Chapters (116)
Leaving his hotel again after a shower, Mike checks reception for messages. None, but there’s a sealed envelope waiting for him. He knows who it’s from.
He crosses the street to his café and orders a coffee, and eggs on his noodles. He lights a cigarette and waits for his coffee before opening the letter—just something to read, like it could have been the Sunday paper back home.
The note is from Bishop, of course, and briefly apologetic. He says he knows Mike has connected with Burton and that they will all meet up in the next few days to compare notes. “Enjoy yourself and stay out of trouble” is how it ends.
Mike knows he will stay out of trouble. He has found enough for one stupid backpacker story. He has done it. He will go out again tonight with his new friends but now there is no pressure. He has done enough. And so today he releases himself for the afternoon to go and see a wat. He will go and see the famous Emerald Buddha. He is sure he will like it. Everyone in his family likes churches even though none of them likes religion. He thinks this makes sense and is fine. Ritual. The check comes and Mike takes it with two hands and a quiet thank you, as he has learned to accept things from people as a sign of respect.
45
Until Mike was in junior high school, he said prayers every night before he went to sleep. No one in his family told him to do this or taught him what to say, but he had done it as far back as he could remember.
They weren’t really prayers; they were last words. He reasoned, as a little boy, that if he was going to die before morning, he wanted to have chosen his last words. So he did, and said them either out loud or slightly under his breath, depending on whether his brother was awake in the room. Somehow saying the words made them more true.
Mike never mentioned any God in these last words, nor specifics of his life, nor requests. Nothing, really, except a brief and particularly worded affirmation of how he felt about his family and being alive. He never told anybody about this. Lyle knew his brother said something to himself every night, but he never asked about it.
Mike didn’t name what he was doing. It didn’t occur to him that it was strange until he was in junior high school, and by then he had stopped without thinking about it.
The night before he was to leave for Asia, he said his last words again. He hadn’t done it in years, and they just popped into his mouth and embarrassed him, and then he couldn’t sleep. So he added to his usual statement: “We are all invincible until the first heart attack.”
This is a modern idea.