#27 - Fan Death

“Going to Chiang Mai?” The kid asked.

 Phil heard him, despite the shuffling-drone of the train and the music playing through his earphones. It was tempting to pretend as if he hadn’t; to not respond, to continue staring out his widow at the densely green mountains, the sapphire sky, the scrap-wood shacks, the ethereal vines of smoke rising from jungle. But instead, Phil turned toward the kid and said, “Yep. And you?”

“Yeah. Last stop before heading up to Laos.” He said.

Phil didn’t offer that he and Amy were also going to Laos. He didn’t feel like making conversation. Ever since the kid had plopped down on the wooden bench across the aisle, Phil had tried hard not to acknowledge him in any way. Since arriving in Thailand, he and Amy had developed a cynicism toward other white tourists they encountered. Running into other tourists at a restaurant, market, or on a train, felt like a corruption of their experience.

“Cool.” Phil said, nodding. “Have a great time.” He reinserted his earphones and turned back toward the window, feeling slightly shameful for ending the conversation so sharply.

“Where’re you guys from?” The kid shouted over the noise of the train, seemingly unaware of Phil’s snub. He was tall, and looked awkward and uncomfortable on the straight-backed wooden bench. The car wasn’t particularly full, so he had placed his giant olive drab backpack in the seat beside him and was leaning against it. He looked like a college dropout, Phil thought. Like someone on a journey of self-discovery.

“America.” Phil said loudly, this time not removing his earphones.

“I guessed that.” The kid said, smiling. “What state?”

“Colorado.” Phil responded. He hit the pause button on his iPod.

“Cool.” The kid said. He bobbed his head a few times. “I love Colorado.”

“Yeah. We do too.” Phil said. Despite his resistance, he was being sucked into a conversation. He knew the only polite thing to do was ask the kid where he was from. He looked at Amy. She was sleeping, her head against the train’s windowsill.

“How about you? Where’re you from?” He said, removing his earphones.

“Kind of all over the place.” The kid said. “But for the past couple years I’ve been teaching English in South Korea.”

This wasn’t what Phil had expected to hear. “Really?” He said. “How’s that?”

The kid leaned forward, into the aisle, his elbows on his knees. “It’s great. I’m having a good time, you know? The money’s just so-so, but, whatever, it’s temporary.”

“You’re young.” Phil said. He tried to think of something witty to follow-up with, but nothing came to him.

“So, we’re on break now.” The kid said. “Chinese new year. We get a month vacation, which is cool. Sort of a perk of the job. I was ready to get out of there for a while. It’s freezing in Seoul right now.”

Phil nodded, as if he was already aware of the weather in Korea.

“What’re you guys doing in Chiang Mai?” The kid asked.

Phil hesitated to respond. “My wife wants to take a cooking class.” He finally said. “Other than that, I don't know. Just figure it out as we go, I suppose.”

“Where you staying?” The kid said.

“I’m not sure.” Phil lied. “She’s in charge of all that.” He gestured toward Amy, still sleeping.

Actually, though Amy had been the one to find the hotel in Chiang Mai, Phil had been the one to call and make the reservation. It was called Centara something-or-other; it was downtown. Phil wasn’t exactly suspicious of the kid; he lied because he didn’t want to feel obligated. Once they were off this train, Phil hoped not to run into him again.  

“I’m staying at the Y.” The kid said. “I got a fan room for ten bucks a night.”

A woman passed between them in the aisle. She was selling small meals wrapped in cellophane; sticky rice, vegetables, sliced pink sausage. The meals were stacked inside a five-gallon bucket that she dragged behind her. As she passed, she paused briefly and said, “Teh-wanty baht. You want?” The kid waived her off with a smile. “No thanks.” He said. She continued down the aisle.

“What’s a fan room?” Phil asked, watching the woman accept a few coins from one of the Thai passengers a few seats away.

“No A.C.” The kid said. “I’m picturing a tiny, windowless room with one of those old rotating fans.” He laughed.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound fun.” Phil said.

The train was slowing, the rhythmic clang on the tracks dropping in tempo. They were approaching a station. Outside, the train had entered something like a valley, though the foliage was still dense. Phil looked out his window and could see a few cinderblock buildings rising from the green growth, as well as a gold-trimmed Buddhist temple in a clearing ahead of them. Wherever they were, it felt incredibly remote and exotic. Phil hated that Amy was missing it, but she needed the rest after having battled food poisoning back in Bangkok.  

The kid laughed to himself, and then said, “There’re no fan rooms in Korea, that’s for sure.”

Phil continued staring out the window, but said, “Yeah?”

“There’s this thing in Korea where, for some reason, everyone thinks that if you sleep with a fan on, it’ll kill you.” The kid said.  “It’s something to do with losing body heat. One of my students said his uncle tried to kill himself with a fan once.”

The kid leaned forward, craning his neck to see out Phil’s side of the train. As they came to a stop, Amy opened her eyes and stared out the window, her expression blank and sleepy. She shifted her body, tucking her feet up beneath her on the bench. She closed her eyes again and said, “Do you know where we are?”

“Nope.” Phil said. “But it’s beautiful.”

There was a shuffling of passengers. A few people getting off, a few more coming on, wandering the aisle, looking for open seats.

“Killed himself with a fan?” Phil asked, suddenly processing what the kid had said a minute earlier.

“He tried.” The kid said. “But it didn’t work, so he bought another fan. His theory, I guess, was that if one fan wouldn’t kill him, maybe a bunch would. He, like, filled up a whole room with all these oscillating fans.” The kid chuckled, thinking about it.

“Did your student say why his uncle wanted to kill himself?” Phil said.

“Um, I think it was because he had a bunch of debt or something. Maybe his wife cheated on him?” The kid said. He stood up and stretched, grabbing the luggage rack above Phil’s head and using it to steady himself as the train lurched forward. They were leaving the station.

“I’m gonna go check out the toilet on this thing. You mind watching my seat?” The kid asked.

“No problem.” Phil said.

The kid wandered off down the aisle, toward the end of the car, where two Thai teenage boys with spiked hair were standing and smoking. As the kid passed between them, he nodded at the two boys in a casual, friendly way.

“He likes to talk, huh?” Amy said, her eyes still closed, her head against the train’s window.

“Yeah.” Phil said. “He seems okay though, right?”

“I guess.” Amy said. She shifted in her seat again, allowing her feet to slide back down into the floor.

“It must be strange traveling alone like that. I bet he’s relieved to have someone to talk with.” Phil said.

“You’re nicer than me.” Amy said.

No one took the kid’s seat while he was away. When he returned he saw it was empty and said, “Thanks, man.”

“Sure. My name’s Phil, by the way.”

The kid extended his hand. “I’m Luke.” He said. The two of them shook hands.

As the train picked up speed, Phil turned toward the window. “What a beautiful place.” He said.

“Yeah, totally.” Luke said. 

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To learn more about Fan Death, read the original Wikipedia article HERE. Or, for a another opinion, read the article HERE.