Tai (*in english, 28 illustration)
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“Teach fighting? That’s cool,” Tai said. “But why are you calling it Muay Boran and not Muay Thai? And… and I see no white tiger by your side.”
Dalai Tisein smiled. “You’re right. My tiger’s not here. It’s asleep. And you don’t want to wake it. And Muay Boran—it does exist. It’s much older and more brutal than Muay Thai. The art of eight limbs is for one-to-one combats, but Muay Boran is for war. For facing many enemies at once. It’s also known as the art of nine weapons.”
“So you can defeat a crowd with it?” Tai was so engrossed in listening that he even chewed at the lemongrass, which he never did before. The herb tasted as something between lemon and onions. “Eight are for the limbs, I see. But what’s the ninth weapon?”
“Your head,” Dalai Tisein explained, pointing at Tai’s forehead but avoiding a touch.
In Thailand, it is generally considered rude to touch a person’s head, even if they are a child. Many Thai people believe it can harm their soul. Although the monk had no bad intention, a touch could speak more than he meant.
“Who would you even fight with your head?” Tai considered what he’d just heard.
“You always fight with your head, first and foremost. Even more so when you deal with Birman invaders,” Dalai Tisein said and stood up. “Let’s take a walk. But first go wash your face. If you see any animals, tell me.” Walking away, he muttered under his breath, “No white tiger by my side, huh. Small wonder you can’t see it. It’s been ages. Better let it lie.”
Tai came out into the yard. The day was breaking, the sun barely showing up from behind the horizon, damp stairs descending into wet grass. It must’ve been raining at night. A novice was sweeping his broom through the puddles, the water tanks full to the point of brimming. The harvested rainwater in those elevated tanks was warmed by the sun and supplied to the monastery by pipes; a way to have hot running water without paying any utility bills. The temple had no electricity either; only candles for light and outdoor fire for cooking. And no land tax for a sacred place. That took the temple’s expenses down to zero, but still the building was a sorry sight. Located far away from tourist routes, it attracted very few visitors. No visitors, no income. The temple only survived on the abbot’s unbridled enthusiasm and resourcefulness.
Running the tap over the outdoor sink, Tai washed his face and took a look around. The stair dragon was still glowing; nothing else to report.
As he turned to look at Dalai Tisein, he saw that the abbot was exercising. Lifting his foot easily over his head and resting it against the wall, he was kneading his inner thigh. Dalai Tisein had taken a walk around the temple while Tai was washing his face; now he stood on the sandy practice ground next to the building.
When Tai approached the ground, Dalai Tisein was already striking the rough wood of a ground-mounted pillar with his bare feet, fists, knees, and elbows.
Wow. He’s hitting with full force.
The pillar would’ve long been destroyed by the impact if it weren’t for the thick, oiled rope coiled all around it to protect the wood underneath.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” Tai asked with surprise. Coming up, he punched at the pillar—and immediately pulled his hand away. The coiled rope was almost as hard as wood. Tempered by oil and sweat, by drenching rains and drying winds, it was long beyond restoration to its former softness.
“Pain has many faces. Many levels. By increasing your pain tolerance, you can stop feeling it at all. The worst pain is that from inside, Tai. Don’t you know it?”
Tai nodded, feeling sad. Like hell I don’t. I lost my parents. That’s real pain. Nothing else matters. He hit on the makiwara. The impact made him wince, but he hit again. And again.
Dalai Tisein watched Tai smash his fists. He only stopped the boy when he swung so broadly the impact would’ve dislocated his wrist. “Don’t hurry. Your knuckles need time to adapt.”
“Why?”
“By hitting a hard thing repeatedly, we make our bones stronger.”
“Make bones stronger?”
“Yes. But it takes months of regular practice before you can try to land a really strong blow. Be patient.”
The lay brother brought oil-soaked bandages. Dalai Tisein wrapped them around Tai’s knuckles and showed him how to strike the pillar without getting his hands bruised. “You can’t see the bone transformation. But getting your flesh blue and swollen can put you off practice. And if the wound gets infected, it will be really, really bad for you.”
“I get it.”
Tai’s legs had always been weak. He strongly preferred video games over running around or playing football. He saw no point in striking at the pillar with these lame sticks as Dalai Tisein called them, when his arms were so much stronger. However, the monk insisted on practicing his kicks as well. With his feet taped, the boy would merely touch the makiwara, watching his breath. Nonetheless, it took only fifty swings to leave him gasping for air.
Dalai Tisein stopped him again. “You have perseverance. A warrior spirit. That’s good. But your body’s still too weak. Never forget to warm up. Your heart and lungs need it to work well. And stretching. You must stretch and warm up before you strike.”
“Warm up? How do I do that?”
“Running. It’s best for you. When you can’t run, do sit-ups.”
“Sit-ups. Okay.”
“Come. Let’s do it on the beach. Air’s better there.”
Dalai Tisein ran off and Tai followed, although his tired feet would barely move. The elderly abbot was a surprisingly fast runner. After him, the two novices dashed off, dropping their brooms, with no one but old Gatun remaining in the temple.
They never left the temple all at once.
“Hey, wait for me!” Tai screamed on the run, the wind whistling in his ears. He ran as fast as he could, on the verge of falling, the impact of his feet hitting the hard wood of the deck shooting through his knees. His muscles were itching, but he made himself run another hundred feet. Then another. And another.
When Tai ran out onto the beach (the rocky dirt road giving place to wet sand), his sandals slipped off, and he stopped to pick them. As he reached the three men, they were in the thick of the fight, striking their limbs at each other as though to kill.
The novices whose names Tai didn’t know were attacking the old monk in turns. One brother was mostly using his feet, and another his hands. The boy nicknamed them Hand and Foot.
Dalai Tisein used elbows to protect his head. When Foot lifted his weapon of choice too high, swinging too broadly, the abbot caught his foot and tossed it up into the air. The novice collapsed and rolled on the sand.
Hand attacked. But White Tiger made no move to defend himself. Instead, he counter-attacked with lightning speed, punching the novice’s chest. Hand sank onto the sand, his face pale as he gasped for air.
“Breath. It’s all about your breath, Tai.” Dalai Tisein walked around his defeated apprentice. “Those who breathe too fast always run out of their time. And for slow breathers, life is hard, for they’re too slow and always come late. Seek a middle ground. Watch your breath. It can decide the outcome of your battle. Attack as you exhale. Defend as you inhale. Relax your muscle for the air to come in freely.”
“Is that why they call you White Tiger?”
“What do you mean?”
“You make your opponents’ faces white.”
Dalai Tisein laughed and hit Hand’s back with three fingers. The novice took a hasty breath as his diaphragm relaxed at the impact.
Dalai Tisein whispered him a few words. Hand made a wai and walked back to the temple, still clutching at his chest. Foot followed him, limping.
A long way to come, both of you.
“You have a quick mind and a good eye for detail. Smart boy. Now repeat after me,” Dalai Tisein told Tai and began to show him the moves.
The abbot stared at the turbid waves rolling over the coast. The tsunami had robbed the Andaman Sea of its transparent azure, mudding the water with sand, seaweed, and silt. Somewhere in Phuket, the steel-gray waves were casting ashore dead bodies, stunned fish, and pieces of furniture. Fortunately, the coast where the Wat Ko Sirey Temple stood wasn’t affected that badly.
“What have you told him?” Tai asked as he repeated the monk’s slow moves. Dalai Tisein now seemed to breathe slowly, barely moving his limbs. That allowed him to show Tai the moves in a slow fashion while practicing them.
“That it’s not yet the time for him to get a Sak Yant.”
“Sak Yant? What’s that?”
“A life-changing pattern on your body.”
“A pattern? Do you mean a tattoo?”
“You may call it that. It has protective power. And makes you stronger when you believe in its power.”
“Cool. I want it.”
Dalai Tisein turned his back to the boy, showing him leg strikes, so Tai couldn’t see a light smile on his teacher’s face.
He who is wishing is anything but dead. The little survivor was apparently coming back to life, taking his first steps, which were the hardest.
“I want a tattoo of my family,” Tai said in a smaller voice. “To see their faces so I don’t forget them.”
Dalai Tisein’s smile faded. He turned to the boy. “Tai. Sak Yant has magic. It’s not a way to keep dear memories. It’s a way to pump strength into your body. For it to have power, it should be only made by a monk who reached nirvana. Sak Yant is a sacred gate of truth. A door into…” The abbot paused, struggling with a choice of foreign words, when Tai suddenly froze. His eyes opened wide with terror as he stared at something behind Dalai Tisein’s back.
At something on the shore.
Chapter 6 – An Otherworldly Encounter
Dalai Tisein spun around, bracing for anything from a blow to a gunshot, but found himself alone, the sea calm. The waves gently lapped at the shore, betraying no signs of the recent devastation they’d wrought—though no one had seen that deadly wave coming either. Could the boy have seen more than him?
Horror filled Tai’s eyes. Unlike the monk, he watched a towering wave hurl ashore a large, weather-beaten ship. With its torn sails and mast, the wooden vessel seemed adrift, with no one steering it. The sea ejected it with a violent thrust, smashing it against the sand and coastal rocks.
The impact with a boulder pierced one side of the ship, tipping it over. Its mast plowed into the sand, and the ship came to a sudden, precarious stop, nearly capsizing. One mast snapped; another leaned dangerously. The torn side spilled its cargo: barrels and crates were strewn across the beach, heavy wooden boxes shattered and embedded in the sand.
Several people got tossed overboard. They were oddly dressed in long, buttonless shirts tucked into loose pants belted at the waist, wide boots with rolled-up shafts, their heads adorned with bandanas and ribbons tied through long, unkempt, greasy hair.
As Tai moved closer, he noticed one man’s misfortune: a sharp board had sliced open his abdomen. He crawled across the sand, leaving trails of dark blood behind.
Another passenger from the mysterious ship was luckier and more agile. He got up, shook off the sand as if it were routine to be flung dozens of feet into the waves or onto the beach, and walked straight toward Tai.
The boy looked into his eyes but saw only two bottomless black abysses. As if a demon disguised as a pirate was advancing towards him. A demon armed with a real pirate’s saber—or was it a rapier, or a cutlass? Tai couldn’t tell for sure, but it was clear the armed figure had no intention of playing games.
Fear rooted Tai to the spot. He couldn’t move. The pirate continued his advance, leaving his wrecked ship behind. Drawing his saber, he swung and… plunged it into his struggling companion’s back.
He relieved him of his pain, Tai realized, but then the pirate swung the blade at him.
“Stop! Leave him alone!” came a voice Tai painfully recognized.
It belonged to a little girl. Stunned, Tai looked past the pirate to see his little sister in her light sundress standing behind the fearsome, bearded man.
“He’s mine!” she declared firmly.
The pirate saluted Alyona as one might salute a ship’s captain, and vanished into thin air. With him disappeared the wrecked vessel of the late Middle Ages.
On the sand next to Tai, only Alyona remained. She stood as an ethereal spirit directly across from him, looking into his eyes. She was still seven, dressed as he’d last seen her in the international hospital two days ago: sundress, sandals, two braids. Except now, the sea shimmered through her.
“Will you accept me?” she asked, sounding alive.
“I… I don’t know,” Tai replied, bewildered, adding quietly, “I miss you, Alyona.”
“Tai. What do you see?” his mentor’s voice came from behind, sounding as though it traveled down a long corridor, although the monk stood only a score of feet away. For Tai, the sounds and visions of the spirit world were now much sharper, more tangible than those of the reality.
“There was a pirate. Now, my sister,” the boy replied. “Did you not see the ship?”
Dalai Tisein retrieved a set of prayer beads from his inner pocket and settled into the lotus position on the sand. Closing his eyes, he immersed himself into the ethereal realm. “What does she want, Tai?” he inquired.
“She’s asking if I will accept her.”
“Is she alive?” the monk asked unexpectedly.
Of course she is, Tai wanted to say, but then he remembered the events of just a day ago. He couldn’t wrap his head around that. Alyona stood right there, in front of him.
“I… I’m not sure,” Tai answered, snapping his eyes open. He wished he could blink it away, yet something urged him to focus on what he was seeing.
Tai’s pupils dilated when, instead of disappearing, Alyona smiled at him and touched his hand. Her touch was icy-cold.
This chilling contact made him see even more. Tai suddenly noticed his sister’s neck was unnaturally twisted, the vertebrae stretching the skin in a way that showed they were clearly out of place. Her head looked as if it had been rotated and then set back incorrectly.
“Her neck is broken,” Tai murmured softly, careful not to hurt his sister’s feelings.
“Her soul is not at peace, Tai,” Dalai Tisein added with a calm that belied his racing heart, feeling a spiritual presence. “Ask her what she wants. What can she give you for accepting her?”
“Why should I charge her?” Tai was confused.
“That’s the way of the spirit world. A favor for a favor. Worlds only come in touch when they need something from each other.”
Meanwhile, the spirit crossed her arms and protested, “Slava, why are you listening to this old man? It’s me—your sister!”
“You… you drowned. The tsunami. Remember?” Tai managed to say, his voice stumbling.
He longed to stay here with her, to hug her, to spin her around and share his stories of weird animals and glowing statues. Yet he knew that only the wet sand under his feet, the sea before him, and the old man sitting behind him were real.
And everything else… what was it? A different world? An overlap of realities?
“Yes, I drowned,” Alyona admitted easily. “So what? Do you think life ends there? No, brother. It just becomes different.”
“What kind of different?” His curiosity spiked about what lay beyond.
“Now I can be anywhere in the sea,” she explained cheerfully, as if recounting thrilling adventures. “I can swim among the reefs. Play with dolphins. Or even roam around ships and make friends with pirates.”
“Why make friends with pirates?” He remembered the armed man who’d mercilessly finished off his companion.
“Because they’re all here, in the sea. Forever.”
Tai’s eyes widened as the spirit twirled around him, adding, “Do you realize how important I am now? They all accept me. Will you accept me, brother?”
Tai had a lot questions, but he focused on asking the most pressing ones. “Accept you? What does that mean?”
“It means that you will keep my soul and I’ll protect you from any danger coming from water. You will never drown. Never choke on water. You’ll never be afraid of depths. Keeping my soul, you’ll be a friend to all seas and rivers and lakes. Water will be your family, dear brother.”
Tai smiled, though it was a sad smile, with tears brimming in his eyes.
Alyona returned a warm smile, showing off her pearly teeth. “Just agree already. What’s there to think about? I’ve discovered so much. I can tell you so many things. It’s so much more fun than going to school. We can play together as much as you like. I mean it, Slava.”
“Tai, what is she saying?” the mentor’s distant voice reached the boy’s ears. “What is she giving you?”
“She says I’ll be a friend of the sea and all waters,” the boy relayed. “She’s asking me to keep her soul.”
“Do you like this idea?” the monk asked, carefully choosing his words so he wouldn’t disrupt the fragile connection between the two worlds. A family bond isn’t easy to severe, but a careless word, gesture, or thought could make the spirit angry.
“She’s my sister. I can’t feel any other way,” Tai replied as he took in all the familiar details on his sister’s clothing: the brooch on her sundress, the hair clip shaped like a Thai flower. It was definitely her. Their mother had bought that clip at a store near the hotel the first day they arrived.
His sister looked as if she was ready to go shopping with their parents, just as he’d last seen her in the hospital ward.
Was it yesterday? No, the day before. Can our parents still be nearby? Can they come here too? They have to. They must. We’re a family. But… they’re dead! Dead. Dead.
“You’re all dead!” Tai screamed out, about to yell at Alyona to go away and stop confusing him.
He knew spirits were cruel. Every tale, movie, and book warned to stay away from them. Nothing good ever came from these interactions.
“Worlds shouldn’t come in touch. This one and that one—they should keep apart!” Tai exclaimed.
“Why shouldn’t they? Brother?” his sister asked calmly.
Instead of answering, Tai cried, his throat tightened. Bitter curses and demands stayed unspoken. He desperately wanted to hug her. But reaching out for her ethereal form, he felt the same cold.
Cold and emptiness.
She’s shed her body like old clothing, the boy thought.
A pain in his chest made him long to become older and stronger, at least for his sister’s sake. As her older brother, he should tell her not to mix with pirates. But how could he tell her that after driving her away?
Clutching his fists, Tai, the boy with gray locks peeking out from under his cap, summoned his courage and shouted, “I accept your soul, Alyona! I will be your keeper. I don’t care what people or spirits say. I love you. You are my sister. I will protect you. I’m your brother!”
His sister smiled, revealing a noticeable gap where a baby tooth had recently fallen out, a detail she’d been self-conscious about, refusing to smile in photos. But now, none of that mattered.
I wonder if our digital camera could survive. I’d give anything for our family photos.
As Tai smiled back at the spirit, he suddenly felt drained of strength. His legs buckled. The sounds of the physical world assaulted his ears.
Consciousness left him, and darkness clouded his vision.
Opening his eyes, Tai saw Dalai Tisein’s puzzled face. The old man was rubbing his forehead with coconut pulp, using oils to revive him. It didn’t immediately make him feel better, but then a breeze blew, and something cold was applied to his forehead, refreshing his mind.
The monk pushed the other half of the coconut, filled with juice, to the boy’s lips. Gently supporting his head, he allowed the recovering boy to sip a few mouthfuls.
“You’re a keeper, Tai,” Tisein declared.
Collecting the oily coconut juice with his parched lips, the boy asked, “What does that mean?”
“You see unrested souls,” the monk explained. “You hear them, and you can respond. More importantly, they listen to you.”
“What should I do?”
“Think of it as a game. But remember, only those who loved you in life will mean you no harm. Others might use you, or worse—harm you.”
“How do you know all this? You didn’t see the pirate. Or my sister,” Tai remarked, draining the last of the coconut milk. The taste was overly sweet, but it quenched his thirst.
Dalai Tisein smiled sheepishly. “I must confess, I am more than a martial artist or a temple abbot.”
“How so? This is your temple, and you… you fight.”
“All these worldly clothes,” the monk said with another peaceful smile, “are merely to fulfill my primary role. Some know me as a Buddhist liberator. In the West, people like me are called exorcists.”
The boy had heard this word before, once or twice, but its meaning escaped him. “What exactly do you do?”
“I drive unrested souls and other demonic presences away from our world,” the monk elaborated. “But I can only sense them. You can do more. You can see them.”
“I can,” Tai repeated, pulling his legs in and hugging his knees. It baffled him how the old man could discuss these topics so calmly—topics that, in another setting, would’ve landed him in an asylum. Yet, his questions only multiplied.
“Why can’t you see them?” Tai squinted. “And you aren’t going to drive Alyona away, are you? She’s good. I’ve known her all my life.”
The monk shook his head. “I don’t know, Tai. I’m certain of one thing—we have much to learn from each other. I propose we work together.”
“Work together? With me?” the boy was surprised. “But I’m ten years old.”
“What does age matter? It’s ability that counts,” the monk replied, clearly having his own plans for him. “You’ll teach me to see that world. I’ll teach you to be a keeper.”
“Can you really do that? Is there even a manual for this sort of thing?”
“I learned to understand that world, Tai. After leaving professional sports, I read and studied extensively. I came across secret manuscripts and ancient books. I know things that aren’t typically spoken of, but since they exist, we must learn to deal with them.”
“Well,” Tai drew out the word, unsure what to say. “That pirate… So you’re going to teach me? And who taught you?” He squinted at the old man, guessing him to have been taught by another abbot.
“I’m self-taught,” Dalai Tisein responded. “This isn’t something that can be taught, Tai. It must be embraced. Stay in the temple, and we will learn from each other.”
“What about my home? What about Russia?”
“You said you have no one there,” the monk reminded calmly. “Where will you go? Your home is where you are.”
Tai fell silent, his mood darkening. Realizing his blunder, the monk added, “Grow stronger, and you’ll be able to decide for yourself where and who you want to be with. You can come back to your homeland whenever you wish. No one can take that away from you. But for now, it’s better to stay and learn.”
Tai gave Dalai Tisein a close look. The monk seemed uneasy, struggling to find the right words. “That other world is serious,” he tried to explain. “We can’t ignore it. But what do we really know about it? Not much, if you give it a thought. Take my offer, Tai. You have the freedom to choose your path, but it already took you to a temple of Buddha. That means you’re needed here, in the Kingdom.”