Thai Girl

by Andrew Hicks

  ‘First we go eat,’ said Fon, leading them to a food shop a few hundred yards up the street. Furnished only with concrete tables and chairs, it consisted of a long, narrow space under a commercial building open to the winds with no front or rear walls. As it was still early, there were no other customers. She walked through as far from the road as possible and chose a table on the edge of what should have been a garden at the back. Ben sat down on an uncomfortable chair and took in the surroundings. The inside had not seen any paint for many years and the concrete floor was scattered with empty beer cartons and junk. On the wall by their table was a dog-eared poster of the fishes and flora of Thailand stuck on with yellowing tape. He was a little alarmed. How safe was it to eat in a place like this?

  Fon ordered the food and in no time the table was laden with pork ribs, tiny fish fried to a crisp, a rice soup and laab, a northeastern dish of minced beef, cooked with all sorts of green bits and pieces. The meal was to be eaten with sticky rice, the staple food of Lao and Isaan. Ben had not tried sticky rice before and was not too sure about it. The opposite of the western fixation for fluffy rice grains that do not stick together, it was congealed into one glutinous blob. He watched the others as they ate the sticky rice with their fingers, rolling it into a ball, dipping it in the sauce and popping it into their mouths. But what struck him most of all was the containers; the rice was served to each person in a finely-woven basket with a lid and a wooden base. He picked his up and admired it.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he said. ‘Where can you buy them?’

  ‘You like sticky rice?’ asked Fon slightly bemused.

  ‘No, the basket … great handicraft. I’d like to take one for Mum.’

  ‘She eat sticky rice?’

  ‘No, I mean for display, to look at.’

  ‘Farang want to look at basket! Too much sun, go soft in the head,’ said Fon with a mocking grin before adding something in Thai. When the others erupted in laughter, Ben sensed it was indecent and at his expense, though he adored her every little attention.

  The food was quickly eaten and Fon called loudly for the bill. She paid the girl and they abruptly departed; there was serious business to be done. They all walked together along the edge of the road, close to the roar of the traffic. There was no pavement and it was dusty and hot, the heat radiating from the tarmac. They walked for about ten minutes, leaving behind the concrete shop houses and crossed an open area between the fishing port and the old centre of the town. Ben felt the sweat trickling down his back, his tee shirt clinging to his wet skin.

  Ahead of them was a large white building, the branch of the Bangkok Bank where Fon had her account. Fon and her posse went inside, while Ben tried his luck with the cashpoint on the outside wall. He inserted his card and his baht came popping out, much to the wonder of an old man nearby, marvelling at the miraculous fountain of money.

  Inside the bank he found Fon wrestling with the intricacies of paying-in slips, taking two thousand baht from her own account to put into the account of her mother’s friend. This was the monthly payment that enabled her mum to survive in relative comfort. Enjoying the air-conditioned calm of the bank, he was relieved it all took some time.

  Back outside again, it seemed that Fon had something on her mind. She told Jinda and Gaeo to wait with Joy in the shade for a few moments and asked Ben to follow her.

  ‘Ben, I want to show you something,’ she said, looking serious.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Come with me.’ She walked away at some speed despite the heat, talking as she went. ‘Ben, you ask me about my dreams. Joy soon five, go school …’

  ‘Yes, but where are we going?’

  ‘Look school, school for Joy.’

  She took Ben a few hundred yards to a small private school, tucked away in modern buildings beyond an orchard of fruit trees. The school was in session and children in neat, practical uniforms could be seen at work in spacious classrooms and playing in the playground. Fon clearly knew the place well and walked around freely, without embarrassment. Apart from a few glances at Ben, the children politely ignored them.

  ‘So that my dream, my dream for Joy,’ she said as they walked back to the road.

  ‘I hope the dream comes true … but it must be expensive, Fon.’

  ‘Maybe can … if many tourists come Koh Samet.’

  Ben was impressed, though he wondered how she could possibly afford the fees just from working as a masseuse.

  They walked back to the others who were still patiently waiting where they had left them. Fon then braved a superheated phone box to call her mother’s friend and tell her the money was in her account, while in the cool of Thai Farmers Bank, Gaeo was making a money transfer to her family in the North East. Crossing the road again to the post office, Gaeo then helped Fon to fill out a form for registered mail; they kept making mistakes, ripping the form up and starting again. Fon explained to Ben that she was sending some cash to an elderly and wayward relative.

  ‘Sister my grandbrother she not work … drink too much, buy lottery. I send her little bit money, so she can eat.’

  ‘Why’s it you who has to give it her?’ asked Ben.

  ‘They know I have money, they speak Mama, so Mama ask me to give. Big family, big problem.’ With a resigned look, she handed the envelope with the money over the counter.

  This last payment finally done, they all went on down the road through the old town, a narrow street of tightly-packed wooden shop-houses, each with its ground floor shop and living-space upstairs. They walked past crowded clothes shops, hardware stores, beauty salons and dealers in farm and fishing equipment, Ben happily tagging along, no longer bothering to ask where they were going. Soon they reached a market.

  ‘Buy food for this evening,’ said Fon.

  The market was an open-sided iron shed full of stalls selling fish, meat and vegetables, clothes, plastic goods, buckets and bins. It was quiet as it was still early afternoon, but the stalls were all manned by weathered women patiently waiting for a sale. Ben noticed one exception, a pretty young girl. When she turned to smile at him, he saw she had only one eye, the other an empty socket.

  Fon was buying food in brisk and businesslike fashion, choosing and bargaining and passing the packets back to Jinda and Gaeo, buying enough meat and fish for a small army. They then went back into the street where Fon called three motorbike taxis. She jumped onto one of them and with Joy squeezed between her and the rider, they shot off down the road. Gaeo and Jinda got on another and noisily departed in a cloud of smoke. Ben had no idea where they were going but the third bike set off with him clinging on behind, in hot pursuit of Jinda’s yellow tee shirt which he could just see disappearing into the distance.

  His motorbike was now going much too fast. It weaved through the traffic and braked hard at an intersection, avoiding a collision by seconds. As it took the next corner the world tipped sideways and then righted itself, his brain filled with images of bodies bouncing and sliding down the road and of bare limbs lacerating on loose tarmac.

  After a few more spine-tingling moments, he realised he had returned to the fishing port through the one-way system and that the others were already walking away towards the ferry. He paid forty baht to the driver for not quite killing him and set off after Fon, his legs feeling strangely unfamiliar. When he caught up with her, she smiled at him with a mischievous glint.

  ‘You like motorbike taxi?’ she asked. ‘Sorry Ben, no need to hurry … wait next boat one hour.’

  But Ben was not complaining. He was still alive and though waiting for Fon was painful, waiting with her was no problem at all.

  ‘Ben, you wanted to look email,’ she reminded him bluntly. ‘Why you not do it?’

  ‘Yeah, of course, I’d forgotten,’ he said, feeling a bit stupid.

  ‘We wait you over there, clothes shop.’

  Ben was surprised that emailing Emma had totally slipped his mind. Keeping in touch with her was important, but he had become so absor
bed in chasing after Fon that it had totally gone out of his head. He crossed the road and found the internet cafe where several travellers were intently huddled over their computer monitors in silent communion. He sat down and nervously opened his Hotmail account. As he scanned his inbox, he saw with a jump that there was a message from her sent the previous night. So Emma had made the first move.

  To: ben-the-bill80@hotmail.com

  Subject: Chiang Mai

  Dearest Ben, I’m shocked you haven’t emailed me, gobsmacked, gutted even. I was half expecting an apology but maybe you’re too busy with sun, sand and massage. I’m busy too as I’ve met some people and we’re getting the train tonight to Chiang Mai to do some hilltribe trekking. I was going to wait for a message from you, but as I’ll be in the jungle for a bit, thought I’d email first.

  Just to say I don’t want to part on bad terms without talking things through a bit, so can we get together in Bangkok? When I’m back from CM, I’ll meet you at the Regal Hotel off Ratanakosin Avenue near the Grand Palace. It’s a bit pricey but no need to book. You check us into a room for the night of 25th and I’ll be there in the evening. Email me if you’re not coming, but if you don’t come, then stuff you. Gotta get packed and meet the others before the train.

  M.

  The message was typical Emma. Ben could just hear her saying this sort of thing and felt almost reassured by her bluntness. He suddenly missed her and felt funny that she was heading off to Chiang Mai without him. As he wanted to keep his options open, it was important how he now played his cards.

  To: melldoyma66@hotmail.com

  Subject: Stuff and Things

  Emm, How could I email you from Koh Samet, there’s no cyber palm trees! So I’ve made a special trip into Ban Phe, but I’ll have to be quick as the boat goes back soon.

  I’d love to be going to Chiang Mai. Who are the blokes then? Bring me back some opium or a stick of rock and see you on the 25th. And Emm, I do miss you, honest. It came as a real shock you walking out on me like that. I had no idea you were so screwed up and I didn’t mean to get up your nose. Got a bit over-excited in Bangkok I guess, but for me you’re still a cool dude. So enjoy, and see you at the Regal. Suppose I’m paying!

  Love, Ben.

  He clicked on ‘Send’, quickly read a message from his little sister, paid and rushed out of the shop. He found Fon in the back of the clothes shop where she was waiting for him, fooling around with the others and trying on clothes. The shop was little more than a wooden shack built over the beach by the pier. It was intolerably hot inside, the generator which rumbled loudly in the background only adding to the heat. Gaeo and Jinda were sitting on the floor eating fried chicken and sticky rice out of plastic bags and offered some to Ben, but he did not fancy it.

  Jinda then took a skimpy little tank top with a Union Jack design from the rail of clothes, hid behind a crate to try it on and quickly emerged to shrieks and cat-calls.

  ‘You look like bar lady, Jinda,’ squealed Fon. ‘Give it to me … I want to be bar lady too.’ The sisters went behind the crate together before Fon reappeared in the Union Jack top looking a million dollars as she played the fashion model pounding the catwalk. With an insolent pout and hand on hip she sailed down the seedy inside of the shop, leaving Ben utterly transfixed by the swing of her body and the exaggerated wiggle of blue denim. Flashing him a grin, she disappeared behind the crate. When the laughter had died down, she popped her head out again to see his reaction.

  ‘I your England flag, Ben. I wave for you.’

  ‘Fon, you look amazing … but then you always do.’

  It struck Ben that this was the first time Fon had behaved provocatively in front of him; the sparks flying between the two of them must have been obvious to the others. Perhaps she was no longer the defender of Thai female modesty now she was not in public on the beach, or was it, he dared hope, because she was growing to like him.

  When she had changed back into her tee shirt, they all wandered out onto the jetty. Instead of going straight to the ferry which was soon due to leave, she stopped and chatted casually with some women at one of the kiosks. Ben had no idea what was going on and was bothered about missing the boat. Fon tried to explain.

  ‘Go speedboat … better more and not expensive,’ she said. As she talked, Ben began to grasp that a speedboat from one of the beach resorts was running back to Ao Sapporot and could take them as passengers.

  They all walked slowly along the jetty, climbed aboard the speedboat which was lying alongside and sat down amidst vegetables and beer bottles. The long-haired boat-boy in baggy shorts and singlet started up the forty horse outboard and soon they were out beyond the breakwater, bumping and thumping over the waves. Ben stood up in the slipstream and howled with joy while Fon crouched uncomfortably in the bottom of the boat, holding a supermarket catalogue over her face to keep off the sun.

  In no time at all they were back at Ao Sapporot, wallowing through the surf and splashing onto the beach. It was early afternoon and Fon would now have to get back to work for the rest of the day. She quickly answered Ben’s silent enquiry.

  ‘Have plenty food, cook tonight. You come eat?’

  ‘You bet,’ he said.

  ‘Okay, see you here, seven o’clock. Maybe we go disco later.’ She took Joy by the hand and with the bags of food in the other, sailed off up the beach. Ben watched her go. He could now enjoy a pleasant afternoon looking forward to an evening together with good eating and perhaps even a disco. The vibes were now very positive indeed.

  14

  Time slipped easily by for the rest of the day as Ben swam and lazed on the beach. He could relax because that evening he would be with Fon and because he knew exactly where she now was. As he swam he could see her at work with Gaeo over by the rocks, and later when she walked along the beach looking for customers, his eyes followed her every move. He could not help watching her and he could not concentrate on anything else. Once she disappeared from view but her plastic box with her massage kit was still sitting under the trees so she would not be very far away.

  He now had time to think about his growing obsession; why had he fallen so totally for Fon? There was of course the powerful appeal of the exotic. Fon was every man’s Asian dream, and though he had seen many gorgeous girls in Bangkok, her charm and personality were no less than dazzling. But the strangest feeling was his sympathy and admiration for her; he was moved by the sad story of her childhood and he greatly respected her solitary struggle to provide for her Mama and Joy. These were all reasons for his fixation, though by now it had gone beyond the rational. He realised he was besotted.

  It worried him that there were still many things about her that were puzzling. Though there seemed to be a growing chemistry between them, he could not really be sure what if anything she felt for him. She was always flirtatious with her customers and could turn on the charm at will, so perhaps he was just another dupe for her to play games with. Her claims to modesty also seemed at odds with her recent provocative behaviour. He was confused by her insistence on propriety and reputation while at the same time being an outrageous tease and an accomplished mistress of innuendo. Then there was the shadowy boyfriend she had mentioned a couple of times and her reluctance to talk about the death of her sister, the mother of Joy. It was all made more difficult because he could not read the signals in so different a culture.

  Now sitting alone waiting for the evening, he found himself talking freely with her, practising the verbal foreplay of seduction which streamed through his head in a pleasurable glow. He could say to her whatever he liked and he daydreamed erotic dreams. More than once, a little carried away, he was embarrassed by a stirring in the swimming trunk department that kept him briefly confined to his deckchair.

  Ben’s afternoon went slowly by in a heated reverie. Come dusk and mosquito time, he went to his hut and showered. He arrived early at the meeting place, the fallen tree at the top of the beach and sat and waited. Then he saw a small female fig
ure coming towards him. The light was behind her and he thought he recognised the distinctive gait.

  ‘Hi, Fon,’ he called, running towards her. He wanted to hold her and kiss her but suddenly he realised it was not Fon but her sister. Jinda laughed out loud, guessing his mistake. He followed her into the trees until they reached a group of workers’ huts where he saw Fon, dressed as she had been all day, in the middle of cooking.

  Beside the huts was an open-air kitchen, a simple wooden structure with a corrugated roof, gas cylinders, plastic basins for washing dishes, and pots and pans strewn around in disorder. Under the trees were a couple of rusty tin tables with plastic tops and some chairs. Fon was holding a pan over a gas ring and stirring hard.

  ‘Hi, Ben … cooking for you,’ she called to him. ‘Very hot and too many red ants.’ She bent down and brushed them off her ankle. ‘You hungry?’

  ‘You bet,’ said Ben. ‘So is this where you live?’ he asked her.

  ‘No, this house Gaeo,’ she said, pointing with her wooden spatula. ‘Her husband away, so we cook here.’

  At that moment Joy came shooting out of Gaeo’s hut, saw Ben and with a shriek hurled herself at him, shouting his name. He caught her and lifted her into the air, twirling her round until he was dizzy.

  ‘Food ready now,’ said Fon. ‘Pork ribs, fish, tom yam and sticky rice.’

  ‘No som tam?’ asked Ben.

  ‘No som tam,’ said Fon. ‘But sticky rice always have.’

  The plates of food were put on the tables and Fon, Jinda, Joy, Gaeo and Ben sat down on the tin chairs, the feet sinking into the sandy soil. Ben felt honoured. He guessed this had all been done for his benefit, that it was not usual for Fon to entertain a farang and that it could only be done with other friends around.

  ‘Food good?’ asked Fon.

  ‘Yes, the best … the best ever,’ said Ben with conviction, good because it had been done specially for him and by Fon.