Amree’s sandals were one size too small. His toes ballooned and the heel strap chaffed. They stretched when wet so he’d quickly dunk them in the swimming pool before he’d wipe down the white plastic sun lounges, put the towels out and fish the leaves out of the pool.

He liked the first hour of work. Dark, cool and quiet. The resort guests were asleep and the scent of frangipani hung heavy in the air. He wondered why they planted the trees close to the pool’s edge. The small fish-shaped leaves fell in to the water day and night and clogged the filter. No sooner had he cleared the pool and deck of leaves, then he’d have to do it again under the hot afternoon sun, his white shirt and long black shorts soaked with sweat. Don’t wonder his mother said. It’s a job.

Malai sold baseball caps with images of elephants on them in the resort foyer. The foreigners couldn’t pronounce her name so her breast badge said ‘Fiona’. She was two years younger than Amree and three years out of school. She raised money to help an elephant reserve in Thailand’s north. She looked part Khmer with her round cheeks and almond eyes. A white satin ribbon gathered her long black hair. Malai spent much of her day smiling. The elephant on her white t-shirt held an old fashioned telephone to a large ear and said, “I want to make a trunk call.” None of her co-workers understood the anachronism.

Malai wasn’t allowed in the pool area and Amree wasn’t allowed in the foyer. He fantasied as he raked and pruned, they’d swim together naked in the pool at midnight, long after the pool attendants and tourists had gone. They’d solve the riddle of elephant consciousness and talk at universities across the world but no matter where they went, they always ended up in bed. He tried not to look obvious as he stole glances of her through the large smoked-glass windows. Her older brother, who was twice the size of Amree, picked her up on a motorbike outside the resort when she finished work.

Amree’s raking sometimes disturbed an old monitor lizard resting amongst the undergrowth. Mr Addams was two metres long and lived in the klongs. He climbed out of the Chao Phraya river and spent the night snacking on discarded potato chips and half eaten sandwiches. At first light he would slowly make his way back to the river past the spa and wellness centre. The white women gave him a wide berth. Amree liked Mr Addams and threw him pieces of fish from his lunchbox.

During his meditations on Malai, he built perfect geometric shapes out of leaves: hexagons, pentagons, Buddhist prayer wheels and then elephants, birds and lizards. He flicked his wrist to slot each leaf into place. Totems of love. The tourists took photographs and said he was so talented, an artist. He smiled and bowed with his hands together and eyes on the ground, as some of the young women were almost naked, their genitalia barely covered. His boss, ever alert to pleasing management, said he could create animal shapes from the bushes near the bar. Amree smiled and bowed.

The Bangkok Post ran a photo story on his leaf and bush sculptures. Had Malai seen the story? The resort CEO shook his hand and he was appointed deputy head gardener with a little more pay and longer hours.

It was just after 3.00am and the full moon was at its zenith, as Mr Addams slowly made his way across a small teak bridge and around the pool bar. Just up river, a slight zephyr blew under the Krung Thep Bridge. A half empty pack of potato chips was quickly eaten, followed by a discarded piece of sashimi. The leaf and bush sculptures glowed in the darkness. Mr Addams walked to the pool’s edge and looked at his reflection in the moonlight. His tongue flicked around his mouth and then froze.

The leaf and bush sculptures turned silver and luminescent green and shimmied until the poolside was alive with spiralling and twisting geometric shapes turning in the air and behind them, a menagerie of leaf animals stood on their hind legs and slowly rose to the moon, as if lifted by ghostly hands. They moved over the river and chased each other, then as a cloud passed over the moon, returned to the garden and took their earthly shape. Mr Addams rolled his eyes back and made for the river.

Two months passed and his boss handed him a black elephant cap. Malai’s mother was sick in Chiang Mai. She had quit to look after her and she wanted him to have the cap. On the front was a bright silver logo of an elephant surrounded by the words stitched in black thread: ‘Let’s paint a brighter future!’ Malai thanked his boss, bowed and asked if he could be excused for the day as he was not well. He caught a river taxi to the Reclining Buddha, walked past the tourists and sat alone in a corner and stared at the elephant cap. There was no way to contact her. He didn’t know her last name. He was a fool to think Malai would care for him, an ignorant gardener.

Two American women in their 40s were arguing how much to put in the perspex charity box. It had to be more than 100 baht, the blonde woman said opening up her bumbag. After all, the Buddha’s made of gold. Amree looked at the women then saw on the inside of the cap, near the maker’s label in small, delicate writing, no more than two millimetres high, was Malai’s cell number. He walked past the American women, stopped, turned back and said the standard donation was 5000 baht – per person. The women looked relieved. At last, local knowledge.

He caught the ferry to Tha Tian Pier and made his way down Thai Wang Alley to the park. Children were playing by the lake. He turned on his cell phone and Mr Addams’ image appeared on the screensaver. He took the elephant cap off and raised his finger over the number pad.