Joy.
In one of the letters she'd included a purple and white flower petal. I held it and smelled it as I reread the letters. I wondered how long it had taken her to write each one. Hours, maybe. Without a dictionary, too. She must have laboured over each one. I could picture her sitting on the bed, frowning as she struggled with English spelling and grammar. I wished I could hold her in my arms and press her against me and tell her how much I loved her. I'd only been away for just over a week but it felt like an eternity.
A week? I picked up the envelopes. She'd used the ones that I'd given her in Bangkok, addressed to me in my handwriting. I'd left Bangkok on July 8. I'd received the letters on the 17th. Mail normally took about a week to get to England from Thailand. I flicked through the letters. She'd obviously written the first one on the day I'd left. The last one had been written on the 14th, three days ago. Three days? That didn't make sense. There was no way a letter could reach me in three days. I looked at the postmarks on the five air mail envelopes. They all bore the same date. July 8. I dropped the envelopes on the coffee table and sat on the sofa with my head in my hands. She'd posted all five letters at the same time, on the day I'd left Bangkok. But each letter had been dated differently. Why? If she'd posted them all on July 8, why hadn't she put them in the same envelope? And if she'd written them all on July 8, why the different dates on the letters?
I remembered what Big Ron had said about the standard con, about the girl having her mail redirected so that she could carry on working without the farang knowing. Is that what Joy was doing? No, that was impossible, I'd been calling her every two days and she was always there, waiting for my call. It didn't make any sense. If she'd written the letters at the same time, which she obviously had, then why hadn't she put them in the one envelope?
JOY
The letters? Yeah, that was my father's fault, I guess. I was actually quite offended when Pete gave me the stamped addressed envelopes. It was as if he was saying that my English wasn't good enough, that he couldn't trust me to write his address on my own. I didn't say anything, of course. That would have been rude. So I just smiled and took them. I don't know why farangs make such a big thing about letters. They don't mean anything, not really. Most of the girls in Zombie send letters to their farangs, but they don't write them themselves. And when the farangs write back, the girls don't read them. Most of the letters they get are in English or German anyway, and besides, who cares what they say? It's always, ‘are you being a good girl?’, or ‘please don't work in the bar’ or ‘do you love me?’ The only thing the girls care about is if there's any money in the letter. That's how a farang can show how much he loves a girl - send her money. Anything else is just whistling in the wind, that's what I always say.
As soon as I got back home I wrote to Pete. I actually wrote seven letters and put one in each envelope. I figured I'd get one of my sisters to post them while I went over to see my friends in Khorat. I mean, I wasn't going to say anything different, was I? It wasn't as if I was doing anything exciting, I was just helping my father on the farm, selling oil in my brother-in-law's garage, just run-of-the-mill stuff. So I wrote seven letters, telling him how much I missed him, how much I loved him, all that sort of sweet-mouth stuff that farangs like. I left the letters on the kitchen table and went outside to wash. When I came back the letters had gone. I didn't notice at first, and when I did notice I just assumed that someone had put them away. It was only next morning when the family was having breakfast that I asked where they were.
‘I posted them,’ said my father.
‘You what?’
‘I posted them. I took them to the post office yesterday afternoon.’
I wanted to cry. I'd spent almost two hours writing them, and it'd all been a waste of time. My father asked me what was wrong but I couldn't tell him. He wouldn't understand, he probably didn't even realise that they were all going to the same address. If anything, I suppose it was Pete's fault, really. If he'd trusted me to get my own envelopes, I wouldn't have written them all at the same time.
At least I had a week or so to work out how I was going to explain it to Pete. I was sure I'd think of something. If there's one thing I've learned during my time in Nana Plaza, it's that love makes farangs blind.
PHIRAPHAN
I took my assistant, Malee, up to Surin with me to add to my cover. There was no way I could breeze into Joy's village asking questions, her family would smell a rat straight away. I had fake Government credentials showing that I worked for the Ministry of the Interior and I had a briefcase full of files. We started about a mile away from Joy's house, telling people that we were acting for a new agency which was offering loans and grants to girls who'd worked in bars in the city but who'd returned to their village. The Government wanted to help girls who'd turned their back on prostitution, we said, and we'd ask if they knew of anyone who could benefit from the scheme. We were given Joy's name at several houses on the first day, but we left it two days before calling at her house. It was quite a big place, a wooden house on two floors, three bedrooms upstairs, a big screen TV and a stereo downstairs. They were obviously fairly well off. Next to the house was a large garage with several pick up trucks which were in the process of being repaired. It was clear that Joy had already been told that we were in the area. As soon as we introduced herself she asked us in and listened intently as I gave her the pitch.
‘I used to work night-time in Bangkok,’ she said, before I'd even finished.
‘Good, good,’ I said. I took a form out of my briefcase and gave it to Malee.
She asked Joy for her full Thai name, her date of birth, her ID card number, her educational history. Then she asked the big question. ‘Marital status?’
‘Married,’ said Joy.
Bingo. It was so easy. I wasn't surprised, I'd used the Government grant scam more than a dozen times. Malee doesn't bat an eyelid. ‘Husband's name?’ she says.
Joy gives her the name, and his date of birth.
‘Is your husband here?’ I ask. ‘Because we could make it a joint application.’
Joy calls over to four young men who were watching a boxing match on TV. ‘Park, come here!’ she yells.
A guy in his twenties came over. He was well built as if he worked out, with a square face and slightly bulging eyes. He wasn't exactly good-looking, but he had a friendly smile and I could see from the way that Malee looked at him that women liked him. Joy introduced him and he sat down next to her. Malee asked him for his ID card number and his educational qualifications, then she asked Joy what she'd do if she was given a Government grant.
‘I'd start up a factory in my village so that people here could work,’ she said.
Malee wrote down what Joy said, though I didn't believe it for one minute. Then she pushed the form across the table and asked them both to sign it.
I took a small camera out of my pocket. ‘And just to make it official, I have to take your photograph,’ I said. ‘It minimises the possibility of fraud.’
Joy and Park nodded and moved closer together so that I could get them both in. I took the photograph, put the camera and the form in my briefcase, and left with Malee. Before we got in the car I took a photograph of the house and the garage next to it.
I dropped Malee at the bus station in Surin so that she could go back to Bangkok. I stayed on for a couple of days with my girlfriend and had a great time. I told her about Pete and Joy and she laughed until she cried. ‘Why are farangs so stupid?’ she asked and I had no answer to that.
PETE
When I called Joy and asked her about the letters she'd sent, she started giggling. ‘I want send letters too much,’ she said. ‘I joking with you.’ I said I didn't get the joke, but she just laughed. ‘I want you know I miss you too much. I think funny if you get many letters together,’ she said. I asked her why she'd put different dates on the letters but she didn't have an explanation for that, she just kept saying it was a joke, that she wanted me to smile when I
read them.
Joy asked me if I'd be back in Thailand for her birthday, August 29, and I said I'd do my best. Work was going well and if I kept working as hard as I had been, there was a good chance I'd get it finished before the end of August. ‘I want see you on my birthday,’ she said. ‘Everyone here want see you too much. My father, my brother, everybody. Maybe we have party, okay?’
I said, sure, we'd have a party if I could get back in time. I asked Joy how she spent her time in Surin. She said she worked all day and in the evening she watched television with her brother and father. I asked her if she was bored. She said she was but that she was happy because I was happy. She'd do whatever I asked. I felt really guilty at not trusting her before. I wondered what Phiraphan was doing, whether or not he'd started his investigation. I was sure he'd be wasting his time. Joy was doing exactly as I'd asked, she'd gone back to the family home to wait for me. I'd called her every couple of days and she'd always been there, there was no question of her still working in Bangkok. She wasn't trying to con me, I was certain. She loved me and she was proving it.
After I hung up I went out and bought a card for her, a view of a grinning London bobby in front of a bus, and I wrote a message to say how much I missed her and how much I loved her. I put ten thousand baht in the envelope and posted it Swiftpost so it would get to her quickly. I did miss her, more than I could explain in words. There was a cold, hollow place in the pit of my stomach, a constant reminder that she wasn't around. I missed her smile, I missed her laugh, the smell of her hair and the feel of her body pressed up against mine. I missed the way she'd reach for me in her sleep, her hand brushing against the sheet as it sought mine, her fingers slipping between mine. I missed watching her shower, watching her dress, watching her put on her nail-varnish, the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she frowned in concentration. I missed her so much that I ached and the only way I could express it was to send her ten thousand baht.
Three days after the five letters arrived, I got two more. Before I opened them, I checked the postmarks. They'd both been posted on the eighth, same as the others. I opened them. One was dated July 12, the other July 13. What on earth was she playing at? I read them, but all I could think about was that she'd written all seven letters on the same day. Why hadn't she put them in the same envelope?
July 12
To my love -
From Joy, woman in the room but not have heart in her. Pete, I not understand why I miss you a lot. Pete, I want you know me, understand me. I am sorry because I give you big problem every day. I not make you happy before you go England. Pete, I hope you can give time for me. Today I no good but tomorrow I can be good for you. I want your book everything be good. I like you come see me soon. Have time think about me. From me, woman not have everything and not have heart. Pete, now I think you forget me.
Love you only one,
Joy.
July 13
To my love -
From me, Joy. Maybe you forget. I sorry I write to you too much. You can tell me if you not like. Pete, in England now very hot or very cool? How are you, Pete? Pete, I want you give your problem to me. I want see you. Love you in my heart, only you.
Joy.
JOY
It was a real pain having Pete call me every two days. I wanted to go with Park back to his village. His parents needed help on the farm and they were pestering him to go. I really wanted to go with him because I knew that Daeng was there and I didn't want Park going anywhere near her, not after the time I'd caught him in bed with her. Daeng had managed to get two farangs to give her money every month, one guy in Switzerland and another from Germany. Park kept on teasing me about it, asking me why I had only one and why Pete only gave me ten thousand baht a month because Daeng was getting twenty thousand baht from each of her customers. Forty thousand baht a month. I told him not to be so greedy, that her customers would probably only send her money for a few months and then she'd have to go back to the bars. That was always the way with farangs. They'd come to Thailand and fall in love with a girl and then they ask her to stop work. They go back to their own countries and start sending money, but after a while the love fades and the money stops. I told Park that Pete was different, he'll be living in Thailand for a long time so he'll give me money for a long time.
Anyway, I could see that the prospect of Daeng and forty thousand baht a month was eating away at him so I did my best to keep him amused in Surin. I took him to karaoke bars and bought him bottles of Black Label and we went out to the cinema and treated his friends. Everything to give him face, to make him look like the big man. It meant I was spending all the money that Pete was giving me, but at least he stopped mentioning Daeng.
Sunan came up from Bangkok with Bird and she offered to drive Park and me to Udon Thani but I said we'd have to wait until I'd spoken to Pete. I figured I'd tell him that my father was ill and that I was going to stay with him in the hospital.
Sunan brought dozens of pairs of Levi jeans with her, real ones, not the fakes they sell in Patpong. She and a group of girls in Zombie had been having a competition to see who could get the most pairs. They'd tell all their customers who were going back to their own countries that they really wanted a pair of jeans. Jeans are really expensive in Thailand, but not so expensive abroad. So Sunan would tell two or three farangs every night, and give them her address. Maybe a hundred farangs every months, and about one in ten would remember, especially the ones she'd screwed. They'd been playing the game for two months and so far Sunan had more than twenty pairs, all different sizes. She'd been telling some farangs that she wanted a 26 inch waist, some 28 inches, some 30, and tell them different colours and styles. That way she'd get different sorts. We had great fun trying them all on. She gave me a blue pair and a black pair and Park got two blue pairs.
We often have competitions like that in Zombie. We did one with Barbie dolls just after I started working in Nana Plaza. I got more than fifty, but Sunan had over a hundred, from all over the world. We took them to Chatuchak Market and sold them. She's so smart, Sunan. I've learned so much from her. She has a farang in Norway who sends her forty thousand baht a month and he only comes to Thailand three times a year. I've met him, he's about fifty with grey hair and he's got a really good heart. He always buys me presents when we go shopping together. His name is Toine or something like that and he's married with two children. He says that he loves Sunan and that he'd marry her if he could but he has to take care of his family. He writes a letter every week to Sunan and every month he sends her money, American dollars. I wish that Pete was more like Toine, it's a real nuisance having to get to the phone every two days just to sweet-talk him. He keeps on asking if I love him or if I've forgotten about him. Why do farangs always talk about love? Thais hardly ever do. If you love someone you stay with them and you take care of them, you prove that you love them every day. Park never asks me if I love him. He doesn't have to. I buy his clothes, I pay for his motorcycle, I give him money to send back to his parents if they have problems, I show that I love him in lots of different ways. But farangs, farangs always want you to tell them, as if saying the words makes it true.
I never used to tell farangs that I loved them, I thought it was stupid, but Sunan taught me that it's better to say it. You get more money. Especially if you tell them while you're screwing them, just before they come. You breathe really heavily and gasp that you love them, they really like that. And at the airport, of course, when you're saying goodbye to them. If you say you love them and cry, they give you money, it works every time. I usually go with Sunan and Toine to the airport and the first time I saw her cry I was really surprised, I didn't know what was happening. Toine gave her ten thousand baht and a big hug, and afterwards Sunan explained that she was doing it because that's what farangs do when they say goodbye. I asked her how she could cry so easily and she said she thought of something sad. That's what I do now when I go to the airport with a farang, I think about my mother dying. It works. Eighty per c
ent of farangs give you money when you cry.
PETE
I was sitting at my desk going through notes on up-market London hotels when Phiraphan's fax came through. The first sheet was his report and I read it as it came off the machine. Married without registration. I read the phrase a dozen times before the sheet spewed out of the machine. Married without registration. That meant they'd gone through the marriage ceremony but hadn't registered it with the authorities. But married was married, whether or not they'd done the paperwork. According to the report, Joy and her husband had been living in the house in Surin for the past three months. Ever since I'd started paying her a monthly ‘salary’, in fact. Phiraphan said that the whole village knew that Joy was married, and that Joy and Park had known each other for more than a year. A year. That meant that she'd known him before she met me. It had all been a lie. Everything she'd ever said to me, her declarations of love, her insistence that she had only me, that she didn't have a husband or boyfriend, none of it had been true.
The second sheet was a questionnaire that she'd signed. There were two signatures on the form. I guessed that the second one was Park's.
The third sheet consisted of two photographs. The quality wasn't that good but the top one was of Joy and a Thai man, the other was a picture of Joy's house. It took a couple of seconds for the significance of the second picture to sink in. Then I realised. Since I'd been there an extension had been built on to the side, an extension sheltering several pick-up trucks and a motorcycle. And it was probably my money that had paid for it.
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