Thai Girl (14 page)

‘Yes, I knew it,' said Clarissa, ‘typical man … out of control as soon as there's a pretty girl about.'

‘No way, Clarissa, you've got it totally wrong. Emm's just gone off for a bit and I only met Fon yesterday. Anyway, I don't believe in love at first sight,' he said. ‘Liking, yes, but not love.'

‘What about lust?' said Clarissa, looking at him very directly.

‘Come on, this is just a girl off the beach with a child and a boyfriend … hardly speaks English. It can't come to anything, so I'm not going to get involved.'

‘Don't be too sure … looks dangerous to me,' was Clarissa's reply.

11

Ben woke slowly the next morning and reached out his hand to find Emma, but she was not there. He felt strangely disorientated, the inside of the hut, its damp smell, the unfilled double bed all unfamiliar. It took him a few moments to pull himself together and to remember what had happened the previous day. The airless night had left him bleary and unrefreshed despite a long sleep, so he dragged himself to the shower where he shuddered under the impact of the cold water on his skin.

He did not fancy a full breakfast but decided on coffee and a plate of fruit. Sitting alone, he was relieved he did not have to face Maca and Chuck or any of the other travellers. After breakfast, he surveyed the mess in the hut. His things were strewn everywhere, a jumble of used clothes and books, his medicines smeared with sun lotion which had leaked, and on the floor and in the bed, the inescapable grittiness of sand. He began to tidy up listlessly, the morning heat building up as the sun rose higher in the sky. He dumped his underpants in the water scoop and washed them in shampoo, he sniffed yesterday's tee shirt and pronounced it wearable. He flicked through the floor of the hut with the hand-made broom from the veranda, but his activity did nothing to distract him.

Even after only two days in the hut with Emma, her absence was almost palpable and he felt a sense of loss and longing which he could not quite understand. Though he still greatly regretted the bust-up, he was now almost over the initial shock.

It was not too painful thinking back to the good times at university; the first snog at the end of an alcoholic evening, followed by more serious fumblings at her flat, paralytic in party clothes after the Union ball. And he remembered the times they stayed with her parents at their suburban home in Swindon; there often seemed to be arguments when they were there, though she always quickly got over them. This latest spat was her most serious sulk so far but, he guessed, it would not last too long. If he emailed her in a day or two, she would soon soften up and they could get back together again as if nothing had happened.

So what was lowering his mood if it wasn't Emma? Had he gone cold on Thailand and travelling? Or was it Fon that was unsettling him? The very thought was disturbing, so he decided he would have to do something positive to try and calm himself. He grabbed his novel, his sunglasses and sun cream, fumbled around for the keys in the still untidy room and went outside and locked the door.

Once on the beach, the novel again failed to engage his interest; he could not even begin to focus his mind on it. Sitting on his towel on the sand, he watched the passers by on the beach; foreign couples, fruit vendors swinging their heavy baskets, a boy selling brightly coloured sarongs. Lying on his front to tan his back, he could put sun block on his shoulders and lower back but there was a bit in between he could not reach. With nobody to do it for him, he would just have to burn.

Totally alone, he spoke to no one until a woman came up to him, looking agitated.

‘I came here for a beach holiday,' she said in a very British accent. ‘I've been here two days and it's driving me crazy. How do I get off this island?' A day or so earlier Ben would not have known what she was talking about. Now he understood.

Unable to sit still, he went to buy a drink and was pleased to find Maca, Chuck and Clarissa sitting round a table on the sand, each playing their part as Aussie, Yank and plummy Pom. Clarissa was sounding off about the glories of dressage, Chuck was droning on about Thanksgiving, while Maca was extolling the ‘beaut ute' he'd bought dirt cheap for driving into the outback at weekends.

Ben sat down, wondering what he could bore them with, and ordered his favourite lime juice.

‘So what ails you, Ben, alone and palely loitering?' asked Clarissa.

‘Sorry?' said Ben, perplexed.

‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci,' said Clarissa. ‘Coleridge.'

Ben was little the wiser.

‘Yeah mate, no worries … it always turns out wrong in the end,' said Maca cheerfully.

‘Thanks, pal. I'm okay really, just a bit shattered.'

Chuck was busy checking through the contents of a small rucksack.

‘Water bottle, mask and snorkel, towel,' he said aloud.

‘Where are you going?' asked Ben.

‘Maca and me are heading down the island. It's a long, sweaty walk but there's a beach down south with some decent coral. Wanna come, Ben?'

‘How long are you going for?'

‘Well, most of the day I guess.'

Ben hardly hesitated.

‘No, I don't think so. I'll hang out here,' he said.

‘Okay mate, you can keep Clarissa company then,' said Maca.

Chuck and Maca set off, leaving Clarissa with a glum-looking Ben.

‘Why didn't you go too?' she asked him. ‘I thought that was your sort of thing.'

‘Just didn't feel like it.'

‘A bit down because of Emma?' she persisted. ‘Isn't it better to do something?'

‘No, it isn't that … well, I don't think it is.'

‘What is it then?'

‘Nothing really.'

‘So it's going to be a massage today maybe?'

‘Wouldn't you like to know?'

Clarissa saw that Ben was not going to be drawn.

‘Right then, I'm going back to my Buddhism,' she said and went off to her hut.

With a sinking feeling Ben realised he was now alone for the day. He chose a deckchair under the tree by the usual massage place, hoping for some relief from the heat and stared out at the deep blue of sky and water, squinting into the dazzling light. On this, the east side of the island, the sun tracked along the beach all day, penetrating under the trees at the top of the beach. Since nine that morning the heat had been ferocious and it was impossible for him to escape it. Even a swim only gave him a brief respite and by the time he had walked back up the super-heated sand, he was already hot and sticky again.

Sitting in the deck chair under the trees he felt tired and lethargic. Why after only a few days on the island did he feel so low? The row with Emma and the overwhelming heat did not explain his unease and he now began to accept that the hollow in the pit of his stomach was because of Fon.

He had a strong urge to go and find her but he had no idea where to look. He could see some masseuses working at the far end of the beach but as he did not have the nerve to go and ask them, there was nothing he could do but wait. At home he knew the rules of the game but here he felt totally lost.

At midday he did not feel like eating as it was far too hot, so he stayed on the beach carefully scrutinising every female figure that passed by. Several times he thought he saw her, but in the distance one young Thai woman looked to him much like another. Then he saw two of the older masseuses coming in his direction. They were solid, stocky women from the rice fields, well dressed for the sun, their broad-brimmed hats shading their smiling faces.

‘Hello, massage! Want massage?'

Ben was unsure what to say.

‘Thanks, maybe later …' he said, but they quickly understood.

‘You want Fon?' one of them asked him.

‘Yes, but Fon's not here.'

‘She work that beach,' said the other, pointing in the direction he had walked his first day on the island. ‘She braiding Thai lady.'

‘Braiding?'

‘Yes, plaiting hair with beads.'

When they had gone, Ben got up and walked across the rocks to the next beach, relieved to be doing something at last, his toes sinking into the wet sand as he followed the water's edge, looking for Fon. Coming back along the beach above the high tide mark, he reached a group of tourists sitting on the sand, and suddenly he saw her. She was kneeling behind a deckchair, plaiting the hair of a young Thai girl in a bright red bikini. In the next chair sat a big barrel of an old man, a European of some sort, grotesque and hairy, his right hand wandering casually across the girl's navel and bikini pants. With Ben's attention divided between this bizarre couple and Fon, she gave him her finest smile.

‘You want massage,' she asked sweetly.

‘Yes, of course I do.'

‘Okay Ben, see you later. You wait me please, usual place.' Her hands continued plaiting at great speed.

Ben was surprised and confused. He could not intrude, he could not stop and talk to Fon across the girl and the grizzled old
farang,
so he just had to keep walking.

As he retreated, he tried to analyse what he had seen. The girl in the deckchair was one of the prettiest of Thai girls, young and fresh. At least in his sixties, the man was powerfully built with greying hair across his chest and back and was wearing tight lycra swimming shorts. It was beauty and the beast. And as he glanced back he saw that Fon was now sharing a joke with him, totally at ease, almost flirtatious, her bewitching smile and infectious laughter squandered on this disgusting old gargoyle.

He walked back to Ao Sapporot, mulling it all over. But finding Fon had brought his appetite back so he went to the beach bar and ordered a plate of noodles which he ate greedily. He paid his bill and was overjoyed to spot Fon again soon after, this time sitting nearby under the trees at the top of the beach. She greeted him warmly and called him over.

She and some of the other masseuses were gathered round a little old lady who was selling food from two big baskets. Ben felt suddenly self-conscious; he did not know these people, he could not speak their language, nor begin to fathom what they were thinking. They were all eyeing him in a girlie, giggly sort of way that embarrassed him.

‘No problem,' said Fon seeing his diffidence. ‘Come Ben, sit.'

Ben sat where he was told, but he found it impossible to squat as they were doing, their hands thrown forward as counterweights. Nor could he comfortably sit cross-legged as a lifetime of sitting on chairs meant he was not as flexible as they were. So he half sat and half squatted and felt thoroughly awkward.

‘We eat
som tam,'
said Fon.

‘What?' he asked.

‘Som tam Lao.
Hot, hot, hot.'

‘What's
som tam Lao?'

‘This
som tam.'
She pointed to a bowl of sliced green vegetable in a grey sauce, flecked with red chillis that one of the older women was already eating. ‘Made with green papaya, crab legs, chilli … and
plaa raa.'

‘What's
plaa raa?'

‘Fish sauce. Not plain fish sauce but rotten fish sauce.'

‘Sounds terrible!'

‘But all
farang
have to try
som tam Lao.'

The little old lady was preparing each bowl of
som tam
individually to order; with or without palm sugar and peanuts, hot or very hot. She was swathed in clothes and under her broad-brimmed hat her face was a pattern of deep wrinkles, her teeth broken and red from the betel nut she was chewing. Out of this wreck of a face the liveliest eyes smiled and twinkled. As Ben watched the bony hands and wrists rhythmically pounding the ingredients in a heavy mortar, it crossed his mind that this frail old bird had walked all the way along the island from the ferry carrying her heavy load, while he had been too lazy even to go and swim with Maca and Chuck.

She had now finished preparing a dish of som
tam
for Fon who thrust it in front of Ben.

‘Eat,' said Fon.
‘Nit noy.'

‘What?' he said as the smell hit him.

‘Nit noy
… little bit,' she said, grinning from ear to ear as she passed him a spoonful.

Everyone was watching. Ben had never before been defeated by exotic foods and did not want to look feeble, so he took the spoon and tentatively put a little
som tam
into his mouth. First came the taste, the taste of fermented fish, and then the pain. It did not hit him immediately, but in seconds his mouth was a searing, exquisite agony of burning chilli. The fire brigade turned on the tear ducts, his nose streamed, he gasped for breath. Fon then began to demolish the rest of the bowl, placing each spoonful very deliberately into the pale pinkness of her dainty little mouth.

‘You not like?' she enquired mischievously.
‘Som tam
too hot?'

Ben was hardly able to speak, blowing his nose and gulping air.

‘God, that was disgusting. I thought Thai food was supposed to be brilliant.'

‘Not Thai food,' said Fon. ‘This special
som tam … som tam Lao.'

‘Lao? But surely you're Thai?' said Ben.

‘Yes Thai … but Mama Lao, Papa Khmer from Cambodia. Family speak Lao and Khmer,' said Fon.

Gaeo, whose English was better than Fon's tried to explain.

‘Some of Lao and Cambodia were part of Thailand before. Long time ago, France make trouble for Thailand … King Thailand give Lao and Cambodia to France. So Isaan people, Laos and Khmers are the same … same same but different.'

Ben thought he understood; that the modern political borders so recently imposed by the European powers do not always reflect cultural and linguistic boundaries. As a result both Lao and Khmer culture are intermingled in northeastern Thailand and that was why they were now eating
som tam Lao.

‘How you know all that, Gaeo?' asked Fon.

‘Because I stay school longer than you,' Gaeo replied.