Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute (16 page)

‘Nobody helped me, they weren’t allowed to. I heard her men warn everybody to stay away.’

I told him about the policemen and their complete lack of interest.

‘Those sons of bitches! I’ll drag their lazy asses down here. Nobody treats my girls like this!’

As he saw it, the mafia woman and her henchmen were flexing their muscles on his territory. He wasn’t going to let them put one of his girls out of work. I wasn’t sure whether his concern was personal or business-related, but to be honest, I didn’t care what his motivation was—I was grateful either way. He told me to go back to work and that he would take care of the mafia woman.

I don’t know what he did, but I never heard from her again.

Then one day several years ago, my sister met a Norwegian man called Oddveig while he was on holiday in Thailand. At the end of his stay, they decided to keep in contact by email until, several months and many emails later, Oddveig returned. They were so in love that they couldn’t bear to be separated again, so they decided to get married.

Their wedding day was a happy one for all the family. My father even turned up, alone, although he was careful to stay out of my mother’s way. The part-Buddhist, part-western ceremony took place in my sister’s house in Rangsit; it wasn’t big enough for the 70 guests in attendance, so the party spilled out onto the street. Nang wore a beautiful white wedding dress while Oddveig wore a smart, dark suit.

I was genuinely happy for Nang, but as memories surfaced of my own pitiful ceremony with Chai, I couldn’t help but compare our fortunes. Educated and independent, my sister didn’t need a
farang
to rescue her, and yet one had come to take her to Norway while I remained stuck in Patpong with an abusive partner.

As tempting as it is to paint her life as a fairy tale, I know Nang has faced her share of difficulties. Oddveig is a widower with grown children who could not immediately accept their father’s new wife. She also found it difficult to adjust to life in Norway. Her one stipulation before moving was that she be allowed to continue working, as she was desperate to retain a sense of independence. She was also keen to dispel the stereotype that Thai women marry westerners purely for their money. Although Oddveig was initially against the idea, he eventually relented, and Nang now works as a nurse in a retirement home, which she finds very rewarding. In her spare time, she moonlights as a matchmaker and has already successfully set up two of her friends with Norwegian men. I can’t help but find a small amount of irony in the fact that my sister and I are operating at completely opposite ends of the scale—whereas Nang is offering a service to help men find true love, I provide them with fast, no-strings-attached pleasure.

Nang’s good fortune was beneficial to the whole family. It is usual for Thai people to inundate a successful member of the family with requests for money, no matter how distant the relative. Our family is no exception, but Nang has remained unendingly generous. Some years ago she loaned my brother Nop 60,000 baht with which to buy a van. He was supposed to pay for it in instalments, but Nang soon discovered our brother takes after
mae
in his inability to manage money.

Unfortunately, it’s not just money given to him that he squanders. Because he was the only member of my family in Thailand to have a bank account, Nang had trusted him and would often transfer money with instructions to pass it on to me. But time and time again, Nop would conveniently ‘forget’, and by the time I found out about it, it was usually long gone.

Occasionally, my sister has to say no to the never-ending requests for money—if she didn’t, she’d end up going hungry herself. But she can never turn down a family member seeking help to get an education. She has generously contributed money towards the schooling of my eldest child Geng. Sadly, he is not very academic. When he started missing school a few months ago, Nang rang him from Norway to lecture him about the importance of finishing school. Nang and I are well aware of the value of education—I serve as a daily reminder for both of us.

Because Geng was raised by
mae
, he sees me more as a big sister than a mother. I try not to let it bother me and instead focus on the advantages of our relationship. For example, I am privy to personal details of his life that mothers are generally excluded from. He recently rang to tell me that he and his girlfriend had recently had unprotected sex and they were now worried that she might be pregnant. He knew I wouldn’t get angry with him but would instead offer him practical advice. I told him that condoms were on sale in his local 7-11 shop and to go buy some immediately. Thankfully, it turned out to be a false alarm. I dearly want him to finish school and continue on to college so he can get a good job and be able to support his family when the time comes.

Chai continues to send money to my mother for Geng’s upkeep, but he and Geng have no contact with one another. At times I feel guilty that Geng grew up without his father in his life, but unlike Yuth, Chai never showed any paternal instincts, and I always feared that it would only be a matter of time before Geng would fall prey to his violence. It was for Geng’s protection, too, that he never came to live with Yuth and me. Although Yuth takes very good care of his own children and would never do anything to harm them, Geng is not his son, and his safety could not be guaranteed.

As for Peung and Atid, they are still quite young but they both seem very bright and enjoy school immensely. I take great pleasure in buying them the various books, stationery and other equipment necessary for school. Whatever they need, I make sure that they have it. My own abiding memories of my education centre on my family’s poverty and the constant struggle to afford such basic necessities as text books and school bags.

The other day I asked Atid what he wants to be when he grows up. He told me that he wants to be a police officer because he likes the uniform. He then pulled me closer and whispered in my ear that he would also then be able to arrest his father. At this I felt my eyes well up with tears. I know that he and Peung must be very confused by their father’s two starkly contrasting personalities. Yuth is very kind and affectionate towards them and they love him dearly, but when they see me walking with a limp or wincing with pain at the slightest movement, they know who is responsible for the injuries.

After my sister settled into married life in Norway, she offered me a means of escape. She suggested that I live with her and Oddveig for a while. Wages for waitressing or bar work were much higher in Norway than in Thailand, and I would finally be able to earn some decent money without having to suffer from regular beatings. It seemed too good to be true, and it was. Yuth wouldn’t hear of it. I think he feared that if I left I would never return, and he would never have let me take the children with me. If I didn’t see with my own eyes how tender he is with them, I wouldn’t believe him capable of affection anymore.

But I know how attached my children are to their father, and it is for this reason that I have stayed with him, even if it means living under the constant threat of violence. If I took them away, they would eventually come to resent me. My children will have their father, and they will have the means and the encouragement necessary to pursue an education.

Still I worry that even though I have done everything in my power to ensure my children are materially better off than I was as a child, perhaps I have failed them emotionally. I don’t get to kiss them goodnight at bedtime or listen to their stories from the day over dinner. I don’t see them nearly as much as I’d like to. I entered the nightmarish world of prostitution so that I could provide for them, yet I fear that I am sending them to sleep at night with a different type of hunger in their bellies.

I guess nobody intentionally sets out to repeat the same mistakes; some people just have a blind spot when it comes to certain dangers in life. I guess it’s similar to my fleeing the abuse of Chai only to fall into the equally violent arms of Yuth.

There is a western saying, ‘Time heals all wounds.’ And while it’s true that all the cuts and bruises I’ve received over the years have healed with the passage of time, the emotional scars are a different story. Every
farang
that I sleep with, every beating at the hands of Yuth, and every time I miss out on tucking my children into bed at night, another scar is added to my collection.

I have long since accepted that my dream of taking my children and fleeing Yuth will never be a reality. I will never be able to separate my children from their father.

I’m ashamed to say, however, that I haven’t given up hope that someday a rich
farang
might come into my life and rescue me from prostitution. I don’t even mind if he has another wife in his native country—so long as I can be honest with him about my children, I would settle for him just visiting me occasionally and sending me financial support. I don’t think I’m asking for too much—I’ll forsake the white picket fences just to escape the red-light district of Patpong.

My dream is fading fast, though—I am almost twice the age of some of the girls who dance in the bar and already that is too old for many
farang
s. I find myself lying about my age and even reducing my fee to attract more customers. What’s next for me? Will my customers dwindle away until I’m eventually forced to participate in lewd sex shows in the upstairs bars of Patpong— shooting ping pong balls from my body for the entertainment of
farang
s?

I feel crippled by fear. I have been in this industry in one way or another for so long now that I know no other life. The red-light district of Patpong is no longer a place I visit only at night time; in my mind, it has spilled over into the daylight hours and has become enmeshed in every aspect of my life.

Any decisions I have made have always been with my family in mind. Perhaps they weren’t always the best ones, but my only defence is that I made them with the best of intentions. My belief in reincarnation gives me the strength to go on. I see this life as just another chapter in a never-ending sequence of lives; perhaps this particular instalment doesn’t have a happy ending, but I pray to Buddha that the sequel will be different.

Thanks to my friends, especially
Roj, Priew
,
Parn
, and
Off
, for helping to make my job more bearable.

My thanks also to Nicola Pierce and Pornchai Sereemongkonpol for their great work in helping me to tell my story, and to Jean, Gert, Jessica, and Bridgette at Maverick House Publishers.

Memoirs of Thailand’s Last Prison Executioner

by
CHAVORET JARUBOON
with
NICOLA PIERCE