A Woman of Bangkok (33 page)

Vilai … She was like an unseen presence throughout those two weeks. Never was she out of my thoughts for more than a few consecutive minutes. For hours on end, as we were travelling to Lamphang or Fang or Tha Chom Pu, I’d be gazing out of the window of the bus or train or car, as the case might be, blind to the blur of brilliant foliage riding by, living only in fantasies in which my feats of single-handed valour and endurance redounded always to the glory of her name. Sometimes I would come out of my dreams with a jerk and blush at their futility, at the sheer impossibility of them. I would try to fix my thoughts on worthier subjects—or just try to use my eyes and absorb as much as I could of the passing pageant of hill and jungle—but it was hopeless; in a few moments I would be back in dreamland again. This made me tedious company for Windmill, and one day he remarked on it.

‘What wrong with you these days? All the time you—moping—like you love-sick.’

‘Perhaps I am.’

‘What?’ Of all admissions it was the one most likely to catch a Thailander’s interest. ‘You have a girl?’

‘Sure I have a girl’ (What a relief it was to let the secret out at last—to share my pride and joy—even with—)

‘What she like? She Siamese?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Is she beautiful?’

‘Of course. All Siamese girls are beautiful.’

‘How old she?’

‘Twenty … seven, I believe.’ Stupid to tell the truth. ‘My age.’

‘Tcha! She too old. Too old for young boy like you, too old for any man. Old girl never any good. Must have young. Only young girl fresh, eager … Where you meet her?’

‘In Bangkok.’

‘She prostitute?’

‘No—never!’

‘What is she then? How you meet her?’

‘She’s a dancing-girl. The number one dancing-girl at the Bolero.’

‘The Bolero—tcha! You not want fall in love with that sort girl. She just want your money. What her name?’

‘Oh, never mind.’

He wasn’t offended. After a while he said, ‘Dancing-girl, prostitute, all the same. All bad. You must not trust. You must just poke once, or twice if very good, then on to the next …’

I sighed. I’d heard the argument before. It was the doctrine of Somboon and Frost. They also condemned all prostitutes out of hand as bad, advising me to have only my fun with them, then leave them to their badness. To me that was an outrageous proposition. There was not much of the conventional Christian in me but, for some reason that seemed almost instinctive, I had an indestructible belief in the essential goodness of human beings, especially the female sort; and an impulse to ‘save’ those who according to my judgment had temporarily strayed from the right path would flare up in me quite as fiercely as in a missionary, though of course fewer people seemed ‘lost’ to me than to a missionary. And since I’d discovered the Siamese brothel this impulse had been continuously burning in me. The Korat Venus—I
knew
she was a good girl—just unfortunate, that’s all. How could I have been so attracted by her if she’d been—
evil
? All she’d needed, I’d been convinced, was to be shown the way out of the hell she’d got into and she’d take it. Of course our ideas of the way out had differed somewhat. Mine had all included myself in a highly romantic role; whereas she had based her hope of redemption on a Singer. (That is the generic name for sewing machines in the Far East, and what she meant was that if only I’d give her a couple of thousand tics she could set up as a dressmaker.) These recollections, coming back to me then, made me slightly uncomfortable; just how far had I committed myself, discussing them with the girl in pre-Vilai days? Hadn’t I more or less promised …?

Windmill was saying, ‘You better come for walk with me tonight. I find new place. Very charming girls. All young—no hair. There’s one—her name is Yupin—I think maybe she is only fifteen, and she
cho-ker-li
only three month. She like angel—out of this world—and only fifty tic. If you like I fix for her to come to hotel tonight.’ He saw my boredom and tried one more throw. ‘Her bubs—’ He whistled his admiration. ‘Just like she have two pomelo in her shirt—’

I listened with disdain. I wasn’t to be tempted. Vilai was still too real.

I thought then, there in Chiengmai, that the one thing needed to make me happy was to return to Bangkok, which meant to Vilai. But the reunion gave me quite as much pain as joy …

The train reached Bangkok at eight in the morning. I went to the hotel for bath and breakfast, then strolled through the streets to the office. Many stalls along the New Road where our office was were selling cards that were festive with robins, holly, snow-scapes, tinsel bells, sleighs—all most anomalous, since even a learned man like Windmill was puzzled about the difference between snow and ice. With a shock I realized that it was only a few days to Christmas. The temperature was about ninety in the shade—my shirt was glued to my shoulder-blades—and I was quite unable to work up the proper feeling. However, when I found a few relatively restrained cards with coloured photographs of Thai architecture I bought them. Reaching the office I directed them to the old folks at home, to Lena, Slither, the Samjohns, Frost and Drummond, Windmill and the office girls. When I’d remembered everyone worthy of remembrance there was still one card left over. I wrestled with myself for a long time, at last scribbled on it, ‘To Andy and Shee. From R.’ I hesitated about sending it, but when Verchai came to empty my
OUT
tray I threw it in along with the rest. After all, it was the season of goodwill. And the perfidy that had blighted my life for three long years seemed less heinous now, since it had driven me into Vilai’s arms …

My reception at the office had been nothing like our previous triumph—I’d just made a routine reappearance and in five minutes was addressing the cards. I tried to make this disappointment—for such it was—the keynote of the day. Even returning to the hotel in the Riley at four I still refused to let myself hope. But—blessed are the poor in spirit. Arun, meeting me in the lobby, was one joyous grin. ‘De fat lady come!’ he announced. ‘I give key like you say. She in your room, way-it for you.’

I went up the stairs three at a time.

Before going to Chiengmai I’d told her the date we expected to be back but I’d never dared to hope she’d remember it. All the time up North I’d been talking to myself like a Dutch uncle: ‘Don’t forget, my lad, you’re only one pebble on a very shingly beach. Can’t expect to catch that eye twice …’ But I saw now that my caution had been unnecessary. All the time I was up North I could have basked in the certainty that the moment I got back to Bangkok she’d come to me. This was no one-sided affair as the Sheila one had been: Vilai returned my own feelings. The most sought-after woman in Bangkok—a woman who could pick and choose between generals and filmstars (she’d slept with them all in her time)—had selected me for her lover. It was a personal triumph—the biggest of my life … And she seemed to share my joy too, at least that first afternoon; but of course she wasn’t so demonstrative as I was.

She stayed until long after she ought to have gone to get ready for ‘work’. I think the time passed as quickly for her as for me. We arranged the financial side of our proposed trip to Chiengmai to her great advantage. She questioned me closely about my travels, especially about the number of girls I’d had. She flatly refused to believe I’d been celibate. ‘No man can go two week wissout slip wiss girl,’ she said: ‘imposs-bull.’ But she was broad-minded on the subject. ‘I not mind you slip wiss usser girl. You must, when you go country so long. But be careful. Mind you not sick. You sick, cannot slip wiss me …’ She returned to the subject more than once. ‘Must watss your step upcountry. Not want giff girl too mutss money. Every girl want you money, I sink, ’cause you
farang
, she sink you must haff plenty money. But you must kip you money for
me
. Country girl very dirty, maybe she haff huss-band too. You not want luff her: you luff me. You must just pass her, one time, then quick quick forget …’ It was the Somboon-Frost-Windmill doctrine again. But this was no time for controversy. I let her lecture me as long as she liked, happy just to hear her voice, though of course she was wasting her breath; I had dedicated myself to her; she need fear no rivals.

She’d unpacked my bag for me before I came back and while putting my clothes away had noticed their bachelor state. ‘Tomollow I bling—you know, somesing make good,’ she promised, making the motions of sewing, and she kept her word. When I returned from work next afternoon there she was, stretched on my bed, in brassiere and navy-blue slacks, with my torn clothes all around her and needle and cotton and scissors to hand. She finished the needlework while I had a shower and subsequently almost frightened me by the violence of her love-making. Up to that point everything was perfect but then the question of money came up and with it the question of did we trust and love each other. The answer was of course no, not entirely. I had given her three hundred tics the day before on the understanding that it was to cover two visits. Now she said it wasn’t enough. I accused her of breaking her word and she accused me of trying to welsh on her.

‘Of course you not giff me money yesterday for today! You sink t’ree hunderd enough for two day? Huh: I White Leopard. I very high girl. I neffer slip wiss man for less than two hunderd—’

‘OK. Here’s another hundred. That makes four for two days.’

‘So! Now you try to make me look low. Next sing you want me slip wiss you for nussing. Before you go Chiengmai you make me very high, pay me four, five hunderd. But now you haff usser girl in Chiengmai, I sink, you like her more zan me—’

‘She’s wonderful. She’s very small and dainty—’

‘There you are! Before you say you no haff Chiengmai girl—’

‘And she costs me only twenty tics per game. And she’s much younger and—and
eagerer
—than you are. And I like her far, far better than I like you—’

‘Huh. She cat. I leopard—’

‘She loves me and she wants to marry me.’

‘Tee-hee! You belief that? What Siamese girl want to marry wiss
farang
? She just want money from you.’

And so on. In the scrimmaging I dropped my watch and broke the glass. She stopped quarrelling at once. ‘You know where you can buy new?’

‘No.’

‘I take. I bring back next time I come see you.’

So she wasn’t so mad at me that she intended to drop me … ‘You’ll have to hurry up,’ I said. ‘Straight after Christmas I’m off to the Northeast again.’

‘Oh, Wretch. All the time you go away. Why you not stay in Bangkok? I not want you go country all the time, giff you money to
cats
. I want you stay here, wiss me.’

‘So I can give all my money to you, eh?’

‘Yes.’ She never made any bones about it. ‘Why
you
want? You no haff house, no haff wife, no haff nussing. But I must pay for many sing. You no giff me money, what I do?’

‘What you did before you met me. What you do now. Lie with any man that’ll slip you a hundred tics—’

‘Not hunderd, darling. I Leopard. I—’

‘Don’t tell me lies. I know Bangkok as well as anyone. Any Bolero girl will sleep with a man for a hundred—’

‘Usser girl, maybe. But not Vilai—’

‘—whether he’s poxed, or scrofulous, or stinking, or depraved—’

‘Stop, stop, Wretch. You not want say any more. Only say bad sing. Hurt me. Hurt you-salf …’

So it went on. There was anything but the serene domesticity I longed for in our relationship. Together, we were always in a fury of love or violently quarrelling. Apart—well, of course, I don’t know how much
she
thought about
me
. I can only speak for myself. Alone, I was always racked with longing for her or marching up and down my room calling on Heaven to expunge her from my life—depending on how we’d parted last time. I could never take a middle line and just like her. It was always the extreme of love or hatred with me.

Actually we didn’t see much of each other for some time. I got thoroughly involved in Christmas festivities. There were cocktail parties all over and the Samjohns invited me to spend the day with them. They were really extremely nice to me. Mrs. S. gave me the latest Hemingway. There was fresh turkey and plum pudding out of a tin. Drinks were unlimited. In the afternoon we called on neighbours of theirs for yet more drinks. I should have enjoyed myself. But my last session with Vilai had been stormy. She’d flatly refused to see me during the holidays. ‘It big day for American; I must dress up, show myself around.’ The fact that I was having the day off and could have spent several hours with her made no difference. ‘I not want you come wiss me. You good boy. I not want you go Champagne Bucket, all those places; they not nice for you. Better I come hotel, see you Saturday …’ I hated being kept hidden as if I were a guilty secret. I’d cut up rough and, I feared, offended her unforgivably. So I was desperate and miserable … When Saturday afternoon came, and she with it, I was overcome with remorse because of my doubts of her and with gratitude and affection. Every time she turned up again it was like a miracle: I could never convince myself, when she was absent, that she’d ever return to me …

The next day, Sunday, she came too; and this was the first occasion she let me see that all was not well with her. I think I sensed it the moment she flounced in. She was in gaudy red slacks and an off-the-shoulder yellow blouse that almost shouted ‘Here’s a harlot’ to the startled eye, but she had on scarcely any make-up and her hair was wildly dishevelled. As usual I attempted to kiss her but she eeled out of my arms and ripped off her clothes. She’d ordered a coffee for herself and the boy brought it while she was doing herself up in a towel.

As she brooded over her coffee I was horrified by the alteration in her appearance. It was not just that the skin of her face looked so much coarser than usual, the eye-sockets puffy, the lines from nose to mouth more marked, but her whole expression had changed. Her eyes were wells of pain, almost black, and her mouth was pushed forward in grim twisted lines of discontent. I knelt in front of her and tried to encircle her in my arms as my habit was but she snarled ‘Not want,’ swerved her knees in my way and sucked at her coffee savagely.