“Someone’s probably holding on to them for you. They’ll bring them back in a bit. Just sit down and wait.”
A couple of minutes later, Dum carried the two bags into the store, put them down next to Kampol, bought a pack of cigarettes, and left for home. A long succession of other people came in to do their shopping, and each one seemed to ask Kampol, “Your papa’s not back?” Kampol gave no answer, but the grown-ups didn’t press him to say any more. They had started getting used to the Kampol situation, and it was losing its novelty. But that wasn’t the case among the kids, some of whom were his classmates. It was Saturday and the kids were home, so his friends shared gossip from school with him. Kampol had a dance partner he’d been rehearsing with for weeks. The day before had been the day of the school fair, but Kampol hadn’t gone to school.
“She was right in the front. But when she found out you weren’t coming, she refused to dance. She wanted to get off the stage. Her parents clung to the front of the stage, telling her, ‘Dance, Sweetie, dance… You can just dance alone… I want to see you dance.’ Eventually she did dance. When it got to the part where you were supposed to lock arms and twirl, she just stood there, looking around confused, and then she started bawling. And she was wearing a fancy red skirt, and high heels too. Her mama had to go up and carry her off, and on top of all of it she dropped her shoes. She was full-on shrieking. It was hilarious. Tons of people were watching. Everyone was like, ‘You poor thing!’
“After the dancing there were games, with toys and treats for prizes, and there was free ice cream! The bigger kids did some comedy skits on the stage, and the teachers put on a play. Our own Mr. Sanya played a kindergartner with pigtails.” Kampol’s friend was in stitches as he recounted the story. Without realizing it, Kampol had forgotten about his father. Picturing the dance made him laugh hard with his classmate. His friend’s name was Prasit, but Kampol called him by his nickname: Oan.
Oan heard his mother calling in the distance and ran off toward home. But he came back in a flash with a plate of food in his hand. They took turns having bites with the one spoon. They were having fun and their shared lunch was tasty. When the food ran out, Oan ran back for seconds. Then the two of them had a heart-to-heart about Kampol’s father while they sat watching TV in the grocery.
At eleven o’clock the crew under the poinciana tree yelled to Kampol…his father was back. The child leaped into the street, wailing and crying his father’s name. He ran toward him as if it were the climax of a movie. All eyes were on them, but the image wasn’t flawless because there was an extra in the shot—Oan, chasing behind.
His father reeked. The son reeked, too. They were wearing the same clothes as when they had parted. Father and son flew headlong into each other.
“Have you eaten anything?” his father asked.
“He ate,” Oan answered for him. “We ate breakfast together this morning.”
“How about yesterday? Did you get anything to eat?”
Kampol nodded.
“Who fed you?”
“For lunch, Aunt Aoi had me over to eat. For dinner, Aunt Tongbai was going to have me eat at her place, but the rice wasn’t done so Aunt Keow gave me some food.”
“Good. Where’d you sleep last night?”
Kampol made a face, thinking… “At Aunt Peuy’s.”
“Good, that’s good. That’s what I figured. Now come here…over here.”
The father and son evaded people’s prying eyes by disappearing around the corner of a wall. Oan stubbornly followed them, but they didn’t pay him any mind.
“Listen, I still can’t find a place. I’ve been sleeping in the cab of the truck at night. You’ve got to stay here another day or two; then I’ll come get you and take you to our new home.”
Kampol, his face pinched, shook his head. “I’m coming with you. I’ll sleep in the truck’s cab, too!”
“You can’t… You’re better off here—there are compassionate people who’ll help you. You’ll find a place to eat and sleep. It’s just two more days. Do you understand?”
Kampol didn’t understand. He could only cry and cling tightly to his father. But his friend, Oan, understood. His eyes lit up as he imagined the fun they were going to have.
“Come sleep over at my place,” Oan told him. “Tell him to stay with me.” He looked at Kampol’s father.
The man only saw Oan now. “What’s your name? Whose kid are you?”
“I’m Oan, Mon’s son.”
“Mon, the seamstress? Good. Oan, get your parents to let your friend stay over for a couple of nights, all right? And when it’s time to eat, get him then, too. And let everybody know that I’m leaving Boy here for a couple of days, and ask them to help look after him, you understand?”
Excited and proud, Oan enthusiastically accepted.
“Boy…your papa’s going through a rough time. You’ve got to help me out. If you can’t be strong, then we’ll be in a real mess. I’m going to work both the day and night shifts and ask the boss if I can stay in the boarding room at the plant. It’s only two days. Monday evening, I’ll come back to get you. Stay here with your friend, all right? Have fun. OK, I’m going. Don’t cry. Aren’t you embarrassed to cry in front of your friend? OK…I’m off.”
Kampol’s father had come—and left—as if it were a dream. The neighbors hadn’t even gotten a chance to get a good look at him yet. When they saw the son walking back alone, the group under the poinciana waved him over. They crowded around and pummeled him with questions. Kampol barely answered, but Oan told them everything.
So it was finally clear and everybody understood: Kampol was no longer just a neighborhood kid they saw around; he had become everybody’s burden.
“It’s no big deal,” someone said, “it’s only two days. Dum, you have plenty of room, don’t you?”
Dum was caught off guard, stricken momentarily mute, but eventually he managed to say, “Two days aren’t a problem. But what if his father bails for good? What if he takes the opportunity to ditch him? Then what are we going to do? I can’t take that on. Find someone else. Who was it that let him spend the night yesterday?”
“It hasn’t even been a minute, and you’re already talking like this,” Rampeuy said. “His father asked everybody to pitch in, not for one person to take on the responsibility alone. I helped out last night. Who’ll volunteer for tonight if Dum won’t?”
“But Dum has a point. What if his father bails?”
“We’ll deal with that when it happens.”
“What’s wrong with planning ahead?”
“Yeah, you all keep planning… I’ve got work to do. I’m leaving.”
“See? Everybody’s already hightailing it out of here. Look at all your sorry little faces. Who’s got a big enough heart to give a boy a place to eat and sleep?”
Oan watched the scene unfold, completely baffled. He tried to get a word in but couldn’t.
Tongbai finally said, “Fine, lunch today at my place. I’ll do dinner, too, if no one else is going to feed him.”
“Ha! ‘If no one’s going to feed him,’” somebody fumed. “It’s just a plate of food… There’s no need to throw a cheap shot at us.”
“Yeah, if you’re going to talk like that, why don’t you just take him in yourself?”
“Because it’s none of my damn business,” Tongbai replied. “If he were my relative, that’d be another thing. If somebody really feels like showing off their compassion I say go ahead.”
“What did you say? Who’s showing off?”
“All of you.”
“Whoa there…”
Noon approached as they fought. Kampol and Oan stood on the sideline, riveted. The performers outnumbered the audience, and as the yelling and insults grew more explosive it became impossible to make out the words. Eventually, a jumble of blows ensued and when no one made an attempt to untangle the fight, it just went on, unrelenting for a long time, as everyone divided onto one side or the other. Chong, the groce
r, finally couldn’t bear watching any longer from his store. He ran over, whispered something to Kampol and Oan, then ran back to his grocery.
“The police are coming!” the kids screamed. “Police! Police!”
It worked pretty well. Several people backed away, pulling other members of their crew with them. Worn out as they were, they still had enough energy to curse at each other awhile before they scattered, everyone going back to their own home.
Kampol and Oan went over and gave a report to Chong about the fight. Chong tried to give them his full attention but still had a hard time piecing the plot together. All he understood was that they had been arguing about Kampol, arguing about something like who would get to look after the boy.
“But Boy’s sleeping over at my place anyway,” Oan said. “His dad told him to stay with me…I tried to tell them but they wouldn’t listen. They just kept arguing. Someone said something about being a show-off, and someone else said, ‘Who are you calling a show-off?’ And then, boom, fists flying.”
The two boys took Kampol’s bags over to Oan’s house. When they poked their heads in, they saw Oan’s mother sleeping, folded over the sewing machine. Across the room, a wardrobe blocked the view of his parents’ bed. The mattress on the ground, where Oan slept, was cordoned off by a dark blue curtain. Their food cupboard backed up to one side of the mattress. The kids put the bags down next to Oan’s bed and went into the kitchen to look for something to eat. They made two plates with rice and some leftovers from breakfast. Once full, they spent some time jumping on the mattress, going over who was fighting with whom and what move they were using. Then they played Monopoly until they fell asleep.
Oan’s mother, Mon, woke up in a panic at three in the afternoon. She had to resume working, but stumbled into the kitchen area first. She didn’t even notice the two kids asleep on the mattress. There was nothing left in the kitchen—the rice pot was empty and the cupboard was cleaned out. She stood for a moment, dazed, then lit the gas stove, poured some water in the kettle, and placed it over the flame. Only when she stepped out of the kitchen area did she catch sight of her son and the other boy sprawled out, sleeping. She looked at them for a quick second but then turned away; she was in a bind and didn’t have time to pay attention to anything else. She went over to the grocery, bought a pack of instant noodles, then hurried back and dealt with her lunch—all in just fifteen minutes. Then she took up her seat at the sewing machine again, foot pumping, hands pressing, lips pursed, brow furrowed, and eyes focused as the machine whirred.
Just before five o’clock that afternoon, Mon arranged the clothes into their separate bags and hustled out of the house. Her husband had another sewing machine set up in front of the bank in the market. They patched and mended all kinds of garments. Mon took some of the clothes that people dropped off with her husband, worked on them at home, and then brought them back at pickup time. This afternoon, she was so frantic that her hands shook, but she was too late. Two customers had shown up early for their clothes. Oan’s father had asked them to wait a couple of minutes, but they couldn’t stay. They made new appointments to pick up their clothes the following day.
Mon sighed and sat down, deflated. “We’re out of money,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But two more people are supposed to pick up today. They’ll probably be here in a bit.”
The couple slowly packed up. They carried the sewing machine over to leave it in the stir-fry-and-curry joint next to the bank for the night and returned to wait for the customers.
“It’s almost six,” Mon said.
“Yeah…let’s wait a little more.”
“Give me fifty and I’ll go get food.”
“Where am I supposed to get fifty baht? Go home and get the rice ready. I’ll pick up something to go with it and be home in a bit.”
When Mon got home, she saw that they were out of rice, too. She went outside and sat in front of the house, sighing.
Oan dashed over. “Mama, can I have money for some candy?” He had told Kampol he would treat.
“Go take a shower right now,” she scolded. “And make sure you get the grime behind your ears. Go!”
Oan and Kampol showered together, playing to their hearts’ content before emerging from the bathroom—they then smeared their faces white with baby powder. They went into the kitchen and looked in the rice pot. Seeing no rice, they turned and opened the food cupboard—nothing. The used bowls and plates from their lunch were still soaking in the tub out back. Oan ran to the front of the house.
“Mama, can we cook some rice?”
“Come here,” his mother called him over. “Go to Hia Chong’s shop. Tell him your mama wants to buy a bag of rice.”
Oan nodded, but then she remembered that they had nothing to eat the rice with.
“Wait, Oan, come back here first. Ask Hia Chong for two packs of Mama noodles, too. Let’s have instant noodles tonight.”
“Can we get a pack for my friend?”
As soon as his mother nodded, the two ran off at full speed to Chong’s shop.
At the store, Dum was bargaining with Chong, but unsuccessfully. Chong only shook his head, leaving Dum to grumble as he went to attend to other customers. One customer was asking to get fish sauce and eggs on credit. When he heard Chong agree, Dum threw even more of a tantrum. He was making a lot of noise, slurring his words and getting tongue-tied, stumbling and swaying as he tried to walk.
“C’mon, one last bottle,” Dum begged, following Chong, who had gone toward the back to grab something for a customer.
“Enough, Dum. I can’t give you another one,” Chong said.
“Just one more, c’mon.”
“It’s already been two bottles today. I said enough is enough. You still owe me two hundred from before, plus over a hundred just today…Wait, what are you doing? You can’t just grab… Give it back. If you’re going to act like this, I’m going to have to quit playing nice.”
“C’mon, just this one. You let other people put things on their tabs…”
“Hey kids, what would you two like?”
“Mama sent me for a bag of rice and three packs of Mama, on her tab.”
Chong smiled drably, shaking his head. He was fed up, but obliged, turning to fetch the stuff for them. Rice he had, but the Mama noodles were out.
“Tell your mother this is the last time. She’s got to settle up her tab before I’ll let her add more.”
“Look at that…you even let kids buy on credit. I just want one more bottle.”
Chong perused the list of accounts in his ledger and sighed a number of times. He’d been in a good mood this morning. Given all the unpaid balances, he had made a resolution that he wouldn’t give out any liquor, beer, or cigarettes on credit for the day—he would allow only the necessities. And he got to allow a lot of necessities: it seemed like every wallet in the neighborhood was thin. He’d moved a fair amount of inventory, but the sum of money in the register was meager. Still, he’d mostly kept up his resolution: he let every customer buy on credit, except for liquor, beer, and cigarettes. Alas, he had already succumbed to Dum’s doggedness.
Dum had been stationed in front of the grocery for over an hour. He was fuming, bitter because during the confusion of the brawl—when nobody could tell who was who—someone had yanked a fistful of hair out of his head. The middle of his crown, which used to have a scattering of hair still attached, was now just bare, reddish scalp. He successfully pleaded his case for whiskey on credit by displaying his sore head to Chong, telling him how he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep that night if he didn’t have a little alcohol to soothe his pain. Chong gave in, handed him a bottle, and told him to go home. Less than an hour later, though, Dum was back again. He ranted until Chong caved and let him have another bottle.
With his resolution twice broken, Chong was in no mood to smile or kid around with anyone. When Dum showed his face for the third time, he started a mental countdown to the moment he would throw him ou
t of the store. But when his eyes fell on Dum’s raw head, he contained himself. Everyone in the neighborhood had been having a pretty rough day.
As for Tongbai, she went home still steaming about the scuffle and refused to cook or clean. When her husband came home, she had another round of arguing. Her husband announced that he wouldn’t give her any money, so she declared that she wouldn’t feed him. In the end, her husband ran over to the grocery to buy a pack of Mama noodles, and a minute later she followed to get some Mama for herself on credit. And Tongbai and her husband weren’t the only ones to argue that night. The big fight set off at least two other family spats, which could be heard all the way down to the store.
“He’s out of instant noodles,” Oan told his mother.
Mon sighed. “Go back again. Get ten baht worth of eggs.”
“Hia Chong said before you get anything more on credit, the old tab’s got to be paid off.”
Mon slipped into the house without bothering to listen to the end. After she made the rice, she came back out and sat, chin on palm, as before. The sky was losing its light. All her hope depended on her husband. After a while, though, another solution dawned on her. She went inside to rummage through the bag of clothes on the table. There was a pair of pants from a customer who lived close by. She could change the zipper in a heartbeat. Oan went into the kitchen, but came back out again to remind his mother that there was nothing to eat, only rice.
“Yeah, hold on…don’t go anywhere. In a bit, I’ll need you to go and deliver these pants for me.”
Fifteen minutes later she was done. Visibly relieved, she put the pants in a bag.
“Take this to Aunt Tongbai. Tell her it’s twenty baht. And on your way back, get ten baht of eggs.”
The kids ran out. A short while later they came back and Oan told his mother, “Aunt Tongbai and her husband are fighting. She told him, ‘Give me twenty for the zipper. That time you needed your pants patched, I paid for it.’ Her husband said back to her, ‘Give you twenty? How about I give you a kick instead?’ So Aunt Tongbai told us, ‘You two go back home now. I’ll come and pay your mama in a bit.’”
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