All this he told me after he had sat down and offered me a cup of coffee. I felt sorry for Eric because he didn’t know what kind of news was waiting for him. I considered suggesting to him to open a bottle of booze. When we sipped our coffee he went straight to the point.
“Why do I have the honour of your visit?” he asked.
I approached the least diplomatic and said, “We have the same girlfriend. Som.”
Eric didn’t say anything. I let the news sink in.
“And why do you think that?” he finally asked after taking a big gulp of coffee. The smile on his face had vanished.
I described Som as well as possible and tried to remember odds and ends like moles. I told him about the massage parlours she had worked with and about Som’s mother and daughter. When I mentioned Chaiyaphum, Eric became all ears. I told him that I had met Som the year before and that I had gave up my former life for her. That she had lived with me and that we had slept with each other at least once a night. Without condom. I didn’t forget to mention, that she had told me, that she had broken up with her boyfriend, an American, a long time ago. No doubt this was Eric. When Eric came back from the States, Som had little or no time for him, because she was with me almost all the time. I assumed she had told him that she went home to visit her family. I spoke to him about this assumption. After I ended, I let that sink in as well.
Eric didn’t say anything and avoided looking into my eyes. Finally he got up and went onto the balcony. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned to face the ocean. Sometimes he nodded like he was talking to himself and agreeing at the same time. Then he turned around, came back inside and shook his head.
The arms still crossed, he said, “I don’t believe you.”
But he would be suspicious. The relationship between Som and him wouldn’t be in the future like it was before. From now on I would stand between the two of them. And if Eric stayed in America he would ask himself what kind of game Som would play in Pattaya the meantime. Would she play while he was away? But this wasn’t enough. In the same way that I had superglued Som’s jeans, I wanted superglue Eric’s brain to the truth. I then grabbed my baggage, a black bag.
While Eric looked interested in my movements, he said, “We wanted to go to the States together and get married. We already applied for a visa.”
“Really?” I said almost casually, when I unpacked my laptop, put it on the desk and turned it on.
“Som and I have been seeing each other for more than a year,” he said. “I am not one of this farang idiots who meets a bar girl and wants to marry her after a week’s holiday.”
I put a CD in the laptop and clicked on the desktop for the program ACDSee. I looked one last time at Eric’s face which as in total disbelief, and clicked the mouse onto “slideshow”.
On the screen were harmless photos of Som being displayed. She stood at the beach, sat in a restaurant or on my balcony. Som liked to wear noticeable tops and T-shirts, she didn’t like monotonous colours. On her clothes were patterns, writings or pictures, she always called “cartoons”. If Eric told her about the photos she would deny they were made only weeks ago. I hoped, Eric would recognize one of the T-shirts or tops which he had possibly bought as a present for her himself. If this were the case, then I didn’t find out because Eric didn’t say another word.
I had ACDSee programmed in a way that every picture showed for about five seconds which was long enough to find its way into Eric’s memory and to stay there. After the first part, the slideshow continued with pictures which showed Som and me together. Eric frowned. At the apartment I had used a self timer; at the beach or at other places in Pattaya I had asked passers-by. Som’s colourful T-shirts and tops were clearly visible.
Eric’s face froze when the slide show changed to the third topic: Chaiyaphum. I could tell by the look on his face that he had visited Som’s mother and daughter.
For a long time, I believed in the fairy tale that it is something special for a Thai, if she introduces her farang boyfriend to her parents. Maybe it was like that some long time ago, but it wasn’t true anymore. Peter had told me he met five or six potential mothers in law before he had married Yai. The bar girls as well as the masseuses take home without exception every boyfriend if he is willing to travel to her home town. It doesn’t matter how long (or short) she has been seeing the farang. This has of course a financial back component. If the farang stays with the family of his girlfriend he is presented with the bill. Invoices or purchases have to be taken care of. You will be lead around houses and it will be pointed out what kind of repair is mandatory. Or it will be suggested to back away from repairs because it would be better to build a new house–after you paid for the removal of the old one.
I had made pictures of the house and showed him every photo. Sometimes it would be difficult to tell the time I had taken these photographs. The pictures showed also Som’s daughter and mother and on some all four of us were smiling in the camera. A neighbour had shot the photos. I also presented some pictures from the beauty contest. Finally Eric could see some photos from the new and not yet finished house. Maybe he could guess on basis of the construction phase how old this photo was.
The best shot was the last, even when it was the first I had taken in Pattaya. It showed Som with a white towel around her waist, she was sitting in front of a mirror and combed her hair. Her face was clearly visible in the mirror. And on her back the tattoo. The photo couldn’t be much older than a couple of months. The proof was there; the evidence couldn’t be denied.
Eric should realize by now that he wasn’t the only one. And that I wasn’t just a “good friend” should be readily obvious after he saw the “towel pic”. There wasn’t any more to say. Eric sat stonily on his chair and didn’t budge. I removed the CD from the laptop and laid it on the table together with my last trump card: the copied police report including an English translation. Eric just wasn’t only a boyfriend, one of many; he also had to fear that Som had committed an offence against his property.
I packed and left the apartment. I thanked Som that she hadn’t sold the laptop yet, but maybe she just wanted to get a hold of the evidence on the hard drive. Who knew?
* * *
I went along Soi Buakhao and tried to reach the back side of the houses which faced the soi. This was child’s play, because I just had to compare my present position with a city map I had memorized. I came to an undeveloped site with a low wall at one end. I climbed over it, sneaked alongside and found what I was looking for: the back door of a dark yellow painted building.
After I had explored everything I had to wait until midnight. Soda helped me to shorten the wait in her apartment. It started to rain but it shouldn’t disturb my plans. The streets would be empty, motorcycle drivers didn’t like to drive in the rain. I bought yellow and red coloured petrol, sold in old whisky bottles at several petrol stations. The “petrol stations” looked like food vendors and you can find them at almost every street corner. I carried the bottles in several plastic bags. I feared they would ignite in case of an accident and I travelled by foot.
I finally reached the soi which I had explored in the late afternoon. I crossed the undeveloped site and went to the wall. I had to climb over the wall several times to take all the bottles. I didn’t think of buying a flash light, it was really dark–no lights nearby. With the flame of a lighter I searched and found the right path until I arrived at the building I had looked for in the afternoon. I put the bags with the bottles on the floor and pulled myself up the banister which was the height of my chest. After that I wanted to use the famous credit card trick but it wasn’t necessary. The back door wasn’t locked. Somebody had pulled a shelf or a desk of drawers in front of the back door and thought that was enough to protect it. I opened the door by pressing all of my weight against it. Slowly it gave way and the desk behind it, whatever that was, made a squeaking noise. After I had made enough room between the door and the jam, I slipped through. A kitchen sink
was blocking it. I pushed it aside opened the door and jumped from the balcony. I put the bottles on the banister and went back onto the balcony.
I took two bottles of petrol, went through the door and then to the front of the building to the main road. I peeked through the windows. In front of it curtains were hanging but they weren’t closed. I put the bottles on the floor and closed the curtains. Then I opened one of the bottles and splashed the contents on the floor. Then I arranged for supplies from the balcony. Several times I walked back and forth. Until at last, I had worked my way back to the kitchen. There, I emptied the second to the last bottle that I had.
I swung on the banister of the balcony and jumped down. In front of it I took the last bottle I had and opened it. I forced a rag I had found in the kitchen down the neck of the bottle, soaked it with petrol, pulled it out and put the other side in the bottle neck. I made sure the rag was one third in the liquid. I stepped back to get a better throwing angle and lit the rag with my lighter. It was ablaze in a fraction of a second and burnt much faster than I had anticipated. I panicked and threw the bottle like a hand grenade over the balcony, hoping that it wouldn’t smash into the wall. The Molotov cocktail flew as planned in a wide arch through the kitchen door. It smashed and the formerly dark kitchen exploded into a yellow flickering shine. It became brighter and brighter and I ran like a bat out of hell. I would have liked to watch the fire but it was impossible. I didn’t dare walk along Soi Buakhao. Somebody could see me and I couldn’t risk it.
* * *
I wanted to offer a change to Dao and I didn’t want her to carve out such a miserable existence in a dull room, so the next morning we moved next door to Skaw Beach Hotel. Besides a full furniture set there was a television set and Dao could while away the time in “luxury”.
After we moved I took my motorcycle along Soi Buakhao because I was curious. Peter sat in front of his parlour. Like always. Not in one of his beloved rattan armchairs, but on a green plastic stool. In front of him there were two empty bottles of Beer Chang. He was just drinking from a third. He waved excitedly at me. I had to stop. I dismounted and tried to look as bored as possible.
Peter pointed with his thumb to the parlour behind him. The sliding doors were shattered. Behind them was total darkness. I went through the door and looked. There wasn’t anything left. Absolutely nothing. Even the steel of the air conditioner had bent out of shape under the heat. The air conditioner hung crooked at the wall and almost looked like one of the clocks on Salvador Dalí’s famous panting. There wasn’t any trace of the bamboo cabins. It seemed that they had never existed. Walls and floor were black from soot, it smelled appalling.
“Terrific, right?” Peter said. “I couldn’t have done it better. I am in luck because I have a good alibi. Yesterday around midnight I was in my favourite watering hole, and numerous bargirls and regulars can testify to it. The cops already interrogated me. They won’t pin it on me! My wife called me up this morning. You know what this damn bitch planned? She wanted to wait until I was gone and then come back. The slut wanted to starve me out. Can you imagine?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“She knew I was fed up with everything. She was just waiting for me to fuck off. If not, one day she would have kicked me out of my parlour. With the help of the cops. She never wanted to sell. She just wanted to get rid of me.”
I felt dizzy and I had to sit down next to Peter on the floor. I needed a drink and took a mouthful from Peter’s beer bottle. “She didn’t want to sell? I mean, there weren’t any sales talks?”
“No. She knows, massage is a good business in Pattaya. And what would she do anyway? Talk to hens in Chaiyaphum?” Peter clucked. “Whoever did this, did me a big favour. The slut has to start all over again. She thinks it was me, of course. But she can't pin it on me. Tomorrow I am going to Phuket. Over and done.”
“Did you try to patch things up with Yai?”
Peter laughed at my question. “I wouldn’t piss on her even if she was on fire.”
Although I discovered Som was lying when she moved her lips, I still believed her. I had believed until the very end, she wanted to take over the parlour from Yai. But it was a lie–like everything else as well. Because of her lies and the corresponding incorrect information, I had burnt down Peter’s parlour.
* * *
I rode back to the hotel and accompanied Dao. She had news for me. She explained, Som had called her in my absence. Som had returned to Pattaya together with her daughter Boo. Dao didn’t mention Som’s house and I didn’t ask despite the fact that I was bursting with curiosity. Maybe Som didn’t tell Dao.
“Does Som have a job?” I asked instead.
“On Walking Street. The parlour is called Mantra Beauty Massage or something like that. Som asked me whether I knew where you were. I told her, I am your new girlfriend.”
“You did what?”
Dao nodded grinning. “I told her what kind of nice boyfriend you are and that you have a lot of money. I said, I couldn’t understand her why she had dumped you. I told her how happy I am. I explained that you had withheld your riches from her, because you wanted to test her, to see if she really loved you.” Dao’s grin got wider and wider.
I punched with my fist my open hand. “Great! Why did you tell her?” I asked. “Because you’re staying with me and I had helped you with the parlour?” I shook my head. “Or is it because of the money I give you?”
“Once I had a boyfriend,” Dao began. “A French chap. We stayed together for a long time and I was very happy with him. But one day he met Som and…”
“…and she pinched your boyfriend,” I ended the sentence.
Dao nodded. “I never forgave her.”
“And now you had the opportunity to pay her back.”
* * *
I didn’t lose time and went to a nearby clinic. But I didn’t want to talk to a doctor, only the doctor’s assistant. And like her job title, I wanted her to help me. For a large tip she did me a big favour.
Then I went to an internet café and sketched two flyers. A polite employee translated my English template into Thai without batting an eye. When I was satisfied with my artwork I printed the two A-4-sheets and went to a copy shop for duplication.
While the copy machines were running hot I ate a snack at a street vendor and returned to my hotel. I knew the motorcycle taxi drivers opposite the Skaw Beach Hotel because I had used them often as chauffeurs. I hired the chaps for the next couple of days and offered them a little change from their monotonous job. They asked one or two questions but agreed almost immediately with their new assignment. The “almost” was a question of money. They promised to find more people for the job because the four or five chaps couldn’t do it alone. In the late afternoon a baht bus arrived with boxes of copies and the men started to work.
* * *
After dusk I went to Walking Street. I parked the motorcycle somewhere along Beach Road and went on foot. From far away the neon signs of Walking Street were clearly visible. It was swarming with tourists and–whores. One gogo-bar next to another, beer bar after beer bar. Endless restaurants and discotheques completed the picture. Loud music roared from the bars and discos and echoed onto the streets. Girls in short uniforms promoted gogo-bars and clubs and tried to lure tourists into the bars with their shouting.
After a not too long walk, I stood in front of a parlour called Mantra Beauty Massage. I approached it very carefully. Three or four masseuses sat in front of the door. When they noticed my ambivalent motion, they started shouting, “Welcome! Massage!”
“Does Som work here?” I asked and showed them a picture of her.
They said yes.
“Is she here?”
“No. She is with a customer in a hotel and is giving him a massage there,” one of the masseuses said.
What kind of massage would that be? All the better. The thought that possibly just a curtain separated me from Som made my stomach turn.
“Boo isn’t here, either,” she said. “Gin khao.” She put her hand in front of her and mimicked shovelling rice into her mouth. Boo was out with one her colleagues, she said.
So it was true. Som returned to Pattaya in tow with her daughter.
To catch sight of their siblings, bargirls and masseuses often get visits from their kids during the long school holidays between March and May. At the age of six or seven the children can witness how the mothers earn their money because the bargirls and masseuses are of course carrying on with their work. If the mother is out with a farang, colleagues will take care of the child–also at night time if the mother isn’t coming home.
When I stepped forward the spokeswoman jumped up and gripped my arm. “I give you nice massage.”
“I am sure of it. But I would prefer if I could talk to the mamasan.”
The girl accompanied me into the parlour. She lead me to a desk next to the door. There were several couches in the back ground, but no curtains. The parlour was well patronized.
The mamasan, an older woman, who wrote down something on a note pad, raised her head and looked at me. She wore reading glasses and squinted at me over the frame.
“Som is a criminal and has AIDS,” I said. “She had stolen and screwed around too much. She got infected.”
In Thailand AIDS is a topic nobody likes to talk about. If someone gets infected they will try to hide it. There are no accurate statistics on AIDS and on death certificates you will find infectious diseases but HIV is the real cause of death. AIDS is probably one of the main reasons for suicides in Thailand, but only inexact statistics are available on suicide as well.
A Farang Strikes Back Page 14