Thai Girl (38 page)

‘I still love her if that's what you mean.'

‘You not come because you care about me then?'

‘No, sorry Odin, I need your help learning Thai.'

‘Yes, and I know why! You men!' sighed Odin.

Ben ignored his sulk.

‘For starters I want to be able to say basic stuff like hello, goodbye, yes, no, please and thank you. Then maybe verbs and tenses.'

‘No, Ben, Thai language not have tenses.'

‘But how can you get by without tenses?' asked Ben in surprise.

‘We say “already” or “later”, then we understand. No problem ninety percent.'

‘Well, that makes life easier. So what about yes and no?'

‘Words for yes and no, Thai language not have.'

‘But you must have words for yes and no.'

‘Not have. If I say, “Ben, do you love me?”, you say “love”. “Can you sleep with me, Ben?”, you say “can”.'

‘Bizarre. And what about please?'

‘Thai people not say please.'

‘Then how do you ask for something politely?'

‘By saying
krap.'

‘Crap? Polite? So what does crap mean?'

‘In Thai language crab's
bpoo,'
said Odin.

‘I know crap's poo, but I still don't get it,' said Ben, thoroughly confused.

‘Ben, listen to Odin. Thank you's
korp khun,
so to say thank you politely you say
korp khun krap.'

‘Weird.'

‘Men say
korp khun krap,
but lady say
korp khun ka.
Odin lady,' he said with a pout, ‘so always say
korp khun ka.'

Odin got up and put a new CD on the machine. The music had a catchy theme picked out by a moody bass guitar.

‘What is it?' asked Ben.

‘Air … Moon Safari. You like?'

‘Very much,' said Ben.

‘So seductive, my lovely,' whispered Odin, sitting down on the bench a little too close for comfort.

‘And there was something else I wanted to ask you,' said Ben, trying not to be put off, ‘something we talked about when you wrote the postcard. Do Thai women fall in love emotionally, same as Westerners? You know, like me … love-sick and all that.'

‘Same same movies?'

‘Well yes … I suppose.'

‘Titanic, Moulin Rouge?'

‘Wasn't exactly what I was thinking of.' He sensed Odin was sending him up.

‘Ben sweetie, Titanic so sad … but oh Leonardo, why did you go with that fat slut Winslet?'

‘You mean Leonardo De Caprio? Don't say you
like
him, Odin? He's just a sad teenage pin-up.'

‘Oh Ben, I do, I do … even more than David.'

‘David who?' Ben was even more puzzled.

‘You know, Ben … David, the big butch statue in Florence, the one by Mike Angelo. David who took off his G-string and slew Goliath.'

‘Oh, that David! Been relegated then, has he?'

‘Yes … so now De Caprio's my number one!'

Mildly irritated, Ben shifted away along the bench.

‘No, seriously Odin, what do you think about Thai women and love?'

‘Ben, I tell you, Thai women all bitches.
Gohok, gohok!
Lies, all lies! Jerk your kite string till you're desperate, then bleed you dry, down to your last baht.'

‘All of them?'

‘All of them … except my mother.' Odin lovingly kissed his palm and touched it to his cheek.

‘Odin, you can't really think that.'

‘Ben, dear, I do, I do … but enough serious. Tomorrow Odin and Ben go dive boat.'

‘Dive boat? Where to?'

‘Dive school have big boat … we go swim. You have Speedo trunks?

Better than shorts.'

‘Sounds great,' said Ben. ‘Can I borrow a mask and flippers?'

‘Can, no problem. See you tomorrow, Ben.
Korp khun ka.'

Odin's final vowel sound was long and languid, its falling tone slipping slowly from his lips.

The dive boat left the beach at ten the next morning. Ben paid for a non-diving place and watched the serious work of the divers with wetsuits and scuba gear going on around him. He was happy to save his baht and to enjoy the innocent beauty of snorkelling without the incidental distraction of trying not to die deep under water.

Odin arrived at the last possible moment in white singlet and blue sarong, his hair piled up and pinned on top. With him was a roly-poly lady friend from London who climbed aboard the boat with difficulty and sat with Odin immediately behind Ben where they chatted intently. They made a quirky pair, two girlies intent on a good day out, she plump and female in a flowery bikini, he, as always, slinky, slim and ambiguous.

Odin opened his bag and pulled out a shiny pink G-string.

‘I buy New York … Forty Second Street. Real silk and only twenty dollar,' he cooed.

‘Ooh nice! Let me feel.'

When the boat got to the first dive site, it became clear to Ben that neither of the two was going to be an active snorkeller. He doubted Odin could pull the mask strap over his head without spoiling his hair, and once launched into the sea, the ample fertility goddess would never be got back on board again. But Odin did briefly go into the water. He smiled winningly at Ben as he removed his sarong to reveal not Speedos but y-fronts and climbed carefully down the ladder into the sea, clinging all the time to the side of the boat. When he emerged, it became clear that cheap copy y-fronts are transparent when wet, and that he had not yet had the operation.

On the other side of the boat, the boatboy was feeding bread to a seething mass of fish. Ben pulled on a mask and flippers, fell backwards over the side into the water and swam into the shoal which continued to do battle for the bread. There were hundreds of stripy black and white fish, elegant white pomfret, long sinister pipe fish, colourful parrot fish, and in shallower water when he stood on the sand to rest, a vicious little fish that repeatedly came at him and bit him on the legs. Once he saw a stingray and later glimpsed a small shark slinking darkly away behind the rocks.

The coral was alive and flourishing, with overhanging plates of crimson and blue, staghorn with bright yellow growths, brain coral, corals like glass paperweights and a soft brown coral flowing like a head of hair in which orange and cream-striped clown fish were hiding. He saw spiky sea urchins with evil eyes, clams with blue lips that closed tight as he cruised by, fields of cabbages, billowing seaweeds and always the surge and bubble of the sea where the rocks broke the surface.

At the second dive site, Ben found himself swimming in pale green water high above a sandy bottom. Staring down into nothingness, he spotted what he had been told to look for, an indistinct oval shape just moving far below. It was a turtle. As it would have to come up to breathe, he waited for it to surface. When at last it came up directly beneath him, he was amazed just how big it was.

The next time it came up, the turtle was in no hurry to go back to the bottom. As he swam alongside it, Ben could hardly believe he was not dreaming, he was so close to this bizarre creature. He could see it looking at him, a survivor from another age, seemingly awkward yet so elegant and agile at sea.

From time to time his turtle raised her head, quickly gulping air before dipping down again. Once Ben held onto her shell and was briefly pulled along before she sensed the drag and dived a little to shake him off. It was an unreal experience; the greenback's bulk, the tiny fish swimming just beneath her belly and the sense of communion as she breathed the same air as he, each of them looking curiously at the other. Now he could say he had ridden on the back of a turtle.

He was not sure why he felt this must be a female. He had read about turtles in Thailand; how they return from thousands of miles to the beach where they were hatched to lay another generation of eggs, and how they lay in huge numbers because of the high mortality of the tiny hatchlings. He had seen pictures of the female, grotesque and ungainly struggling up the beach at night beyond the high tide mark to dig a hole into which to deposit her eggs. Out of her natural element, her eyes stream with tears, as if mourning the fate of the children she will never see.

As he got back to the boat, exhausted from the long swim, he called out to Odin.

‘Saw this amazing turtle … rode on its back.'

‘On its back? Turtle not scared?'

‘No, it didn't seem scared at all.'

‘Lucky! With Odin on its back, it be terrified.'

At the sunset gathering that night, because of what happens to wet y-fronts, Ben was able to report that Odin had a small tattoo on his left buttock. As he could not describe it in detail, there was ribald speculation about its design and about how exactly he knew it was there. The night was long and alcoholic and Ben had more than a skinful which he feared he would regret the following day.

In the night his stomach rebelled. Staggering out of his hut, he watered the nearby lemongrass and was lucky not to have to see Odin's green curry again. Thrashing around unable to sleep, his heart pounding wildly, the damp bedsheet became a crumpled heap beneath him, the bare mattress apparently impregnated with sand. Worst of all, he could not get Fon out of his head. She haunted him pitilessly in his whirling pit of stupefaction and excess.

29

Ben woke to the blinding light of the morning and the dank smell of the mattress, feeling like death warmed up. Seriously dehydrated both by his epic intake of alcohol and from torrential sweating, he swore he would never hit the bottle like that again. It was a brutal lesson that a hangover in the heat is by far the worst; the tropical version takes some beating. Somehow he now had to face the day.

He thought of getting some ice to wrap in a towel for his head but he felt too awful to move. Then he drank a litre of water and felt even worse. From bitter experience he knew he would have to eat something to restore his low blood-sugar level, so finally he staggered down to the restaurant and ordered black coffee and a fruit muesli. It was the perfect remedy. Cool, sweet and refreshing, the glass bowl was brimming with chunks of papaya, pineapple and banana, sprinkled with oat flakes and crushed ice and with a sticky pink yoghurt poured on top.

As he ate, he began to hope for the first time that, if he could crash out for at least a week, he might not die. Going slowly back up the grassy slope to the huts, he glanced in through Darren's open door. Darren was unconscious on his mattress fully dressed, half lying on his Lonely Planet guide to Thailand, alongside him a packet of Marlboro Lights and a plastic bag spilling ganja. It had been a memorable blow-out.

But tormented by thoughts of Fon, Ben knew that sleeping off his hangover was not an option. He desperately needed to do something to keep in touch with her, to write, phone or send a fax. Even a nominal gesture would help. Writing a letter probably meant using Odin's personal translation service again, so he decided first to send a short fax in English. Declarations of undying love would not go down well with Fon and anyone in the resort office in Ban Phe could take his message off the fax machine and read it. So he wrote briefly promising to call her on Gaeo's mobile after she finished work the next evening at six and saying he would soon come back to see her before flying home to England.

Carrying the precious paper, his head pounding, he endured the sweaty walk along the beach to the office behind the mini-mart where there was a fax machine. It was easy to find but there was nobody there. He asked in the mini-mart when the office would be open but the boy hardly looked up.

‘She go out. No problem … you come back later.'

Ben swore under his breath.

He stumped back to his hut and sat and seethed on the veranda, the sweat pouring off him. In the early afternoon he walked along the beach again and to his relief the girl was there. She was all apologies and the fax was quickly sent on its way.

He was relieved to have done something to make contact with Fon but for the rest of the day he would still have to suffer for his night of heavy drinking. Even worse, he now had to wait as the earth turned full circle beneath him before he could phone her the next evening. Sober and alone that night he watched the sun slip into the sea in a blaze of colour. When it rose above the mountains the next morning, throwing shafts of light through the coconut palms onto his hut, he was still dead to the world. It was going to be a long and sultry day.