Sometimes Lakshmi O’Lochan would close her eyes to see better. She would do so when, for no particular reason, a pressing urge would suck her attention inside. She felt a pleasant relaxation in her chest, a slow rise of expectation and the protection of an invisible presence softly embracing her. She took a deep breath and exited the subway train. The rush-hour traffic of Bangkok was deafening. She braved the motorcycles zigzagging through the congested traffic and took a cab to her destination on Soi Settabhut where, in a meeting arranged by her cousin, a Thai businessman not previously known to her, would take her out to see the famous Chatuchak market.

A gardener opened the door, and she was greeted by the barking of an agile, miniature pincher that sniffed at her, and satisfied that she’d passed muster, became immediately and exuberantly friendly. Lakshmi followed the dog, which stopped now and then and looked back to ensure she was still following. The bamboo screen along the alley provided a refreshing canopy to a garden of respectable size by Bangkok standards. The lawn was shaded by a variety of palm trees of differing shapes and sizes. Begonias and orchids added a colorful charm to this secluded place. The ancient house, miraculously spared from the recent real estate boom, was built on two floors with large wooden terraces. It was of a traditional, light Thai structure with the basement in stone and the upper floors in teak. A large mango tree, whose generous shade was much appreciated during the summer months, flanked the entrance.

Her host appeared, and in a quiet voice said, “Putzi, calm down.” The dog responded immediately and stopped his playful pranks. Her host, a handsome man with finely chiseled traits, fair skin, soft eyes and a pleasant smoothness that exuded discrete distinction greeted Lakshmi. There was a familiar air about him, a sense of déjà vu. He welcomed her with an engaging grin.