Thai Girl (21 page)

‘Yes Ben, but Fon only say when my heart same rock.'

‘You mean when your love's as steady as a rock? Then you can bring yourself to say it?'

‘Yes, I ‘fraid my heart … have to be sure. Can only tell you when my heart same rock.'

Ben was elated but exhausted; it had been an amazing evening. He felt he now understood Fon a little more and that they had drawn closer together. Then Fon said it was time for them to go back. As they followed the path in the darkness, she turned to him and said, ‘Come Ben … big big moon tonight.' She took him by the hand over the sand to the rocks where they could look out along the restless, silvery lane of sea that led up to the moon.

Ben was not quite sure who made the first move. As he pulled her up onto the rocks, her body brushed against his, the brief contact like an electric discharge. Somehow their arms became entwined around each other, her slim body fitting tightly against his.

‘Ben, you big, you so big,' she laughed.

‘And Fon, you're so very very small.'

There was no kissing, just a savour of scented skin, a nuzzling of cheeks, the sensation of soft abundant hair. Ben's arm was firmly around her waist, holding her hard to him, while the other hand wandered far enough to discover that she was not wearing a skirt; it was in fact a pair of shorts with a panel across the front, only pretending to be a skirt. Then, as suddenly, she was pulling away from him again, tossing her head and escaping his hold.

‘Enough Ben … too dangerous. We go home.'

They were comfortable with silence as they walked along the shore and over the headland back to Ao Sapporot, until Fon asked Ben which boat he would be taking the next day for his return to Bangkok.

‘The nine thirty boat, so I can catch the ten thirty bus,' he said.

‘Okay, I come early morning, say goodbye. See you eight o'clock, maybe seven.' Then she turned to him with a look of excitement. ‘Ben, what your room number?'

‘Hut 107, up the back there. Why?' There was a wicked twinkle in her eye.

‘Please Ben, please you not lock door. Maybe I come to you in the night.' With a shriek of laughter, she broke away and ran up the beach and into the trees, leaving Ben in a state of high agitation.

16

Ben went to bed in a ferment of excitement, leaving the door of his hut unlocked. After an alcoholic evening it was perfectly possible that Fon would come to him in the night. Even a nice girl's ‘no' is not always what it seems and in every relationship there has to be a first time. He lay and imagined the sound of the door swinging open, of her bare feet on the wooden floor cautiously approaching the bed, her hand held out towards him in the darkness. But as he tossed and turned for hours on end, the fantasy became more and more improbable and he knew he was going to be disappointed.

He had only a few hours sleep before his alarm clock woke him at seven. After taking a shower, he attempted to pack his rucksack, but for some reason his things were obstinately refusing to go back into it. His clothes were sandy, damp and smelly and he longed for the Regal in Bangkok, for hot water and a little luxury.

He made it to the beach bar well before eight, sat down at a table, ordered a coffee and fruit and waited. Thinking back over the events of the previous night, he decided he was going to have to overlook Fon's tease about the unlocked door; if he dared challenge her she would only accuse him of being a sex-crazed foreigner. Despite his irritation, the glow of the evening was still with him, but it began to fade as he waited and waited and still she did not come.

By half past eight, he was in turmoil. Where the hell was she and what was she up to this time? Why promise so sweetly to see him off and then not turn up. By nine o'clock he was beside himself.

Ben was becoming resigned to the wrecking of his send-off when suddenly Fon was standing there next to him. She looked a little concerned but still managed a disarming smile. His anger quickly ebbed away and he felt more like putting his arms around her and bursting into tears than tearing a strip off her.

‘Fon, where did you get to? The boat goes in a few minutes.'

‘Not see you … looking for people on beach,' she said.

Ben guessed she had come down to the beach by another path and when she did not find him, had gone touting for customers.

Seeing his disgusted look, Fon deftly offered another reason for being late.

‘And Joy have fever … not sleep all night.'

‘Oh, how awful. I hope she's okay.'

‘It happen before. She get very sick.'

He was immediately concerned for Joy and also for Fon who must have had a bad night caring for the child. Then came the intoxicating thought that this could be why she had not come to his hut in the night. Unsure what to make of it all, he paid for his breakfast, shouldered his pack and the two of them went and sat together on the log under the trees. ‘Joy have problem with stomach, she cry, cry. Before, in rainy season she sick, go hospital Rayong. Pay, pay, pay … always worry she sick again.'

‘Poor little kid,' said Ben. ‘Do you know what's been wrong with her?'

‘Doctor say her stomach stuck … and medicine very expensive.'

The mood between the two was subdued and distant, light years from the euphoria of the previous night, Fon wearing the weight of her responsibilities on her face. Ben was wanting a better goodbye than this, but when Gop and Pornpun came and sat with them, his last chance of saying anything personal was lost.

As Fon chatted happily to them in Thai, he suddenly realised he did not have an address or phone number for her. In the excitement of the previous night he had forgotten to ask her for them.

‘Fon, is there a mobile I can get you on and can you give me an address?' he said anxiously.

‘Why you write me? Say what?'

‘Come on Fon, just so we can keep in touch.'

‘Okay, have card hotel … can write me there. Give you number Gaeo's mobile.' She got up and walked away in no apparent hurry, leaving him awkwardly sitting with Gop and Pornpun, unable to talk to them as their English was minimal.

The time ticked by and Fon did not come back. At twenty past nine, Ben realised that the shuttle boat for the ferry was already loading up. His heart began to pound and his mouth went dry. How could this all go so horribly wrong? But just as the boat boy was starting up the outboard motor, Fon reappeared, calm and cool and not unduly rushed.

‘No problem, Ben,' she said, ‘small boat go ferry two times. You go second boat … not get so wet.'

He watched as the overloaded boat went out through the waves, giving the passengers and their luggage a thorough soaking. He put the hotel's card and the tiny scrap of paper with Gaeo's mobile number faintly written in pencil into the safest place in his wallet and tried to say goodbye properly, but everything became a blur.

He could not later remember what passed between them before he picked up his rucksack, splashed through the shallows and got aboard the boat for its final run to the ferry. There was little that could be said; the real goodbye had been on the rocks in the moonlight the previous night.

Ben thought he would come back to Koh Samet to see Fon again, but he could not be entirely certain. He was utterly miserable and wondered how she was feeling. He had been looking for the signs but she was giving nothing away. Perhaps, he wondered, it was all much worse for her; while he could come and go at will, she could only wonder and wait.

By the time he was aboard the shuttle boat and could look back to the beach, Fon had already disappeared. Once on the ferry he climbed to the top deck, and stared towards the distant shore. He was sure he could see her standing by the water with a small child, both of them waving energetically. Had she gone to get Joy to wave him off? Was Joy suddenly better? Then the two tiny figures stopped waving and wandered off along the beach hand in hand.

He tried to control his emotions as the ferry pulled out of the bay and the beach began to disappear behind the headland. At first he was not successful, but the further he got from the little world of Ao Sapporot, the more his depression began to lift. He now had other things in his life to face up to.

On landing in Ban Phe, he turned right and walked the five hundred yards to the bus station. Already soaked with sweat, he was relieved to see a blue inter-city bus waiting with a Bangkok board in the front window.

He bought a ticket and the attendant showed him to a numbered window seat. The bus was clean and modern and to his relief was air-conditioned.

He sat and stared out of the window at the handful of people straggling slowly through the heat towards the bus. One of them caught his eye, a gaunt-looking western man hovering in the shade for a final smoke before boarding. Aged about sixty with thinning grey hair and a sallow, hawklike face, he was wearing a yellow long-sleeved shirt, pale blue trousers and white plimsolls. Ben watched as he climbed aboard the almost empty bus and was shown to the seat next to him. The man turned out to be an American who had worked in the Philippines as an engineer for many years and was now based in Texas. He told Ben that he had been coming to Thailand since the early eighties and had recently returned from visiting friends in the North East. Ben's interest immediately revived.

‘What's it like in Isaan? I'd love to go,' he said.

‘Well, it sure is poor … poor as shit.'

‘What do you do when you're there?'

‘Teach English in school, just voluntary. At first the kids are real scared of an old
farang,
but I know how to make'em relax. Sometimes they come to my place for lessons. Yeah, I love it there,' said the man.

As the bus moved off, he politely said he wanted more space and moved to a pair of empty seats.

Ben was curious about him and now had plenty of time to speculate. Whatever made an old guy like that keep coming back to Thailand? He guessed that although the regular sex industry in Thailand was totally open and up-front, the unripe fruit must always be kept under the counter. Perhaps the vulture-man was unfortunate in his appearance and it was unfair to make this connection, but he did seem very odd. Both the Philippines and Thailand were known for the trafficking of children, often orphans like Joy. Watching out of the window as rural Thailand rolled by, he found the thought of it totally repulsive.

On the long road back to Bangkok, everything looked the same as before except that the towns were now the battleground for an important general election. In a day or two polling was due and the streets were festooned with campaign posters. Everywhere the same candidate's face beamed down benignly on his electors. Ben did not know who he was, but if campaign spending could bring in votes, this guy seemed to have it all sewn up.

The traffic jam into Bangkok began in Sukhumvit Road far from the centre of town. As he stared out at the passers-by, Ben was becoming anxious about seeing Emma that evening; he had no idea what would happen between them. Familiarity, alcohol and crisp white sheets at the Regal might prove decisive, but he still did not know how he was going to reconcile his feelings for Fon.

At the Eastern Bus Terminus he got down into the heat of the city, to be hit by touts offering taxis. The fare to the Regal seemed excessive so he walked out into Sukhumvit Road and picked up a metered taxi. The battered green and yellow Nissan looked almost as old as its driver; Ben could not take his eyes off the old man's cadaverous skull, the jaw and cheekbone devoid of flesh like a death's head, though he was still full of life.

‘I drive taxi forty three year … start driving age eighteen,' he said.

‘Amazing. You've got to be tough to last that long in this traffic.'

‘Now sixty five. Not enjoy taxi any more.'

‘So when do you retire? When'll you stop work?'

‘Finish sick o'crock,' said the taxi driver.

After a long crawl through the traffic the taxi dropped Ben off at the Regal Hotel on Ratanakosin Avenue. At the top of the wide marble stairs a uniformed doorman opened the door to him. Feeling distinctly out of place in his baggy shorts and
bia Chang
tee shirt, he checked in at the reception desk, surrounded by package tourists in a sea of expensive luggage. Following a porter, he then padded noiselessly in smelly sandals along deep-carpetted corridors to his room, where the porter made an ostentatious display of opening the curtains and adjusting the air conditioning, holding out for a tip. Ben hated this, unsure how much to give and feeling tired and impatient to be alone.

When at last the porter departed clutching a twenty baht note, he was able to look around the room and finally relax. It was a standard international hotel room with a double bed, television and mini-bar, anonymous and characterless but overwhelmingly comfortable. The bathroom was stacked with soft white towels, the end of the toilet roll was neatly folded in a V-shape and there was a paper sash across the sitdown toilet; so very different from the steaming shit-holes of Koh Samet. Now all he had to do was wait for Emma.

When he opened his rucksack, the dank smell of the beach hut came wafting out. He had a hot bath, drawing out the dirt from the pores of his skin, put on the nearest thing he had to clean clothes and read what his Lonely Planet guidebook had to say about Chiang Mai where Emma had just been. After buying a Bangkok Post in the lobby, he sat on the bed and learned more about the general election. A top Thai businessman, Thaksin Shinawatra, the face on the election posters, seemed to be ahead of the game and was tipped to be the next prime minister. Then he lay and relaxed, happily cocooned in his room and listened to the distant hum of the city, enjoying a welcome respite from Thailand on ten pounds a day, courtesy of his interest free student overdraft.

Outside the hotel, Bangkok was as always red in tooth and claw, its countless millions, many of them rural migrants, locked in a relentless struggle for survival. By the big intersection on Ratanakosin Avenue, twenty four hours a day, the traffic pauses when the lights go red. As they turn to green, the race is on, the motorbikes in the lead leaping forward noisily over the canal bridge. The girls riding pillion sit side-saddle, rather than compromise their modesty by sitting astride the machine. They are closely followed by speeding pick-ups, buses, taxis, tuk tuks and trucks, engines roaring, spewing fumes into the humid evening air. Under the arch of the road bridge, people are sleeping by the edge of the canal. On the pavement a family assembles sweet-scented white jasmine blossoms on strings for sale as offerings to Buddha and the spirits. Every bit of luck must be carefully nurtured; life on the streets is precarious and unforgiving.