A Woman of Bangkok (38 page)

The second instrument was more comprehensible—the wheel of fortune. After prayers she spun it and it stopped at six. The paper out of drawer number six cost ten satang. It was bursting with good luck. She translated it as we dawdled down the four hundred and twenty steps. ‘Everysing, everysing, good. I want marry, now can do. That good too.’ It was the first time she’d mentioned the subject for months, and the last time she was to do so, except in a rage. I think that afternoon she could even contemplate the possibility without cynicism. Everything seemed joyous and hopeful in that sunlight, to both of us.

We returned to the hotel. We bathed and made love a bit, and then she dozed while I had a hearty European dinner on the verandah. When I returned to our room I was surprised to find her in one of her Bolero gowns and elaborately making herself up. ‘Where the hell d’you think you’re going?’ (I was peeved because I’d expected to lock the world out of that room for the rest of the night.)—‘I want go dancing.’—‘What, in Chiengmai? This is the backwoods, darling. They only have dances here on New Year’s Eve.’—‘Make no differnunt. I go. You not want go, can stay here.’ We had had a slight altercation just before my dinner, about money needless to say; I’d cashed the cheque for three thousand I’d given her (one thousand more than the bargain struck) before we’d gone up Doi Sutep, but already she had started demanding two thousand more. This spat had made us both bitter, this and our weariness. However, we
samlor’d
downtown and she promptly found out that what I’d said had been only too true: the town was already asleep; even the Chainarong Hotel was shut. She’d seen both movies in town and decided the only thing to do was to eat some Thai food. I led her into a place I knew was good. There happened to be three girls sitting at one of the tables. ‘Why you bling me this place?’—‘Because the grub’s good, sweetheart.’—‘Huh.’—I omitted to pull her chair out for her, not from spite so much as from my habitual awkwardness; it was a long time since I’d last squired a lady around, and anyway she gave me no indication of the chair she was going to choose. We sat in grim silence. Later she accused me of ogling the three girls. She didn’t eat after all. She had the foods packaged in banana leaves and refused to let me carry them for her. We
samlor’
d back to the hotel wordlessly. Then she broke out. I had treated her without respect. I had been rude to her in front of low girls. I had tried to make her look small. I didn’t love her truly in spite of all I said. I was mean. I wouldn’t give her a necklace, or a radio, or a diamond ring. And so on. I put a pillow over my face and cried for mercy. She couldn’t help laughing but she continued the quarrel. She went to the window and leaned out, still fulminating. I gave her a playful pat on the behind. ‘Goddam, now you hit me …’ I went to my bed and dropped the net. The manager came to the door to find out what all the fuss was about and she went out on the verandah to him. I don’t suppose she told him what we were scrapping about but she was talking to him for hours and together they finished the foods she’d bought. Then she got into her own bed. After an hour, being thirsty, I got up to drink water. I knew she was awake, for every time I’d turned over in bed I’d heard the gold bell tinkle in hers, as if she was signalling that she was awake too. Accidentally I knocked a tumbler over and I put on my torch to clear up the mess. ‘What you do?’—‘Mopping up water. I just knocked a glass over. D’you want a drink?’—‘Yes.’—I passed one through the mosquito net and our fingers touched and lingered together. After that I think we both slept. We were both dead beat.

Relations were still strained next morning. I asked her if she wanted breakfast. She said no. I ate alone on the verandah and then took her in a cup of coffee. She said she didn’t want that either but when it had got quite cold she gulped it off. I took this as a sign that I was forgiven and plucked up enough courage to stay in the room while she dressed.

Finally she pronounced herself fit to be seen by the world. The powders, the creams, the perfumes, the mascara, the lipstick, the rouge, the hairclips had all been applied; drops had gone into the eyes; the lashes had been curled with a fearsome instrument; the sarong had gone up and down and on and off thirty or forty times, and at last been replaced by a pink brassiere, panties embroidered with flowers, a tight pink sweater and a billowing skirt. She had bought new sandals in Bangkok but they were so fashionable they nearly crippled her, so now she wore plain white ones. She tidied up carefully after herself. She permitted one brief caress. ‘Now we go eat? I haff pain, I so hungry.’

Most of the restaurants were shut because of the holidays, but we toured the town buying little bits of tastiness in banana leaves and took them all to an Islamic place that was open. I recall raw pickled pork, four different sorts of curry provided by Islam, the odd assortment of tree-leaves the Thai call salad, salt fish that really stank, glutinous rice, beer, sour mango, and unrecognizable things. We both intensely enjoyed this repast and all bygones were bygones. I’d hired the car again and the forty kilometres of rough road to Me Fack greatly aided digestion. It was a dull day with clouds lying drugged on the mountains. She liked hills and forest but disliked open-country with paddyfields but no trees; most of all she liked to look at houses and next to them at farms. A small house, even if only made of matting, if clean and set in a grove of bamboo or tall trees, with flowers and vegetables growing around it and dogs sleeping and children playing, and a background of forest or distant mountain, was enough to send her into ecstasies. At least it was for the first two or three days. After that the gleam of a green peppermint, the strain of ‘Hold that Tiger,’ the fumes of whisky breathed by some drunken white man into her ear, the old familiar sensations of a steel-strong lust blundering blindly, irresistibly, into the very core of her being, began to regain their old attractions for her. ‘’Cause I that sort of girl. You know where you meet me first …’

She wasn’t greatly captivated by Me Fack, and without sun it wasn’t anything special.

But on the way back we stopped to watch the clouds rising off Doi Sutep and on the other side of the road, across a reedy swamp, a rainbow was glowing faintly under a muddle of grey and gold mist. Suddenly she caught my hand. ‘Wretch,’ she said, ‘I sink I neffer happy before more batter than today.’

This was Eden all right, with the paradisical setting, the insatiable Eve, the doting Adam; all that was missing was the Serpent, and he appeared that evening. His name was Dan Birkfield. He was an American—a fact patent in his clothes, his figure, his walk, and his speech. He had an overfed look that had not congested his face, but made him a little too puffy at jowl and waist. Vilai had already sighted him from the verandah as he slouched moodily around the rosebeds and since to her the American male was synonymous with easy money she’d promptly begun to evince a professional interest in him. Even to me, the man’s obvious forlornness in this foreign land was somehow appealing … Once again Vilai had declined dinner and I ate in solitary state, but after her bath she joined me for a soft drink. At this point Dan emerged from his room, the one opposite ours, where he’d been writing as it seemed to me ever since we’d arrived in Chiengmai, and wandered aimlessly down the verandah and back again. Just like the Leopards amongst the chairs at the Bolero … ‘What’s the trouble, chum?’ I asked him as he was about to re-enter his room. ‘No trouble. Just bored.’—‘Sit down and have a drink then.’ So I started it. I’d felt lonely so many times myself. I sympathized with him.

Besides being inordinately large, as I’ve said, he was very fair, with a crew-cut and mild blue eyes that, peering from behind thick lenses, gave him a wondering, child-like look; and this impression was enhanced by a soft baby-mouth and chin. He turned out to be curiously evasive when questioned about himself—but he was equally slow and hesitant in his reply on impersonal matters. He said he’d been trained to paint but he’d found his art was out of touch with the masses and he was now touring the Orient to see if he could find more satisfaction in humanitarian work. He’d been in Thailand only two-three weeks. He didn’t drink, smoke or swear, and at twenty-six was unmarried and unengaged. From the first Vilai, giving him the glad eye from behind a Veronica Lake hairdo she’d contrived for the evening, set out to undo the poor chap. He sat cuddling his fat breasts in his bare arms—he was shirtless, white and hairless—and eyeing her with bulging pale blue irises through the frameless pebbles. Once, when she left us for a minute, I said:

‘Have you ever been to the Bolero?’

‘No, but I’ve passed it.’

‘Why didn’t you go in?’

‘I was with friends. They wanted to go some place else.’

‘You oughtn’t to miss it. It’s educational.’

‘Yeah. My friends told me that. They said there was some whore there. Wonderful to watch her work.’

‘Did they tell you her name?’

‘Yeah. I guess they did. But I forget. Wait a minute, though—wasn’t it the White somep’n—’

‘The White Leopard?’

‘Yeah, yeah. I guess that’s right Is she as hot as they say?’

‘Well, you ought to know, chum. She’s working on you
now
.’

His eyes bulged more than ever. He was breathless with excitement. ‘Is—
that—
the White Leopard?’

‘That’s her all right.’

‘Gee—
whizz
.’

Then Vilai returned with the gold bell tinkling. He looked at her as a rabbit might at a snake. After a few more minutes he got up, saying, awkwardly, ‘Well, I guess you two wanna push off.’ He pushed off himself. Vilai led the way to our room.

‘He like me very mutss,’ she said. ‘He not say, but I know. But he no good for Vilai. Young man neffer haff any money. First time he giff me maybe two hundred. Nex’ time he sink maybe he nice boy, I want he, he can haff for nussink. That no good.’

‘He knows all about you,’ I said, and repeated our conversation.

‘What he frand mean?’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘I at Bolero, I neffer work to get man. Now I not work. No need. Too many man want me always … I not like he frand say that.’

We slept in our separate beds. ‘I tired,’ she said. To tell the truth I was tired out too. And I felt I could look to the dawn with every confidence.

We were still almost lyrically happy the next day, which was Wednesday. Making love, breakfasting, bathing, and the long process of Vilai’s donning her armour took us from six until eleven-thirty. For a long time while I breakfasted she lay on the bed with a small mirror before her removing hair from her armpits with tweezers. Somehow she got onto the story of her life. It was the same one she’d told me before, substantially, but considerably amplified. Not much additional information about the three husbands. But she gave birth to and killed off an additional child, a daughter. The fullest details related to her adventures after the failure of marriage number three. She’d lived in Bangkok before, respectably, with husband number two, until the Japs came. Then she’d gone back to the country. Now the Japs had gone, husband number three was no good, one day she couldn’t stand it any more. She dumped Udom on her mother and cleared off to the capital. ‘I haff frand there—her name Jamnien—’

‘What, same name as you?’

‘What, you mean, darling?’

‘You told me your real name was Jamnien.’

‘No, no, darling. When you sink I tell you that? I neffer tell you my real name, not in my life.’

‘I must have misunderstood. Go on.’

I don’t know how much truth there was in it all. There was a long story about how it was Jamnien who had introduced her to a Madame in Bangkok.

‘And so you became a prostitute.’

‘Yes, but only two weeks. I not like
cho-ke-li
, darling. Make mutss money, but not good for me. Every night must haff sick, seven men. Any man want me, I must haff. Maybe he d’unk, or bad heart—neffer mind, if he want, if he pay money. I must let him pass me. I make very mutss money that time, darling, but all the time hurt here.’ (Touching heart.) ‘All time want to get away, go home my Mama.’

‘And how did you get out of it?’

‘You know Black Leopard? She very very bad girl, I hate very mutss. But then she my frand. She not work in that house, but sometime she take man there. She see I very great pewty, more than she I sink, and she spick wiss me many time. She say, “Why you work this house? That lady chit you. She giff you fifty tic every time. She say she only kip fifty tic for her-self. But you not hunderd-tic girl. This not hunderd-tic house. Every man come here must pay two hunderd-fifty, t’ree hunderd … Why you not come my house, liff wiss me there, work wiss me? I truly giff you half what man pay. And I titch you dance. I bling you to work at Bolero. Then you can pick good boy. Not haff to slip wiss any old sing that will pay.”

‘I believe truce, tarling. I belief everysing she say. I go her house, liff many munss. She titch me dance. I like her very mutss … But I tell you she very bad. Pipple call her Black Leopard ’cause she black here’ (touching her arm) ‘but I call her Black Leopard ’cause she black here’ (touching heart). ‘I find she just like that usser girl from Korat. She giff me eighty tic, say she only kip twenty for her-self, I no longer t’ree hunderd-tic girl. But I find out man must pay her t’ree hunderd tic to slip wiss me—she chit me, darling …’

‘And so the feud began.’

‘What food? I not want yet, darling. Too early … Sometime I glad I not dancing-girl at Bolero now, ’cause every time I look Black Leopard face I haff head-aitch. That night I lose shob, she very bad to me, darling. She want fight wiss me, she say I steal her man. Huh, what I want to steal
her
man? Can haff many man all the time, good more batter than she can haff. She try hit me. I say, “Not here. Now we make money. When finiss, if I haff no man, I go Pramane Ground, I kill you.” Very bad, darling: I sink just she, me, go fight, I kill her, that I go Champagne Bucket by my-salf. But goddam, mutss mutss pipple come to see, usser girl,
samlor
-boy, very low. I say, “Come on, fight.” But she only want to fight wiss mouse. I not want that sort of fight. I wants to kill. I pull her out of
samlor
. We fight very bad. Maybe you not know how girl fight—you good boy, you neffer see. They not just hit, like man. Bite wiss teece, kick wiss foot, use claws. I fight very good. I pull her clo’es off, blood run out her nose, I hurt her very mutss. But then policeman come. Stop us. Take away. Keep us lock up all night. Next day we must pay hunderd tic. She pay hunderd, I pay hunderd. Policeman say, “No more fight, or real trouble for you two.”’