Herself (29 page)

Monday, as far as I can remember, did nothing but laze in room, have a dinner in dining room. Tuesday Mary took me to Johny Siam’s, the famous jeweler—he’s a Chinese Catholic. I bought a set of the wonderful brass and horn cutlery-ware; each piece only costs abt 50¢. C. and I shall need anyway. For largesse, bought a betel-nut container for an evening bag, and one for Bennet. Resisted—quite easily, Johny’s “Why you no want star sapphire—very cheap.” They are, too, as are star rubies, etc., but unless I were going to deal in precious stones, or sell in States, or had lots of dough, the Siamese jewelry doesn’t interest me much—even earrings. And I can’t see carrying an unset ruby around Persia. (N.B.—the cutlery must not be washed in hot water.)

In afternoon was interviewed on radio—round table headed by Prince Prem, a young Britisher, Peter Bee, who is P.’s asst at Chulalongkorn (amid his multifarious activities—and Prem is always telling you how mult, 54 committees, P. is head of For. Languages and Eng. at Chula) and Irene Something—British woman who is in business here—Carrier Air Conditioning—has a typical TV personality—asks seemingly idiotic questions to warm up. Also a Siamese, name unknown, lecturer in Sanskrit at U., has idiomatic command of Eng—and whenever an idiom came up, interpolated in tape for Audience—Sample, “unsolicited mail”—what he did with that I’ll never know—Cecil had briefed me a bit—thinking Prem might get Anti-American on air, but thanks to dizzy Br. dame, and Peter B.’s real interest in writing—etc, we stayed mostly on me and writing per se—although Peter and his lady compatriot said right out loud how little Siamese lit. there was, and how poor—saving me from asking.

This is a unique country—pleasure-loving, fascinating in many ways I shd love to explore—what one must not do is to bring preconceived notions to it—searching for what one will not find, and ignoring what is. Cecil has given me the book of beautiful prints of life of the Buddha, which I shall treasure. (USIS publication—“most important gesture we have made.” Unique for U.S.).

Afterwards, Prince P. took Peter and me to tea—in the car I managed at the same time to ask him innocently about his trip to Russia, and to get him to agree that “we writers” (flattery) simply dried up when we were not allowed to speak freely. His trip to Russia may have flattered him (Cecil says they rolled out the carpet—even printed his book in R. and gave it to him—possibly a limited edition of three, but still.) But after all Prem is a product of Br. schools, I think Eton as well as Oxford—and he knew damn well what I meant. Also the British-reared love frankness, and I was. Told him about
Dr. Zhivago
, and Pasternak’s troubles in getting it printed, gov’t trying to get it back, etc.—and mentioned it was best-seller in U.S. Cecil highly gleeful when I reported. Had informal cocktails and dinner with them, folded at 9:30 and went home—Jim Thompson to take Mary and me to the weaving compound where his silks are made.

This trip was where movies were needed. Jim was of course written up in
Time
—he has revolutionized or rather created a silk industry here—it is a fabulous story. (The full story of Thompson’s career, and strange disappearance in 1967 is told in
The Legendary American
, by William Warren.) The compound is located right behind one of the “modern” streets—as is all of Bangkok really—the modern thoroughfares are undistinguished, characterless. Smack behind it, one comes to the canal, wooden house after house built on teak poles, catwalks between—water beginning to rise over these. Boat-woman in huge coolie hat rowed us across. The houses, shanty-like at first to the West eye, are actually made of water-resistant teak (as are all the beautiful highly polished floors in the villas), here gray and waterlogged, but sturdy, often carved and fretted very prettily. Weavers have actually grown rich—run to lino and awful middle-class furniture, etc.—inside their houses the looms, naked babies, women crouching, vendors going up and down with huge communal vats of food—children swimming off the door-step—washlines strung along the catwalks. An incredible and wonderful mélange. And an absolute melt of heat of course.

We went thru, Jim talking to the weavers thru his S. foreman—silks in all warps and woofs, princely all the way. Then went to see house J. is building right on canal—Prince of the weavers he. An extraordinary life. He is lonely, divorced, and I think, looking for a lady—very nice—a bit of a name-dropper. (Barbara Hutton had come here in high heels—he was glad I hadn’t.) Was nice to be coupled with B. Hutton—or was it? Anyway we got on, might even have got on better—what an opportunity I have let slide—Queen of the weavers, life on the Silken Canal! His house will be beautiful. Presented me with a really gorgeous—no other word, silk stole in the reds and oranges I particularly admire. Left after one last house, presided over by betel-chewing old beldame who had just thrown her daughter-in-law out. Most of weavers Moslems—daughter-in-law was Buddhist. A son or a nephew studying in U.S.—at Johns Hopkins! When we meet foreign students in the U.S.—how can we possibly understand the gap that lies between? Mary says she has a Siamese friend, educated Radcliffe, a princess, whose mother is a betal-stained crone. Understand one gets quite a charge out of betel—wd try. But am told it comes in a kind of gum which is handled in the bazaar covered with flies, etc. The mouth of a habitué is a terrible sight.

Back to hotel, where I had to walk thru lobby literally wringing out dress which clung to me like a bathing suit—dunked everything, including hair—one washes it here every two days—or at least I do, since its thickness increases so with heat that I cdn’t be dinner-tidy otherwise. Surprised to find that it was only 10:30
A.M
.—we had started at 8. In afternoon, M. and I went to Sports Club—it is, as I said, absolute Maugham. Magnificent pool, louvered-shuttered clubhouse, very swish and white with a glittering bar—roofs of Chulalongkorn Univ. in background—very gay with henna tiles, ending in white snakepoints. Rather nice and breezy—M. said they lived here during dry season as much as possible.

Pleasant enough—I shd think one cd make a highly tolerable life for oneself here as long as one was not doing too much brainwork—the climate is pretty de-energizing for that—one needs a lot of sleep, etc. But for pleasure, company, social gaiety, I shd think a woman ought to find it fine—what J. is crabbing about can’t see—this is just the sort of place where she and R. cd devote hours to her and to “life together” as she had told C. that R wanted to do for her. Not the place to devote oneself to work in an art—but she didn’t want a man like that anyway. Well, n’importe. (But reading over what C. said her letter contained, I am rather sure that she may even harbor ideas of joining him—if asked—in Iran—her fantasy will easily extend there. After all it is on this side of the world—what easier?) And since instinct has called the turn on what she will do so far, I shall try to make things quietly clear tomorrow.

In evening had dinner with the Piersons, the Asia Foundation head—dinner for me. Beautiful house, formerly occupied by Noel Busch and wife, (Jesus—the “boy” just walked in no by-your-leave, to take breakfast tray—and me at a typewriter in bra and nothing else)—whom Sanfords miss much. (Mary Busch unique, knew more Thais in different and opposing parties, political and social, than any other Amer. woman ever has—Prince and Pr. Chumpat, who are very anti-Amer and cranky in one way or tother, gave her a farewell party the like of which Bangkok had never seen.)

I sat next to Mr. Bruce, delightful Br. Council man—a Scot—we twitted each other in the Br. way and had a wonderful time. Then he rose to make a toast to me with the wine—asked me—“What is your other name?”—I quavered “Harnack”—and he thereupon toasted Miss Calisher—Mrs. Harnack—and a toast to the absent Mr. Harnack. He had already heard I was going to Iran. Criminy. What if the R.’s had been there—a Somerset M. situation indeed—but they weren’t. Forgot to say that on Monday, after Prem broadcast, when had been interviewed by Eliz. Ortiz, beautiful Britisher married to U.N. rep here, I asked her to leave out names of husbands, children, etc.—she very tactful about same, but did ask to say that I was going to Iran to join husband.

Today,
Thurs
go to lunch at Mary’s—some Siamese women to be there. Not air conditioned, I am told—so shall have to wear cool black, but all right since it is here. Siamese do not like one to wear black to their homes—ill omen—so I can only wear it where hosts are Western. Nobody briefed me on this!

The luncheon Thursday had that familiar aspect of ladies luncheons all over world. As Mary said later—“We none of us want to give them or attend them—everyone knows it—but there we are.” Something dull and a trifle wrong about ladies sitting down to glittering table, many courses—we had champagne to toast the “departing”—Rachel McCarthy, very nice gal who goes on to Taipeh—had lived yrs in Hongkong, which she adored and hated leaving, now sorry to leave here. She’s a very tall, handsome girl who Mary said loves clothes—the “Mme Recamier” of Bangkok, said M. introducing her. We got on very well, also Mrs. Rims, a white-haired beauty of about 30—in fact there are either a great many pleasant and attractive women here, or else, what’s more likely, Mary’s friends are particularly so. Rachel’s husband is departing head of USIS. Later that afternoon we went to the embassy for a reception for them and the incoming Garnishes.

Embassy not air conditioned; had been warned it was black-tie—had one gimlet and sprouted sweat like a fountain—had to mop me with gloves. If here wd have dresses made like bathing suits with skirts—no straps, etc. Very dull business, such receptions; talked to a great many people, fended off the compliments that are a part of dip. life. I know that I am apparently a success with what little the Thai have seen of me—Cecil has told me and several others—it’s funny actually. They don’t care a hoot about my “intellect”—but they approve looks, manner, and curiously enough my voice, which they keep commenting on—maybe have been subjected to too many dames from Chicago. But it wd certainly be ruinous to the character—what little I have left of it, to go on with this tour.
Only the book will cure
.

Yesterday, Friday, continued the waking at dawn, which makes it very hard to stay awake for all the social dos in evening; went swimming in pool. Latter is one of loveliest I have ever seen—free form, rather like my blue Italian earrings, paving has grass interstices all around, little bridge over a stream at one end, whole pool marble—rimmed and fringed with rosebushes,—lovely to come up from water to hang on and meet a velvety dark red rose, or a yellow-monk-colored one, as you open your eyes. Has the typical Thai posts, like flagpoles with crowns on them—four on the right-hand side from my window—on the other a kind of pagoda-niche with the gay Thai roofline.

As I swam I found myself liking the life better and better—sybaritic me. Hope an attack of dengue (break-bone fever) won’t arrive to change my mind. But I am beginning to catch the special flavor of the place, feel friendly toward it—as in Manila. One nice thing—no real poverty here—to be a privileged foreigner is far easier than in a place like Italy for instance. The missionaries don’t make much headway here, tho they work hard—one of the maids here is a Christian, she told me—I imagine these are fairly declassée. Have met several young Thai Princesses, Momrajahwong class, who divorced their prince-husbands. This is “not done”—one does not divorce anybody in the Royal family and keep class. These declassée ladies have found a simple solution—marry white men, who are of course slightly declassé to begin with, in Thai eyes. Quite well-placed young men, sometimes. Foreign service etc.

Mary came—went to dressmaker’s for fitting on white dress. Handwork lovely—Dress wd be in the $100 or more class at least at home—abt $10 each for material and sewing, here. Since was to go to the R.’s in afternoon, found myself again irritable, wondering why J. was not happy here—this country built for personal pleasure. But I know really. One wd have to really love the man one was with, feel close, in order to trail happily through all the gay detail of living here. Deadsea fruit without it.

Returned, had much too much lunch—Muslim-style curry—fascinating (for once, not always). R. called, asked whether I had transportation, said interpreter was not necessary, had Sanford got one?, wanted to know what time we were coming, etc. I had asked students to arrive at 4. Didn’t know exactly why he called me, instead of Cecil. Over phone his voice is very tentative, pauses, next door to a stutter or stammer, but not quite. General impression of indecision, pleasant enough—but just not a very firm personality.

Cecil came for me—very glad he was to go with. He said he wanted to see what went on—thought it might be rather a futile afternoon; he wd stop things and get me out of there if “things went on too long.” (We were to go to a play in the evening; command-performance, King and Queen to be there, so again black tie.)

I had told Mary some of the situation—that J. had been Curt’s wife and did not know about C. and me now. Also told her she was at liberty to tell Cecil—I never think it is fair to ask a wife to keep anything from husband—also impossible. Disliked not revealing that C. and I were not yet married,—since they are honorable, and wd certainly understand—but cd not put further burden on them. Cd not tell whether Cecil knew, as we drove off. But he was certainly a rock to have along. A fine man—works like a drover at his job, too.

The R.’s live very near the Sanfords. Very charming, adequate villa with exceedingly pleasant garden, lawn, shrubs, tucked away down typical walled road. R., J., and baby in carriage with baby-amah (native nurse) grouped in doorway as we arrived. Had feeling that she had “arranged a family group,” and that she was constantly posing in one way or another, during afternoon. Felt that this was always so—she is busy “creating an impression” and goes about it in a very poised way. But one is conscious of the poise—think I wd have been even if I were total stranger. She was discreetly but firmly “behind” everything—rand not too far behind either. We had no sooner got into living room than she “suggested” to R. that it wd be better if we had students move to terrace, we followed, she had a chair planted in a circle and “guided” me into it, saying “Chair of honor for you is ready.” She was the “hostess,” and R. followed amiably, altho it should have been his show. About 6 students, only two who spoke fair English, one, who works for StanVac and edits the house organ, had been in U.S. for yrs, spoke very well—this the “interpreter.” Conversation mostly with him.