A Farang Strikes Back

by Louis Anschel

  Som wanted to go but I held her back. “I have a surprise for you,” I said.

  “What is it?” Her eyes became larger.

  “I am tired of calling Dao.”

  Som understood and her eyes became even larger.

  “Tirak, I would love you so much if you buy me a mobile.” She beamed.

  “I know. And that’s why I will buy one for you.”

  We walked alongside the many small shops in the first floor. There were new and second hand mobile phones in all variations.

  “I like Samsung and Nokia,” she said.

  “Nokia,” I said immediately.

  This narrowed the choice a lot.

  “New or second hand?” she asked.

  “New of course. Second hand electronics is crap and breaks down often.” I talked out of experience.

  The choice was narrowed again. I have seen a very reasonable priced mobile phone which was about 4,000 baht. But Som seemed unsatisfied. It wasn’t a photo mobile phone and she didn’t like it. She asked the sales girl for one of the newest models of Nokia, which was 9,000 baht.

  “Please, please.” She begged like a small child.

  How could I resist her wish? There was still the question about the SIM-card. I didn’t like the idea of a prepaid card like I had bought one. I already heard excuses like the card was empty, if Som didn’t call. She should always be able to call me, anytime. So with the help of a sales girl she filled out a form and made a contract with Orange. I promised to pay the monthly bills. The bill should be sent to Som under my new address. She got a number and could call immediately. The sales girl downloaded a variety of ring tones to the phone, mostly Thai pop songs. The caller listened to music as well when Som’s phone rang: Wan te bo me ai. This song became my second nature because I listened to it so often.

  After I bought the mobile phone, Som fell around my neck. She was really happy. She didn’t use the box, but put the phone and the accessories in her bag. She immediately bought–I paid for–a cute little mobile phone bag. She put the phone in the bag, when she didn’t use it. The blue phone bag became Som’s constant companion–I never forgot the image. If she didn’t have her handbag with her, she carried the phone inside the little blue bag in her hand.

  We stood a while in front of the entrance of the department store and didn’t know what to do. Finally we went to Starbucks to have a coffee. Actually we wanted to eat something but we didn’t have enough time. Good for my diet, bad for Som who was hungry. She wanted to eat later in the parlour.

  We made a date for the evening but had to clarify when to meet and how we wanted to proceed. If Som left the parlour before midnight I had to pay the bar fine for her. If we went to the party after midnight it was surely too late. So we wanted to meet again at eight o’clock. She wanted to massage me for one hour and afterwards we wanted to attend the party together–after I paid the bar fine of 200 baht. But in the first weeks of my stay in Thailand, money shouldn’t be the deciding factor. I wanted to stay as long and as often as possible with Som. If it meant to buy her time, so be it.

  In the afternoon I called John. My wife hadn’t made any progress but I thought he had overstated her condition because he wanted to make me feel bad. John stayed with his mother temporarily to take care of her. She went to see the doctor and was signed off from work, he said. I gave him my Thai phone number, but he first had to promise not to give it to his mother.

  “Come home soon!” he ended the conversation.

  * * *

  I met Peter later that evening. He was British, from the Midlands to be precise. He was in his forties and had been married for a couple of years to a Thai lady by the name of Yai. Peter came to Thailand a long time ago but only settled recently in Pattaya, and had invested in a massage parlour on Soi Buakhao which opened its gates only a week before. On this evening he threw a slightly delayed opening night party.

  He knew all about the competition in the massage business and tried to provide his customers with something special. His description of the competition was “A zoo’, where passers-by could watch the customers being massaged through the shop windows”. For his shop, this would be out of the question.

  His cabins weren’t separated by curtains but with bamboo walls. That’s why his parlour had just five cabins. The mattresses lay elevated; you had to crawl into one of these cabins. If this were all, it would already be exceptional, but there was more. There weren’t any solitary light bulbs or neon lights on the ceiling. Peter had bought umbrellas in Bangkok and hung them askew to the ceiling, shading the patrons from the light bulbs. Behind the white tiled room with the cabins were a bathroom and a kitchen with a balcony. Peter attended to his business with great effort. The air conditioning was especially important for him. If the air con was located at the end of the room it would be too cold in the first cabin and too hot in the last one. That’s why he installed the air-conditioner directly opposite the third cabin. Still, there was the problem about temperature. If it was too cool the customers would freeze in their cabins. If it was too warm, the girls would sweat while working. The right temperature was somewhere between 24 and 27 degrees Celsius. Peter thought about every detail.

  Thais would have given up long ago and said mai pen rai–never mind. Peter struggled with his European accuracy against the mentality of the Thais, who didn’t care about anything all of the time. A difficult and almost worthless fight. Peter wanted to contact hotels nearby to recruit customers. Flyers should be given out to stimulate hotel guests for a massage. Of course, the hotel would receive a percentage for this service. By this means everybody could make money with massage. Coffee and tea were served to the customers free of charge. Peter planned one day to sell hamburgers, fish ’n’ chips and salads.

  “Like in England,” he said. “You have to try my wife’s noodle salad. Excellent! I taught her how to do it.”

  I tried the noodle salad, and it was indeed tasty. After a tour we accompanied the other party guests, mainly Thai women, presumably friends of Peter’s wife. Only a few farangs came to the party, because Peter hadn’t been in Pattaya long.

  “There is another thing,” Peter said. “No screwing in my parlour. If I find out that one the girls shags with customers she can go immediately! Disgusting!”

  I talked with Yai for a long time; she was very kind and I liked her as much as her husband. She had a very dark skin and on the cheek a big birthmark. She wasn’t very pretty but she had spectacular long hair which came down to her bottom.

  Peter had met Yai in a massage parlour–almost the same way like I had met Som. That gave me some confidence for the future. Nothing seemed to block a prosperous relationship.

  When we were all a little bit tipsy Yai told me Peter was the only reason why she was in Pattaya. She missed her home town a lot. Where she came from, I wanted to know.

  “Chaiyaphum.”

  I was astonished. Som was from Chaiyaphum as well, a city in Isaan near Khon Kaen. The latter was one of the largest cities in Thailand.

  “The girls just come to Pattaya to make money,” Yai said. “Just look around you. This city is only for money. There are more beautiful beaches, more interesting landscapes and nicer cities. Why are farang coming here?”

  “Because they want to meet girls?” I helped.

  “A lot of them go to bars but some men don’t like bars,” Yai explained. “There are various kinds of massage parlours. Some are only brothels.”

  Girls are sitting behind windows and are waiting for customers. This is only about sex. Before you take a bath together and then you get a “full body massage”. Soap won’t be used economically.

  “But I didn’t mean that,” Yai said. “All this has nothing to do with the massage which is taught in Wat Pho. Men come to a massage parlour because they want to meet women. They get a massage and have sex with their masseuse, sometimes in the parlour. But Peter doesn’t like it. The customer pays 200 baht and takes the girl to his hotel. Or he calls her and she g
oes to see him so she can ‘massage’ him in his room.”

  “That sounds like a call girl,” I interrupted.

  “Yes, there is no difference,” Yai said. “The only difference between a bar and the massage parlour is that there is no loud music in a parlour and nobody teases you for lady drinks. Everything is wrapped under the pledge of secrecy. A masseuse is nothing but a prostitute. A lot of them anyway.”

  I didn’t need evidence. Next to me sat one of Peter’s masseuses, Taen, next to her a fat German, maybe twice as old as her, maybe older. Hugging closely, hand in hand. Yai noticed my glimpse.

  “He is here every day, gets a massage and takes her to his hotel in the evening. At noon she shows up for work.”

  Taen listened to our conversation in Thai language and smiled at me. She wore a white dress and through it I could see the red undies with an imprint of Mickey Mouse. All this was easily seen through the dress.

  “But not everybody is like that?” I asked kind of desperately and thought about Som.

  “No, you can't generalize it. But why is a girl coming to Pattaya? To meet foreigners. You shouldn’t lose sight of the fact. I don’t like it here. This place is full of sins.”

  I had to laugh. Yai didn’t look herself like the Virgin Mary. Who knew what she did before she had met Peter. Then I thought to ask her about Som but didn’t do it. Both were Thai, I was farang. Both came from Isaan and even from Chaiyaphum. Yai would never ever say something incriminating about Som, and that was an absolute from the beginning. Anyway, it shouldn’t matter about Som’s past. The present counted. And the future.

  The opening party was overshadowed by an incident. In retrospect I wondered if it has been a bad omen. A pick-up drove much too fast, swerved directly in front of Peter’s parlour and drove on the other lane. There it had a head-on crash with an oncoming motorcycle. Three men were on the bike. The party guests ran to the street, Peter was first. One of the motorcycle riders was killed instantly. He was presumably the driver. A huge pool of blood grew wider and wider and covered his cracked skull and the road. The second rider was breathing and had a light pulse. The third had a pulse but stopped breathing. Peter performed first aid and attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He was unsuccessful, and the man died on the spot. It didn’t take long and the rescue team arrived together with the media which is always tipped off by the rescuers. Reporters made sensational close-up photos of the dead bodies and the blood. A stretcher was taken down from a pick-up and the only surviving motorcycle rider was taken to a hospital. He also died–we found out later. While the rescue team was at work, the police took care of the inebriated car driver.

  * * *

  Som spent the night in her apartment again. I looked for her at her parlour in the early afternoon the next day but she wasn’t there. One of her colleagues said she would be kang nok. Outside. A stretchy term, to put it mildly. Even in the not-so-large Pattaya “outside” could be anywhere. Disappointed I went to the beach. Now Som had her own mobile phone but she didn’t call. Not in the morning, not at noon, and not, when she went “outside”, wherever that was. I had the feeling that I was playing second fiddle in her life.

  I walked along the beach slowly. Somewhere lay an old tree trunk, washed up by a storm. I decided to sit on the trunk and watch the sea. From the corner of my eye I saw a girl waving at me ever so excitedly.

  “Dao”, I called out.

  She pointed at a girl on the beach. I stood up and went closer to her. Indeed. Laying on a towel in the sand was Som, either sleeping or simply relaxing. I swallowed my anger and lay down beside her. She delightedly welcomed me. She didn’t have much time, she had only one hour to relax, away from waiting on customers.

  She sat up and grabbed her handbag, producing a small Buddha-amulet. It was a white Buddha within a small glass-covered golden case.

  “The Buddha is for you,” she said. “My father gave it to me before he died. Since then it has always been with me. My daughter always wanted to have the amulet, but I never gave it to her. Now I am giving it to you as symbol of my love.”

  She placed the amulet which was connected to a small silver chain around my neck. I was speechless and almost couldn’t thank her. How much must she have loved me in order for her to give this kind of a present? And she honoured me, not her daughter.

  Farangs can neither understand nor comprehend the value of family in Thailand. If a Thai tells a farang she loves him it might be true. But she loves her family much more and the farang can never intrude the family bondage.

  “Where is the gold chain I gave you?” I asked. The opportunity seemed advantageous.

  “I gave it to my daughter. She wanted to have it.”

  “You did what? You just can't give the gold chain to somebody!”

  “Somebody? She's my daughter!” Som shouted. She was really angry.

  At this point I stopped the discussion.

  “This evening I will pack, and tomorrow I will move in with you,” Som said some time later. “Yesterday I was just too tired. That’s why I delayed it until today.”

  Som lived in her own apartment. However, she always turned down my offers to visit her.

  “Shall I help you?” I asked.

  “That’s not necessary. I don’t have this much stuff.”

  “I would appreciate it, if I could take a look at your apartment.”

  “Why? I will move tomorrow. There is nothing to see.”

  On the way to the parlour she asked, “Could you give me some money? I don’t have any. Besides, my mother needs some money as well.”

  “How much does she need? And how much do you want?” I grabbed my wallet.

  * * *

  After we went together to an ATM Som returned to work, and I slowly went around the streets and finally made it to Peter’s massage parlour. I sat down in a rattan armchair in front of the door and talked to Yai, who waited together with Taen for customers.

  “Where is Peter?” I asked.

  “He went with some friends to one bar or another. He is always with his friends, and he drinks too much.” She called him ki mao. “He’s always drunk. He doesn’t care about me at all.”

  Yai skimmed over her long hair. She seemed quite desperate. I thought about talking with Peter about this matter. But he might have said this would be interfering in his private business.

  Peter came back after what seemed to be an eternity, and he was drunk. He swayed a little bit as he walked.

  “No beer before four,” he said, and fancied that in Japan it would already be after four o’clock. “Does she suspect anything?” he whispered and pointed his head to Yai.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’ve not only been to a bar. I went short-time as well. Does she suspect anything?”

  “No,” I answered truthfully.

  “Good. You know it's not that I don’t love my wife. But after a couple of years everything is routine. Always the same, you know? Sometimes I need some variety and have to have sex with somebody else. Women are like ice cream, you know? The first bite is the best. But the more ice cream you eat the more boring it becomes. And if you ate all of it you have to work out a lot.”

  I told Peter the story about the gold chain.

  He laughed. “That’s nothing. Once I had a friend who wanted to take his Thai girlfriend back to England. So he filled out the forms for the embassy and made flight reservations so the chaps in the embassy could see that he had actually booked a flight, especially a return flight to Thailand. He gave her the money for the ticket and he went back home and waited. Well now, she doesn’t get her visa for what reason whatsoever. So he tells her on the telephone to transfer the money for the refund for the ticket to his bank account in Thailand. But she didn’t do it. He returned to Thailand to see her, but the money was gone. Can you imagine what she did? She used the money to buy gold jewellery for her mother. More than 40,000 baht! But this isn’t the end of the story, oh no. She tried it again and the secon
d time she got her visa. He went to the airport in London to pick her up. She arrived with a really huge suitcase. But it was empty! Nothing! She wanted to do some shopping with her farang, so she could buy some clothes.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Such a thing doesn’t exist.”

  Peter asked one of his employees to buy some beer from a nearby 7-Eleven. We clinked bottles and drank.

  “It does exist, believe me. This country is only about rip offs big time, I tell you. We farangs are only the sponsors for the women to say it in a polite way. We are their customers, their punters. As long as we pay everything is fine. If we can't pay or don’t want to they are gone. Or do you really think my wife would stay with me if I wouldn’t support her family? Her two kids from her first marriage, her brother in law in Chaiyaphum who is drunk every day and beats his wife? They are all living from the money we are making with the massage parlour.”

  Sometime later he asked whether or not I wanted to get a massage in his luxury parlour. I agreed immediately. I had never had a relationship with a masseuse before but Som never massaged me unless I went to her parlour and paid. Sometimes I had a really bad back ache and could use a professional massage. She never had the idea to massage me in our room, and when I asked her she massaged me only half heartedly and for only a few minutes. She then said a Thai massage would be too exhausting. Why she was in the possession of a certificate of Wat Phoo, which she had proudly presented to me, was beyond me. Endurance wasn’t one of the exam’s requirements.

  I jumped at the opportunity and got up. Taen, who had sat opposite me, was again wearing a white dress. This time the observing viewer could see her pink underwear. Her wardrobe had a system. Taen did it intentionally. She was quite pretty despite one of her teeth sticking out on one side. You could see it when she laughed. When she giggled she covered her mouth with one hand. She got up as well and tried to walk in her high heels. Luckily she didn’t have to go far, only the distance of a couple of metres to the entrance. She opened the glass door, turned around and looked at me with her smile. I followed her. As the only customer, I had the choice in which cabin I wanted to have the massage. I chose the last the one which was nearest the kitchen. Taen turned on the air conditioning and put a CD in a small hi-fi system. I hadn’t seen it before. I heard meditative music. Peter really thought about everything to satisfy his customers. I made myself comfortable. Taen crawled into the cabin and closed the entrance to the bamboo cabin with a pastel green curtain. She smiled.