spanish. She thought she recognized German. But the other language befuddled her.
As she dove deep, the words grew louder. She felt cold currents in the heated pool that shouldn't be there. Twirling numbness cascaded