Everyone Here Is Lying by Steven Bays

In 1931, a week after my 11th birthday, Father asked me to join him and Mother in the parlor. Sitting on a sofa, she held one of her lace hankies close to

her face, dabbing at her eyes. I knew something was wrong. She smiled at me and patted the space beside her as a tear ran down her cheek. I went over,

plopped onto the sofa, and leaned against her. I cast my gaze down at the empty spot on the sofa next to me, rubbing my finger across the velvet material,

raising the knap, then flattening it. Whatever Father had to say, I didn’t want to hear it.  

In a firm voice, he said, “Jonas, please pay attention.”  

I folded my hands in my lap and waited. 

He sat across from us in an old leather-bound chair. He lit his pipe and spoke between taking puffs of tobacco.  

“I’ve been appointed the U.S. Ambassador to Siam,” he said.

He stopped as if waiting for some reaction from me. I didn’t know a thing about Siam, or even where it was. I stayed silent and exchanged glances with

Mother, who squeezed me. She kissed me on the side of my face, near my temple. When she pulled away from me, her head brushed against my mask and

pushed it out of place. I grabbed it before it came completely off.   

“It’s all right, Jonas, you don’t have to wear it in the house,” she said.

“I want to keep it on.” I was too self-conscious to remove it. “Where’s Siam ?” 

“It's very far away.” 

Moving didn’t bother me that much since I had no friends. The hardest part of leaving was not being allowed to take my dog. Father said it was

impossible. Mother found a home for him with a boy my age. I wanted to meet him, but Mother didn’t think it was a good idea.

I broke out a map of the world, but I couldn’t find Siam and asked Father where it was.  

“There,” he pointed to it on the map. “We begin our journey here,” he said putting his finger on New York. “A steamer will take us to London. From there,

his finger moved over the map. “We fly across Europe, and after a few stops here, here, and here.”

He pointed to places I had never heard of. 

“We arrive in Bangkok.”

I was terrified. I couldn’t imagine which was worse, traveling by boat or flying.

“It’s sounds like it will take forever to get there.”

“No, no, not forever. At most twenty-two days.”

*

The night before we left, I hardly slept. A mixture of apprehension and excitement kept me awake. We stayed in London for a day, and I liked it there. It

was funny how people talked, and the way they drove on the wrong side of the street. 

At the airport, the airplane looked too small for the big trip ahead of us, and once inside, it looked even smaller. I took my seat and tried to ignore the

other passengers who stared at me as they walked by. When we took off, I couldn’t help but look out the window as the scenery under me drifted away as

we climbed higher. My excitement turned into a nightmare with all the refueling stops, each one making me sick. I tried to occupy my mind by thinking

about the people below me and what they might be doing. It didn’t help. Father was wrong. The trip did take forever. 

Twenty days after leaving New York, we landed in Siam. My knickers were loose because of all the weight I’d lost from throwing up. It was another two

hours by car to our new home. By the time we arrived, I was exhausted and slept for hours. 

We settled into our new home on the outskirts of Bangkok. It had a big yard surrounding the house, with more rooms than we needed. Before our arrival,

Mother had arranged for all the mirrors to be removed. We never had mirrors in any of our homes anyway. The aroma of a street vendor, cooking just down

the road from our house, drifted into our windows. We heard the soft chanting of monks from a nearby Buddhist temple. Mother would sit on the veranda

and watch the locals work the rice fields. She came to enjoy harvest time when an earthy odor and a mildly sweet overtone filled the air. Mother found it

comforting, a respite from being far from home. Leaving friends, family, and the social life she knew did not come easy. Then there was the culture. And the

food. She grew to tolerate Siamese cuisine, and Father liked it from the start. On the other hand, I detested it. I missed my hot dogs slathered with mustard,

milkshakes, and most of all, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Other than the food, I didn’t miss America at all.

Soon after arriving, I overheard my parents discussing my education. 

Mother said, “I’m afraid any school we enroll him in, even a private one, Jonas will be subjected to the same taunting and bullying he experienced back

home.”  

“We’ll hire a tutor, like we always do,” Father responded. 

Everyone they interviewed reacted the same way. Although they were warned about my mask, they turned down the position. 

Father heard about a local tutor, a woman named Chantara, and invited her over. When she arrived, I hid behind the large doors to the parlor and

eavesdropped. After an exchange of questions between the tutor and Mother, Father brought up the mask. 

“What’s the matter with the boy?” Chantara asked.

Mother replied, “He was born with a facial deformity. The mask makes it easier when he’s in public or with strangers. He still draws stares, but people are

not as cruel.”

“May I meet your son?” Chantara asked.

I waited a moment after Mother called out to me, so they wouldn’t realize that the entire time they were talking, I was behind the door. I entered the

room, apprehensive about the woman’s reaction. To my surprise, she smiled and wasn’t put off by my mask.

“Hello Jonas. I’m Chantara. I’d love to work with you.”

I didn’t know what to say except “Hello, ma'am.” I was always polite to people. It made them a little more at ease in my presence. 

“Would you mind if I could speak to Jonas in private?” she asked my parents.

Mother and Father both said yes and closed the doors behind them as they left.

Chantara proceeded to ask me how many planets there were and to name them. Next, she asked what I knew of the Great War. I answered her

questions correctly and thought this test of hers was over when she took out a pad and pencil and wrote out a math problem. I looked at it, scratched my

head, and said, “Sorry, I ain’t so good at math.”

She called my parents back and said, “I’ll take the position if you’ll have me.”

My parents hired her.  I was glad, because I liked her.

*

My lessons proceeded well, and Chantara, along with my parents, was pleased with my progress. Summer would soon be upon us, and my parents

wanted me to continue working with her. 

“Unfortunately, I am going away,” she informed us. “I won't be back ‘till the fall.” 

I was disappointed because there wasn’t much to occupy my time except for my tutor and her lessons. She had become my only friend. 

“I will leave reading assignments for Jonas, and I have arranged for him to perform an errand to help occupy his time. That is, if you approve.”

  I was curious but apprehensive. 

Chantara explained. “Mr. Royce, a wealthy, blind American, lives nearby. Jonas will go to the local kiosk, buy the American newspaper bring it to Mr.

Royce, and read it to him.”

“I don’t know,” Mother said. “He doesn’t do well with strangers.” 

  “I've spoken to Mr. Royce about the mask, and he has assured me that the staff at the house will be warned, and no one will say a word or stare at him.”

The idea terrified me, but Mother and Father were eventually convinced that getting out into the world would benefit me.  

*

On my first day, I went to the local kiosk. One I visited frequently with Mother and purchased the newspaper. The man who worked there stared at me.

He took my money using two fingers, without coming into contact with my skin. The change he owed me; he dropped into my palm. 

“Where is mother?” he said in broken English.

I didn’t answer. It was none of his business.

  Mr. Royce’s house was close enough for me to walk to, but a bit isolated off the main road.  When I arrived, a woman answered the door and, without

asking who I was or what I wanted, asked me to follow her. We passed housekeepers, gardeners, and others who ignored me. The woman escorted me to a

garden filled with beautiful orchards and the scent of jasmine. An elderly gentleman sat in a plush rattan chair, under a pergola, smoking a cigar. 

“Le jeune garçon est la,” the woman said and left us.  

The man held out his arm, and I put the paper in his open palm.

“No, no, no,” he grunted in a loud voice. “Give me your hand,” he said, extending his.

His grasp was strong, and with his free hand, he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me closer. Mr. Royce squeezed my shoulders and arms. Then

he tousled my hair and very gently ran one finger down my brow, until he touched the mask. At that point, he stopped. 

  “Have a seat, boy.”  

I sat in a rattan chair with an overstuffed pillow.

“Hello, sir. I’m Jonas.” 

“I know who you are, and I know all about you. There’s no need for that mask. I’m blind, remember? And the staff will dare not stare at you.”

My mask was always on whenever I went outside or when we had visitors. I apologized and said, “I prefer to keep it on. What happened to you?”

“An accident. A stupid accident caused my injury. Tell me, do you like it here in Siam?”

“Not really.” 

“This place will grow on you. The people here are very considerate, not like the Europeans, or God forgive, the Americans. I’ve been here a very long time.

Let's get down to the matter at hand. You have a newspaper, I assume. Tell me, what’s the date on it?” 

I scanned the front page and couldn’t find one. 

  “Look in the upper left-hand corner.”

“Thursday, July fifth, nineteen – 

He cut me off. “So, that paper took four weeks to arrive from New York. We have old information, boy, but we’ll make do with what we can. Read a bit for

me. Start with the lead story. There in the upper right-hand corner.”

I started reading and immediately came across a big word, one I’d never seen before. I tried to pronounce it. “Ad, min, hu,stray-shun?” I mumbled.

“Go on, continue.”

He tolerated my attempt to read more of the paper but stopped me after a while. It’s just as well—it bored me to death. He instructed me to go to the

last few pages of the paper and look for the obituaries. That was a new word for me, but I didn’t ask what it meant. To my delight, it was spelled out across

the top of the page. There were pictures of people with their names written underneath.

“Found it? All right. Read the first name.”

I realized the people on this page were all dead. Why the interest in dead people, I wondered? I read the names and after everyone, he shook his head

slightly. 

We were interrupted by a man who came by with two tall glasses filled with cold tea.  He wore cloth-like trousers wrapped around his waist and tucked

between his legs.  I gulped mine. Mr. Royce drank some, then with his outstretched hand, he placed the glass, now half-empty, down on a small table next

to him. I thought it was pretty neat for a blind man. He thanked the servant and turned his attention to me.

“Go on. What’s the next one?”

This continued until I read them all.  

“Is that it?” he asked.

“Yes sir. That’s all.”

“Very well. That’s enough for today. “I’ll have one of the men drive you home. Come back tomorrow. You did just fine.”   

*

It was during the ride that my curiosity began to eat at me.  It looked like most of the staff knew some English or French. Some not very well, but good

enough to communicate with Mr. Royce. So, I wondered, why did he need me? I asked the driver, who said that although most of the staff could speak

English rather well, none could read.  The driver left me at my doorstep, pressing a plain envelope into my hand—inside, a single American dollar.

Back home, Mother asked, “How was your first day?”

“Boring. I don’t want to go back.”

“Mr. Royce called. He’s looking forward to your visit tomorrow. You can’t let him down now, can you?”

  In my room, I sulked. When can I decide what to do? 

*

This routine continued for several days. I couldn’t see the point of it. I wished he would grow tired of my struggling to read and ask me not to come

anymore. There were a few times I came across a name in the obituaries that he recognized. He would give me a long explanation of who the person was,

and how he knew them. Then he would ask me to continue.

One day, I read the news for what seemed like hours when he said,

“Okay, that’s enough. It’s getting tiresome. Let's see who finally made the papers.”

“Sir?”

“The dead, my boy. Let’s see who kicked the bucket. The obits. Read me the obit’s.”

I scanned the names, wondering if only special people were included.  

“What are you waiting for? Get on with it,” he growled.

I read a few names, and he didn’t say a word. The next name, a woman’s caught his attention.  

Stop.” He paused. “Who’s that again?” 

I repeated the name.  “Celine Legrande.” 

“My, my. The damn bitch croaked.”

“Sir? Did you know her?”

“Know her? I used to, never mind. What’s it’s say under her name?”

I read out loud. 

“Celine Legrande, age 66, died after a brief illness. A divorcee, she left no issues.  She is survived by her sister Marie and a nephew. According to her

wishes, no funeral or viewing will be held. She will be cremated, and her ashes scattered in Times Square, in her adopted city of New York. Celine wants it

known that she died as a result of being stubborn and raising hell for more than five decades. She enjoyed alcohol, gambling, and younger men until the day

she died.”

“Sir,” I asked. “She sounds strange.”

“Oh, but you haven’t heard the best of it yet.” He puffed on a cigar and settled back in his chair. “My boy, do I have a story for you, that is, if you’re

interested?”

I had the impression that nothing would stop him. Besides, I’d rather hear his story than read the paper. I said yes.   

And so, he began.     

“Celine and her sister Marie were two beautiful young women originally from France. I don’t remember how they ended up living in Siam, but that is

irrelevant. They lost their parents at a young age and did whatever needed to be done to survive, from begging, stealing, or working in unsavory

occupations. 

As they grew older, they took honest jobs. When the need arose, they ran scams, deceiving people, and taking their money.  Celine, the older of the two,

she met a man from a wealthy family, named Raymond, to whom she eventually married. Both sisters worked at the casino. Celine was a card dealer. She

knew a nifty bit of sleight of hand.” 

“Sir,” I said, interrupting him. “What’s sleight of hand?” 

“I guess you could call it tricks with cards, like magic. I’ll try to keep it simple, okay? Now let me continue.”  

He puffed on his cigar and resumed his story.

“Marie worked as a housekeeper. By having access to the guest rooms, she could search their belongings and learn their hidden secrets. They were paid a

small salary but made up for it with generous tips. But getting to know the gamblers at the casino allowed them to learn the habits of wealthy people,

expose their weaknesses, and make it easy to fool them. 

Marie was inside one of the more expensive suites, one occupied by a gentleman named Adisorn. While straightening out, she came across a letter from

the Queen of Siam addressed to ‘Dear Cousin,’ complaining that supporting him much longer would be difficult. Her letter also said he may have to move

out of her house. Marie found a racing program with Adisorn’s name and picture on it. A horse he owned, Excalibur, a big black stallion with a jagged white

mark on its snout was included.  

Adisorn returned to his room unexpectedly and found Marie going through his things and became enraged. He struck her and threatened to have her

fired. Marie begged him not to say anything. He asked her if there was anything she’d be willing to do to earn his silence.  She believed the question to be

suggestive and spat at him.”

I wanted to know what he meant by suggestive, but I hesitated.   

“Marie made for the door, but he grabbed her by the hair. Adisorn slapped her and twisted her arm.  He had his way with her. Once he finished satisfying

his carnal desires, Adisorn threw her out of his room.”

“Excuse me, sir, what is carnal desire?”

Oh boy,” he said. “How do I explain that? Let me think a moment.” With one hand, Mr. Royce held a glass of iced tea. With the other, he reached for a dish

on the table next to him and almost knocked it over before grabbing a fistful of peanuts. One at a time, he placed a peanut in his mouth and chewed it

slowly. He took his time, and once he finished eating a few, he said. “He violated her.” Then he took a long drink from his glass.  

I had no idea what any of that meant. My eyes squinted, and my jaw dropped. 

He sensed my confusion and said, “I’d rather not explain that to you. Do me a favor. Not a word to your parents.”

“Marie confided in her sister Celine, who, in a fit of fury, wanted to kill Adisorn. Marie wanted to go to the authorities, but Raymond, her fiancé, said they

wouldn’t arrest someone related to the royal family. He suggested a different idea, that they humiliate him and hurt him financially. Raymond asked if they

knew much about him. Celine said he was in the casino frequently and enjoyed gabling. They decided to scam him at cards. Celine would be a major player

since she worked as a dealer. She knew various ways to cheat, from the art of the false shuffle to dealing from the bottom of the deck and even palming a

card.”

“What does palming a card mean?” I asked him.

“It’s another way of cheating. The dealer hides a card in the palm of their hand. One evening, Raymond went to the casino wearing a dark suit, a white

shirt, and a blue ascot. There were many people, mostly foreigners, in the gaming room. Clouds of cigarette smoke filled the air. Spinning roulette wheels,

people yelling, some in encouragement, others groaning from losing, could be heard. Loudest of all were the cheers of joy from those who were winning. It

was difficult to hear anyone speak. Scantily clad waitresses snaked their way through the throng of gamblers, holding trays with drinks. 

Marie pointed out Adisorn from amongst the gamblers and left. Raymond sat next to him at a blackjack table and asked a waitress for a glass of red wine.  

Raymond placed a large amount of chips on the table and watched with anticipation as the cards were dealt. He lost and laughed it off. Once again, he

made a large wager and lost. It was in his third game that he won and praised his good fortune. His winning streak continued. Raymond ignored Adisorn,

who seemed to be having a string of bad luck. 

Adisorn gathered his chips, stood, and turned to leave. Raymond rose at the same time while holding his glass of wine. Adisorn, through no fault of his

own, collided with him. The red wine spilled all over Raymond's chest. 

Adisorn apologized profusely for the accident and wiped Raymond's white shirt with a handkerchief. Raymond tried to stop him, but Adisorn wouldn’t

hear of it. When Raymond said he couldn’t stay in the casino with a large stain on his shirt, Adisorn invited him to his room, where he could have one of his.

Raymond accepted the offer.

Back at the casino, Adisorn went on a winning streak, and being the superstitious type, believed Raymond brought him good luck. Raymond showered

him with compliments and stayed with him until late that evening. Adisorn didn’t want his new friend to go home, and only when Raymond agreed to meet

him again did Adisorn let him leave. 

They next night they resumed their gambling, this time playing Pok Deng.” 

“What’s Pok Deng?” I asked, interrupting him. 

  “A card game. Very popular here. It’s like three-card poker. I guess you don’t know what I’m talking about. Right? Well, you’ll learn. Now, where was I?"

“They were playing Pok Deng.”

“Oh yes. They went to a table where Celine was the dealer. Raymond bought several rounds of rum and encouraged Adisorn to drink. Adisorn won

several hands, and confident his luck would continue, placed his chips on the table.  Celine made quick eye contact with Raymond, who gave her a slight

nod. She collected the cards from all the players and with a magician’s grace, stacked the deck.”

‍ ‍“Wait,” I said. “Stop, what’s that mean?”

“Stacked the deck? It’s another way of cheating.”

“Couldn’t they tell she was cheating?” I asked. 

Lines crossed Mr. Royce’s brow. He sighed. “No, dear boy. Celine was very good at what she did. Listen.”

With the deck stacked in her favor, Celine dealt two cards to everyone and paused. Her eyes went around the table. To the players not involved in her

scheme, she dealt from the top, but when it came to Adisorn, she curled a finger under the deck and discreetly gave him one from the bottom. Celine took

a card for herself, also from the bottom, and won the hand. Adisorn cursed under his breath and frowned in disappointment.   

“On the next game, Celine stacked the deck again. The players placed their bets. Adisorn, wobbly now from drinking too much, made a large wager.

Raymond laid a few chips on the table and watched Celine pretend to shuffle the deck.  

Celine dealt the hand while Adisorn watched with anticipation. All the players at the table, including Adisorn, asked for another card, and Celine gave

them one. As  previously, she  gave him a card from the bottom.  She took one for herself, from the bottom as well, and won the hand. Adisorn cursed out

loud.

‍ ‍Their gambling continued, and Adisorn, who was on a losing streak, bet more, and more chips to make up for his losses. At one point, slurring his words,

Adisorn touched Raymond on the arm and whispered if he could borrow some money. 

Raymond agreed to a loan but asked for collateral. Adisorn said that the Queen was his second cousin, and collateral wasn’t necessary.  Raymond

disagreed, saying he hardly knew him, and insisted. Adisorn considered the request insulting. He took his glass of rum and drank it all. He offered up his

house as co-lla-te-ral, slowly enunciating the word as if mocking Raymond.

Raymond didn’t let on that he knew the house belonged to the Queen. He refused the offer, saying it was worth much more than the loan. Raymond said

he knew Adisorn owned a racehorse and suggested he use that instead. Adisorn agreed, and together they went to a cashier's window where Raymond

withdrew the cash, then asked to put the agreement in writing. Adisorn grew angry, but when Raymond threatened to withhold the loan. Adisorn agreed.

They found paper and pen and committed the arrangement to ink. 

‍ ‍Adisorn converted the cash into chips and led Raymond past the table where Celine worked as the dealer, to another where Pok Deng was also played.

Raymond expected that this might happen and had taken precautions. 

They resumed gambling but after a few hands, Adisorn noticed someone trying to squeeze between him and another player. He recognized the woman.

It was Marie. Adisorn turned white. Marie held a cigarette in her fingers and asked him for a light. Adisorn lit her cigarette without saying a word. Marie

thanked him and said he looked familiar. She asked if they knew each other. Not in the Biblical sense, but from some social endeavor? A man next to Marie

overheard and laughed.”

“Wait. Stop. What was that about Biblical?”

“Oh my. How do I explain that? Let's see.

Mr. Royce lit another cigar and puffed on it. 

“In the Biblical sense. Yes, that’s a tough one. It’s another way of saying fornicating. That doesn’t help, does it? Never mind. You’re too young. Your

parents wouldn’t like me to explain that to you anyway. Someday, you’ll understand.”

He continued. 

“Adisorn’s denied knowing the woman. He complained to Raymond that the table had bad karma, and they should move on. 

They returned to Celine’s table where Adisorn won several hands. His mood improved. He believed his luck had changed and now quite drunk now, placed

all his chips on the table. Surprised, Raymond winked at Celine. 

Celine collected the cards and, using her sleight of hand, moved several to the bottom of the deck. She dealt the first two cards. Everyone looked at her

with anticipation. Celine gave the final card to all the players, except Adisorn. With skill and determination, she drew from the bottom of the deck, first to

Adisorn, then another one from the bottom for herself. It was the winning card. Adisorn, and a few other players groaned at losing.  

He shouted that the game was rigged, the King would hear of this. Drunk, he threw his glass against the wall, and rum splashed on some guests. A

woman screamed as blood dripped from a cut on her forehead. 

Two large men in dark suits ran over and grabbed Adisorn. He protested and continued yelling as they dragged him out of the casino. They leaned him

against the side of the building and told him he was barred from returning. Raymond put him in a cab, drunk and distraught, and sent him home.  

News of Adisorn’s behavior reached his cousin, the Queen. He begged her to pay the debt, but she refused. Embarrassed at the shame he brought to the

family; she gave him notice to move out of her house. When Raymond went to take possession of the horse, Adisorn wept as Raymond loaded Excalibur

into a trailer.”

“Monsieur?” a young Siamese man interrupted Mr. Royce. “The boy's parents. They say it is time for him to come home.”

“No, I don’t want to leave. What happened.?”  

Mr. Royce shook his head. “You'd better run along. Come back tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow. What happened?”

“Well, truth is, there’s not much more to tell. Rejected by his family, Adisorn moved away. Marie gave birth to his son. Raymond kept the horse, and

married Celine. What he saw in her, God only knows. We’ll never know how a refined gentleman could marry a woman with such a questionable past. No

children were born to them, and their marriage didn’t last long. Celine left Raymond for someone else. At first I…I mean.”

Mr. Royce wiped away a tear running down his cheek. “Raymond, took it badly, but he eventually got over her rejection.”

Satisfied, I said, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”   

“You can stop by anytime, my young friend,” he said.

I got up to leave when I heard the clip-clop of a horse. About twenty yards away or so, appeared a black stallion with a distinctive white mark on its snout,

led by a stable hand. 

I looked at him in amazement. “Wow,” I said softly. He was beautiful.

Mr. Royce put his fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. The horse came over and rubbed its face against his. “Would you like to ride my horse?”

I’d never ridden before, but said, “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

My heartbeat strongly in anticipation. The handler helped me mount the horse, adjusted the stirrups, and showed me how to hold the reins. He patted

the horse on the rump, and the horse slowly walked, its movement causing me to sway back and forth. This was too easy. I wanted to go faster and dug my

heels into his flanks. He broke into a trot.  It was exhilarating. ‘Faster, faster,’ I yelled. Between being bounced around by the horse and laughing so hard, my

mask fell off.  I pulled on the reins, and the horse stopped. A pretty girl on the side of the road smiled at me and picked it up. She stretched her arm out to

hand it to me. As I leaned over to retrieve the mask, she gently stroked her hand across my cheek and said, "Why hide such a pretty face?"

Steven Bays has written fiction that has appeared in Shooter Flash, Mocking Owl Roost, Waxing and Waning, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, and other online publications. Steve was born in Greece but raised in Brookly N.Y. He is retired now, and currently lives in Pennsylvania where he enjoys long walks, listening to music, and working out at the gym. Steve also plays guitar in a Rock and Roll cover band. His Facebook page can be found at https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61555707526183.