A hazy dawn lifts itself from the waters of the Chao Phraya River. Shimmering black waves break up against the wooden planks of a long tail boat. This boat, a sampan, tugs quietly at a rope connecting it to the crooked steps of a hut standing in the water.
Grandfather Noi bent thin with age, with white hair and tanned skin, emerges from the hut's doorway. His careful feet brace the sodden steps ending directly in front of the dark waters.
He is once again leaving for work. He must hurry before the canals flood with the noise of people selling their wares in the floating market.
Stepping into his boat, Noi ties a washcloth tightly around his waist and wonders whether his grandson, Kroekrit, will play with the neighborhood children today.
Noi smiles thinking of Kroekrit and pushes himself and his boat away from the stairs.
Kroekrit is such an odd child—he is satisfied with being alone all day while Noi sells his fruits and vegetables on the waters.
Kroekrit isn't a lazy child though. After sweeping their modest one-room home with a twig broom and washing their dishes in the river, Kroekrit patiently sits and draws with a crumbling stick of charcoal. His pictures, although they are drawn on soiled cardboard, are so breathtaking that Noi can never tell the boy that he doesn't believe anyone should expect to make a living as an artist.
Instead, the old man searches the river and its sandy banks for cardboard and colorful scraps of paper that might add to Kroekrit's art.
Noi worries about his grandson's future.
Of course, the boy could take over his grandfather's network of river buyers. He could make a small living.
But the boy deserves more.
Next year, Noi promises himself, he will place Kroekrit with the Buddhist monks at the famous Wat Traimit, the Temple of the Golden Buddha. There, the old man thinks, Kroekrit could put his gift of art and seriousness to good use.
The sun beats the air. The medley of smoke and food overwhelms Noi. He winces and pushes his boat in between the slow, hump-backed sand barges from the up-country. He raises his head and calls, "Fruits! Vegetables! Fruits! Vegetables!"
An old woman barks from behind the reed roof of an approaching barge. A swarm of dirty-faced children shifts the barge's weight towards Noi.
Noi settles his boat along the side of the tipping barge and smiles at the children's eager faces. He waits for the woman to show herself.
"Shoo, shoo," hisses the old woman. She motions the children away from the edge of the barge.
Noi lowers his head in respect as the woman smooths back her stray silver hairs. Noi says, "I have fresh heads of cabbage and ...."
The old woman leans forward and peers into the skiff and says, "New! That is too expensive." She wrinkles her forehead and scans the length of the boat. "I will have just rice. That is all I have money for."
She turns and growls at the children. They scatter back into the safety of the barge's cover.
A grin spreads across the old woman's wrinkled face. "Those are grandchildren. Their father has not come back from his work in the city."
Noi bobs his head in respect as he weighs out the rice and listens to the old woman recount her misfortunes on the river. He glances over to the far end of the barge and sees a young woman staring back at him.
This must be the children's mother, Noi thinks.
The young woman raises her brows with hope when Noi looks at her. She lifts her clasped hands and offers a small blue jar to Noi.