Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

No one ever used Crawford’s given name, either. When they arrived together at the Pramane Ground, a large open space just north of the Grand Palace, she heard several men calling out, “Crawford!” He waved each time but did not stop, walking through the gathering crowd of spectators with Madame Wu at his side, striding purposefully, like the champion he was.

The Pramane Ground was used regularly for events as diverse as weekend markets and royal cremations, and every May the king himself inaugurated the planting season by sponsoring a ploughing ceremony on the site. But on these spring evenings when the south wind blew strong and free it was given over to the kite fights.

Madame Wu could not remember now the sequence of events that had propelled Crawford to the forefront in the sport. It had started in a bar, certainly, as had so many events in her life. A drunken challenge, a large bet made in haste, and then they had gone across to the open space by the palace. She remembered only one thing about that first evening. She had tugged at Crawford’s sleeve and pointed across the street and said, “There is where Anna’s second house stood, when she was governess for the king’s children.”

The battle in the sky was waged between two kites — a five-foot-long “male” kite in the shape of a star with a thick barbed string, and a much smaller “female” kite with a thin unbarbed string but a long tail able to ensnare the points of the star kite. The star kite could tangle or cut the smaller kite’s string with its barbed cord and win, or it could lose the battle by being dragged to the ground by the smaller kite.

That first evening, Crawford flew a small kite, and he took naturally to the sport, maneuvering his kite so skillfully that the star kite was pulled ignominiously to the ground. But in the years that followed he had become an expert at flying both types. Whenever there was a challenger with money to bet, Crawford took him on. Now he mainly flew the larger star kites, often cutting through an opponent’s string in a matter of minutes.

On this night, in a contest important enough for Madame Wu to have freed nine eels, Crawford was being challenged by a Pakistani youth who’d built a solid reputation in the sport since his recent arrival in Bangkok. Already she could see that the betting was heavy, and Crawford himself had wagered a large amount of cash on the outcome. Spectators were lining up, waving tight wads of money.

“Will you win?” she asked him, experiencing an uncharacteristic twinge of doubt.

He glanced around at the faces in the crowd, as he always did. “Why not? You freed your eels, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then I’ll win,” he said with a smile. “It is written in the heavens.”

“You make fun of me now.”

“After so many years? I would be a fool!”

She’d asked him once, years ago, why he always studied the faces in the crowd so carefully. “Because,” he had replied, “someday someone will come to kill me.” His answer had terrified her, and all that night she’d lain awake sobbing, unable to accept even the remote possibility of his death. She’d never asked him the question again, though he still gazed out at the gathering crowds each evening before a kite fight as if anticipating some danger that never arrived.

This evening the south wind was perfect, and the young Pakistani launched his kite easily while the crowd cheered. Many of them came, Madame Wu realized, hoping to see the American defeated. She’d told Crawford that once, but he didn’t seem to mind. It only made the bets against him larger and increased his own winnings.

Now, gauging the wind by the movement of his opponent’s kite, he released his own star kite and ran with the heavy barbed string until he could position it for the attack. For several minutes the rival kites maneuvered close to one another. Then the smaller kite managed to snare Crawford’s star with its long tail. Madame Wu drew a sharp breath and waited while Crawford yanked his barbed string again and again. He had to get free quickly, before he could be dragged to earth.

Madame Wu thought of her eels flashing free through the lily-covered waters of the canal.

Then Crawford gave a final jerk to his kite string and the crowd cheered. He was free. Even those who had wagered against him applauded his skill. Madame Wu wanted to add her praise but she knew better than to speak to him during a match. There would be plenty of time to replay the details back at their apartment over the curio shop while he relaxed with a pipe.

Now there was still the match to be won. Crawford released more of his barbed string, and let the star kite climb gently with an updraft. His kite was positioned well above the challenger, in a near classic posture for attack. The heavy barbed string moved in, but the Pakistani still had a few tricks left. He sent his smaller kite into several dipping spins, bringing it almost to the ground, each time managing to avoid the cutting barbs.