Ko Lanta

The cigarette papers Hutyee took from his pocket were crinkled: yellowed as though by the sun - or as though dipped in tea, the way treasure maps are aged by children. He smoothed a tiny rectangle with long knuckely fingers and stretched the yellow paper taut so that the lines disappeared and remained only as slight traces after he had folded the paper into an even rectangular valley that rested on his lap - sheltered, by his hand, from the light breeze. The tobacco taken from a plastic bag looked dry. Brittle strands that snapped and would crackle in flame. That would burn in the throat. A fit of coughing began that could not be soothed by the hand he brought to his throat, nor smothered or squeezed out in the way that the hand - pinching and pulling at the flesh of his neck - seemed to be attempting.

A thick, yellow grey smoke, smattered with the tiny specks of light that danced into the shade, traced the outline of Hutyee's face, in a slow coiling motion, as a well practiced eye closed, tight, against its sting.

He turned to me and smiled. A smile with teeth. White against dark brown skin.

"So I think lie," he continued, "I think maybe lie, maybe no," and he shook his head and waved something away with his hand as if to indicate that what he had thought held only an irrelevance, now that it was known his neighbour had been telling the truth.

"There my boat. Longtail boat. Smashed on rock like she say. I think, cannot, cannot. I look out: many, many wave - maybe two metre, maybe three metre."

Hutyee put down his cigarette and began tying a thin nylon string around a small plastic, fluorescent, fish. Around the mouth of the fish was a perfect circle of small, silver spikes. Preparations were being made for our fishing trip.

"I run back to see children. Wave getting bigger, bigger all the time - more and more. We go back - bit away. I think here okay; okay."

He looked out towards the sea: blinding bright now to the west, or deep and blue and calm where the sun's fire failed to ignite its surface. He fell back then, into our previous conversation, and his teeth showed white again. "You come too far," he said "too far." And he laughed, and picked up his cigarette, and sucked until the tip glowed red. His throat seemed to have become used to the harsh, dry smoke now and he breathed in deep and slow before speaking again. "In Ko Lanta only littelnun die. Only little. Khao Lak many, many. Six. Zero. Zero. Zero."


Hutyee's new boat was a rowing boat. He turned the oars slowly under the late afternoon's sun. It was my job to watch the rods and to pass them to Hutyee as quickly as possible when I saw signs that the bait had been taken. I had been relieved of my other two duties: firstly, that of reeling in our prey, after I had broken the line, attempting to do so, at our first lost catch, and secondly, that of casting the line, after I had caught only Hutyee's shirt during my first incompetent attempt!

At fairly regular intervals the rods were passed to more capable hands and the final hopeless attempts to ward off predators came in the form of violent spurts of black ink as the squid were unhooked and dropped into a bucket. There they died slowly. Lying on top of previous victims, who were closer to death than themselves, they found no energy to fight asphyxiation the way fish violently snap against a murderous air. Only an impotent shot of ink would interrupt the quiet, and soak their fellow dying, and stain the bucket black.

The earth turned away from the sun and it's image was halved before disappearing completely. In the fading light people could be seen leaving the beach. The thinly thatched roofs of bars vibrated over the music's beats and restaurants began to fill.

Almost five years after the tsunami had hit the Andaman coast people's lives seemed to be returning to normal. It is of course the spirit, strength and determination of the Thai people that has enabled this recovery, but it is thanks also to the work of charities like Shelterbox, that this spirit was helped to survive. It was a comfort to know that the money raised during this project will have a similar benefit as Hutyee's small rowing boat circled the bay for a final time and rested in the shallows of a darkening sea.