Thai Girl

by Andrew Hicks

  ‘Why ever not?’ said Chuck. ‘That goes beyond tolerance.’

  ‘She said society should understand him … men used to take minor wives and concubines, but now they go to prostitutes instead.’

  ‘That can’t be the official line!’

  ‘No, I’m sure it isn’t, but it’s still weird saying something like that, specially a woman,’ said Maca, shaking his head.

  ‘Another thing,’ Dutch went on, ‘Thai kick boxing seems so at odds with their gentleness. And they’ve let their crafts and architecture be overwhelmed by the plastic, concrete and vulgar. Like traditional dress … the sarong’s so attractive, but they all want to look flash in jeans which are hot and uncomfortable.’

  ‘Listen to this old guy,’ mocked Darren.

  ‘I agree with Dutch,’ said Ben. ‘Thai girls look great in a sarong.’

  ‘In Bali,’ said Maca, ‘they make brilliant use of traditional building materials but here it’s all ugly concrete boxes.’ He leaned back against the wall of his bamboo hut.

  ‘I don’t want to sound an old fart,’ said Dutch, ‘but the Thais have sold themselves for an inferior popular culture and tacky bad taste. Take the nightclubs. They’re black holes with bad music which is unbelievably loud. The kids stand around trying to look cool, and the live acts on the stage are awful … some guy who looks like a fifties teddy boy, wearing dark glasses so he can’t see. And a skinny girl in a backless bikini made of pink feathers … probably can’t sing either.’

  ‘Take it easy, granddad!’ jeered Darren, flexing his biceps.

  ‘And there’s a great musical tradition in the North East,’ Dutch continued, ignoring him, ‘political songs that really say something, but western music’s more fashionable so that’s it … no contest.’

  ‘In Bangkok I went to this place called RCA, Royal City Avenue. It’s a street with nightclubs,’ said Maca. ‘When you go down there you’re nearly blown away by the noise even when you’re outside. I’m no granddad but I think it’s gross … a load of kids posturing and trying to be funky. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a great world culture of music and dance but they’ve got to pick the best and value their own.’

  Everyone agreed it was time to open another bottle and, with discussion of Thai culture exhausted, Ben now had the chance to change the subject.

  ‘For me,’ he said, ‘the worst thing’s the way Thai women are up for sale. Sex tourism stinks. What’s the world’s perception of the Thai girl now? Elegant in a sarong or legs apart stuffing things up herself in a go-go bar?’

  ‘Trouble is,’ said Dutch, ‘how do you stop it? Money from commercial sex flows back to the rural areas and there’s so many vested interests, including the police who take their cut. The government cracks down on the girlie bars from time to time on grounds of social order, but it’s difficult to dismantle so big an industry, even if they have the will to do it. But yes, prostitution corrupts society, just like gambling, guns and drugs.’

  ‘It’s not just for tourists though,’ added Ben. ‘Sex is for sale everywhere in Thailand. I don’t understand why it’s such a big thing.’

  ‘There’s enough for fifty PhDs on that one,’ said Dutch. ‘But like it said in the Bangkok Post, Thailand has a tradition of men taking concubines … of sex being an economic relationship. Today, with so many migrant workers, contraception allowing casual contact and poor women needing a fast buck, hey presto, you’ve got prostitution.’

  ‘Yeah, if nice girls are virgins and men are promiscuous, there’ll be women who’ll sell their ass,’ agreed Maca.

  ‘What amazes me though is how past governments seem to have connived at international sex tourism. It brings in the money but look what it does for Thailand’s reputation,’ said Ben. ‘It’s Thailand’s shame.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Chuck, ‘but governments do desperate things. The Philippine government’s been exporting women for years as domestic servants. They’re open to abuse, but remittances by overseas workers are the country’s biggest foreign exchange earner. Money talks, man, so forget the abuse!’

  ‘Hey guys, this has got a wee bit serious,’ said Stewart. ‘How about some more Sang Som?

  ‘Yes, I need to release my seriousness a bit,’ said Ben stretching his legs. But relaxed as he felt, there was still one more thing he wanted to talk about.

  ‘So what about the environment?’ he said to nobody in particular. ‘Koh Chang’s a National Park, but it’s one big building site. With the new road down the west, resorts are going up everywhere.’

  ‘Only the jungle’s protected,’ said Maca. ‘Old coconut and rubber plantations can be developed, so if you want to throw up some huts there’s nothing to stop you … at least that’s what Odin told me. What d’you think, Dutch?’

  ‘It’s Thailand’s big problem … like tourism in Spain in the sixties. No controls on development means oversupply, cheap prices and environmental damage. Tourism’s booming at the moment, but busts always follow, especially when the place goes out of fashion.’

  ‘The government’s got some big scheme to turn Koh Chang into a high-class resort area with loads of new infrastructure,’ added Maca. ‘Okay maybe if they restrict informal development, but I’ll believe that when I see it.’ He subsided into a pessimistic silence.

  ‘I met a girl who went to the floating market near Bangkok. Thought it disgusting … hundreds of tour buses crowded into one village and no traditional life anywhere, just a few boats selling the usual tacky handicrafts,’ said Chuck. ‘If you ask me, the Thais are really going to have to look out. There’s more and more competition from Lao and Cambodia and just wait till tourism really takes off in Burma. Thailand’s still a great place but we won’t keep coming if they ruin it.’

  The next day after an early start and a tedious bus ride back to Ban Phe, Ben waited for a ferry to Na Dan, the fishing village on Koh Samet. They told him it would leave as soon as there were twenty people ready to go, so tired, hot and hungry he did not dare order any food in case a flush of people arrived and he had no time to eat it. The only other person waiting for the boat was a grim-faced American with impenetrable shades and a granite jaw. Restlessly pacing up and down, chewing gum, he insisted on telling Ben about all the best beaches he should visit in Thailand.

  ‘How do you know Thailand so well?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Bin coming here twice a year last ten years.’

  ‘On holiday?’ asked Ben, sensing a sex tourist.

  ‘No, on business.’

  ‘What business are you in?’

  ‘Orchids,’ he said, chewing hard.

  An hour later after landing at Na Dan and sharing a pick-up along the dusty track with the American, Ben checked into a hut at the Hat Yao Resort. His first thought was how to get Odin’s message delivered to Fon so they could meet at sundown. The best idea was one of the vendors who walk the coast path and within minutes a sarong seller was on his way to Ao Sapporot clutching the note for Fon in his hand.

  Relieved this was done, Ben went back to his hut and collapsed onto his bed and slept. When he woke, the sun was already low in the sky behind the island. He put on trousers as protection against mosquitoes and started off along the coast path. The walk was not as long as he remembered and he soon got to Ao Hin Kong, a quiet beach with a wooden jetty jutting out into the sea. By the jetty stood a wild mango tree, a magnificent specimen, its gnarled trunk wrapped in lengths of fabric, at its foot a shrine to the many spirits that dwelt in its branches.

  He walked to the far end of the jetty from where he could see the full length of the beach and sat and studied the crazy assortment of palm trunks driven into the sand and the narrow walkway of irregular planks. It was the perfect place to wait for the sunset and for Fon. Somehow he felt sure that this time nothing could go wrong.

  It was almost dark by the time he saw a small figure appear at the end of the bay. He watched her as she reached the tree, stopping for a moment, before walking at a measured pace toward
s the jetty. Half way along it, she broke into a run, the boards rattling and bouncing under her feet. She did not slow down but hurled herself at him, her small body hitting him with all its force. Ben held tightly onto her as she clung to him, her feet clear of the ground, joking and laughing and nuzzling her face into his neck. It was far more than he had dared hope for.

  They sat together on the jetty in the gathering darkness facing out to sea, Fon between his knees lying back against him, he wrapping his arms around her in undisputed possession determined never to let go of her again. He felt an overwhelming joy as deep as his despair had been when she told him she could not see him again. There were many things he wanted her to explain to him but somehow the setbacks became unimportant as they were with each other now, bonded together by closeness and touch. They did not need to talk much, and talking’s not easy when mouths are so engrossed.

  For Ben the moment was a sensuous experience to rival even Odin’s curries; the waves hissing restlessly up the beach a few feet beneath them, the blackness of the night punctuated by the lights of the fishing boats and pricked by the stars, the salty tang of the sea, the warm scent of Fon’s body and the taste of tongues on white ivory.

  But then after only a few minutes together, Fon suddenly sat up. ‘Must go back,’ she said.

  ‘Why? So soon? Fon, I’ve only just got here.’

  ‘Cannot stay. Joy miss me.’

  ‘When’ll I see you again?’ he begged her.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘But when? I’ll die if I have to sit around waiting for you.’

  ‘No Ben, you not die.’

  And then she was gone, walking away fast along the jetty, leaving him gazing after her as she disappeared into the darkness.

  Back at Hat Yao that night, Ben sat alone on the beach, relieved and overjoyed but tantalised. As he ate, an old man in black pyjamas hobbled up to his table.

  ‘You no have lady tonight?’ he asked Ben.

  ‘Not here, no.’

  ‘ Sorry … I hope you no sad.’

  ‘I’m okay, I think,’ said Ben.

  ‘You like, I sing for you,’ said the old man, taking a bamboo flute from his pocket. He played a lilting tune and then sang.

  When he had finished, he slowly explained the song.

  ‘This very sad story … love story. Beautiful girl, she have boyfriend in village where she born. Then she go work Bangkok, meet new boyfriend. Boyfriend have money, have motorbike … so she marry him. Then she go back village, New Year. She see old boyfriend, tell him she marry already. He very sorry … he very sad. This song very beautiful … same life. Life sometime sad, sometime beautiful. You think so?’

  Ben silently nodded his head in agreement.

  31

  There was a storm in the night and through pleasant dreams Ben was aware of the rain beating on the roof of his hut. He woke early and lay listening to the shriek of the insects, the croaking of the bullfrogs and the more distant sound of the breakers coming ashore onto the beach.

  He took a shower and started to sort out the mess from emptying his rucksack the night before. His sarong was damp and smelly so he decided to hang it over the plastic chair on the veranda to air. As he went outside in his boxer shorts his eyes fell on the pool of rain water on the seat of the chair, the moment somehow frozen in time by the impact of what happened next. For there on the steps glimpsed out of the corner of his eye was a slim figure in a blue tie-die shirt, her hair piled up on top, silent and still, watching in amusement as she caught him in a very domestic moment.

  Fon launched herself at him, a gust of femininity and fragrance, smelling freshly-washed of shampoo and soap and glowing a little from the walk along the shore. She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him on the cheek, radiant and happy. They retreated into the hut, where she hardly resisted when he dragged her down onto the bed. Cuddled up together, their limbs intertwined, they lay and talked.

  ‘No idea you’d be here so early, Fon. Thought I was in for another awful wait,’ said Ben.

  ‘Get up five o’clock, cook food for the monks,’ she said, showing him the saffron-coloured string tied around her wrist as a mark of merit.

  ‘So now another day of massage?’

  ‘Fon, always work. And you Ben, where you go?’

  ‘Nowhere … just waiting here for you.’ He planted a lingering kiss on her lips.

  ‘So Koh Chang funny?’ she asked when he released her.

  ‘You mean fun? Yes, it was brilliant.’

  ‘You have girlfriend, Koh Chang?’ she demanded bluntly.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ he said. ‘You of course!’

  ‘Pak waan. You sweet mouth, Ben.’

  There was more kissing, but Fon had something important to say.

  ‘Ben, I thinking strong. Last night, see you short time then go back. Now you wait while I work all day. No good for you … maybe find you with rope round your head!’ With a shriek, she passed her hand across her throat to suggest suicide by a despairing lover.

  ‘No, I won’t kill myself … not if you still like me, Fon.’

  ‘Love you little bit more each time … now maybe forty percent!’

  There was laughter as Ben wrestled her onto the mattress again and stopped her talking, but she broke away from him and sat up.

  ‘Ben, I thinking … this my life. Sometime they speak me no good, but no problem.’

  ‘What d’you mean, Fon?’

  ‘I mean, better you come Ao Sapporot, then can see me every day.’

  Ben could hardly believe what he was hearing.

  ‘Me stay at Ao Sapporot? But what’ll people say?’

  ‘If people speak me no good, if they fight me … I fight back!’

  ‘But this is a big thing for you isn’t it, you being seen with me?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘What can I do? If my heart strong, have to follow my heart.’

  The impact of what she was saying was hardly sinking in when she jumped up from the bed and dragged Ben to his feet.

  ‘Hiu khao … very hungry. We go eat,’ she said.

  ‘Okay. Well, I’m too gobsmacked to feel hungry, but yes, why not.’

  Sitting in the restaurant overlooking the beach, they watched the workers raking up the leaves and flotsam that the storm had brought in, Ben turning things over in his mind. This seemed to be another huge leap forward. He was no longer a pariah to be kept hidden from sight at a distant beach. It meant that Fon was prepared to let her relationship with him be openly recognised. It was a public declaration, a decision of significance for her and perhaps for him too.

  They ordered breakfast from a sleepy girl who gave them curious glances.

  ‘She think I stay with you last night,’ said Fon.

  ‘I wish,’ replied Ben dreamily.

  ‘Think I stay with you … sell sex.’

  After breakfast they went back to the hut to be alone together for a few moments. It was eight thirty when Fon finally looked at her watch and said she must go; she would be missed if she was not on the beach starting work at the usual time. Ben thought of checking out of his hut immediately and walking to Ao Sapporot with her but decided to follow on later in the morning as if he had just arrived on the island.

  He stood on the veranda and watched as Fon walked briskly away through the trees with a bounce in her step, her hair now loose and flowing. Just at the last moment before disappearing from view behind a hut, she turned, saw him gazing after her and blew him a kiss with both hands. Like the moment earlier when he first caught sight of her on the veranda steps, the distant kiss became fixed in his memory with photographic clarity. The bad moments in his Thai love affair had been terrible but the good ones made up for them a million times over.

  That afternoon, Ben found himself back at Ao Sapporot staying in the same place he had been with Emma a few weeks earlier. There were many local people who recognised him and gave him a welcome, sometimes perhaps with a knowing look; he could not be sure.

&
nbsp; Life on the beach went on much as before, Fon working the height of the tourist season for every baht she could earn, he leading the life of a traveller in a land which for the farang flows with milk and honey. When she stopped briefly for a break they could spend a little time together, and there was a daily massage when they always talked intensively for the whole hour. Fon kept well clear of Ben’s room, just as he knew he could not be seen near hers nor show her any physical affection in public. But what was now very different for Ben was the fact that their friendship was secure and that even if Fon could not be with him all of the time, he was sure she wanted to be.

  Several times they ate together at night with Jinda and Joy. Somehow there was always lots to talk about, Fon using her small store of English to great effect. Ben now knew her village, her mother and sister and about her dream to send Joy to the private school she had shown him on the mainland. But it frustrated him that she understood so little of his life in England. It was impossible for her to imagine his upbringing in Haywards Heath, his world of school and university and the pressures of planning a career. Because of the language gap he could explain very little and when he tried, he used words and concepts that were beyond her.

  As he sat on the beach and daydreamed, he again wondered how Fon would adapt if he could take her to England. But there were so many obstacles. He knew that because of their reputation, Thai women were often refused visas, a masseuse perhaps being the least likely person to get one. Nor could he afford the enormous cost of an extra air ticket and of looking after her in England. It was she who was the only one with an income and she would lose that as soon as she left the island.

  He tried to imagine her on the cold streets of England, deprived of her family, of Thai television and music and her beloved som tam. It was all so difficult and needed more time and thought, though he was not going to let anything spoil the last few days they still had together.

  As the day came closer when he was to meet Emma at the airport for the flight home, Ben wanted to make the most of every possible moment with Fon. One evening as it was getting dark after a late massage, he asked her if they could go and eat together.