Thai Girl

by Andrew Hicks

  As Fon went on chatting, Ben found himself talking to the Germans’ Thai tour guide.

  ‘She your girlfriend?’ the guide asked him.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben.

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘No,’ said Ben.

  ‘You going to get married?’

  ‘No,’ said Ben in a subdued voice.

  Fon was now surrounded by a circle of admiring males, while the one with the video camera drifted across to where Ben was still standing at the bow.

  ‘That your girl?’ the man asked Ben.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben assertively.

  ‘Where you been?’

  ‘To her village … holiday with her family.’

  The man looked impressed.

  ‘Wouldn’t mind one myself. It’s so cheap here. Get a girl and settle down … made for life!’ He gave Ben a lascivious smirk.

  The beach, the huts and bars on Ao Sapporot were all familiar to Ben but their novelty was almost gone. Though beach life was much the same as before, it was also very different because the friends with whom he had spent most of his time had now moved on. Maca and Chuck were gone and so of course was Emma; she was now somewhere in Cambodia, perhaps with a boyfriend from Chiang Mai.

  Things with Fon were different too; something had changed. He now saw little of her; a glimpse in the distance perhaps as she walked along the beach with Gaeo or a smile in passing on the beach. But she was too busy to spend any time with him and it seemed impossible for them ever to be alone together.

  It was a weekend in the high season and with the contacts she had made on the ferry, she was much in demand. The first evening back on the island she told Ben she had already managed five hours of massage. After the overnight journey she was exhausted but now had to cook and put Joy to bed. Ben understood her situation, but this made the adjustment no less difficult. Having been so close to her for that precious time together, here on the island he could hardly be with her at all.

  The following morning, Ben sat on the beach near where Fon was working, hoping for a massage. Eventually he dared ask if he could be next, but his moment did not come until evening when the sun was falling and the mosquitoes were rampant. So he could talk to her face to face, he insisted on starting the massage lying on his back, though he had little idea what he was going to say.

  ‘Fon, it’s good being alone with you for a bit,’ he began.

  ‘ Sorry, Ben … no have time for you now.’

  ‘No, of course not, no problem … well, it is a problem, but anyway …’

  ‘Ben, you no have friends. Where you go now?’

  ‘I just don’t know, Fon.’ It seemed a feeble answer.

  ‘I thinking Ben … about you and me. Mai sanuk … too seeliat.’

  ‘Too what?’

  ‘Seeliat, seeliat.’

  He watched her fingers pressing deep into his thigh.

  ‘Oh yes, too serious. No, not fun … not fun at all.’

  ‘Ben, I think better you go.’

  ‘Go? You mean leave Koh Samet?’ He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

  ‘Yes, go.’

  ‘Where to?’ he whispered.

  ‘Anywhere. Not stay here.’

  Though Ben knew she was right, her directness came as an awful shock; it was a bit like the trauma of Emma all over again. Alone with Fon and with the intimacy of the massage, he found it hard to suppress the quaver in his voice.

  ‘Suppose I could join Maca and Chuck on Koh Chang,’ he said despondently.

  ‘You go tomorrow?’

  ‘So soon? Well yes, okay, I’ll get the boat tomorrow morning.’

  The massive bulk of Koh Chang, elephant island, the second largest in Thailand, reared up out of the sea as the smoky little ferry boat drew closer. From his seat in the bow, Ben could make out the coconut and banana plantations which ran from the shore up into the jungle-clad mountains behind.

  A row of pick-ups standing on the dark red laterite of the vehicle park, their drivers lounging around touting for fares, greeted the arriving travellers. The first ones quickly filled up with passengers and left and when Ben found himself about to be crammed inside the last to go, he decided instead to ride shotgun on the wide metal step at the back. The step was heaped with sacks of fresh fish and ice but he could just about find a foothold.

  The overloaded pick-up moved off and began to career wildly along the narrow concrete road at the foot of the mountains. With the wind in his face and clinging on precariously, he began to feel that life was worth living again. New perspectives appeared around each corner. Plantations followed scrub and jungle, then a village and a Chinese temple, and to his right the sea and the distant hills of the mainland.

  Soon the pick-up was beginning to climb, to struggle and slow, its exhaust farting and burbling beneath his feet. Grinding down through the gears, the driver swerved through the potholes and round steep hairpin bends, threatening to throw him under the wheels of the more powerful truck that snarled impatiently behind.

  He stared up at the mountains as they climbed to where the narrow ribbon of road cut into the vertical side of the rock face. Then as the road reached its highest point, he caught his first glimpse along the island, a chain of bays, headlands and peaks softened by a gentle evening light that merged the colours together in a warm glow. All this and the rush of hot air, richly scented of earth and foliage, the tallest trees and densest jungle he had ever seen and the sweat and exertion of not quite falling off the back of the pick-up brought his usual optimism flooding back.

  The pain of the last few days on Koh Samet was already beginning to subside and he was suffering fewer flashbacks to his parting with Fon. Saying goodbye had been a highly-charged moment, but there on the beach with the world watching, there could be no contact. Little was said as he boarded the boat except, ‘I’ll try to phone you Fon or fax maybe,’ and, ‘Fon, it’s been great.’

  The minibus he took to Koh Chang had been claustrophobic and packed full of tourists, including some unsavoury-looking European men, one of them pawing the Thai girl sitting next to him and swilling beer all the way. The journey seemed long and Ben had too much time to think about everything that had happened on the roller-coaster ride of the week that had just gone by.

  Now as the pick-up began to wind down through the mountains towards White Sand Beach, he was feeling more positive. The excitement of moving on and the beauty of his surroundings were doing him good.

  The island was a National Park and as tourism had arrived decades later than on many Thai islands, he was hoping Koh Chang would be pristine and unspoiled. But as the pick-up reached the bottom of the hill and cruised along through the coconut palms behind the beach, he was dismayed by the messy developments on either side of the road. There were huts and bungalows everywhere, mini-marts, noodle stalls, obtrusive signs, motorbikes for hire and all the disorder of Thailand in pursuit of the tourist dollar.

  He stayed aboard to the far end of the beach and got down where he hoped Maca and Chuck were staying. Leaving his backpack in the thatched reception hut he went to have a look around and as he walked up the path he saw a familiar figure. Sure enough it was Maca.

  ‘G’dye. How ya goin’, Ben?’

  ‘Hi, Maca … thought I’d find you here.’

  ‘Good on yuh, mate. Enjoy yourself with Fon then? Hot nights huh?’

  Ben went back down to the reception desk and was lucky to get the last of the huts, two along from Maca and Chuck. On the low cliffs looking west out to sea, they stood on springy turf under coconut palms and were surrounded by hibiscus and bougainvillaea bushes in riotous flower.

  He opened the door of the hut and looked around his new home. The walls were of woven bamboo matting nailed onto the wooden frame of the hut, the floor of black palm wood tilting crazily away to the left. At the back was the usual washroom with a squat loo, a tap and bin of water. The double mattress on the floor filled the room and there was no fan and not a stick of furniture
.

  It soon became obvious to Ben that he was not going to be lonely; Maca and Chuck gave him an immediate entrée into a busy social scene. After he had dumped his things beside the mattress, Maca took him to meet a group of friends sitting on mats in front of one of the huts, watching the sunset.

  ‘This is me old mate Ben … pommie bastard but a good’un,’ Maca announced loudly.

  ‘Hi, Ben … Stewart Robertson. Welcome to Koh Chang.’ Ben found his hand being crushed by a large and bespectacled Scot. ‘How d’ye like a dram of Sang Som?’

  ‘Thanks. Thai rum isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s rum alright! You’ll want to soften it with some Coke.’

  A large bottle of cola brought his generous tot up to the brim of the glass.

  ‘And this is Darren, another Pom … seriously into wine and women,’ said Maca, introducing him to a fit-looking boy-band sort of a guy.

  ‘Wine, women and Sang Som,’ quipped Darren in a strong regional accent, moving up so Ben could find space on the mat.

  ‘And we call this one Dutch,’ Maca went on. ‘He’s from Holland!’

  ‘Hello Ben, I’m Gerrit … you Brits can’t pronounce it properly, so I’m “Dutch” to my friends.’ In his early thirties, clean cut and confident, he thrust out his hand.

  Then there was an Irish couple from Dublin, he a bright-eyed leprechaun, she petite and pretty, and finally a Norwegian couple in their final week before returning home to their jobs as teachers. With all these conspicuous pairings around him Ben felt a little solitary, but the Sang Som was having its effect and, when a spliff came round, his release from reality was complete. The sun was a red ball falling into the sea and Ben was in Eden, though like Adam he was alone. He drew heavily on the spliff and passed it on.

  ‘It’s good ganja, that. Enjoy, man,’ said Chuck, taking it from him.

  Ben lay back and listened to the traveller chat around him and gave in to the warm glow of the sunset, the alcohol and skunk. Making any effort at being sociable was now out of the question. He was floating along on a tide of delirium, the muscles in his cheeks involuntarily contracting into a foolish grin that fortunately was hidden by the gathering darkness.

  He found himself talking to Stewart who was from somewhere in the industrial lowlands of Scotland.

  ‘So, Ben, what d’ye do for a living when you’re not travelling?’

  ‘Just graduated … running away from work really.’

  ‘Keep running, mun.’

  ‘How about yourself?’

  ‘Steel-worker by trade … welder and that. Done a bit of everything though, prison officer, security, taxi driver. But this is where it’s at.’

  ‘Got nothing to keep you at home then?’

  ‘No. No kids … just a divorce. Wasn’t easy but there you go.’

  ‘So why d’you like Thailand?’

  ‘Well, Scotland for starters … cold as a witch’s tit. Who wouldn’t leave?!’

  ‘But why here?’

  ‘Usual things. Food, scenery, prices … not to mention the girls.’

  ‘You go for them then?’

  ‘Went crazy over a Thai girl once … thun as a wuppet she was. Fragile like glass,’ he said, enraptured. ‘But I try to hold back … when I first got here I was like a dog with two dicks.’ He polished his glasses which were beginning to steam up.

  ‘So how long are you here for?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Six months or until the money runs out.’

  ‘Then back to work?’

  ‘Don’t mention work,’ said Stewart. ‘Shrinks me goolies to think of it.’

  ‘My worry too … I want to find something with real job satisfaction,’ said Ben.

  ‘Job satisfaction?’ roared Stewart. ‘Haven’t a scooby doo what yer fuckin’ talking about. Well … maybe a beer taster in a Thai brothel!’

  It was now almost dark and Dutch was getting hungry.

  ‘Anyone coming down to Odin’s?’

  ‘What’s Odin’s?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Odin’s Pleasure Dome,’ said Dutch. ‘It’s the best place to eat on Koh Chang … run by a ladyboy. Great food and Odin’s something special.’

  Ben stumbled off into the darkness to get his money from his hut. He was convinced he was still sober but there was something wrong with his legs which weren’t responding properly to the usual commands. Unlocking his padlocked door proved impossible so he climbed in through the veranda window, to be faced with blackness of an intensity he had never before experienced. Somehow he found his wallet and fell out of the window giggling just as Darren was going past. The two of them walked down the grassy slope together and followed the others to the beach.

  Odin’s restaurant stood on the edge of the sand facing out to sea. The first thing Ben saw were the words “Odin’s Pleasure Dome” and the stylised design of a Norse god boldly painted on the gable end. Curious as always, he went inside and had a quick look round while the others found a table on the terrace. Furnished with heavy varnished wood, there was a bar bedecked with bottles and to the rear some soft seating and shelves of used paperbacks.

  As he was coming out again he was confronted by a tall, slim Thai waitress almost blocking his way. In slinky white trousers and blue tank top, she had a red scarf round her head in pirate-style and was liberally garnished with jewellery, bangles and beads. Ben thought her a little strange, though the real give-away was when she opened her mouth.

  ‘Hello! Do I know you?’ she said in a husky voice, batting dark eyelashes at him.

  ‘No,’ said Ben in alarm.

  ‘So I haven’t had the pleasure. Pity!’ she said, stroking back a stray quiff of hair and shifting from one hip to the other. ‘My name Odin. Welcome to my Pleasure Dome!’

  Ben could not help liking the gentle eyes of this very feminine ladyboy.

  ‘And I’m Ben,’ he said, backing away a pace or two.

  ‘You like to try my special fruit shake, Ben? Here, take this one,’ said Odin, handing him a purple plastic mug with a head of frothy pinkness spilling down its sides. ‘I make it for the cow with that beautiful man over there … but better she wait!’

  Ben drew on the straw thirstily while Odin watched for his reaction.

  ‘It’s amazing. Whatever’s in it?’ he said.

  ‘My secret! I knew it’d work fast on you.’

  With Odin giving him the eye, Ben was now struggling for something to say.

  ‘So why Odin?’ he asked.

  ‘Because that’s my name of course … and because I’m the goddess of wisdom, poetry and war.’ Ben was finding it hard to suppress a laugh. ‘But tonight Ben, I give you special dish … not on the menu. Bring your table fie minute.’

  ‘Whatever is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Baby octopus,’ lisped Odin. ‘Smell so bad … but taste so lovely.’

  Soon their table on the terrace was laden with water bottles and fruit shakes, with Chang beers standing in growing pools of condensation and with spirit lamps for sparkling eyes. Finding space for the food was going to be difficult, but anything was possible. Following his taster of baby octopus, Ben then became engrossed in one of his greatest ever sensual experiences, Odin’s red curry.

  When he managed to take breath, he asked Dutch what he knew about their host.

  ‘Odin’s educated I think … and really quite shy,’ said Dutch. ‘Doesn’t talk a lot about himself, but I guess he’s from a well-to-do family and had to make a life for himself. The Thais tolerate ladyboys if they make them laugh, but they don’t allow them much dignity. Coming out must be a big step.’

  ‘I’d love to know more about him.’

  ‘He closes down for the rainy season and goes off to Europe and America. As he likes Holland, we have lots to talk about.’

  ‘So what about you?’ Ben asked Dutch. ‘Heard you speaking Thai just now.’

  ‘I’m an English teacher … freelance. Been in Bangkok six years.’

  ‘And in that time you’ve learned Thai?’
>
  ‘Yes. It’s not an easy language because of the tones. Took me four or five years, but now I can make myself understood.’

  ‘I like the idea of settling in Thailand too … been thinking about it recently.’

  ‘A girl, I suppose,’ said Dutch knowingly.

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘It’s not always the best of reasons, Ben. Things can change overnight and then you’re in trouble.’

  But it was not the moment for serious talk; the sky was laden with stars and Ben’s belly with euphoria. When Dutch suggested they all go on to a bar further along the beach, he was not in a fit state to resist and readily succumbed to the temptation.

  27

  The bar Dutch wanted to go to was about ten minutes walk along White Sand Beach where the dry sand above the tide mark was at its widest. Everyone who had eaten at Odin’s ambled along the beach to the encampment of mats and cushions spread out on the sand in front of the bar, where the farang tribes were comfortably reclining. Ben sat down on one of the mats with Maca and Chuck and his new friends and ordered a round of beers.

  Curious to know more about Darren, he tried the usual opener.

  ‘How long’ve you been travelling, Darren?’

  ‘Six months this trip … about two to go.’

  ‘And where’ve you been?’

  ‘Thailand and Lao,’ he said. ‘But Ben, you don’t look like no traveller.’

  ‘Just finished uni … thinking about careers. So, what about your work?’

  ‘Construction worker and that.’

  ‘And do you like it?’ asked Ben.

  Darren looked at him as if he was mad.

  ‘Yeah right! Work sucks!’

  ‘Don’t fancy a career then?’

  ‘It’d do my head in. Look mate, me brother’s getting educated … works all the time and never goes out. If he gets to be a college lecturer, he’ll earn half what I do, so what’s the point?’ Darren lolled contentedly on his pile of cushions. ‘It’s just plain stoopid!’

  ‘So where else have you been?’ asked Ben, trying a safer line.