How would he be able
to find her again in this vast and mutable cosmos? He wouldn't. The
operator gave him the number of Amorn Tuwayanonde. Maybe it was the
same one whom he had sometimes begged and played with as a boy-maybe
the same one who had grabbed his shoe instead of the ankle causing his
dangling body to fall from the window and into the warehouse triggering
off the burglar alarm. He dialed the number. A man answered. Nawin
did not know what to say so he hung up the telephone. The one he
really wanted to connect with was his uncle and he was dead. And yet
they hadn't really had a relationship. It was strange that the man had
paid for all of his tuition and stay at the international school, all
undergraduate and graduate expenses, and yet had remained a stranger.
He had been the man's son, in a way, and outside a couple times of
staying at his home, during Songkran, he had not known him. When he
died he did not inherit anything. He didn't even want or expect
anything. He was grateful for the educational transformation that had
been bestowed unto him. What happened to the man's money was anyone's
guess.
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