Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute (6 page)

In the beginning, the pregnancy had marked a turning point in our relationship. It had injected a new sense of purpose into our union.

However, about three months before I was due to give birth, I returned to our flat one evening to find Chai waiting for me. He was holding a letter that had been addressed to me by my doctor. I was immediately anxious and searched Chai’s face for some emotion that would reveal the nature of the letter. But he was a blank canvas. I took the letter from him and read it; it was a request from my doctor that I visit his surgery, as an irregularity had been found in my blood test.

My first thought was for my unborn child and the possibility that he or she might be in danger. Feeling weak, I sat down. I was so deep in thought that I had forgotten all about Chai and had failed to notice his chilling silence. He stood motionless, arms folded, and with his eyes fixed on me.

Suddenly he began shouting, ‘What the hell is going on? Did you fuck around on me? If you gave me anything . . . !’

He then raised his hand and struck me hard across the face, all the while screaming manically that he was going to kill me.

I reached my hand up to my face and could feel my cheek beginning to swell. I remember wondering distractedly if my cheek might in fact swell into a hand-shaped mound, complete with five distinct fingers.

I had never seen a man so angry that he turned the colour of a red chilli. I was about to plead with him to calm down when he punched me again with a clenched fist, this time making contact with the side of my head. For a second everything went black, and then colours slowly began to reappear in nondescript shapes. Despite my confusion, my first instinct was to protect my baby and so I placed one hand over my stomach and I held the other out blindly in front of me in a vain attempt to stop Chai should he charge at me again.

My vision gradually returned to normal and I saw Chai standing over me, his eyes still seething with rage. I begged him to calm down and call the doctor to see what was wrong with me before making such wild accusations, but he was beyond all reasoning. I struggled to my feet, prompting him to begin circling me, like a tiger stalking a deer. He then kicked me in the back, sending a horrific tremor of pain along my spine. The blood-curdling scream this elicited seemed to jolt him back to his senses. I didn’t utter another sound for fear of provoking a second attack.

I was aware that he had grown increasingly possessive during our marriage. He had made no secret of how much he hated me talking to other men, even though the extent of these conversations was usually just a polite ‘hello’. But I had never imagined that he would go so far as to physically attack me.

When he finally stopped shouting at me, I scrambled to my feet. All of a sudden Chai’s anger turned to regret and he started showering me with apologies and excuses for his overreaction. A tense silence followed—even if I’d been able to find the words to reply to him, I doubt that I’d have managed to locate my voice beneath all the layers of shock and pain his attack had caused me.

The next morning, he accompanied me to the doctor. We were informed that the check-up was just precautionary and that I had nothing to worry about. Like the flick of a light switch, Chai reverted back to normal, and it was as though the previous evening had never happened.

That evening was to mark a turning point in our marriage, and it wasn’t long before Chai’s darker side resurfaced. His behaviour deteriorated rapidly, and over the next few weeks it was marked by an increasing fondness for alcohol. He started drinking with his colleagues after work. He would subsequently arrive home to me in the early hours of the morning in a state of complete intoxication. In such drunken stupors, he would adopt the role of the pitiful husband and mumble about what a disloyal wife I was and how he had been duped into an unrequited love.

‘Why don’t you love me? I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you in Khorat, but you never noticed me, did you?’

When he got really drunk, so drunk that he couldn’t talk without slurring his words, he would proclaim without irony, ‘You don’t love me now, do you? You don’t care about me at all!’

I varied my reactions in an effort to find the right one, but always in vain. Sometimes silence was the only way to get him to go to sleep, and other times it would result in an attack.

The next morning, like clockwork, he would be full of apologies and false promises.

I didn’t seek advice from
mae
because I did not want to lose face. Instead, I tried to convince myself that his relationship with alcohol was more of a flirtation than a full-blown affair.

His descent into addiction was gradual at first, but it soon began to gather pace.

When I reached the later stages of my pregnancy and was close to giving birth, Chai finally succumbed to the full power of addiction. He drank most nights and would stagger home drunk and disorientated.

Whether he was drunk or sober, I was too terrified to argue with him and I knew that any criticism of his behaviour would fall on deaf ears or, even worse, provoke an attack that would injure our unborn baby.

Why didn’t I seek help? The truth is that I simply didn’t know how to handle the situation. It broke my heart to watch Chai lose himself to drink. But one of the hardest things to bear during this time, aside from the physical abuse, was the fact that a lot of Chai’s drunken accusations were, in fact, true. I had never loved him. I had only agreed to marry him for the same reason many Thai women marry their husbands—because I wanted companionship and someone who could provide for me and my family.

Ironically, as our relationship and marriage fell apart, our financial circumstances began to improve. Chai managed to restrict his drinking to outside of working hours and so he continued to earn a good salary. In time we were able to move into a bigger room. I had hoped that the move would offer us a fresh start and that we could confine what had happened to the realms of history, but this proved to be nothing more than wishful thinking. Three days after the move, Chai beat me once more. As with a lot of the beatings, I can no longer recall what prompted the attack. What I do remember, with crystal clarity, is each individual blow he dealt me.

The prospect of putting up with this violence for the rest of my life was unthinkable, and yet I felt anaesthetised by fear. So I suffered on in silence as my stomach continued to grow.
For the last month of the pregnancy I moved in with
mae
. I worried that if I stayed with Chai, my waters might break when he was on yet another drinking binge, and I would have no one to bring me to the hospital. My mother was oblivious to the beatings and mental torture Chai was subjecting me to, but she was aware of how much he drank and so she was equally concerned that I might be alone when the baby came.

As it turned out, both my mother and Chai were by my side for the birth in Rajvithi Hospital. After three hours of excruciating contractions, my son entered this world. When the nurse handed him over to me, I gazed at him in astonishment. He was so tiny and fragile. Up to that point in time I had never truly grasped the concept of unconditional love, but it now lay wrapped in a blanket in my arms, personified in my perfect baby boy, Geng. I think that on some level my baby sensed what I’d had to go through to bring him into this world, and that strengthened our bond even further.

Chai’s impersonation of a doting father was flawless, but we both knew the truth. Again, I hoped and prayed that he would change and that our relationship would improve. I even tried to convince myself that the birth of our son would transform Chai, but I was only deluding myself. At first his behaviour did improve, and he even stopped drinking, but within weeks, he was back to his old ways, beating me and accusing me of sleeping with other men.

The problem I faced at the time was how to protect my son and leave Chai, without losing face. But I eventually realised that my son’s welfare was more important than losing face. I decided to return to my father’s home in Khorat, taking Geng with me.

Chai didn’t follow, which surprised me a little, though I suspected he was too ashamed to face my father under the circumstances.

The sight of me returning home with a baby in tow and no father in sight sent the neighbourhood into a tailspin of gossip, but
por
’s warm greeting had the effect of muting their whispers.

Though we had not seen each other in over a year, the bond that existed between us was as strong as ever and
por
knew instantly that something was wrong. I poured my heart out to him, confessing every last detail, from the accusations of infidelity to the violent drunken attacks.

When I was finished, rather than tell me what to do,
por
told me that I must make my own decisions. I knew from his tone of voice that he would stand by me whatever I decided to do. He then astonished me by offering to raise my baby for me. The offer, although appreciated, was one that I couldn’t possibly take him up on. I suspected that his new wife would not welcome my baby into her home.

Three days later, my mother joined us in Khorat. As with
por
, I told her everything. Although she knew Chai drank a lot, she had never suspected him of being violent and she looked positively crushed by my revelation. I think she also felt an element of guilt because she had been the driving force behind our marriage. She continued to stare at me for a long time afterwards, as if willing me to retract my confession and replace it with a fairy-tale version of my family life with Chai and our son.

My parents may not have given me a wonderful childhood, but they had never once raised a hand to me. When the reality of the situation with Chai had fully sunk in, both
por
and
mae
advised me to leave him. I had already devised a plan, which I outlined to my parents. I knew my mother still had a handful of relatives living in Khorat, so I suggested that she move back with my baby and take care of him until I could save up enough money to rent my own apartment. I had already spoken to my sister, and she had agreed to send as much money as she could to
mae
to help.
To my great surprise,
mae
agreed. In fact, she needed absolutely no convincing. She conceded that living in rural Thailand would be cheaper and it would also allow her to become closer to her grandson.

Once the decision was made, she rang Chai and brusquely informed him that she was looking after his son and that he was to send her money for his upkeep. Chai’s pride was deeply wounded and he didn’t argue with her.

I left the baby in
por
’s care until
mae
moved home. On my last day in Khorat, I met
por
and handed him a list of instructions, making him promise to contact me at the slightest sign of any problem. It broke my heart to leave my baby behind me, but I kept repeating over and over in my head that this was only a temporary arrangement and that before long I would be back for him. If I had known that I would never again live under the same roof as Geng, I may have reconsidered leaving him.

The return journey to Bangkok was a nightmare. My guilt and sorrow at leaving my child behind were so intense that they became like another passenger on the bus, refusing to budge from the seat beside me.

Back in Bangkok, I moved into a friend’s apartment in the Ratchadapisek district. I missed the sense of independence and freedom that comes with having your own place, but then my home with Chai had come at a very high price.

I started working as a bartender in a bar on Surawong Road. I was glad of the distraction the job offered me but, unfortunately, Chai’s workplace was located nearby.

When Chai heard that I was working there, he decided to pay me a visit, no doubt anticipating a dramatic and emotional reunion. But I was horrified to see him again and couldn’t even bring myself to look him in the eye. The tension between us spread throughout the bar and the staff and customers alike looked on with baited breath to see how I would react. I finally found my voice, and in a cold, business-like tone, I asked him what he would like to drink, as though he were just another customer.

‘Bua, can we talk?’ he asked me in a low voice.

I responded curtly, telling him that I was too busy. His eyes widened in astonishment— this was clearly not the reaction he had been expecting. Chai, aware of the multitude of heads turned in his direction, made a hasty retreat. I could hear him cursing the day I was born as he slammed the door behind him.

He returned the following day, carrying a bouquet of orchids. He clearly thought that a few smiles, false promises, and pretty flowers would be enough to entice me back.

‘Please think about what our separation might do to our little boy,’ he pleaded. ‘Look at what happened with your parents. Please come back and we can try to be a family again. I’m a different person now. I love you.’

Deep down I knew that Chai hadn’t changed and that his sweet words would eventually wither and die like the flower he had just given me. But my desire to be reunited with my baby coloured my judgement, and for a few moments I almost believed him. But just then Chai’s gaze turned to my left, where my friend Somchai was seated, and his eyes glazed over in an instant.

‘You are having an affair with that bastard, you bitch,’ he shouted.

The bar fell deathly quiet. I could feel everyone’s eyes boring holes in me as they awaited my response. All the beatings and mental torture I had suffered behind closed doors at the hands of Chai suddenly paled in comparison to his coming to my place of work and embarrassing me like this. I looked down at the bouquet I held in my hand. I closed my fingers over it and felt its beautiful, delicate petals crumple up. When I looked back up at Chai, the anger had vanished from his face and been replaced by a look of panic. In that instant, he knew it was over.

I didn’t move from my seat, but quietly asked him to leave. He looked around, as if searching for someone to take his side, but the many pairs of eyes quickly turned the other way.