"No, actually not a woman."
"That's not natural."
He chuckled. "There are other things than loving people."
"You are an unnatural person, Nawin."
He smiled and thought. Maybe dopamine, norepinephrine, and
serotonin, the components of love, were at work whenever one cared
about something. Maybe being troubled by Palestinians blowing
themselves up was love. Certainly Rachmaninoff was love.
"Her glasses are ugly, you know. They have thick frames and what
really makes them ugly is that they are dark against her dark skin. No,
what really makes her ugly when she wears them is that the lenses are
thick like binoculars. I bet that even when she removes them every
night before she goes to bed she probably looks as plain as burnt
toast. Your wife isn't pretty, Nawin."
He chortled. "You're right," he said as his eyes looked down
shamefully. He thought about telling Porn that Noppawan never removed
her glasses when she went to bed. It was partly true. He had even had
sex with her once or twice that way. Then he had second thoughts and
decided that some things were better left alone in the dark. "Can I go
back to Rachmaninoff?" he asked while mildly shaking his headphones in
the air.
"No you can't. Thanks for asking. When are we going to New York
City, Nawin?"
"We haven't arrived in Canada yet."
She stood up, stretched, and then crawled over his lap
lasciviously as she looked out of the window. "This flight is too
long," she said.
"Maybe the pilot, co-pilot, hijacker, or whoever is driving can
park for a few minutes on a cloud and you can get out," he said.
She sat back in her seat. "I think you are angry at me for