Salijanta

“Do you know, Ms. Lee, if we compare women to colors, pink would represent a sweet woman, a cheerful and joyful woman would be like bright yellow, and an optimistic woman would be like bright blue.”
Salijanta shook her head. He was discussing colors and women with her—it was more like pouring water on a tree stump. She wasn’t sensitive enough to find such things interesting, but for the sake of the fried rice he’d given her, she’d listen. The young woman rested her chin on her hand, loosely gripping the spoon, and nodded in acknowledgment.
Phatthalung rested his chin on his hand, looked at Salijanta, and smiled even wider.
“But a woman like you, Ms. Lee, I think belongs in the group of ‘khaki green’ women… I think you suit that color.”
The older man, who had been so open-minded as to listen to the child’s nonsense, immediately raised an eyebrow, responding coldly,
“Oh.”
“A deep khaki green.”
“Are you saying I’m old?”
The fried rice started to feel hard to swallow, a strange irritation in her throat. Salijanta reached for the glass of water and brought it to her lips.
Phatthalung laughed, waving his hand, still stained with black engine oil on his sleeve.
“No, not at all. Even if you were really old, Ms. Lee…” “But the reason I said olive green suits you is because I like olive green… I really, really like it.”

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