Thai Girl (31 page)

‘Ordinary rice, about four baht a kilo.'

‘Four baht only pays for a piss in the bus station! But after what they've spent, do they make any money? Is any of it profit?' he asked as they wandered back to the house.

‘Today, grow more rice but make small money. New seeds expensive and need insecticide and fertiliser … no buffalo, no have buffalo shit! Borrow money buy tractor … so pay bank, pay petrol. Pay men to cut rice, pay to bring rice home, pay machine for beating rice, pay rice mill, pay to go market. Work all year but pay too much, so maybe sell rice but make no money. Sometimes no rain or rain come wrong time … then rice spoil, farmer lose.'

‘Sounds like hell. And I suppose that as the farmers only sell at the end of the season, they're desperate for credit to pay for everything first?'

‘Yes, borrow, borrow … then bad year, cannot turn back the money. Borrow money from mill owner … send him brown rice for milling and he keep most of it for himself. Borrow from bank … big big problem.'

‘So what if a farmer can't pay off his bank loan?'

‘Bank take farm,' she said solemnly.

‘Then the family loses everything? Home, income, the lot?'

‘Yes, lose everything … even their daughters. Two year ago, my uncle borrow to buy tractor for ploughing. But rain no good, small rice … so cannot pay bank every month. Now he work all year, only pay percent.'

‘You mean he can only pay the interest? There's not enough to pay off the loan?'

‘Yes, he work for the bank … to stop them take the farm.'

‘What a hole to be in. Is there any way out for him?'

‘Uncle have pretty daughter, only eighteen. So she go work Pattaya, sell sex … boom-boom with
farang
every night. Maybe she save farm, save family.'

‘God, what a price to pay.'

‘And she very shy. To talk with
farang
in bar, go room with
farang,
she drink too much. She
mao lao …
drunk every night. Now cannot stop drinking, have big problem with drink.'

‘Poor kid,' said Ben with feeling.

‘Yes, and maybe she get HIV … then she finished.'

24

As soon as they got home from the rice mill, Fon took a shower in the washroom at the back of the house, leaving Ben sitting outside pondering the pressures that drive farmers' daughters to become bar girls. How would it feel, he wondered, to be a father who through ill-fortune had so failed his family that his favourite daughter was now a feast for any foreign sex tourist.

His thoughts were interrupted when, after an eternity of splashing sounds, Fon reappeared glowing and wet, her sarong tucked in above the bust, her hair dripping and shiny black. As always, he could not take his eyes off her; the figure-hugging sarong, the bare arms and shoulders and her bewitching smile.

‘Okay Ben, you not smell but you go shower,' she commanded him.

The washroom was a dark space under a lean-to behind the house, the only facilities a squat toilet and a plastic scoop floating in a murky concrete water tank. Ben could not close the door as there was no proper catch and there was nowhere dry to hang his clothes. But the shower was a relief, the cold water from the scoop exploding onto his hot skin in an exquisite agony. It was only a pity that he had to climb back into his sweaty shorts and tee shirt as he had not had a chance to settle in and pull fresh ones out of his rucksack. Hopping around on one foot, trying to juggle towel and clothes in the sodden space, it was impossible to get dry. In the heat and humidity of the afternoon, the benefit of showering was undone almost as soon as he emerged.

Coming back into the kitchen, he watched the kittens playing among the pots and pans just as a puppy launched an attack, chasing them into the front room and out onto the veranda. He followed them through and found Fon sitting on a bench in front of the house, irresistible in her green sarong.

‘Come sit with me, Ben,' she said. Ben willingly obeyed.

‘Fon, it's great to see where you were brought up,' he said. ‘This is a wonderful place to be a child.'

‘Is it? Maybe. We were happy here, all of us.'

‘How many were you? You did tell me.'

‘Me number one, then brother Somchai, Jinda and little sister, Nok. Mama always busy with babies so I have to work too.'

‘Sounds a hard life.'

‘Good life before Papa die.'

‘How old was he?'

‘He thirty … die on the road over there.' She pointed to the place a few hundred yards away where a moment's chance had changed her life.

‘Before, in old house, we all sleep in one room. As I go bed Papa tell me about Cinderella, pretty girl who work, work, not go to party … then fall asleep in his arms. Not forget his smell, good smell. Morning wake up, he not there … already go farm before too hot.'

‘Cinderella. That's you, isn't it?'

Fon did not answer but gave free rein to her thoughts.

‘Then I get up, go school,' she went on. ‘Not have money … but every day we eat rice, not thinking strong, always happy. Now want family again … to be together.'

‘But I'm sure it wasn't always fun. You said you were very ill once.'

‘Ill many times, very thin. But when I go school, get strong.'

‘I'll bet you were naughty too.'

‘Yes, ride buffalo, boxing with Somchai, climb mango tree. One day go swimming, muddy pond. Take boat and fall in … boat sink. Man come, say, “Where my boat?” He angry, we run, run.'

‘Sounds a perfect childhood.'

‘Finish too soon when Papa die.'

There was a brief silence while Ben turned everything over in his mind; the near destitution of a family, Fon being sent away from home, a village child working in a distant adult world. He wanted to know more about it.

‘You were only a child when you were in Bangkok. Did they really make you work?'

‘Yes, all the time. Big, big Chinese family, big, big house. Grandmother, grandbrother, uncles, aunts, children. Many, many servants to clean house, cook, go market, take care baby, wash clothes,' she said with a wan smile.

‘But lots of servants means less work?'

‘No, too much work … they angry if they see me not working. Wake five o'clock, work all day … last to bed, eleven at night. Always last to eat.'

‘Unbelievable. And no day off?'

‘No holiday, no problem … but have to look down, be nobody, be nothing. Small boy throw food in my face … cannot angry, have to smile.'

‘That's disgusting. Why didn't you leave?'

‘Work always like that … cannot leave. I lucky, have food, help Mama.'

‘But that's no life for a kid, living with people who don't value you.'

‘Not so bad. I work good and big boss give me more money. And did it kill me? No, it make me strong.'

As they sat talking in front of the house, a little girl of three or four came and squatted on the ground in front of them. She had a tiny face with clear, steady eyes that focused not on Ben but on Fon. She gazed and gazed, listening to the strange language, adoring the stylish lady returned home from afar.

‘I think she like me,' said Fon, smiling back.

‘She certainly does. I'm sure you were exactly the same only a few years ago and just as pretty. She must wonder about the world outside the village.'

‘Yes, same me long ago. But many things happen to me since I leave home … go Bangkok, work massage, meet
farang.
Before, not
see farang …
never. We scared! And when we naughty Mama say
farang
eat us.'

‘But they didn't, did they … though
this farang
wouldn't mind a nibble.'

‘Okay, Ben, you like?'

Hitching up her sarong, Fon flashed him a radiant smile and an extra inch or three of bare thigh.

Fon's recollection of an idyllic Asian childhood reminded Ben of the destructive wars that had swept through the region at the time. Ever since university, he had wanted to visit Thailand because his final year dissertation had been about the intractable problem of Cambodian refugees held in camps at the Thai border. After all that book learning, it was now tantalising to be so near to Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam where the Indochinese wars had raged for so many decades.

He guessed that the road in front of the house where he was now sitting had been built with American money as a strategic route for getting troops to the Cambodian border. Or it had perhaps been a small part of the lavish foreign aid given to prevent Thailand falling to communism. A car speeding along that road had killed Fon's father.

Then his thoughts turned to the more recent events that had devastated Cambodia so close by, a tragic history that he had immersed himself in when writing the dissertation. In the seventies the Khmer Rouge had seized power and in an obscene social experiment caused the deaths of a third of the population, spreading instability and displacing floods of refugees into neighbouring Thailand. Even after the Vietnamese invaded Cambodia, there had been fighting and civil disorder until so very recently. He asked Fon what she remembered of the conflict.

‘Hear bombs in Cambodia, old house shaking. Sometimes people come Thailand to be safe … Khmer Rouge follow with guns. We hear police car go by, wee-wa, wee-wa, wee-wa … hide under table, afraid we die. Many bad dreams … never know who kill us. Then one day Papa cross road to farm. Big car come too fast … all finish.'

That evening Fon's mother quietly produced a big meal from the things they had bought in the market early that morning. They all sat round on the floor, taking the sticky rice in their fingers and dipping it in the sauces. There was pork rib in a salty sauce, tiny fish caught in nearby ponds fried to a crisp and eaten whole and a green soup with a fungus which had a distinctive earthy flavour. When Ben dipped his rice into a bowl of soup which was thick and dark, almost black, he noticed Fon looking at him intently.

‘You like?' she asked, smiling broadly.

Ben tasted it.

‘Why? What is it?'

‘Rok kwai.'

‘Whatever's that?'

‘Kwai
means buffalo …
rok
I not know in English. When buffalo born,
rok
come out, understand?'

Ben was afraid he understood all too well and the dictionary confirmed his fears. This was buffalo placenta soup.

‘Fon, how could you?!'

‘Buffalo eat it, so must be good,' she said with a wicked grin.

Fon's mother said very little as they ate but clearly enjoyed seeing her daughters and their exotic friend enjoying her cooking. During the meal a couple of women came into the house and casually sampled the dishes before drifting off again. Six half-grown ducklings wandered in and as Jinda shooed them out, like cartoon characters they ran on the spot on the slippery floor without moving, before shooting out of the door. Then when everyone was full to bursting, Fon and Jinda cleared up, rinsing the dishes outside the back of the house.

Jinda went off to see a friend and Ben was left alone in the house with Fon who at last raised the subject he had been waiting for, the sleeping plans for the night.

‘Cannot sleep here tonight,' she said. ‘Too many people, too many cats. Mama not let me clean house, boxing little bit, so better we go Nang Rong, stay hotel.'

‘We?' he asked in surprise.

‘Yes, you and me.'

Ben's pulse raced, he could hardly believe it. Him, her, a hotel room … tonight? In his dreams! He wanted to ask more but he did not dare; he would just have to contain himself and wait.

They collected their things together, Fon her bag and Ben his rucksack and went out to the road to wait for a bus back to the town. They could see down the road for at least a mile and so had several minutes warning that it was coming.

Then without explanation Fon took Ben's hand and led him fifty yards along the road where she stopped and pointed to a spot near the verge.