Thai Girl (39 page)

Just before six that evening Ben went down to the reception desk and asked to make the call to Fon. His mouth was dry and his heart thumping as the girl handed him the mobile phone. He dialled Gaeo's number and let the phone ring out, trying with difficulty to keep an image of Fon in his mind's eye. There was no reply and he had a sudden foreboding that this was not going to work. He was about to ring off when a male voice abruptly answered the call. He asked to speak to Fon, but the man did not understand, so he asked again more loudly, the sweat trickling down his spine. There was a brief hiatus when he could hear only background noises and then to his joy a female voice came on the line.

‘Hello, that Ben?' she said.

‘Yes, Fon? Fon, you okay?'

‘Not Fon … this Gaeo.'

‘So where's Fon? I faxed to say I'd call at six.'

‘Fon not here.'

‘Oh God … I must speak to her.'

‘I see her before but she not come back yet.'

Ben was distraught.

‘Look Gaeo, can you ask Fon to call me? Say in two hours time, at eight o'clock. Oh, and if she can't get me, can she call tomorrow at six in the evening?'

‘Yes, okay, no problem.'

He gave Gaeo the mobile number, thanked her effusively and rang off, desperately hoping she had understood.

At ten to eight he returned and sat flicking distractedly through a dog-eared German fashion magazine, waiting for the phone at the reception desk to ring, his stomach in knots. He kept glancing anxiously towards the surly girl slumped over the desk; little did she know what he was going through. Eight o'clock came and went and there was no incoming call. At twenty past he gave up in disgust.

‘Shit, if she can't be bothered to phone, what the hell can I do?' he fumed. He thought of calling Gaeo again but bottled out. If Fon was there, she would have phoned and if not there was no point trying again. Now he faced another day's wait for her to call after work the next evening. He was afraid the uncertainty would kill him.

Ben didn't feel like facing the crowd down at Odin's so he sat and ate fried rice alone on the terrace nearby. As he walked back up the slope, the late night party was already in session by the huts. Stewart saw him slipping past and called him over.

‘Ben, where you been, mun? Come and join us.'

‘Okay, Stew-pot, but don't tempt me with the hooch this time.'

‘Burning the Bob Marley then? Darren's just skinning up.'

Ben subsided onto the mat with a sense of relief. It was impossible to feel depressed with such a good crowd of people around him.

He had been with them for only a few moments and had just poured a drink when a small figure appeared out of the darkness and came and sat down next to him.

‘Hi, I'm Penny,' she said in a strong Australian accent. She was petite, barefoot and tanned, in loose pants and a skimpy top which showed off a taut stomach and tummy button. What Ben found so attractive was not just the smiling face, nor the snub nose, pink and peeling, but her gamine cuteness. Her dark hair, cut short and standing on end, willed his fingers to touch and explore. In the semi-darkness he found Penny most appealing.

‘Hi,' said Ben. ‘Travelling alone?'

‘It's what I like best.'

‘Me too. How long've you been away?'

‘Nine months already … can't believe it,' she laughed.

‘And where've you been?'

‘Indo mainly. Lombok, Bali, Java, then Lao and Cambodia. Been brilliant!'

‘You don't look big enough for all that.'

‘Didn't think so either a few months ago.' She gave Ben a winning smile.

‘The best things come in small packages,' Ben beamed back at her.

‘Small's still beautiful.'

‘Thanks. I don't take up much space!' Penny paused for a moment. ‘Like tonight … all the huts are taken so I've nowhere to sleep. A few months ago I'd've been scared silly but now, no worries … of course the ganja helps.' She drew deeply on the joint Darren had just passed her.

‘Yeah, no sweat … something'll turn up for tonight,' muttered Ben, missing his chance.

Penny slowly released the smoke from her nostrils and moving closer, held the spliff to his lips. As the smoke filled his lungs and caught at his throat he came perilously close to spluttering. Feeling seriously uncool and swallowing hard, he and Penny were drawn back into the mainstream chit chat around them.

Maca was now pouring more rum and opening a bottle of Red Bull.

‘This Thai stuff's supposed to be stronger than the Red Bull back home,' he said.

‘I read somewhere an Austrian guy got the recipe from tuk tuk drivers in Bangkok,' said Stewart. ‘Sold it worldwide.'

‘Amazing to be able to market such a disgusting drink,' said Dutch.

‘Get real, man. It's not the taste …' drawled Chuck derisively, knocking back his cocktail of Red Bull, rum and cola.

‘So what's the music?' asked Ben.

Dutch had a tape recorder on the grass beside him on which a haunting male voice and acoustic guitar were playing.

‘Don't you know Nick Drake?' Nobody did. ‘Wrote his own stuff in the late sixties, but it didn't sell and he died of a broken heart … now he's a cult figure.'

‘It's really something,' said Ben.

‘This album's called “Five Leaves Left” from the reminder in the Rizla packets.'

‘Yeah man … great traveller music.' Chuck lay back on the mat, soaking it all up as Darren took advantage of the lull.

‘Here Dutch, you're a teacher,' he challenged. ‘Can you teach me to speak English proper then?'

‘Very funny, Darren … not a chance. Anyway I usually teach women.'

‘Randy bugger! So you get to sleep with ‘em, huh?'

‘No, never. Thai women are very proper and I'd ruin my business if I did.'

‘But you must have a wild time in Bangkok, speaking the language and that.'

‘No I don't. There's bar girls of course but that's Russian roulette, and regular Thai women aren't usually available except for marriage.'

‘Get real! In the discos they're seriously up for it … gagging if you ask me.'

‘That's discos! The conventional Thai woman's expected to be home before dark to look after her parents … lose her reputation and she won't make a good marriage.'

‘Bit different to us,' Penny broke in. ‘I know which I prefer.'

‘So it's near impossible for me to go out with a girl from a good family,' Dutch went on. ‘The parents control her contacts with men and don't want her going with a
farang …
unless they're poor and want the free ride.'

‘Seems Thai women get a bum deal,' said Penny insistently. ‘Can't have a good time without being called a slag. And they do all the work while the men sit around on their backsides.'

That was Aussie feminism thought Ben, but he said nothing. Penny was cuddled up close to him, was fit and feisty and could easily be forgiven.

‘Anyway,' said Dutch, ‘I'm not here for the girls. Holland's cold and efficient but the Thais've got the balance right. Life here's always
sanuk.'

‘Sanuk?'
said Ben. ‘You mean making everything fun.'

‘That's right … so even when life's a grind, the Thais keep smiling. They think the
farang
are a miserable lot who have to get drunk to enjoy themselves.'

‘Dutch, that's tight mate, I mean … what's wrong with getting pissed. When you're not working, you gotta have a good time,' said Darren.

‘Yes, but for ordinary Thais life's all work, so it's work that has to be fun.'

Ben's thoughts turned to Fon. He remembered her once saying, ‘Not have holiday, so work's my holiday'. Every day on the beach, grinding from massage to massage in the heat, she was always showing joy in the simple things, laughing and joking and giving pleasure. That was one of the things he liked so much about her.

‘Sanuk
means you've got to be harmonious too,' said Dutch. ‘The Thais hate us confronting them or making them lose face.'

‘Isn't that kind of fake?' said Ben. ‘Superficial friendliness doesn't mean friendship … and it makes it more difficult to know what's going on underneath.'

‘Maybe, but I'm sure it's why tourists love Thailand … the Thais are so gentle, even with horrible foreigners. Though we'll spoil them forever if we're too aggressive.'

‘Yes, I hate seeing tourists whinging at the Thais,' said Penny. ‘But if I was Thai, I'd resent the
farang
anyway for having so much money to throw around.' She drew on the soggy butt-end of a spliff that Ben had passed her and tossed it into the darkness.

‘But I work bloody hard for my dosh!' protested Darren. ‘Though I couldn't work all the time like them do … gotta chill out and go clubbing.'

‘So why do you need a regular blow-out then?' asked Dutch.

‘Because work's dead boring. I'd go ballistic if I couldn't get wasted.'

‘So we're all bored at work and have to get paralytic, is that it?' laughed Dutch. ‘Instant gratification through clubbing!'

‘Look mate, you need an adrenaline rush kind of … it's a must-have.'

‘But why can't we enjoy life, even at work?'

‘Like I said, work sucks,' said Darren with finality. ‘That's why I come to Thailand.'

‘Well I tell you, I'm never going to do boring work just for the money. I'd rather die,' said Penny with passion.

There was silence as the different attitudes to work and the disturbing idea of fitting fun into the working day slowly sank in. Then Stewart shifted the debate up a gear or two.

‘Well folks, I'm over thirty,' he said, ‘and here's what I think about the boredom crisis. Back home we've never had an all-out war … just the Falklands, the Gulf and Bosnia. So we're all bored and need an artificial high in between earning our pension contributions and paying the mortgage … a bit of controlled risk, like soft adventure holidays, skydiving, whitewater rafting and stuff.'

‘But we're travellers, not tourists,' interrupted Darren. ‘Travellin's a way of life.'

‘Get real, Darren! Travelling's just a privilege for rich
farang
with nothing better to do,' said Dutch, to a storm of protest, before he began stirring at a much bigger hornet's nest.

‘And if you're bored because you haven't had a decent war,' he said facetiously, ‘why not go and start one. Look at George Bush … revelling in warlike rhetoric and playing to his electorate. It's what the Americans love … violence and conflict.'

Ben was thinking of Penny; make love not war was his motto for that night.

‘And when they hit the World Trade Centre,' added Chuck, ‘it was a great distraction for a weak president with problems at home. Bush was bound to make a meal of it.'

‘But September eleven was an outrage! It changed the world,' said Ben waking up.

‘Yeah, it's war! Gotta get the bastards!' hooted Darren.

‘And maybe kill thousands of innocent bystanders?' said Stewart.

‘The arms industry and the military need wars, but they're not bothered about “collateral damage”. Only American lives matter.'

‘Our wars are usually about domestic politics anyway,' said Chuck despairingly. ‘Bush calls it a “war against terrorism” so he can dispense with due process … but then when we hold suspects in Cuba he says the rules of war don't apply either. Wouldn't bother me if I didn't love my country … but the terrorists are undermining our principles.'

‘Bush is crazy shouting war,' said Dutch, holding his head in his hands.

‘Call it a campaign against terrorism but not a war. Is the threat really so bad that we're on a war footing? Terrorists destabilise by spreading terror, so why make everyone panic?'

‘Exactly … if the world changed, it was Bush making threats and alienating world opinion that did the real damage,' said Chuck. ‘And anyway, why act like it was something new? Twenty years ago hundreds of our marines were killed in Lebanon. They've busted our embassies in East Africa killing hundreds more and they attacked the USS Cole in Yemen. And it wasn't even the first attack on the twin towers … a few years ago they bombed the basement, trying to topple one of the towers into the other. After a nifty practice session, why be surprised when they do it again?'

‘Okay,' said Maca, ‘it's a security operation then, not a war at all. But let's hope Bush isn't crazy enough to invade Iraq … the UN'll never back it. Though if the Americans do go in, you bet Bush'll focus on getting Saddam and kicking ass … he'll forget he's got to win the peace and find an exit strategy too. War's always bloody chaos … remember Vietnam.'

‘It's kinda ironic talking about a
war
on terrorism,' said Chuck. ‘At the time of Vietnam we illegally bombed Lao and Cambodia from bases in Thailand … more bombs were dropped on those poor bastards than both sides dropped in the whole of World War Two. The bombing of Lao and Cambodia was kept secret, even from the American people … Henry Kissinger couldn't call it war, only a sideshow, because they were both neutral countries. And Kissinger got given the Nobel peace prize!'

‘Is that really true?' asked Ben dubiously from out of the darkness.

‘Yes, and I've seen some of the wreckage,' replied Chuck with rare passion. ‘Last year I was in northern Lao at a village miles upriver and I couldn't believe all the American cluster bomb casings still lying about the place … the women were using'em to grow herbs in. And the school bell was an American shell.'

‘ State terrorism!' said Maca. ‘American jet fighters used to shoot up their buffaloes to deny'em food. Hardly endearing … no wonder the Laos looked to the communists for help.'