by Chai Pinit
The birth of my second son was a much more sedate affair than that involving Chuan. I didn’t book a VIP room as I had neither the money nor the inclination to do so. Instead, Sao shared her room with several other new mothers. She treated what should’ve been a joyous event with an attitude that bordered on scorn. Our son Phot was born on 24 October 2006, without the fanfare he so deserved.
Ever the opportunist, Sao paraded Phot around her old workplaces in Patpong, collecting thousands of baht in gifts from her acquaintances. Sao wasn’t naturally inclined to be motherly, but certainly played the game to her advantage. In a way I was relieved she was no longer pregnant and I didn’t have to tread so softly. As soon as she was released from hospital, I went out to celebrate and heartily succumbed to the temptations of alcohol. But my behaviour was akin to a teenager rebelling against his strict mother. I reasoned that she’d be too busy minding the baby to have time to pounce on me for drinking.
I wasn’t surprised when Sao informed me that a female restaurant/pub owner was interested in adopting our newborn. Phot was an attractive, pleasant baby who liked to wave his arms around in the air, jabbing his little balled-up fists at invisible targets. All who saw him remarked that he was surely a boxer in the making. I was convinced he was the reincarnation of my departed father—a pugilist to the core.
Wanting the baby desperately, the restaurateur badgered Sao for an answer. Sao asked if I wanted to give Phot a better life and I replied yes, but not by abandoning him for others to rear. I closed the matter, telling her it wasn’t open for discussion.
One evening Sao went to visit friends. When she returned several hours later to find me drinking she became enraged. I tried to explain that I was a good provider in general and I deserved a treat on occasion—a well-worn excuse by now. There was no reasoning with Sao; she took Phot in her arms and stormed out.
I thought she was being a drama queen and would be back before long, but I didn’t lay eyes on her for several weeks. My acquaintances divulged that she was telling people I was an irresponsible drunkard and she wanted nothing to do with me.
When I finally met her she matter-of-factly informed me, ‘I’ve given Phot to the restaurateur. Your signature is needed on the adoption papers. They’re waiting for you at a horse ranch in Khorat. Please go.’
It turned out, however, that Phot hadn’t been adopted by the female restaurateur after all; she had instead brokered the deal for her brother and his wife. It later came to light that Sao had already given away two other children before Phot: a daughter she had with a Thai-African man and another son. Both were adopted by two bar owners in Pattaya. I suspected Sao made a substantial profit by selling our son to the wealthy ranch owners.
I was distraught over the loss of yet another child. Sao tried to offer comfort by assuring me, ‘We did Phot a favour by giving him to a rich family. I want to go back to work—both of us will make lots of money since we are free of this burden.’
It disgusted me that she hadn’t formed a bond with our baby and I began to wonder if she was actually capable of forming real relationships with anyone. She was a selfish, independent party girl and I had no idea what went on in her head. She was in her mid thirties when she gave birth to Phot, and yet she didn’t realise her days of carefree partying were numbered. She lived for the moment, and it never occurred to her that there might come a time when she would need children to look after her.
I decided I’d had enough of Sao. I yelled, ‘Burden? You destroyed my chance at having a family! I’ll never forgive you! How could you not factor in my feelings when you decided to SELL Phot behind my back?’
Deep down I knew that his adoptive family could offer him a better life, but it bothered me that she didn’t have his best interests at heart. She’d given him away only for the money.
She couldn’t persuade me to go to Khorat to sign the papers. I didn’t want my son to think I didn’t care for him, so I refused to put my name to anything. In the end my hands were tied and there was little I could do to get Phot back. Had I shown up at the adoptive parents’ house demanding the return of my son the ‘influential’ couple could have used force to make me more agreeable. How could I, a poor sex worker, ever win a battle against such rich and powerful people? Yes they could offer him a good life; but the fact is they practically stole my son and his own mother had been their main accomplice. So at four months old my precious Phot exited my life.
Sao stayed in contact with the adoptive parents but I’ve often wondered if her motives for remaining friends with them are sincere or if she is secretly plotting to blackmail them in the future. Anything is possible with Sao.
My HIV-positive friend Suthin took pity on me when he heard about Sao and Phot, and offered me a room in his apartment until I found alternative accommodation. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to break up with Sao because it’d leave me homeless. But I had no desire to make things right between us again either. I took Suthin up on his offer and bought myself some time. I decided I’d stay in his apartment until I’d calmed down and could think clearly. The rent was generously paid for by a farang who owned two boy bars in Bangkok. Suthin had once worked for him and been his top boy before he fell ill. The apartment had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a kitchen/living area, so there was enough room for me to join his family. Suthin’s three young children were under the age of six and his wife, Wilai, was pregnant as well.
When I moved in, the disease had begun to exact its toll and Suthin was no longer able to work. Before his farang boss came to his rescue, he’d worked as a security guard in a department store but found it too physically demanding and was forced to quit. I’ve no idea if his pregnant wife or any of the kids had contracted the disease.
I tried to pay my way and ease their load by buying food for them. A week after I moved in, Suthin happened to bump into Nuan. He sang my praises to her, telling her how well I was doing working as a part-time hustler and guide. He said I was making thousands of baht a night which was a wild exaggeration. These earnings ranged from 800 to 1,000 baht on average, and this was depending on how much I drank. Suthin told Nuan I’d taken a new lover and, exaggerating yet again, told her I loved Sao so much I was willing to even wash her underwear. Suthin was obviously trying to win Nuan back for me, and he certainly knew how to play her as apparently she was visibly upset by the news. He also took the liberty of arranging a reunion for us the following day.
I was nervous, but soon realised that I needn’t have been because the second I saw Nuan she threw her arms around me and it was as if we’d never been apart. We slept together later that night and with that I got my family back.
Nuan confided that she hadn’t been able to bear Chuan repeatedly begging her to take him to visit me. He couldn’t understand why we were no longer together and Nuan was overcome with guilt at having taken her son away from his father.
I promised Nuan this time around things would be better. My work had always been a bone of contention between us but I assured her that she’d no longer have to lie to our son about my job. I was trying to leave prostitution behind by establishing myself as a guide in Patpong.
Nuan and Chuan moved into the apartment with Suthin’s family and although I was overjoyed to have my family back, I still hadn’t fully let go of Sao. I was travelling back and forth between Suthin’s apartment and Sao’s, servicing both women. Sao fluctuated between begging and threatening me, to make me leave Nuan. She began calling Nuan daily, screaming profanely at her down the phone in attempts to drive her away. Nuan, on the other hand, completely understood I wanted a second wife since she’d been the one to abandon me four years earlier. I found myself at a very confusing juncture; I didn’t know whom to choose. I drank in order to postpone the decision-making, and my guide work suffered as a result. My friends advised me to choose Nuan over Sao as she was both the nicer person and a good mother to my child. They argued that I had no fut
ure with Sao, especially since Phot was out of the picture. Nuan finally won and I was hers alone.
At first I tried to hide from Nuan that I was drinking again. Within a month of reuniting I’d become careless and was returning home drunk regularly. I expected Nuan to admonish me, but strangely enough she said nothing. Instead, Suthin and Wilai took it upon themselves to gang up on me. They reproved me by calling me the nastiest names imaginable, especially when I returned home with no money. Conversely, when I returned loaded with cash and food they’d sing my praises. I’d clearly become nothing more than a cash cow to them. The disrespect and blatant insincerity they displayed had the positive side effect of drawing my family closer together. Nuan became irate when Wilai spoke ill of me in front of Chuan. She’d nicknamed the unappreciative couple ‘the leeches’, and felt that since I was feeding the entire household I deserved more respect. I was earning some money, but when it was divided amongst eight and an unborn, there wasn’t much left over. I was under great pressure to make ends meet and having to contend with their criticisms didn’t make matters any easier.
Nuan and I discussed the possibility of finding our own room but I was hesitant about leaving Suthin because of the kindness he’d shown when I needed help. One evening, Nuan came to see me at work carrying several bags, with Chuan dragging more behind her. She looked very upset. I’d called her earlier and asked her to bring me a change of clothing before I started work. She told me what had happened. Wilai walked into our room while Nuan was packing the clothes for me.
‘So you’re leaving us now. What good timing!’ she said.
‘Chai needs a change of clothing. You’d do the same for Suthin . . .’ she paused and then said, ‘It might not hurt you if just for once you people showed Chai some gratitude.’
‘Don’t act so high and mighty. We’ll pay you both back when we’re good and ready.’
‘I doubt you leeches could ever repay us, even in your next life. When was the last time your dying husband even left the house? And what can you do, you helpless waddling sow!’
With that, Nuan packed up all of our belongings and stormed out of the apartment.
Throughout Nuan’s story, Chuan nodded his head in agreement; he seemed proud of his mother for having stood up to Wilai. I was just relieved that we didn’t have to go back to that stifling, depressing atmosphere ever again.
You are probably expecting me to tell you that Nuan, Chuan and I all lived happily ever after; but I am afraid that, as with Lin, this was not the case. I continued to drink heavily and the majority of my money went towards feeding my addiction. Drunken guides weren’t much in demand in Patpong so our income quickly evaporated. Money once again had become the main source of conflict between us. Nuan and I began to fight constantly.
I was sometimes drunk for days straight. I still hadn’t realised how destructive a force alcohol was. It had been a major player in nearly every disaster that befell me, and yet I saw it as the solution to all my problems. It was a trusty crutch; always at hand to support me through troublesome times. It’d never once occurred to me that I might be an alcoholic—the very notion seemed ridiculous. I mean, my whole family drank, and so did most of the villagers—it was something everyone did. But on some level, I realised that most of the pain and hurt I was responsible for had actually been inflicted when I was intoxicated.
You have to hit rock bottom before you can begin climbing out of a hole. It’s only when you’re lying flat on your back that you can see just how far you’ve fallen. I’d been falling for a long time, and all the time suspected that I must be nearing the bottom; yet I hastened the process all the more by my destructive behaviour.
One Friday afternoon Nuan called to see me while I was working. She was looking for money because there was no food left. I waved some banknotes in front of her face tauntingly and then snatched them away.
‘Fat chance,’ I said.
We’d had a huge row about my drinking two days earlier and I hadn’t returned home since. I expected Nuan to start a fight but she simply shrugged her shoulders and walked off. She knew well there was little chance of me giving her anything when I was in that kind of mood; besides, she had to pick Chuan up from school. I stumbled home and destroyed everything in sight. I don’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps the problem was that I wasn’t thinking at all.
When I had thoroughly demolished our room, I met up with two of my friends and continued my tipple-fest until the bars were closed. By this stage, my friend Nitthi and I were so off our faces we had no idea where we were. My other friend, Sophon, was also drunk but later on was able to recount the near-fatal assault that led to my current hospitalisation. Sophon recalled that Arun, a Cambodian acquaintance, was walking over to us. He was clearly high, having smoked an ungodly amount of amphetamines, capping it with bucket-loads of beer. He was brimming with energy and, earlier on, was intentionally bothering passers-by in the soi for entertainment. He couldn’t stand still for a second; his body was twitching uncontrollably as he jumped up and down, shouting like a crazy man. My two friends and I were passed out on a white couch, in an open-air bar at the entrance to Soi Twilight, when Arun approached us. He began poking Nitthi, trying to irritate him and awaken him from his slumber. Nitthi didn’t find it funny and kept pushing Arun away. But Arun persistently continued to poke his ribs. I angrily ordered Arun to stop and to get lost.
My little comment started a full-scale brawl. I had loaned Arun money in the past, and I reminded him of this to gain leverage in the argument. Instead of putting him in his place, my reference to money was taken as an insult. He suddenly dove at me, slapping me across the face. I folded like a deck of cards, but managed to drag myself to my feet. I was intent on giving Arun a black eye and swung my fist hard but missed. Arun then kicked me in the stomach and it was at that point I blacked out.
CHAPTER 15
I’ve now been sent home from hospital, yes, home; and I’ve never been so happy to have one to go to. My happiness, when compared with the fear I experienced in hospital, has indeed been a catalyst preventing me from returning to my former weaknesses.
The only thing that trumped my physical injuries in terms of pain was the look of terror in my son’s eyes whenever he came to visit. When I awoke from the coma, I was in a state of delirium and didn’t remember Nuan or Chuan visiting me. The doctors told me that they came daily, but the memories of their visits faded as soon as they exited the ward. One of my first clear memories was of Chuan, though. He was standing next to me, with his bone-white knuckles gripping the bedrails tightly. He didn’t say a word, as if too scared; instead he slipped his hand into mine as he fought back the tears. He looked thin and pale; he’d obviously been deeply affected on seeing me close to death. The worry in his eyes confirmed my worst fears—I mightn’t pull through and, even if I did, who knew what difficulties lay ahead. Both Chuan and Nuan were struggling to cope with my hospitalisation. Their eyes, furrowed brows and behaviour belied all. They worried about how to ease my worries, but ironically, this caused me to worry all the more.
As I stared into my son’s red, sorrow-filled eyes, I could see the legacy of pain and uncertainty I’d handed down to him. It was too much for any child to bear. He was silently imploring me to stop hurting him and his mother. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, trying to mouth the words ‘I’m sorry’; but the pain was too great and they stuck in my throat.
I was deeply sorry for having subjected him to such an ordeal. I imagined my funeral and wondered how my death would affect him. He’d surely be devastated, but was it possible that in a small way he’d be secretly relieved? I wondered if he’d recall any happy memories from our lives together, or have something good to say about me at all. My son’s brokenness had more of a healing power over me than all the medication in the hospital combined. I determined that if I ever made it out of the ward, I’d be a better father to Chuan.
During the early weeks in hospital, various friends helped Nuan piece together the events that unfolded on the fateful night of my attack. Apparently, after I fell unconscious, Arun attacked me mercilessly. Sophon, being relatively sober, tried to defend me but Arun dealt him a swift blow that sent him hurtling to the ground. Sophon stepped back and, perhaps to justify his cowardice, convinced himself that since Arun and I’d been conversing in Khmer, we must be related. That made it a family feud in which an outsider, like Sophon, shouldn’t intervene.
Sophon wasn’t the only coward; I was surrounded by them. I found out afterwards several other people witnessed the bloody assault but not one had come to my rescue. They either didn’t care or were fearful of the consequences of getting involved. I haven’t exactly earned any loyal protectors over the years, that’s for sure. I just hope that one day the people who pretended not to see the savage attack on me won’t find their loved ones falling victim to similar indifference.
As I lay in a crumpled heap, Arun moved with careful precision, making sure that every blow he dealt my body inflicted maximum damage. He took a brief break to assess his handiwork before launching another merciless round. Pulling me to my feet, he cupped his hand under my chin and began bouncing my head off electricity poles and walls. He then ripped off my shirt and dragged me along the road. The uneven surface ripped my chest, face and arms, tearing layers of skin. He then stomped on my head with his boots, and still not wholly satisfied with his efforts, dragged me up the stairs of a nearby bar and released me, gleefully watching as I tumbled downwards like a sack of rice. After this coup de grâce, he left me to die facedown on the road.