"You're not suggesting Thailand's government is corrupt," said Bean.
"I'm suggesting Thailand's government is political. I hope this doesn't surprise you. Because I'd heard that you were bright."
They got a car to take them into town--Suriyawong had always had the authority to requisition a car and a driver, he just never used it till now.
"So where do we eat?" asked Bean. "It's not like I have a restaurant guide with me."
"I grew up in families with better chefs than any restaurant," said Suriyawong.
"So we go to your house?"
"My family lives near Chiang Mai."
"That's going to be a battle zone."
"Which is why I think they're actually in Vientiane, though security rules would keep them from telling me. My father is running a network of dispersed munitions factories." Suriyawong grinned. "I had to make sure I siphoned off some of these defense jobs for my family."
"In other words, he was best man for the task."
"My mother was best for the task, but this is Thailand. Our love affair with Western culture ended a century ago."
They ended up having to ask the soldiers, and they only knew the kind of place they could afford to eat. So they found themselves eating at a tiny all-night diner in a part of town that wasn't the worst, but wasn't the nicest, either. And the whole thing was so cheap it felt practically free.
Suriyawong and the soldiers went down on the food as if it were the best meal they'd ever had. "Isn't this great?" asked Suriyawong. "When my parents had company, and they were eating all the fancy stuff in the dining room with visitors, we kids would eat in the kitchen, the stuff the servants ate. This stuff. Real food."
No doubt that's why the Americans at Yum-Yum in Greensboro loved what they got there, too. Childhood memories. Food that tasted like safety and love and getting rewarded for good behavior. A treat--we're going out. Bean didn't have any such memories, of course. He had no nostalgia for picking up food wrappers and licking the sugar off the plastic and then trying to get at any of it that rubbed off on his nose.
What was he nostalgic for? Life in Achilles' "family"? Battle School? Not likely. And his time with his family in Greece had come too late to be part of his early childhood memories. He liked being in Crete, he loved his family, but no, the only good memories of his childhood were in Sister Carlotta's apartment when she took him off the street and fed him and kept him safe and helped him prepare to take the Battle School tests--his ticket off Earth, to where he'd be safe from Achilles.
It was the only time in his childhood when he felt safe. And even though he didn't believe it or understand it at the time, he felt loved, too. If he could sit down in some restaurant and eat a meal like the ones Sister Carlotta prepared there in Rotterdam, he'd probably feel the way those Americans felt about Yum-Yum, or these Thais felt about this place.
"Our friend Borommakot doesn't really like the food," said Suriyawong. He spoke in Thai, because Bean had picked up the language quite readily, and the soldiers weren't as comfortable in Common.
"He may not like it," said one soldier, "but it's making him grow."
"Soon he'll be as tall as you," said the other.
"How tall do Greeks get?" asked the first.
Bean froze.
So did Suriyawong.
The two soldiers looked at them with some alarm. "What, did you see something?"
"How did you know he was Greek?" asked Suriyawong.
The soldiers glanced at each other and then suppressed their smiles.
"I guess they're not stupid," said Bean.
"We saw all the vids on the Bugger War, we saw your face, you think you're not famous? Don't you know?"
"But you never said anything," said Bean.
"That would have been rude."
Bean wondered how many people made him in Araraquara and Greensboro, but were too polite to say anything.