Sunken Fish - Chapter 61
The manager here was a German-Swiss man named Heinrich Glick, who knew how to cater to the needs of Western tourists. When my friends' boat docked, boys in uniforms and green checkered loincloths came up to greet them.
When I first met Heinrich a few years ago, he was a handsome man with thick, curly blond hair combed back perfectly, an elegant voice, and a Germanic chin. But now he was overweight, wearing a collarless linen shirt and yellow washed silk trousers. His neck was like a slender sack, his hair thinned, revealing pink scalp, and his blue eyes were bloodshot.
“Welcome to Paradise. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful holiday. Now go and see your rooms. Once you’re settled, please come with me to the lobby for a drink.” He beckoned to the guests, pointed to a tall wooden house with many windows behind him, and then checked his watch, saying, “It’s already noon. Let’s have lunch together.”
Heinrich herded them with his hands, like he was herding a herd of pigs.
The hotel staff escorted the guests to their rooms, and they received generous tips. Everyone vied to carry the largest piece of luggage.
My friends dispersed along the teakwood walkway, and as they entered the accommodation, they exclaimed happily, "This is great!"
"Like a tiki hut."
"How cute!"
Benny entered his room and saw that it was decorated with pleated rattan, with linen mats on the floor and a pair of beds draped in white linen with sheer curtains. He liked the feel of it; it had a tropical vibe. The walls were painted with totems and bone carvings—the kind of mass-produced ethnic art. The bathroom was surprisingly large and odorless, with white tiled floors. The shower stall was located a step down from a half-wall.
In Heidi's room, the waiter opened the windows, which were unobstructed, and not far away were incense burners and jars of lemongrass oil. Everything reminded her that the water under the hallway was a breeding ground for mosquitoes.
In the next room, Jumarin and her daughter Esme were exclaiming in amazement at the lake view: This is truly paradise, Shangri-La!
Beryl was happier than the others. His room was at the very top of Pier 5, a secluded setting perfect for a love nest. Lemon-scented candles had been thoughtfully placed there—how romantic! He stepped out into the small hallway and saw several teak chairs with adjustable backs—fantastic! He and Jumarin could lie there and watch the moon.
Jumarin and her daughter walked out of the room; she was only two docks away from him. Berhali waved to Jumarin, and she waved back eagerly.
They were like two parrots in heat, flapping their wings, their meaning clear: tonight is the night.
Half an hour later, everyone came to the hall, and Heinrich poured champagne into plastic glasses: "Let us raise a glass to joy and beauty, to new friends and lasting memories."
Soon Heinrich bestowed upon them new names—our great leader, our lovely lady, our lover of nature, our scientist, our doctor, our genius, our photographer…
He gave all his guests these new names to make them feel special, even though he never remembered their real names.
Heinrich had been running a five-star beach hotel in Thailand for several years—I visited twice—but three tourists died at that hotel in six months, not from accidents, heart attacks, drowning, or other causes; the death certificates stated they died from jellyfish stings.
The hotel closed after the third victim, the son of a U.S. congresswoman, went to heaven. Afterward, Heinrich went to Mandala in the Kingdom of Lanna and became involved in the management of some luxury hotels. I ran into him there; he acted like a long-lost friend, calling me "our dear art professor," and then wrote down for me the name of a restaurant he called "top-class."
His damp hands circled my elbows, rubbing them like lovers, and he told me in a mysterious tone that he would inform maïtred' that my companions and I had arrived.
"How many of you are there? Six? That's great. We should book a table with the best view. I'll join you; it's an honor to host guests like you."
How could we refuse? What could be worse than a free lunch? We went, and he was very attentive while looking at the menu. He said we should order the specialties, which were ridiculously expensive, and that this was his way of treating us. During the second course, he wistfully mentioned Grindelwald, which I guess was his birthplace.
He started singing a German song, "Mei Biber Hendel!" which sounded like chicks clucking. A Thai businessman at the next table commented, "Tap-tap."
At the end, he lowered his head, resting his forehead on the table, until the waiter came to lift him up. When I told them Mr. Glick would pay the bill, the waiter and maïtred shrugged apologetically.
So I had to pay the bill myself. Because there were many people, we ordered a lot of drinks, but most of them were consumed by him, which was no small amount.