Thai Girl

by Andrew Hicks

  ‘We do respect them, Dutch,’ Ben protested. ‘Course we do.’

  ‘No we don’t. The West dominates world trade and overwhelms smaller countries with its economic clout. America’s been almost a quarter of the world economy during the twentieth century and its wealth and culture are so attractive. Like in the Cold War it was dead easy for the US to buy Thailand to stop it going communist. Look how the Thais fell for the consumer society.’

  ‘Yeah, and Bin Laden hates American influence in Saudi,’ said Maca. ‘I saw that problem when I worked in Jiddah.’

  ‘Exactly. What Islam fears is being subverted by materialism. They can’t buy into the western goodies without getting contaminated by the corrosive values,’ argued Dutch.

  ‘So Uncle Sam’s invading the globe with burgers, Budweiser and Britney. Irresistible!’ said Stewart.

  ‘Nice one, Stew,’ crowed Darren over the laughter before Stewart had his final say.

  ‘And they want to impose the American dream on everyone else … liberty and democracy American style. Some model for the world to follow! Bush got fewer votes than Gore and only got in as President when his brother fixed it for him. And what a choice for the American people that was … Gore and Bush, bore and gush! No wonder they couldn’t decide. And when you think about the presidents they get … Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Clinton … half of ‘em were sex maniacs or shits, and most of the others … Ford, Reagan, George Doubleyuh … just plain stoopid!’

  Sitting silently with Penny, Ben decided it was time to balance the debate a bit.

  ‘This liberal stuff’s all very well but September eleven was an outrage. Tony Blair knows Saddam’s got weapons of mass destruction, so the free world’s got to defend itself and strike first.’

  ‘Yes Ben, but terror’s an ideological struggle which Bush just doesn’t begin to understand,’ said Dutch passionately. ‘He’s totally out of his depth, so he did exactly what Bin Laden wanted … to overreact and be belligerent. Then world opinion polarises and America makes more enemies, more extremists and more potential terrorists. You lose sympathy if you threaten everyone and bomb poverty-stricken Muslims. Yes, we have to do everything possible to protect ourselves, but that’s about security. Shouting war does the opposite … it creates instability and fear and sets the world against us.’

  ‘Funny thing,’ said Stewart, ‘Vietnam was exactly the same … they got obsessed with dropping bombs on an abstraction. Then it was “communism” … now it’s “terrorism”. Trouble is, you can bomb the jungle and you can bomb the desert, you can kill as many people as you like, but you can never capture their minds.’ He looked round for a response, impressed by his own ramblings.

  ‘Very clever, Stewart, but the West’s got modern weapons to defend itself with,’ said Ben angrily. ‘So why shouldn’t we use them.’

  ‘Like these new precision bombs that never kill civilians, you mean? So we tell the satellites to look for a beardie with a turban hiding in a cave, then send off a smart bomb with “Bin Laden” written on it. Is that what we do?’

  ‘No way,’ said Maca. ‘Looking for Bin Laden’s like a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘Some needle! And first they’ve gotta find the fucking haystack!’ bellowed Stewart. His noisy one-liner brought a ripple of amusement, though Chuck ignored the laughter.

  ‘When I’m in Lao or Cambodia I see poverty everywhere … in Thailand too sometimes,’ he said in a low voice. ‘And I tell it you straight, the West’s got too much of the cookies. Look at us sitting here knocking back the hooch … we’ve got it made.’

  ‘It’s like we’re from another planet,’ said Dutch, ‘and most travellers don’t begin to see what’s going on around them.’

  ‘One B2 bomber costs six billion dollars,’ persisted Chuck. ‘Think what that’d do for poverty in Phnom Penh. Or what they’d save cancelling a B2 mission from Missouri to pulverise mud huts in Afghanistan. We could win over the world if we’d share a bit more … we don’t need bombs.’

  ‘Okay then,’ joked Stewart, ‘so I’ll get a poster printed and put it in the Oval Office. It’s of Ronald McDonald with a speech bubble saying, “Mr President, never forget, the hamburger’s mightier than the sword!” Think about it mun.’ He took a swig of his Sang Som and lay back theatrically on the floor, exhausted from the strain of so much mental activity.

  Hazy brains tried to absorb Stewart’s conversation-stopper. In the silence that followed, Maca got up and said he was about to turn in for the night. He came across to where Ben and Penny were sitting huddled together in the darkness.

  ‘Ben mate, Penny’s from the lucky country and she’s homeless tonight. Yours is the only hut with one body in it, so d’you think maybe …?’

  ‘Yeah okay, why not,’ said Ben, trying not to sound as if he’d just won the lottery.

  ‘Thanks Ben,’ said Penny, squeezing his hand and not letting go. He realised he was grinning foolishly again, the muscles in his cheeks in involuntary spasm.

  Not long after, as he lay on his double mattress listening to the sounds of showering a few feet away through the thin partition, Ben had visions of Penny’s body, naked and slim, the cold water coursing down her sharp little breasts and into the cleft of her bum. He could see the fingers caressing soap across her slender topography, finding their way into the secret valleys, towelling the golden skin and tying on a short cotton sarong.

  It was perfectly normal for travellers to share a room with the opposite sex, he told himself and it meant nothing. But then he vaguely remembered something Darren had said about what happens when you share a hut with a girl. And he began to wonder whether he was only canned on skunk or whether he was pissed as well. Not that it mattered much, so long as he managed not make a total fool of himself that night.

  30

  Shortly before six the next evening Ben was again sitting on the rattan sofa in the reception hut, thumbing through the same battered fashion magazine as he waited anxiously for Fon to call. At two minutes to six the mobile phone at the desk rang. He jumped to his feet but it was not for him. He waited a small eternity until six fifteen when it rang again. The unsmiling girl answered it and handed it him.

  ‘Hi, Fon?’

  ‘No, this Gaeo. How you, Ben?’

  ‘I’m okay but …’

  ‘Koh Chang good? Expensive?’

  ‘Gaeo …where’s Fon?’

  ‘She with me now.’

  Ben was overjoyed, but to his dismay the new voice that came on was weak and strangled and he could hardly recognise it as Fon.

  ‘Fon? Is that you?’

  ‘Hello Ben.’

  ‘You okay, Fon?’

  ‘Very tired … work, work every day. Many people.’

  ‘But that’s good.’

  ‘Yes, good money.’

  ‘So I’ll see you when I get back to Koh Samet in a few days, like I said in my fax.’ There was a moment’s pause. ‘Fon? Can you hear me? The line’s terrible.’

  ‘No Ben, you not come Koh Samet … please, you not come back.’

  ‘Fon! Why ever not? You don’t want to see me again?’ Ben was thunderstruck.

  ‘And you not call Gaeo’s mobile,’ she said in a choked voice.

  ‘You won’t even talk to me?!’

  ‘This her husband’s phone. Big problem!’ he could just hear her saying.

  ‘But why can’t I see you? Fon!’ he wailed.

  ‘Ben, you not understand? Two together here … no possible.’

  To Ben’s horror the line then began to break up and Fon’s voice faded away to nothing.

  In a daze he handed back the mobile, walked out of the building and headed for the beach. Feeling shocked and numb, he stood looking out to sea and tried to take in what had just happened. If Fon had finally finished with him, then why, why, why? Was it the card Odin had written for him? Because she could not be seen on the beach with a farang? Because she would not risk her heart? Or was the boyfriend back on the scene?

 
He knew there were a thousand things working against their friendship but only the fear of harming her reputation stopped him packing up and heading back to Koh Samet immediately. As the horizon blurred with tears he began to think the unthinkable, that perhaps this affair had been too painful and ending it might be a relief.

  But now he did not know how he was going to get through the next few days. He desperately needed to talk things through with somebody, but with whom? Penny had gone off to stay on a quieter beach where there were empty huts, though she was about the last person he could confide in. Odin might understand the tensions with Fon, but he too was hardly an impartial observer. Stewart was a mature sort of guy and was probably the best choice. But most of all he thought of Emma. Ironically it was she, his best pal, who would be able to make sense of it all.

  Though in the end Ben did not bring himself to confide in any of his friends, he did somehow manage to survive the trauma of Fon’s rejection. He read and swam and socialised much as usual, and he took a wheezy wooden boat for a day trip to Koh Wai and Koh Rang, two tiny islands with coral beaches just a few hours away. Sitting on the roof as the boat wallowed back through the swell with the mountains of Koh Chang sprawled across the ocean before him, he decided this must be one of the most beautiful places in the world and that he should not be too heartbroken for long.

  Back at his hut, satisfied and sweaty from his day in the islands, he was about to shower when the surly receptionist appeared at the door.

  ‘You have phone … lady ask for Ben,’ she said.

  Ben’s pulse raced wildly.

  ‘When?’

  ‘She call yesterday.’

  Ben was outraged.

  ‘And it’s taken you a whole day to tell me! Who was it?’

  The girl’s face darkened.

  ‘Not give her name,’ she replied.

  ‘So what am I supposed to do then?’

  ‘She phone again twenty minutes ago … say she call in twenty minutes.’

  ‘But that’s right now for God’s sake!’

  Ben shot out of the hut, the girl slowly following him down to the reception desk with a studied air of detachment. She looked away and said nothing as he paced around like a caged lion waiting for the call. Then the phone rang and it was Fon.

  ‘Hi, Fon, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Ben, I phone yesterday. Why you not call me?’

  ‘Because they didn’t bloody tell me you’d phoned.’

  The receptionist glowered at him.

  ‘Ben you angry me?’ said Fon, sounding worried.

  ‘Course not! And I can hear you this time, the line’s so good. Where are you?’

  ‘Ban Phe … phone box.’

  ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘Go bank, send money Mama. Ben you okay?’

  ‘I am now. Fon, you nearly killed me.’

  ‘How I kill you?’

  ‘Telling me I couldn’t come back like that.’

  ‘Nearly kill me too,’ she said.

  Ben’s heart leaped with joy.

  ‘But Fon, you don’t want to see me?’

  ‘Want very much … but cannot.’ This was just amazing.

  ‘Why ever not?’ he said.

  ‘You not understand? Not listen before?’

  ‘Tell me again then,’ said Ben in suspense.

  ‘When we go beach together, a hundred eyes follow us … think I sell sex.’

  ‘God, it disgusts me … why can’t they just leave us alone?’ he complained indignantly.

  ‘Ben, I boring … want go holiday,’ said Fon, laughing down the phone.

  ‘Oh, Fon, I wish. And I wish you really loved me.’

  ‘Ben I do! Love you thirty percent already!’ she said to more laughter.

  ‘Can’t you make it forty percent?’ Ben was thinking hard. ‘Suppose I come to Koh Samet and nobody knows I’m there?’ he said.

  ‘Then no problem.’

  ‘If I get a ferry to one of the other beaches and get a hut …?’

  ‘Then I come see you.’

  ‘Possible?’

  ‘Yes, possible. But how I find you there?’

  ‘When I’ve checked in, I’ll send a message somehow.’

  ‘So Ben, when you come?’ asked Fon.

  ‘Tomorrow … why not!’

  ‘Tomorrow, okay, okay. Sorry Ben … money finish.’

  Ben tried to say something more, but it was too late and the phone went dead.

  It had all been so quick, a breathtaking turnaround, with Fon’s voice clear and strong, so different to the tragic tone of the earlier call to Gaeo’s mobile. But yes, she had said he could come back to Koh Samet, which now meant packing up and leaving early the next morning. Walking back to his hut, it struck him that a day is a long time in a Thai love affair.

  Now he would have to face what travellers never get used to doing, severing the intense friendships he had so relied upon in the past few weeks. He felt he had known Maca and Chuck for ages, Stewart was the salt of the earth, Dutch a decent and impressive guy and everyone had a soft spot for Darren. In their place he would be left with a short list of email addresses.

  Eating at Odin’s that night was the same as usual but with a sense of nostalgia, coupled with the excitement of moving on. As always nothing at Odin’s was ordinary. The food was a triumph, the atmosphere electric and the men’s lavatory a monument of bad taste. Filled with pot plants, it was a shrine to the male form, the walls liberally plastered with pictures of multinational beefcake torn from magazines.

  The evening was finally rounded off with a moment of farce when a fisherman came up the beach with a massive fish for the restaurant.

  ‘What a size!’ said Stewart. ‘How the hell do you land and kill a thing like that?’

  ‘Have gun … shoot’em in the head,’ said the fisherman.

  After they had all eaten, there was now one last favour Ben wanted from Odin. As he paid the bill, he asked him if he could write a brief note in Thai to Fon.

  ‘Last time you make her angry,’ whined Odin. ‘Say all the wrong things.’

  ‘You mean all the things you said!’ grumbled Ben. ‘No, this time it’s very simple. I just want you to tell her to meet me tomorrow night by the jetty on Ao Hin Kong as soon as it gets dark.’

  ‘Ooh, Ben, you so romantic. Can I put in some extra bits?’

  Leaving Odin’s for the last time, Ben and his mates walked slowly along the beach back to the huts where they settled down around a circle of candles on Chuck’s veranda for a few bottles and the ritual of a final smoke. For some reason the mood was a little sombre, perhaps a sense that the party was almost over and that the group was about to break up.

  Ben had been wondering what life must be like for the Thais living in the islands and wanted to know what Dutch and Maca thought.

  ‘You know, I find it hard to believe Koh Chang’s not just some Shangri-La adrift in the ocean,’ he said. ‘It’s another world.’

  ‘Nothing could be further from the truth,’ said Maca. ‘Thailand’s linked into the world economy and feels every hiccup … even places like this get hit by a downturn.’

  ‘Yes, globalisation’s a big thing at the moment,’ said Dutch. ‘They went for an export-led economy which was a gamble, and they’ve still not recovered from the 1997 collapse … bad debts and unfinished buildings everywhere.’

  ‘So what now for Thailand?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Unpredictable … people are questioning the basic assumptions. They want the modern lifestyle but there’s always a price to be paid,’ said Dutch.

  ‘Seems they want it all and they want it now,’ replied Ben gloomily.

  ‘And they’re dumping their culture in the process,’ added Maca.

  ‘Maybe that’s what urbanisation’s all about,’ said Dutch. ‘Bangkok’s a bit like Europe in the industrial revolution … about eight million people, many of them from upcountry, and they all want the best the city can offer … housing, medicine, edu
cation and so on.’

  ‘But don’t the rural migrants just lose their old way of life and become the new urban poor,’ suggested Ben, pouring another tot of Sang Som.

  ‘’Fraid so,’ said Dutch. ‘That’s what gets me. In the nineteenth century Thailand avoided being colonised. King Mongkut was forced to cede Lao and part of Cambodia to the French but he played them off against the British and stayed independent while everywhere else was overrun.’

  ‘Yes, and look at the bloody mess the French made of Indo-China,’ interjected Maca.

  ‘King Mongkut and King Chulalongkorn took the best systems and technology from the West, but continued to value their own traditions,’ Dutch went on. ‘There was no internet then, so it was easier … but now it seems the Thais are desperate to be colonised economically and culturally. So everything’s in the melting pot.’

  There was a pause as they all tried to absorb the enormity of what Dutch had just said.

  ‘Wasn’t the Vietnam war a big turning point?’ said Stewart.’ Thailand was the threatened domino and was flooded with aid from the West.’

  ‘Dead right,’ said Dutch. ‘American influence was immense … they even had the use of military bases here. And the GIs were randy so the Thais sold them their women, maybe the soul of the Thai people too … the nicest people money can buy.’

  ‘Sold for a serving of KFC,’ said Stewart, staring into the candles.

  ‘So if they’re dumping their culture, what is it exactly?’ asked Ben.

  ‘There’s many influences,’ said Dutch, ‘mainly central and northern Thai, with Lao and Khmer rural tradition in the North East and Islam in the south,

  plus the commercial dynamic of the immigrant Chinese … not to mention India and Buddhism. Maybe that’s why it’s so full of contradictions… like with the sex trade. Buddhism condemns sexual misconduct and Thai women are modest and shy, but commercial sex is still rampant … perhaps because they’re so tolerant and non-judgmental.’

  ‘Amazing thing I saw in the Bangkok Post,’ said Maca. ‘A middle-aged senator was accused of paying for sex with under-aged girls … but a Health Ministry spokeswomen said it wouldn’t be fair to hold him solely responsible.’