copiously fluttered them about femininely. Jatupon began to be a
little conscious of himself as a man coming out of anesthesia.
--But the instinct of a man is to fight off predators. Is Jatupon
never tempted to take a knife and slit his brother's throat?
--No, not for the most part, my dear. He loves his brother; and in
some ways there is intense intimacy and pleasure involved in the novel
act that he would hardly rid himself of despite the pain and
humiliation that is involved. I explained that earlier. Were you
sleeping when we discussed this issue?
There was nothing. There was movement while he sat in a city bus.
All elements had burst out of the Big bang. All things (even ideas)
were conceived violently in movement. And so he moved, switching to
busses only when the former ones parked and all passengers had to
leave. He did not know where he was. He didn't care. In one bus ride
he suddenly became sentient to the feel of stiff paper in one of his
pockets. He pulled it out and looked. It was his uncle's name and
address. That was no surprise. The bus was stalled in traffic.
Riders of busses who were near their destination began oozing out of
them like leaking oil. He realized that he was on a bus going on a
street that he had traveled on earlier in the day.
"Ajarn, Do you know what street this is?" he asked a monk.
"Sukumvit" the monk said.
"Which soi are we passing?" asked Jatupon.
"Forties or fifties" said the monk. "I really don't know."
Jatupon looked at the sheet of paper. It read, soi 51 Sukumvit
Road. He got out and ten minutes later he was standing at the wall of
the opulent mansion that Kazem had stood at. He didn't stay long. He
needed to go to the bathroom. He didn't want to wet his pants and he
didn't think that being a distant relative with a hangover and urine
splattered pants would be very impressive to the senator. In a