Thai Girl

by Andrew Hicks

  ‘My girlfriend’s gone to Bangkok. I don’t think she’ll be back here, but we’ll keep in touch by email,’ he said as he lay down on his front.

  ‘She not like Koh Samet?’

  ‘Not much. Not that keen on Thailand.’

  ‘Mai pen rai. Never mind.’

  ‘Well I’m not going to be lonely am I.’

  ‘Up to you,’ she said enigmatically.

  ‘It’s great meeting you,’ said Ben, ‘but I don’t even know your name yet.’

  ‘Called Fon,’ she said.

  ‘Fon? What does that mean?’

  ‘Rain,’ she said simply.

  ‘Rainstorms … rainfall? That’s cool … and I’m Ben.’

  ‘Hi Ben. You welcome Koh Samet.’

  As Fon dug her knuckles into the soles of his feet, Ben wanted to go on asking her about her hard life. Without eye contact it was difficult, but he was determined to try.

  ‘Fon, you were telling me all about yourself yesterday. It seems awful a child having to leave home to work in Bangkok.’

  ‘No problem. Many people leave Mama Papa to find work. My village very poor … and now I like it here.’

  Ben pressed his point.

  ‘But your family was split up … and you were sent away when you were so young.’

  ‘Yes, I cry, cry, cry,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘You left home at fourteen to earn almost nothing?’

  ‘Yes, but I was given food so Mama not have to feed me.’

  ‘And what were the people like you worked for? Were they kind to you?’

  ‘Kind to me? Only small girl … sleep in kitchen, work every day.’

  ‘What do you mean? No days off?’

  ‘No days off. Once a year have holiday at songkhran, Happy New Year Thailand. Take bus night time to Buriram, very far. Get there early morning, stay Mama one day, sleep, then get bus back to Bangkok.’

  ‘Only once a year! A kid aged fourteen … and no days off.’

  ‘Work seven days a week.’

  ‘For four hundred baht?’

  ‘Four hundred baht.’

  Ben was moved to silence. For the injustice done to this girl, the theft of her childhood, he felt a welling up of compassion. Though he knew it was ridiculous, he wanted somehow to make it up to her, to compensate her for what she had been deprived of.

  ‘But Fon, you don’t seem bitter … you smile all the time.’

  ‘Yes, I look happy, but I cry inside. Family not together and Papa die.’ Ben saw his chance to ask the big question.

  ‘So tell me, how did your father die?’

  ‘Papa die on the road,’ she said.

  ‘You mean an accident? A crash?’

  ‘He strong man, very handsome. Crossing road to farm … big car come too fast.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But I have his photo … I never forget. I take it out and talk to him and he take care me when things are bad. I love my Papa.’

  ‘Fon, it’s so sad,’ said Ben, lying face down, eye to eye with Mickey Mouse on the blue cotton sheet. ‘How did you all cope?’

  ‘When Papa die, Mama have babies already. She very busy, have no time for me. I carry water, feed pigs, take care little sisters. Too hard being the oldest, but it make me strong.’

  ‘How many sisters?’

  ‘Three sisters but one die already. Have one brother.’

  ‘They’re at home in Buriram?’

  ‘No, all working. Young sister Jinda’s here … she work resort, cooking.’

  Then it was turnover time when Ben could lie on his back and gaze at Fon as she massaged his hands and arms.

  ‘So childhood in the North East must be hard,’ he said.

  ‘Everywhere life hard. We live, we grow old and die. Live a good life, maybe not suffer so much next time. Long life, short life, no problem.’

  ‘Yes, but Fon, life’s for living. You only live once.’

  ‘You think so?’ she said with a surprised look, before brightening a little. ‘Fon nearly die when small baby … dirty little girl, black face, wet nose.’ She wiped her sleeve across her nose and shrieked with laughter. ‘Get sick, very hot … Mama no have money for medicine, think I die. Then soldier Cambodia come.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Cambodia not far … can hear guns every night, pow pow, pow. Khmer Rouge fighting, maybe come inside Thailand, steal everything, kill us all. But this soldier like my Mama too much, give me shot every day.’ She indicated her bum with a wiggle of the hips and giggled. ‘So Fon get better, not die.’ Her face lit up again and she burst into laughter, irrepressible mirth salvaged from near tragedy.

  Ben was again moved by a sense of empathy for this modest life, for someone who had survived a tough childhood with grace and dignity and had made so much from her poor beginnings. He reflected on his own privilege, his secure family background, cushioned by so many material advantages. And as Fon manipulated his calf muscles, chatting happily to him, he could not keep his eyes off her.

  ‘So I not dead, I massage good … meet many people like you,’ she said cheerfully. ‘And I have Joy to look after.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Joy. You not see her? Little girl, Joy, who live with me.’

  ‘But whose child is Joy? Why’s she with you?’

  ‘My sister have baby called Joy … sister die already, so Joy stay with Mama. But when Mama get sick, I go Buriram, bring Joy back here with me. Sister Jinda take care daytime while I massage.’

  ‘Okay, got it! So you and Jinda look after Joy, your niece, as she’s an orphan.’

  ‘Yes, I’m the oldest, have money, so look after Joy. She’s four and love me too much. I fight for her so she not suffer like me.’

  Ben wondered what the future held for the child.

  ‘And what does your boyfriend think of all this, you bringing up your sister’s child?’

  Fon hesitated before answering.

  ‘What him think? She my problem, my family.’

  ‘But you may have your own children one day.’

  ‘Yes, I dream. Many girls want rich man but Fon not want. Want good man … to be together with family,’ she said, wrapping her arms round herself in symbolic embrace. ‘Rich man him butterfly.’

  ‘Butterfly?’

  ‘Yes, butterfly … have too many ladies.’

  ‘Right! So rich men are all butterflies?’

  ‘All men butterfly … unless too old!’ She shrieked with laughter. ‘And young men dangerous!’

  ‘No, we’re not!’ said Ben.

  ‘Yes, even my Papa. I love my Papa, but he have ladies too. When he die, they bring children, ask for money. So I have brother, sister in Buriram, and I don’t know who they are.’ She looked solemn.

  ‘But your brother and your other sister? You’re in touch with them?’

  ‘They both stay Bangkok. Sister only nineteen, work hotel cleaner, Sukhumvit. Brother, I worry he no have work … maybe get trouble yaa bah, trouble with drugs.’ She mimed sticking a needle into her arm and grimaced.

  ‘You don’t know where he is then?’

  ‘No, Bangkok somewhere. Mama not know.’

  ‘And you feel responsible for all of them?’

  ‘Papa dead, Mama sick litty bit. I’m the oldest, so have to take care.’

  Ben wanted to ask her about the sister who had died, leaving Joy an orphan. What did she die of? Who was the father and did he contribute to the child’s upkeep? But it seemed too intrusive to ask.

  At that moment they were joined by another young masseuse who came and sat on the sheet beside them. She chatted briefly to Fon in Thai and the two of them broke into smiles, glancing across at Ben.

  ‘Are you two talking about me?’ he asked.

  ‘Telling Gaeo you my new boyfriend, and she say very handsome.’ Fon burst into peals of laughter. ‘Gaeo my friend, number one, hundred percent. We massage together two years … always sanuk, always funny.’ Ben learned that Gaeo was a mother of three small children who wer
e at home with their grandparents in the North East. A few years older than Fon, she looked tired but she had gentle eyes and Ben took to her immediately.

  Then Fon sat him up, did the final stretching and twisting and the massage was over.

  ‘Okay, Ben, fin-ish. Today many people … tired already. Now find Joy, cook rice.’

  ‘Well, my hour was great, Fon … the massage too,’ said Ben.

  ‘Tomorrow massage?’

  ‘I never say no.’

  ‘What time tomorrow?’

  ‘Start nine o’clock, then all day long …’

  ‘Okay, up to you! Sawasdee ka Khun Ben.’

  And with that the two masseuses picked up their plastic boxes and walked off along the beach.

  Relaxing in the bar that evening, Ben broke the news to Clarissa that Emma had gone back to Bangkok to give herself some time and space.

  ‘It came as a total shock,’ he said mournfully. ‘We looked forward to this trip for ages and now we get here and she pushes off.’

  ‘Life’s little ironies,’ said Clarissa. ‘It’s like karaoke. In the bath you’re Pavarotti, but you’ve forgotten the words … then, when you’ve got them on the karaoke screen, you can’t remember the flipping tune.’

  Clarissa was curious to hear more about Emma but Ben was reluctant; he was much keener to talk about Fon. He told her the story of Fon’s childhood, how he admired her struggle to survive, and how good it was to meet a Thai who was willing to open up to a stranger. And he had to admit how taken with her he was.

  ‘Yes, I knew it,’ said Clarissa, ‘typical man … out of control as soon as there’s a pretty girl about.’

  ‘No way, Clarissa, you’ve got it totally wrong. Emm’s just gone off for a bit and I only met Fon yesterday. Anyway, I don’t believe in love at first sight,’ he said. ‘Liking, yes, but not love.’

  ‘What about lust?’ said Clarissa, looking at him very directly.

  ‘Come on, this is just a girl off the beach with a child and a boyfriend … hardly speaks English. It can’t come to anything, so I’m not going to get involved.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure … looks dangerous to me,’ was Clarissa’s reply.

  11

  Ben woke slowly the next morning and reached out his hand to find Emma, but she was not there. He felt strangely disorientated, the inside of the hut, its damp smell, the unfilled double bed all unfamiliar. It took him a few moments to pull himself together and to remember what had happened the previous day. The airless night had left him bleary and unrefreshed despite a long sleep, so he dragged himself to the shower where he shuddered under the impact of the cold water on his skin.

  He did not fancy a full breakfast but decided on coffee and a plate of fruit. Sitting alone, he was relieved he did not have to face Maca and Chuck or any of the other travellers. After breakfast, he surveyed the mess in the hut. His things were strewn everywhere, a jumble of used clothes and books, his medicines smeared with sun lotion which had leaked, and on the floor and in the bed, the inescapable grittiness of sand. He began to tidy up listlessly, the morning heat building up as the sun rose higher in the sky. He dumped his underpants in the water scoop and washed them in shampoo, he sniffed yesterday’s tee shirt and pronounced it wearable. He flicked through the floor of the hut with the hand-made broom from the veranda, but his activity did nothing to distract him.

  Even after only two days in the hut with Emma, her absence was almost palpable and he felt a sense of loss and longing which he could not quite understand. Though he still greatly regretted the bust-up, he was now almost over the initial shock.

  It was not too painful thinking back to the good times at university; the first snog at the end of an alcoholic evening, followed by more serious fumblings at her flat, paralytic in party clothes after the Union ball. And he remembered the times they stayed with her parents at their suburban home in Swindon; there often seemed to be arguments when they were there, though she always quickly got over them. This latest spat was her most serious sulk so far but, he guessed, it would not last too long. If he emailed her in a day or two, she would soon soften up and they could get back together again as if nothing had happened.

  So what was lowering his mood if it wasn’t Emma? Had he gone cold on Thailand and travelling? Or was it Fon that was unsettling him? The very thought was disturbing, so he decided he would have to do something positive to try and calm himself. He grabbed his novel, his sunglasses and sun cream, fumbled around for the keys in the still untidy room and went outside and locked the door.

  Once on the beach, the novel again failed to engage his interest; he could not even begin to focus his mind on it. Sitting on his towel on the sand, he watched the passers by on the beach; foreign couples, fruit vendors swinging their heavy baskets, a boy selling brightly coloured sarongs. Lying on his front to tan his back, he could put sun block on his shoulders and lower back but there was a bit in between he could not reach. With nobody to do it for him, he would just have to burn.

  Totally alone, he spoke to no one until a woman came up to him, looking agitated.

  ‘I came here for a beach holiday,’ she said in a very British accent. ‘I’ve been here two days and it’s driving me crazy. How do I get off this island?’ A day or so earlier Ben would not have known what she was talking about. Now he understood.

  Unable to sit still, he went to buy a drink and was pleased to find Maca, Chuck and Clarissa sitting round a table on the sand, each playing their part as Aussie, Yank and plummy Pom. Clarissa was sounding off about the glories of dressage, Chuck was droning on about Thanksgiving, while Maca was extolling the ‘beaut ute’ he’d bought dirt cheap for driving into the outback at weekends.

  Ben sat down, wondering what he could bore them with, and ordered his favourite lime juice.

  ‘So what ails you, Ben, alone and palely loitering?’ asked Clarissa.

  ‘Sorry?’ said Ben, perplexed.

  ‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci,’ said Clarissa. ‘Coleridge.’

  Ben was little the wiser.

  ‘Yeah mate, no worries … it always turns out wrong in the end,’ said Maca cheerfully.

  ‘Thanks, pal. I’m okay really, just a bit shattered.’

  Chuck was busy checking through the contents of a small rucksack.

  ‘Water bottle, mask and snorkel, towel,’ he said aloud.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Maca and me are heading down the island. It’s a long, sweaty walk but there’s a beach down south with some decent coral. Wanna come, Ben?’

  ‘How long are you going for?’

  ‘Well, most of the day I guess.’

  Ben hardly hesitated.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I’ll hang out here,’ he said.

  ‘Okay mate, you can keep Clarissa company then,’ said Maca.

  Chuck and Maca set off, leaving Clarissa with a glum-looking Ben.

  ‘Why didn’t you go too?’ she asked him. ‘I thought that was your sort of thing.’

  ‘Just didn’t feel like it.’

  ‘A bit down because of Emma?’ she persisted. ‘Isn’t it better to do something?’

  ‘No, it isn’t that … well, I don’t think it is.’

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘Nothing really.’

  ‘So it’s going to be a massage today maybe?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

  Clarissa saw that Ben was not going to be drawn.

  ‘Right then, I’m going back to my Buddhism,’ she said and went off to her hut.

  With a sinking feeling Ben realised he was now alone for the day. He chose a deckchair under the tree by the usual massage place, hoping for some relief from the heat and stared out at the deep blue of sky and water, squinting into the dazzling light. On this, the east side of the island, the sun tracked along the beach all day, penetrating under the trees at the top of the beach. Since nine that morning the heat had been ferocious and it was impossible for him to escape
it. Even a swim only gave him a brief respite and by the time he had walked back up the super-heated sand, he was already hot and sticky again.

  Sitting in the deck chair under the trees he felt tired and lethargic. Why after only a few days on the island did he feel so low? The row with Emma and the overwhelming heat did not explain his unease and he now began to accept that the hollow in the pit of his stomach was because of Fon.

  He had a strong urge to go and find her but he had no idea where to look. He could see some masseuses working at the far end of the beach but as he did not have the nerve to go and ask them, there was nothing he could do but wait. At home he knew the rules of the game but here he felt totally lost.

  At midday he did not feel like eating as it was far too hot, so he stayed on the beach carefully scrutinising every female figure that passed by. Several times he thought he saw her, but in the distance one young Thai woman looked to him much like another. Then he saw two of the older masseuses coming in his direction. They were solid, stocky women from the rice fields, well dressed for the sun, their broad-brimmed hats shading their smiling faces.

  ‘Hello, massage! Want massage?’

  Ben was unsure what to say.

  ‘Thanks, maybe later …’ he said, but they quickly understood.

  ‘You want Fon?’ one of them asked him.

  ‘Yes, but Fon’s not here.’

  ‘She work that beach,’ said the other, pointing in the direction he had walked his first day on the island. ‘She braiding Thai lady.’

  ‘Braiding?’

  ‘Yes, plaiting hair with beads.’

  When they had gone, Ben got up and walked across the rocks to the next beach, relieved to be doing something at last, his toes sinking into the wet sand as he followed the water’s edge, looking for Fon. Coming back along the beach above the high tide mark, he reached a group of tourists sitting on the sand, and suddenly he saw her. She was kneeling behind a deckchair, plaiting the hair of a young Thai girl in a bright red bikini. In the next chair sat a big barrel of an old man, a European of some sort, grotesque and hairy, his right hand wandering casually across the girl’s navel and bikini pants. With Ben’s attention divided between this bizarre couple and Fon, she gave him her finest smile.