The long journey in search of Pran, and Chalika’s death, had wrecked the wondrous world Uncle Thanit had built to protect them from their wounded hearts. Once again, Chareeya became a daughter of the river, this time without the obsessive imaginings that had once swept her into a series of adventures in the neighbour’s santol orchard, and that she had lost along the way wandering blindly through the land of tears. Each night, she lay down quietly, placing a slender hand that had stopped glowing long ago upon her heart and watching the stars move slowly past the window without knowing for sure which one of them was her star. And she waited. But the blue boy who had been lost along with Chalika in that infinitely narrow gap between dreaming and reality never returned because no matter how hard Pran tried, he couldn’t find his way home.
One morning late in the cool season of that year, just days before the land of the Tigris and Euphrates, where Uncle Thanit had once dreamt of spending his final days, was bombed and the Iraqi war broke out a second time, Chareeya looked up from the last, tiny strip of earth in the garden where she had planted a Mon Rose and saw four or five little stars spiralling towards her. Suspended in the tranquil air between the tree branches, they flashed their opaque light at intervals before extinguishing themselves one by one on the ferns.
Chareeya looked around, her vision marred by the fissure in her eye. She saw leaves gradually separating themselves from branches. She saw treetops swaying, a flock of storks travelling across the sky, and everything seemed broken, like it had always been. But she couldn’t hear anything; there was no cawing from the big crows, no rustling of leaves, not even the whistling of the wind that eddied non-stop over the river.
There was only a wintry breeze, a shivering chill. Chareeya slowly angled herself to fit the narrow path between the bushes and started walking sideways to the house. But upon passing a tangle of leaves, she found herself back at the same spot. Looking closely, or maybe not, because she couldn’t find the last Mon rose she had planted just a moment ago. Chareeya scanned left and right, trying to locate the rose among the three hundred and fifteen she had already planted but she couldn’t recognise it. Madame Yeesoonsri, she murmured. Madame Yeesoonsri withered and waned, her fragrance fading, as Chareeya retraced her footsteps in that maze of flowers.
And she kept circling like that until twilight descended like a diaphanous curtain. The light-blue colour masked all other colours, except for the vibrant pink of the Mon roses that hovered like random dots, or like phosphorescent jellyfish in the ocean. She was certain she could no longer pinpoint her own coordinates and the narrow exit had already been swallowed by the gloom of the trees, becoming non-existent. Chareeya decided to circle the garden one more time, beneath the shadow of the memory of the star under which she and Pran had said farewell and made a promise: See you… Such a long time ago.
Without a trace of bitterness, not in the slightest, Chareeya affectionately touched her fingertips to the leaves and flowers cloaked in the darkness. She leant over to touch them one by one with her face as she tenderly recited Frida’s last words: Viva la vida, viva la vida…
When Nual the nanny – who later became the cook and Chalika’s kitchen hand, mother of five children and grandmother of eight babies, whose once irresistible charm had begun to fade but who still had three men agreeing to share the roles of father and grandfather, who still dropped in on the house by the river every couple of days, and who refused payment for her services – arrived the following day and couldn’t find Chareeya, she called her three sons to come and fell the big red praduu tree and clear an opening amid the impenetrably suffocating aroma of flowers.
Tumbling and groping about, spinning in all directions, hands stretched out to grasp empty space, Nual shouted, Ms. Charee! Ms. Charee! In a great panic she parted bushes and pushed aside shrubs, climbing haphazardly up to the highest branches and shaking them like a mother orangutan until fledgling flower buds spiralled down in a farewell dance, leaving the branches bare. Then she crawled about on the ground covered by thick ferns, knocking the earth and sending clouds of pollen up into the air like glittering confetti to be blown away by the wind.
Only when she realised that Chareeya wasn’t there, wasn’t anywhere, did Nual collapse on the ground and cry. She sobbed and wailed loudly, desperately clawing at the earth, and she kept wailing and digging until morning even though she knew she wouldn’t find anything except for blind earthworms, one after another, lost in a labyrinth of their own making.
Play List
Chapter V
When Pran sees Chareeya again at the Bleeding Heart bar: “Pictures of You” – The Cure
The wistful melody Chareeya plays for Pran: Piano Quartet in E flat major, Opus 47 (third movement) – Robert Schumann
Chapter VII
The beginning of Uncle Thanit’s classical music syllabus: Gymnopédies No.1-3 – Erik Satie
Music to make the gardenias blossom: Violin Sonata in F major, Opus 24 (“Spring Sonata”) – Ludwig van Beethoven + String Quartet No.2 in D major – Alexander Borodin
How overwhelming passion shakes the heart: Symphony No.4 in E minor, Opus 98 – Johannes Brahms
Lessons in desolation: Nocturnes No.1-21 – Fédéric Chopin
A funeral dirge for the heart: Symphony No.7 in A major, Opus 92 (second movement) – Ludwig van Beethoven
Melody for the brokenhearted: Piano Concerto No.2 in C minor, Opus 18 – Sergei Rachmaninoff
How to perceive the magic of moonlight: “Clair de Lune” (third movement of the Suite Bergamasque) – Claude Debussy
For the despair of war: Cello Concerto in E minor, Opus 85 – Edward Elgar
For the loss of a daughter: In the Mists – Leoš Janáček
Music to make you forget your homework: The Tree of Dreams(L’arbre des songes) – Henri Dutilleux
Proof of God’s existence: Requiem in D minor, K. 626 – Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Chapter VIII
Thana’s love song to Chareeya: “Saengdao haeng sathaa” (Starlight of Faith) – Jit Phumisak
The most beautiful song in the world, according to Chareeya: La Wally, Act 1 (“Ebben? Ne andrò lontana”) – Alfredo Catalani
Chapter IX
Beethoven’s agony: Violin Sonata No.9 in A major, Opus 47 (the “Kreutzer Sonata”) – Ludwig van Beethoven
A story of Tolstoy’s agony: String Quartet No.1 (the “Kreutzer Sonata”) – Leoš Janáček
Chapter XI
Chareeya’s sorrowful obsession: Oblivion – Astor Piazzolla
Music to drain the life force from Chanon’s body: Symphony No.3 in F major, Opus 90 (third movement) – Johannes Brahms
Chapter XII
Music to hide from the sun: Violin Concerto – Philip Glass
The sad song Pran can’t forget: “Sin rak sin suk” (End of Love, End of Happiness) – Mantana Morakul
Chapter XVIII
A hot-blooded hymn to the glory of God: Misa Tango – Luis Bacalov
Botanical List
Thai Names
asoke sapun - อโศกสปัน - scarlet flame bean or rose of Venezuela - Brownea grandiceps
bunnag - บุนนาค - Ceylon ironwood - Mesua ferrea
faikham - ฝ้ายคำ - buttercup or silk-cotton - Cochlospermum religiosum
huu-kwang - หูกวาง - Indian almond or sea almond - Terminalia catappa
intanin - อินทนิล - queen’s crepe myrtle or pride of India - Lagerstroemia speciosa
jampi - จำปี - white champaca - Michelia alba
jik-nam - จิกน้ำ - red barringtonia or freshwater mangrove - Barringtonia acutangula
kalapruek - กาฬพฤกษ์ - pink shower - Cassia grandis
kankrao - กันเกรา - tembusu - Fagraea fragrans
kannikar - กรรณิการ์ - night-flowering jasmine or tree of sorrow - Nyctanthes arbor-tristis
krachao sidaa - กระเช้าสีดา - Indian
birthwort or dutchman’s pipe - Aristolochia indica
lamduan - ลำดวน - white cheesewood - Melodorum fruticosum
lampu - ลำพู - mangrove apple - Sonneratia caseolaris
mok - โมก - no common English name - Wrightia religiosa
montha - มณฑา - no common English name - Talauma candollei
nang yaem - นางแย้ม - glory bower or cashmere bouquet - Clerodendron fragrans
pheep - ปีบ - Indian cork - Millingtonia hortensis
pikul - พิกุล - bullet wood - Mimusops elengi
praduu daeng (red praduu) - ประดู่แดง - monkey-flower tree or fire of Pakistan - Barnebydendron riedelii
pu-jormpol - พู่จอมพล - red powder puff or blood-red tassel - Calliandra haematocephala
pu-rahong - พู่ระหง - coral hibiscus or Japanese lantern - Hibiscus schizopetalus
puttarn - พุดตาน - Confederate rose or cotton rosemallow - Hibiscus mutabilis
ratree - night-blooming jasmine, or lady of the night - ราตรี - Cestrum nocturnum
saiyut - สายหยุด - Chinese desmos or dwarf ylang-ylang - Desmos chinensis
tabaek - ตะแบก - Bungor or myrtle - Lagerstroemia calyculata
yeesoon - ยี่สุ่น or กุหลาบมอญ - Mon rose or damask rose - Rosa damascene
English Names
bael - matoom - มะตูม - Aegle marmelos
butterfly-pea - anchan - อัญชัน - Clitoria ternatea
cane grass - dok lao - ดอกเลา - Saccharum spontaneum
chrysanthemum - benjamart - เบญจมาศ - Dendranthema grandiflora
dahlia - rakrae - รักเร่ - Dahlia pinnata
flame (tree) - ton hang nok-yung - ต้นหางนกยูง - Delonix regia
frangipani - lantom - ลั่นทม - - Plumeria spp.
gardenia, or cape jasmine - pudsorn - พุดซ้อน - Gardenia jasminoides
Indian rubber - yang india - ยางอินเดีย - Ficus elastica
Mon rose, or damask rose (also see yeesoon above) - ยี่สุ่น or กุหลาบมอญ - Rosa damascene
morning glory, or water spinach - pak bung - ผักบุ้ง- Ipomea aquatica
nut grass - yaa haew moo - หญ้าแห้วหมู - Cyperus rotundus
orchid - kluay mai - กล้วยไม้ - Orchidaceae
pomelo - som-oh - ส้มโอ - Citrus maxima
purple orchid - chong-koh - ชงโค - Bauhinia purpurea
santol - krathorn - กระท้อน - Sandoricum koetjape
ylang-ylang - kradang-gna - กระดังงา - Cananga odorata
zalacca - rakham - ระกำ - Salacca zalacca
©Kritdhakorn Suttikittibuth
VeerapoRn Nitiprapha started writing stories when she was a teenager. Born, raised and still residing in Bangkok, she used to work as an editor on a fashion magazine and as a copywriter for advertising agencies. These days, she is mother to a young man, owner of four moody cats, and a devoted cook and gardener. A full-time writer, she also runs a writing workshop. The title of her latest novel, published in Thai, roughly translates as “The Twilight Years and the Memory of a Memory of a Black Cat”- it won the S.E.A. Write Award in October 2018, making her the first female writer to win the award twice.
Kong Rithdee has been writing about film, literature and culture for the Bangkok Post since 1996. He has also made documentary films (The Convert, Baby Arabia, and Gaddhafi) and collaborates with the Thai Film Archive, a public organisation dedicated to preserving Thailand’s audiovisual heritage.
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