A night of three: part 4

By the time I arrived, there were five of us, though shortly after to be four, as one of the three German guys headed out. Sometime during the evening, the Dutch girls joined us, bringing the number to six. 

It was a restaurant down one of the alleys from Pub Street, which is exactly what it sounds like, and loud and crowded to boot. But down the alleys, it’s calmer and very nice, the restaurants packed one next to the other.

The dinner itself was not particularly special – in fact, most of them were just drinking, it was just my friend Paulo and I eating, beef lok lak. For the rest, draft beer, only 50 cents per. 

No, what was fascinating were the visitors. 

The first was perhaps the most broken woman I have ever seen. I don't know how old she was, but not very. She was wearing a dress, if you can all it that, sagging down to show her bra. She wore no shoes, and stumbled, clearly drunk. 

She came to the table. At this point, it was raining, and the four of us had moved under the eaves, leaving one side of the table empty, where she was standing. She was carrying a small plastic cup and placed it on the table, not looking at us. Randomly, she moved things around. Paulo gave her what little remained of his drink, which she took, then mimed a smoke. In one of her hands, she was clutching a lighter. 

The German guys both smoked, and one passed a cigarette over. She had a bit of trouble lighting it. Paulo, pretending not to watch by covering his eyes with the coasters, made her laugh, a brief thing, but beautiful. She took a long, grateful drag. She at last met my eyes, and I offered her a smile, the only thing I could think of. She returned it, offering a small thumbs up, and then stumbled away. 

We noticed later she had taken a headband from the disabled vendor across the way, so Paulo went over to pay for it. By that time, she was long gone. 

The second was a young girl, a vendor, 10 years old as we later learned. Her name was Linda, and we had met her the night previously, at another bar. She spoke excellent English and hung around our table for a long time, even after she knew we weren't buying, to talk. Both Paulo and I have Maori fish hooks, and she did as well, a topic to be much discussed. 

She was around a lot during Monday evening. She was clearly exhausted, but refused to say so. She was eating fruit and tried to explain that on Mondays, she only wants fruit. The guys tried to get her to eat more, but she refused. Still, she kept coming back. The previous night, she had just been talking to the guys, and again this time. And yet, one time when she came back, she came over to me, threw her arms around my shoulders, and kissed my cheek, and remained there for several seconds. 

With several more kisses and another squeeze, she was off, leaving me stunned and touched, totally melted and totally heartbroken. She said at one point she was staying with a friend and I wondered where her parents were, if at all. She kept coming back, at one point quite firmly removing Paulo's hand from my knee, where it had been resting, and sitting in my lap herself. Later on, the waitress -- a relative, or a friend -- brought her a plate of watermelon, which we shared, though mostly tried to get her to eat, and Paulo paid for it. 

At the end, she was drawing something, and I asked her if I could draw something for her, drawing the little rose I always doodle. The others added their little drawings. Everyone in the group but me was leaving the next day, and she gave them all hugs, at last putting her fist in the middle. I joined first, and everyone else put their fists in. "Friends forever!" she declared, wishing the rest of them luck and saying to me, "I see you every day!"

As she left, the third and final visitor appeared, watching this exchange with wide eyes. He was a street child, wide, hungry eyes. He looked no more than eight, but when we asked, said he was twelve. He didn't speak any English. He was clutching an empty water bottle and a can to his chest, probably to exchange for a few riel. 

We had a half empty water bottle on the table, and gave it to him, which he took. The waitress came with a new plate of popcorn, and was going to put it in his shirt, but we found an extra bag and filled it for him. He took it gratefully. When she came with a new plate for us, we gave that to him as well. I think Paulo slipped him a dollar or two as well, and he went off, one arm clutching the bottles, and one stuffing popcorn into his mouth. I wondered when the last time he had eaten was. 

Three visitors. It was like a myth, like each needed something specifically from us. I don't know if we gave them that, but hopefully. 

But it didn't really hit until today, when I was telling my sister about the temples, and the blessings, and said that my favorite was from the three ancient women. Three, and then I looked down and realized I was wearing three blessing bracelets. 

Three blessings, three women, three visitors. 

I don't think it was a coincidence.