The Windup Girl(54)

And yet, when Jaidee climbs off his bicycle outside the Ministry gate, a man glares at him and a woman turns away. Even just outside their own compound-or perhaps particularly there-the people he protects turn away from him.

Jaidee grimaces and wheels his cycle past the guards.

The compound is still a hive of activity, and yet it is so different from when he first joined. There is mold on the walls and chunks of the edifice are cracking under the pressure of vines. An old bo tree leans against a wall, rotting, underlining their failures. It has lain so for ten years, rotting. Unremarked amongst the other things that have also died. There is an air of wreckage to the place, of jungle attempting to reclaim what was carved from it. If the vines were not cleared from the paths, the Ministry would disappear entirely. In a different time, when the the Ministry was a hero of the people, it was different. Then, people genuflected before Ministry officers, three times khrabbed to the ground as though they were monks themselves, their white uniforms inspiring respect and adoration. Now Jaidee watches civilians flinch as he walks past. Flinch and run.

He is a bully, he thinks sourly. Nothing but a bully walking amongst water buffalo, and though he tries to herd them with kindness, again and again, he finds himself using the whip of fear. The whole Ministry is the same-at least, those who still understand the dangers that they face, who still believe in the bright white line of protection that must be maintained.

I am a bully.

He sighs and parks the cycle in front of the administrative offices, which are desperately in need of a whitewashing that the shrinking budget cannot finance. Jaidee eyes the building, wondering if the Ministry has come to crisis thanks to overreaching, or because of its phenomenal success. People have lost their fear of the outside world. Environment's budget shrinks yearly while that of Trade increases.

Jaidee finds a seat outside the general's office. White shirt officers walk past, carefully ignoring him. That he is waiting in front of Pracha's office should fill him with some satisfaction. It isn't often that he is called before a man of rank. He's done something right, for once. A young man approaches hesitantly. Wais.

"Khun Jaidee?"

At Jaidee's nod, the young man breaks into a grin. His hair is cropped close and his eyebrows are only slight shadows; he has just come out of the monastery.

"Khun, I hoped it was you." He hesitates, then holds out a small card. It is painted in the old Sukhothai-style and depicts a young man in combat, blood on his face, driving an opponent down into the ring. His features are stylized, but Jaidee can't help smiling at the sight of it.

"Where did you get this?"

"I was at the fight, Khun. In the village. I was only this big-" he holds his hand up to his waist "-only like this, perhaps. Maybe smaller." He laughs self-consciously. "You made me want to be a fighter. When Dithakar knocked you down and your blood was everywhere, I thought you were finished. I didn't think you were big enough to take him. He had muscles…" he trails off.

"I remember. It was a good fight."

The youth grins. "Yes, Khun. Fabulous. I thought I wanted to be a fighter, too."

"And now look at you."

The boy runs his hand over his close-cropped hair. "Ah. Well. Fighting is harder than I thought… but…" He pauses. "Would you sign it? The card? Please. I would like to give it to my father. He still speaks highly of your fights."

Jaidee smiles and signs. "Dithakar was not the most clever fighter I ever faced, but he was strong. I wish all my fights were so clear-cut."

"Captain Jaidee," a voice interrupts. "If you are quite finished with your fans."

The young man wais and flees. Jaidee watches him run and thinks that perhaps not all of the younger generation is a waste. Perhaps… Jaidee turns to face the general. "He is just a boy."

Pracha glowers at Jaidee. Jaidee grins. "And it's hardly my fault that I was a good fighter. The Ministry was my sponsor for those years. I think you won quite a lot of money and recruits because of me, Khun General, sir."

"Don't give me your 'General' nonsense. We've known each other too long for that. Get in here."

"Yes, sir."

Pracha grimaces and waves Jaidee into the office. "In!"

Pracha closes the door and goes to sit behind the expanse of his mahogany desk. Overhead, a crank fan beats desultorily at the air. The room is large, with shuttered windows open to allow light but little direct sun. The slits of the windows look out onto the Ministry's ragged grounds. On one wall are various paintings and photographs, including one with Pracha's graduating class of ministry cadets along with another of Chaiyanuchit, founder of their modern ministry. Another of Her Royal Majesty the Child Queen, looking tiny and terrifyingly vulnerable seated on her throne, and in a corner, a small shrine to Buddha, Phra Pikanet and Seub Nakhasathien. Incense and marigolds drape the shrine.

Jaidee wais the shrine then finds himself a seat in a rattan chair across from Pracha. "Where did you get that class photo?"

"What?" Pracha looks back. "Ah. We were young, then, weren't we? I found it in my mother's belongings. She had it all these years, tucked away in a closet. Who would have guessed the old lady was so sentimental?"

"It's a nice thing to see."

"You overstepped yourself at the anchor pads."