Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute (15 page)
Read Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute Online
Authors: Bua Boonmee
Of course, this was easier said than done, and I found that the longer I bottled up my emotions, the more they gnawed at my insides and threatened to claw their way to the surface. I couldn’t talk to my family, and Yuth and I rarely talked at all anymore, never mind about our feelings. Most of the other girls in the bar could obviously identify with my situation, but I found that, in general, when we talked about what we did for a living, there was a tendency to make light of it and laugh and giggle inanely as if it were all just one big joke. But the laughter often rang hollow and was quickly followed by an uncomfortable silence.
A little over a year ago, my tendency to try and ignore the seriousness of situations cost me dearly. The bar had been unusually quiet for a number of weeks, and I found myself short of money. Out of desperation I was forced to borrow from a Thai-Chinese moneylender. The moneylender in question was known as the ‘mafia woman’, and she was notorious in Bangkok. She was escorted at all times by several tall, burly bodyguards, and she had connections with a police officer which made her virtually untouchable. Despite her small stature, she was a tough, fearless-looking woman. Her hair was short and spiked, and she talked like a man, her vocabulary littered with expletives and threatening language. Rumour had it that most employees in the Patpong red-light district were in debt to her. These employees generally had no dealings with banks, as they rarely accumulated enough cash to give them reason to open up an account—so who else could they borrow from? Most of the prostitutes and doormen sent the best part of their monthly wage home to their family, and so they often ran out of money halfway through the month. They would then be forced to borrow short-term loans at high rates of interest.
So when I ran out of money myself one month, I asked one of the girls in the bar to introduce me to the mafia woman. The girl in question was in debt by a few thousand baht, but she didn’t seem too worried about it. The mafia woman was greatly feared by many, but I had never actually heard any stories of her being violent, so I wasn’t too worried about taking the money from her. She lent me the modest sum of 2,000 baht, and we agreed on a fee of 400 baht in interest. I was to repay her in instalments over the course of several weeks.
While I was still making these repayments, Yuth and I had a huge row. This wasn’t very unusual in itself, only that this one was accompanied by a particularly severe beating that caused me to run away from home for two months. During this time I stayed with my mother and stopped working, so I ran myself into further debt. I still owed the moneylender 700 baht when I returned to Bangkok, but I foolishly thought that, this being quite a small sum of money, she would probably forget all about it. Perhaps Yuth had beaten me up one too many times because I certainly wasn’t thinking straight.
Months passed by, and I forgot all about the money. No receipts had been printed or contracts signed—all I’d been given was a scrap of paper with the sum of money written on it, and I had lost that long ago. Then one Sunday night the mafia woman approached me outside the bar when I was on my way home. She was accompanied by her henchmen, and they all stared at me threateningly. I felt like a trapped animal. I told her that I was aware that I still owed her 700 baht. I had 500 baht in my pocket—my earnings from that night. I had intended on adding this 500 baht to Atid’s and Peung’s education fund but I offered it to the mafia woman with a sinking heart. But to my surprise she raised her hand to signal that it was too late for that. She informed me that I had accrued several months of interest, bringing my new debt up to 4,000 baht.
‘The interest can’t possibly be that high. I can’t afford that kind of money,’ I cried in shock.
‘Well I suggest you find the money or I’ll be forced to make an example of you.’
The alcohol pumping through my veins was all that kept my knees from buckling. I couldn’t possibly afford that kind of money. I had no alternative but to sacrifice my dignity and plead with her to accept less. She knew that I had a young family to support, so I prayed that she might show me some mercy.
‘Please, I can’t possibly afford 4,000 baht. Will you accept 2,000 baht and my humble apologies for the delay? I had some family troubles, but these have all been taken care of.’
She stared at me coolly. Then, to my astonishment, she informed me that she would accept 2,000 baht but that she would come looking for me again in a couple of days. I wasn’t sure if I could get the money together by then, but I was just relieved to have bought myself some time. The mafia woman and her thugs turned on their heels and made their way back down the street.
I got home that night to find Yuth drunk, unsurprisingly, and passed out on the couch, so even if I’d wanted to tell him about my ‘meeting’ I couldn’t. There wouldn’t have been much point anyway because, short of robbing a bank, there was nothing he could do. I crawled into bed praying that a
farang
would buy me the following night, and I would be able to settle my debt with the mafia woman.
Unfortunately, the following night was sluggish, and despite my best efforts I failed to attract the attention of a
farang
. I only earned 500 baht for the whole night on drinks commission. Just before closing time the moneylender appeared at my side. She smiled sweetly at me and asked me how I was. I
wai
’d her and in a half-whisper I told her that I could repay her only 500 of the 2,000 baht debt. She gasped in horror, as though I had just slapped her across the face.
‘I’m not fucking accepting that.’ In a low, threatening voice she continued, ‘I think you need to step outside with me to discuss this matter further.’
She stalked off as I went to get changed, very slowly, into my clothes. I was hoping that if I took long enough she might grow tired of waiting for me and leave. As I made my way towards the exit, Roj, who had just returned from a client’s hotel, stopped to warn me that the moneylender was waiting for me outside with two big bodyguards. She advised me to stay where I was. I decided to sit awhile with the
mamasan
while she was totting up the accounts for the night, but I knew I was only buying myself some time and that I couldn’t sit there forever. It also crossed my mind that the later I got home the greater the chances were of Yuth rewarding me with a few slaps, kicks, and punches.
I rummaged in my purse and found an extra few hundred baht. I hoped that the mafia lady might accept a partial payment and allow me to settle the balance over the next few days. Besides, the streets were still quite busy, so I reasoned that she wouldn’t want to beat me up in front of a crowd of people. The alcohol in my system clouded my judgement and fooled me into thinking that the situation wasn’t all that bad. So I gathered my money together and left the safety of the bar. I walked towards them with one arm outstretched and my hand clutching the small bundle of notes. The mafia woman ignored the money and instead swung her two arms in my direction. She grabbed hold of my hair with one hand so as to hold my head steady, while her other hand, which was balled into a fist, slammed into me with tremendous velocity. The force of the punch sent me reeling, and my money flew up into the air. I fell to the ground as the bundle of notes rained down on me. But the mafia woman wasn’t finished with me yet. She threw herself on top of me with a high-pitched war cry and started pounding my chest and head as hard as she could. She managed to get herself into a kneeling position and pinned my right arm to the ground with her knee while she continued to punch me. I threw a few feeble punches with my left arm, but they barely even made contact.
In the midst of this barrage of violence I became vaguely aware that a crowd had begun to assemble around us. But her assistants had formed a protective barrier and were warning people not to get involved.
‘Stay out of this! One on one.’
The realisation that nobody was going to be allowed to intervene killed what little strength I had left. I let my body go limp with submission. As soon as I stopped fighting back the mafia woman seemed to lose interest and quickly got up. The beating had probably lasted only five minutes, but I knew that it was intended as a warning—a taste of things to come if I didn’t repay my debt.
The mafia woman dusted herself off in an uncharacteristically ladylike manner, as if to suggest that this type of behaviour was normally beneath her, but that I had dragged her down to my base level. She rejoined her henchmen and they headed down the street. Perhaps it was because their backs were now turned to me that I was overcome by a sudden surge of courage. I scrambled to my feet and started to run after them. But my
mamasan
, who had been standing nearby, grabbed hold of me and pulled me back.
‘Stop Bua! That’s enough.’
‘Enough? What do you mean enough? I’m going to make her pay for this.’
Nhim recommended that I go to the police instead. ‘There are laws in this country against this sort of thing. Don’t let her get away with it.’
There was a police kiosk at the end of the street, and I shakily made my way towards it. En route, two white men approached me and asked if I was okay; apparently they had tried to come to my defence, but the mafia woman’s goons had made sure they got nowhere near me. I knew I probably looked terrible: my upper lip was cut and swollen, my chest felt heavy and bruised, and my right elbow was badly grazed from being pressed into the ground. Nevertheless, I managed to smile at the boys and assure them that I was fine. The two
farang
s showed much more concern about my wellbeing than the two policemen I spoke to at the kiosk. They were completely disinterested. The mafia woman had broken two laws: one, she was an illegal moneylender and two, she had just viciously attacked me in public. I begged the policemen to return to the bar with me so that they could interview the witnesses, but I was told that they couldn’t do anything for me and that I should go to the nearest police station to file a complaint. They knew as well as I did that it would be a waste of time—the law caters only for rich Thais and foreigners.
I turned away from the kiosk, a heavy sense of injustice bearing down on me. I was about to go home when I bumped into a girl from the bar who told me that Aree, a well-respected
mamasan
, was looking for me. She managed another go-go bar in Patpong.
I broke down in floods of tears when I saw Aree. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone and helpless before in my life. I had no one I could turn to—I couldn’t ask my family for money, as it would have aroused too much suspicion surrounding my job, and then there was Yuth who had absolutely no money of his own and depended on me for every baht he spent. Aree asked me what had happened, and I told her my sorry story from beginning to end. She had worked as a dancer in the past, so she could empathise with me. As a
mamasan
she could be quite severe if a girl wasn’t pulling her weight— she had been known to administer some harsh verbal abuse in her time. But ultimately she was a good person, and she proved this by taking 1,500 baht from her purse and beckoning to her doorman. She told him to go after the moneylender and give her the money in my name. I tried to thank her, but the words caught in my throat. She waved me off as if her gesture had been minuscule and didn’t warrant a fuss.
‘It’s nothing dear. Just be more careful in the future.’
It was after 3am when I got home. Yuth opened the door to me, his mouth contorted into an ugly snarl. I had broken my curfew and he clearly intended to express his disappointment with me. But when he saw my face he gasped in horror. Yuth usually concentrated his attacks on my lower body, and he had become quite adept at minimising bruising, so the sight of my swollen and bloodied face shocked him. I rarely, if ever, cried in front of him, but the evening’s events washed over me all at once, and the floodgates opened. Yuth wasn’t quite sure what to say—he simply repeated over and over again that I had to give up prostitution, yet when I asked him how we would survive, he had no answer to give me. If Yuth had had a job then I would never have had to borrow money in the first place, I thought to myself. And if he hadn’t beaten me so badly a few months ago, I wouldn’t have run away and missed my loan repayments.
Yuth bathed my wounds and helped me to bed. I knew his tenderness stemmed from guilt and that tonight’s bruises would soon be replaced by new injuries of his own infliction, but I still couldn’t help but feel grateful to him for any little bit of kindness, however insincere.
When I arrived in the bar the following night, I found that news of the fight had spread like wildfire, and all eyes were on me. Some of the girls came up and asked me how I was. My face was still quite bruised and swollen, but I had layered on inches of make-up in an effort to cover it up. The aches and pains all over my body were a different matter, though, and there was no way of lessening their severity.
Later on in the night, as I was talking to a customer, a man came over and asked me if my name was Bua. I nodded, and he told me that the owner of the bar was waiting to speak to me in the office. I was immediately apprehensive— it was unusual for the owner to request such a meeting. I turned to the customer and excused myself, then changed out of my uniform and hurried up the street.
Word of my fight had clearly reached the boss, and when he saw my cut lip he asked me what had happened. I told him all about the loan, the inflated interest rates, and my eventual public humiliation at the hands of the mafia woman.
‘What? Do you mean to tell me that not one person tried to stop her? Not one bouncer? Not one doorman?’