by Andrew Hicks
‘I don’t care what you think siestas are for. Why don’t you push off and find someone else to fuck.’
He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
‘Emm, it’s you I want,’ he protested, ‘but since we got to Thailand we haven’t once …’
‘Haven’t what?’ she broke in, her eyes ablaze.
‘Yes okay, I know it’s hot and you’re tired, but come on Emm, not another headache.’
She rounded on him indignantly.
‘You just don’t understand anything, do you … don’t even begin to!’ Ben looked shocked and began to sweat.
‘Don’t understand what?’ he said weakly.
‘See! If you understood, you wouldn’t have to ask.’
‘I only want to know what you’re ranting on about.’
‘So I have to tell you then I suppose … that you don’t understand my feelings … you don’t know how to treat me properly and never have.’
‘But Emm, why all this shit? Why now?’
‘Why now? Because I should’ve had it out ages ago … or just split up. I’ve left it far too long and now it’s too late.’
‘Left what too long?’ said Ben, propping himself defensively against the door.
‘All the things I should’ve said to you before.’
‘Like …?’
‘Oh, what’s the point!’ she cut in sharply.
‘There’s lots of point.’
‘Okay then, you’ve asked for it … I’ll tell you like it is. Ben, you’re just a little boy when it comes to serious relationships. You’re so insensitive … you hurt me whenever you feel like it. And you don’t know how to love me … because the only person you love’s yourself.’
Ben looked stunned.
‘Come on Emm, what did I ever do to hurt you?’
Emma rolled her eyes in exasperation.
‘The big problem’s your mother, treating you like the sun shines out of your arse. You don’t know how to behave because mummy lets you get away with everything. Well, I’m not making the same mistake. I can’t hack it any more.’
‘Come off it Emm, I do love you … you know that,’ he said as gently as possible.
‘That’s what you always say as if it answers everything. You just like playing the lover-boy, don’t you.’
He cautiously moved towards the bed, his hand held out to her.
‘No really, I still think you’re gorgeous. And Emm … did I ever tell you how stunning you look when you’re cross?’
Gasping for breath, Emma paused in astonishment before slapping his hand away in fury.
‘Well, that just about beats it. Why the hell did I let you drag me here?’ she shouted, almost beside herself. ‘I could like Thailand but not with you I can’t.’
‘Sod it, Emm, it’s you who’s ruining things, you and your moods. We can sort it out if only you’d stop sulking. We always have before.’
‘No, we only ever shelve the problems. We never face up to them … maybe because we know we can’t.’
Emma was now sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling naked and vulnerable. She untucked her sarong from her waist and tied the ends behind her neck to cover herself. The fan swished loudly above them as she gathered strength to close the confrontation.
‘Well, I’m not going to talk about it any more, not now. It’s too bloody hot. So lie down and shut up, Ben … or just bugger off.’
Ben saw she was deadly serious and was not going to listen to him, so he decided it was best to bugger off. Feeling numb, he walked out into a world full of bright sunshine and palm trees and pulled the door closed behind him with a resounding crash.
9
Unceremoniously ejected from the hut, Ben now had to face the day alone. Maca and Chuck were having a siesta and Clarissa, Samantha and Nadia were nowhere to be seen. All he could do was to walk. From the rocks at the far end of the bay, he found the path over the headland and, with the shriek of the insects in his ears and the heat now almost unbearable, he followed it to a tiny beach of white sand on the other side.
Slipping off his sandals, he walked into the waves up to his knees. The water was refreshing and the sea breeze offered a little relief from the heat, but he suddenly felt overcome with tiredness. He lay down on the sand under the shade of the nearest tree, a bizarre species half growing over the rocks. It had smooth, green bark punctuated every few inches with spiky thorns, and though it was bare of leaves it was in full flower, a riot of outrageous red blossoms. Lying listening to the sea and studying the bare, angular branches above his head, he watched a tiny yellow bird with a long beak tapping nectar from the flowers.
After a time he sat up and looked at the view, a seascape of tiny islets lost in an infinity of blue, and high above him a sea eagle soaring and wheeling in the thermals. But the beach itself was not without blemishes. Caught in the crannies among the rocks was a tangle of bamboo poles with broken lines, the wreckage of floats that had marked fish traps in the shallow waters. The sea had brought in scraps of expanded polystyrene, a shoe, a disposable nappy. The island was near perfection, but it was, he thought, unnecessarily spoiled; just like his friendship with Emma.
Sitting on the sand, he asked himself how a long relationship could so suddenly self-destruct when everything should be at its best. University had not been all fun; they had been short of money, it was always cold and there were the pressures of exams. But now, with money in their pockets and in the exotic place they wanted to be, for no apparent reason everything was falling apart.
Feeling restless, he got up and went back the way he had come, this time walking out to the end of the headland and scrambling across the rocks where the waves were crashing ashore. A few hundred yards out to sea just off the point, a wooden fishing boat with a tall flying-bridge was at work. He watched as it held its ground against the current, dipping and plunging in the swell. The crew had laid out a long circular net and were now slowly hauling it in hand over hand. The boat, back-lit by the sun, was almost in silhouette, the light dancing in the net like shoals of silver fish. But as the net was finally brought aboard, he could not see any fish at all; it looked a meagre catch.
When he got back to Ao Sapporot, he still had more time to kill before he dared disturb Emma. With nothing to read and his swimming things in the hut, he sat on the beach and watched as a load of ice was brought ashore from the ferry. The landing craft was beached in the shallows piled high with sacks which the men were unloading into a rusty trailer behind a tiny two-wheeled tractor. They had backed it down into the shallows as close as possible to the boat, but the trailer was too full and the tractor could not haul it out. When they decided to unhitch the trailer, disaster struck. Much to his amusement, the tow bar of the trailer reared up in the air, tipping most of the ice backwards into the sea. There was much laughter and shouting from the men.
With this impromptu entertainment over, Ben was left sitting in his deckchair, feeling bored and a little resentful, staring out to sea. He was wondering what to do with himself for the afternoon when from behind him came a siren call.
‘Massage, you want massage?’
He looked around and there, standing smiling at him, was a petite and pretty Thai girl.
‘No thanks. Well, I don’t know really,’ he said, unsure what to do.
The idea of being massaged in public on the beach did not appeal very much, but the girl’s manner was totally disarming. He found himself warming to the idea.
‘Yes, okay then,’ he said. ‘How much is it?’
‘One hour, two hundred baht.’
‘Right, so where shall we go then?’
They walked a few yards to a shady spot behind some rocks, the girl carrying a plastic picnic box in which she kept her massage kit. She pulled out a blue cotton sheet covered in Disney characters and laid it out on the sand, weighted with a stone at each corner.
‘Lie down … take off shirt,’ she said, and so Ben’s massage began.
Although at first
he was lying face down and could not see her, he was comprehensively charmed. Despite her limited English, she was chatty and easy to talk to.
‘This your first time in Thailand?’ she began.
‘Yes, and my first ever massage as well.’
‘How long in Thailand?’
‘Just a few days.’
‘You like Thailand?’
‘Yes, it’s great, though Bangkok was heavy going. Couldn’t get out fast enough.’
‘Bangkok no good … I work there five years. Much better here,’ she said as she manipulated his calf muscles. ‘You married already?’
‘No, I’m with my girlfriend. How about you?’
‘Have boyfriend.’
‘And where does he work?’
‘Boyfriend work Ban Phe … say island too boring.’
‘So what do you think of Koh Samet?’
‘Like very much … make good money, but today wait long time for customer. Be very rich if working all the time.’ She paused for a moment as they both contemplated what it means to be rich.
‘You come from where?’ she asked.
‘England.’
‘England good … Arsenan, Liverpoon! And what work you do?’
‘I don’t work. I’m a student … just graduated.’ The girl looked puzzled.
‘But how you get money if you not work? Holiday expensive.’
‘Dunno … borrowing mainly.’
There was a silence; he had lost her completely. How can you eat if you did not work today? How can you have holidays when you never work? Her English was not good enough for her to span the gulf between them and for a few moments she quietly concentrated on her work.
The style of the massage was not particularly sensuous which came as a surprise to Ben. She started by digging her fingers and knuckles into the soles of his feet. Then she moved up his calves, kneading them hard with her thumbs; he was amazed how sore they were after carrying a rucksack around. Next came a pummelling of the buttocks, concentrating on the muscle around the hip joints. After that she worked on his spine, firmly easing each vertebra, pushing and poking and shifting. At the top of his back she applied some strong-smelling ointment and firmly rubbed it in around the neck and shoulder muscles; that was the best bit.
Then after about twenty minutes she told him to turn over; now he could lie back and look at her as she worked. She returned his smile and led in with her next question.
‘Thailand poor and very hot, so why farang pay so much to come Thailand?’
‘Because it’s a beautiful place with such beautiful people,’ he said with feeling.
‘Jing jing? We beautiful?’ she said flirtatiously. ‘But I want travel too! You take me aeroplane, go England?’ She laughed her infectious laugh and gave him the full force of her smile.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll take you in an aeroplane any time. For that smile, anything.’
‘Tomorrow go?’ she said to more cascades of laughter.
‘Why not,’ said Ben. There were many reasons why not but it seemed a great idea.
‘So how did you get into massage?’ he asked her. She was a stunning girl and there was an obvious way she could be making lots more money.
‘Work hotel before … cleaning, cashier, four year, but money no good.’
‘But surely you don’t earn more as a masseur?’
‘Money good, high season, so now work strong every day. Rainy season no many tourist.’
‘And how long’ve you been doing massage?’
‘Two years. Get number massage two years ago.’
‘Number? What’s that?’
She showed him a yellow laminated card attached to her purse with her photo, name and licence number.
‘So how do you get a licence?’
‘Pay money. Paeng jing jing … expensive. But first learn massage.’
‘Who taught you then?’
‘Old lady massage, here on the beach. Pay too much!’
‘So you say you’ve been doing massage for two years, four years in a hotel here and five working in Bangkok. That’s eleven years’ more work than me. That can’t be right … you’re not that old.’
‘I’m twenty four,’ she replied.
Ben was puzzled, trying to do the sums in his head.
‘But that means you started work aged thirteen. That’s impossible.’
‘Possible,’ she said.
‘But why? What about school?’
‘Father die. School cannot.’
‘Your father died when you were fourteen?’
‘Thirteen,’ she replied.
Ben was silent for a moment, trying to take it all in, unsure how much more he should ask. Her face was impassive, though her father’s death must have been the defining event of her life.
‘So what happened when your father died?’
‘I’m the oldest … have to work. Mama have four … no, five children, so she sell farm. Six thousand baht!’ Her laugh had a hint of bitterness. ‘Then I go Bangkok … work for four hundred baht a month, send money home.’ Ben was aghast. After earning only four hundred baht a month, massage on Koh Samet now looked pretty good.
‘So your family were farmers? Where abouts?’
‘Buriram.’
‘Buriram? Where’s Buriram?’
‘Isaan … before Surin.’
‘Oh yes, the North East. Rice farmers?’
‘Yes, rice.’
This was the pattern that Maca had talked about, of farming people having to leave home as migrant workers to find paid work. They had casually talked about it together the night before but now Ben felt moved by the girl’s story. Gently kneading his right hand, she seemed to sense his thoughtfulness and gave him another of her radiant smiles.
‘Now I like my work,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Work, work, work every day, meet farang like you, learn English. Have many friends, stay beautiful place. Send money to Mama … she happy she have good daughter.’
‘So where is your mother?’
‘She home, Buriram. Mama not work, she sick sometime.’
‘So you pay everything for her?’
‘Yes, work for Mama, for sisters.’
‘As you’re the oldest, you have to earn money for the others?’
‘Yes, always work for family.’
‘But it seems awful you being sent to Bangkok … you were just a child. Whatever work did you do?’
‘Work in big house, washing, cleaning, cooking.’
‘And were you with the same family the whole time?’ he asked her.
But his question was never answered. A few yards away, a girl in a sarong and pink bikini top suddenly appeared over the rocks that screened them from view. She saw Ben stretched out on his back, the pretty young masseuse leaning over him, and abruptly turned and walked briskly back the way she had come. He caught a glimpse of Emma out of the corner of his eye, but it was too late to call to her as already she was gone.
The masseuse silently went on with her work, then spoke in a quiet voice.
‘She your wife?’
‘No, she’s not,’ he said without elaborating, the easy flow of conversation now at an end.
‘Sid aap,’ said the girl after a few moments, so Ben sat up. She made him clasp his fingers round the back of his neck, and, putting her knees into the small of his back, she hauled him over backwards, stretching his spine. Finally, holding him firmly from behind, she twisted him first to the left and then to the right, giving his back a thorough flexing.
‘Fin–ish,’ she said in a sing-song voice and sat back down on the blue cotton sheet.
‘Thanks, that was great,’ he said, fishing for his money. The girl took the two hundred baht without looking at it and stuffed it into her pouch.
‘Korp khun ka,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow, same time?’
‘Well yes, maybe. Don’t really know,’ he said.
She breezily folded the sheet, picked up her plastic box, slipped her feet into her flip flops and walked o
ff along the beach to look for more customers, leaving Ben feeling strangely unsettled.
Wandering back to the beach bar to give himself some thinking time before facing Emma, he found Samantha, the stroppy Cockney sitting at one of the tables with Clarissa, the classy thirty-something. He joined them and ordered a fresh lime juice.
‘I’ve just had my first Thai massage,’ he announced.
‘How was it?’
‘Great … well, quite a battering really. The girl was fantastic.’
‘Was she now? The pretty one was it?’ teased Samantha.
‘It’s more of a passive work-out than a sensuous thing … yoga without effort. But after all the booze and late nights I feel good on it.’
‘So you’re paying a sexy girl to rub your body!’ joked Clarissa.
‘Yes okay, the girl was great. And she’s very open about herself … father died young and she had to work in Bangkok as a servant. Awful losing her childhood, but she doesn’t seem bitter.’
‘Maybe expectations are different in Thailand,’ said Clarissa. ‘You work your life through, fulfil your family obligations and die. Then you’re reborn according to the merit you accumulate in your lifetime. I picked up a book on Buddhism when I was in Bangkok.’
Facing out to sea, Ben did not see Emma coming up behind him until she quietly pulled out a chair and sat down next to Clarissa, carefully avoiding his glance.
‘Ben’s just been telling us about his massage,’ said Samantha, and then a little maliciously, ‘He’s been telling us about the masseur too … very pretty apparently.’
‘I know all about it,’ said Emma, hatchet faced, leaving Ben struggling for something neutral to say.
‘Fancy a drink, Emm? I’ve just had a lime juice and it was sensational.’
‘Why not. Make yourself useful, even if it’s only ordering a lime juice.’
He turned and beckoned to a sleepy waitress.
‘Busy day?’ he asked Clarissa to fill the awkward silence.
‘Reading my book on Buddhism. Hardly moved all day … so me and Sam are planning to go and see the sunset. You two want to come? It’s not far.’