In a way it had been good to learn. Some of the things he told her had horrified her but the most important piece of information had stuck in her mind. She had listened to everything.
‘Women have power, Siswan,’ he had said, through his tears. ‘Men will pay anything for the right woman. Anything.’
She collected her few small belongings together. Parcelled them in one of the sheets from her bed. It wasn’t a large bundle.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked her.
‘Away,’ she replied. ‘Away from you. Away from this village.’
In truth she hadn’t known where she was going. Her need to leave was not brought about from fear or the looks from the other villagers. She didn’t care about them. She didn’t care about anyone anymore. She needed to leave to feel clean.
‘But what about Mama and Papa!’ Bak had cried. ‘What about me?’
She had stopped folding her clothes onto the sheet and looked at him. The bloody bandage on his hand, the frightened look in his eyes, the open- mouthed look of disbelief.
The memories of what she had done to him, for him and because of him flooded into her mind. The nights she had endured his touch. The times spent in the cane fields. She despised him for what he had become.
‘I don’t care what happens to you, Bak,’ she had answered, coldly and truthfully.
She had removed his sting. He was nothing to be afraid of anymore. No venom.
She walked along the road that led away from her home. She walked with her head held up. Her shoulders were straight. Tears threatened the corners of her eyes but she hardened her heart against them.
There was an air of confidence surrounding her. Her body was that of a woman and she knew far more than a young girl should know. She walked past the small dirt track that led to their allotment and the cane fields beyond. She wouldn’t go there again. Not ever.
She had informed Ped that she was leaving and had told her cousin to look after her mother.
‘I’ll send you money, Ped,’ she had said. ‘But never give any to Bak. Never.’
Her cousin had hugged her. Ped was the only person in the village that was sad to see her leave.
‘I’ll take care of them,’ Ped told her. The young girl had heard all the gossip. All the stories. ‘Where will you go?’
‘I’ll head to the town first,’ Siswan answered.
The look of determination in her cousin’s voice, the look in her eyes, stopped Ped from asking anymore.
‘Remember, Ped. Nothing for Bak.’
‘I’ll remember,’ Ped answered.
As she approached the pond at the edge of the village she stopped. This was a place filled with memories. Where she had played as a child. Where she and Bak had played. Even as she looked out across the still and stagnant water she thought she could hear his laughter. See him running through the mud to catch the fish he had thrown to the banks before they could wriggle their way back down the slippery slopes.
It felt as though she was remembering someone else’s life. Not her own. She had never been there. Never laughed or smiled in the sunshine. Never splashed in the water with her brother. She closed her mind and shut off her thoughts.
She put down her small bundle of clothes and reached up to the clasp of her necklace. Taking it off she looked into the smiling face of the silver Buddha. Her twelfth birthday present. A birthday that she would remember for the rest of her life. A birthday that had marked an ending. And a beginning.
She balled the chain into her palm and, without further thought, threw the necklace far out into the pond. It hardly made a ripple as it sank beneath the muddy water.
Picking up her bundle of clothes, Siswan walked along the road. Away from the village. Away from her home. Away from the memories and away from her childhood.
She told herself that she would never again subject herself to the attentions of men. Never again would she allow them to touch her. Never again would she administer to their desires and passions.
‘Never again,’ she told herself, aloud.
Chapter 2
Mike sat on the stool at the end of the bar and looked along the line of regulars. They were the same faces. They came just about every night. He sipped his whiskey. It was the same brand he always drank. The topic of conversation was the same. The music coming from the stereo was the same bland music he always played. Nothing much changed. Always the same.
‘What do you think, Mike?’ A voice asked, bringing him out of his spell of reverie.
‘What about?’ He asked, trying to concentrate. Another few whiskies and he’d be okay.
‘Have another drink, Mike.’ laughed one of the others. ‘You’ll wake up eventually.’
The regulars all laughed before returning to their favourite discussion. Mike didn’t need to wake up. He knew what they were discussing and didn’t have to be focused to know that it was all bollocks anyway. They’d never learn, none of them.
He’d been the same when he had first arrived. The land of smiles they called this corner of Asia. The land of smiles. That was a good one. It made Mike smile anyway. He’d discovered why they smiled. He reached for another whiskey.
Twelve years he’d been here. Twelve years of drinking and sitting in this bar. He knew he drank too much. Smoked too much. He didn’t much care anymore.
He had spent the first few years trying to understand the locals. Trying to get to know their ways and their language. He had tried really hard. It wasn’t until he gave up that he started to find out more about them.
The conversation was beginning to get heated. It always did. Everyone had their own opinion and were certain it was right. It wasn’t. They were never right. He lit a cigarette.
The only thing that concerned Mike these days was how much his customers spent. Nothing else mattered. He needed them to pay the rent. The electricity. The stock. That was all. Just buy enough to keep me going, he thought to himself. He didn’t need anything else. The room upstairs was good enough to sleep.
‘But that’s not it at all!’ A voice shouted.
Mike concentrated long enough to recognise Barry. Barry always started shouting first. He was a big man with a big voice. Mike didn’t mind him. Barry drank well.
‘So what is it then, Barry?’ Tim put in.
Tim was okay too. Once he’d had his fill of beer he’d move on to the whiskey. That was where the profit was, Mike thought to himself. Drink the bloody whiskey.
‘What you have to remember is where these girls come from.’ Barry stated.
Mike looked at Barry. The big man was getting onto his soap box again. He loved to voice his opinion. Don’t talk so much, he thought, just drink.
‘They come from a poor village, most of the time. They can hardly read, let alone write, they can’t speak our language and all they know about is sex.’ Barry was well on his way. ‘It’s the only way they can make money.’
‘Yes. But that’s not what we’re saying, is it?’ Tim stated. ‘We were asking if they can love. Really love.’
‘No,’ Barry shouted. ‘That’s my point. They can’t love. They think sex is love. They don’t have any feelings. No emotions.’
Mike left them to it. As long as they were drinking he couldn’t care less what the conversation was about. He’d heard it all before anyway. Always the same.
He turned to look at the girls sat outside the open front entrance. All of them looked young. Not all of them were. All of them dressed in their sexiest outfits. They all looked the same to him now. The only time they smiled was when new blood walked by.
The land of smiles. That was a good joke that was. More like the land of guiles. It wasn’t the first time he’d cracked the same joke to himself. It wasn’t funny anymore.
One of the girls looked at him. Tam was her n
ame. She was the eldest and therefore, by default, the leader of the group of five. She was the one he always had to deal with. The others barely spoke to him. She was a real pain in the ass. Always wanting more money. It was the only thing the girls wanted. Money spoke. Nothing else.
He smiled and nodded his head towards her. She replied with a look of disdain and turned back to the girls saying something or other. They all giggled and chattered away in their own language.
Mike didn’t care what they were talking about. He’d never know anyway. He’d learned to speak the language when he first arrived. What a waste of time that had been! Whenever he spoke in the local tongue they just lapsed into a different dialect. They never spoke the proper language in front of him.
To understand them was impossible. There were about five different versions of their language and the girls could mix them all up to form new versions. Bar-girl speak, he called it. He’d given up trying and only spoke English now.
He turned back to the bar. At least they were working. Half the time they didn’t bother to turn up. No reason given. Just didn’t come to work. He’d given up asking why.
Tam had seen the look Mike had given her. The one just before he smiled. It was a look of distaste. She’d seen it before on the faces of the farangs who stayed too long. She turned away.
‘Old fool,’ she said, to the other girls.
They laughed at her nerve and chattered away amongst themselves. They were young and knew nothing. She was their leader. They did what she said.
None of the farangs were any better than Mike. Drunk fools who tried to understand the life of a bar girl. How could they understand? The big farang, Barry, was off again. Loud mouthed and vulgar. They were all the same.
Tam was fed up. She’d been working this bar for three years now and had reached the limit of her boredom threshold. It was better to move on after a few years. The regulars got fed up with the same woman and the money reduced as much as their interest. She had slept with all of them. Big Barry wasn’t, that was for sure.
Two young farangs were walking towards the bar with their eyes bulging. Their white skin betrayed the fact that they were new to the country.
‘Hello. Welcome.’ The girls called in English.
They all spoke English to the farangs. Everyone spoke English. It didn’t matter where the farangs came from. Tam had even learned enough to understand the conversation at the bar behind her, but she wouldn’t tell Mike that.
In fact, most of the girls could speak English. They learned very quickly. Big Barry was wrong about that, but then, Big Barry was wrong about most things.
They could love alright. Tam herself had once loved a man so much it hurt her to think about him. Yes, they could love. They just didn’t want to love a fat old drunk farang that shouted too much. What was the matter with these stupid farangs anyway? It was easy to understand the girls. Really easy. Just give us all your money and piss off back to your own country. Simple.
The two young farangs didn’t stop. The girls tried everything but they just laughed, smiled and walked on. There were too many bars, too many girls. Young farangs, especially good-looking young farangs, could always get a good deal. And the best looking girls.
Mike would be disappointed not to get another few customers into the bar but who cared? She wouldn’t stay there much longer. The old man didn’t pay enough, that was the problem. She’d only ever come here for the money. In the early days she’d earned a small fortune compared to what she could earn at home.
After her boyfriend had left her alone with their baby, she had tried hard to get decent work. She was the eldest of three siblings and it was down to her to pay for the life her parents had given her. As the eldest, it fell upon her to take care of her parents, her brother and sister and, of course, her own baby. There had been only one way to earn that kind of money, and it wasn’t from working in the local market.
Eight years, and three bars later, she had sent enough money home for the family to live a good life. The problem was that, as good as their lives became, they always wanted more. The new clothes would wear out. The motorbikes would need replacing. The house needed constant work. It never stopped. She could never stop. She had put her brother and sister through good schools. Paid every bill. Her son was doing well even though she seldom saw him. Yes, they all had good lives. Paid for by her.
Tam looked to the future and saw nothing. Only today. Think only about today. Maybe her luck would get better. Maybe it wouldn’t. She’d make an offering at the shrine. Maybe the spirits would look upon her favourably.
Another farang walked towards them. Old. Alone. She could deal with him. She moved forward. She smiled.
‘Hello. Where you from?’ she asked, taking his arm and leading him towards the other drunks.
Mike smoked another cigarette. Drank another whiskey. He drank more profit than he made. Already his small army pension was subsidising the rent. He wouldn’t be able to keep going much longer. The girls screwed him whenever they could. Tam was a real bitch. She had forced him into paying the girls more than the other bars and, over the years, she had replaced the old girls with her friends. He already paid for their accommodation and she forced him into paying them a more than fair wage.
The problem was that if he didn’t have any girls he wouldn’t have any customers. It was as simple as that. No money, no honey was the local saying. For the bar owners it worked the other way as well. No honey, no money. No girls, no customers.
When he’d first bought the bar he’d enjoyed the wheeling and dealing. He’d enjoyed the challenge of building up a business in this hot and humid country. He’d worked hard and fallen for the smiles. For a while it had all been good. The girls were friendly enough, worked well with the tourists, and gave them what they wanted. The bar had earned good money just from the bar fines. After a few years however, the girls became wise. And greedy. It wasn’t just the girls either. The local police had asked for more protection money each month. He was paying three times what he had paid in the beginning. Three times as much money. About a third of the protection.
In the last year he had needed their response three times. Tourists who had drunk too much. Fighting had broken out. Three separate occasions he had called them. Once, they had turned up, and that was two hours late. They told him he’d have to pay the driver for his ‘fast response’. He didn’t bother calling them anymore. Now, when a fight broke out, he just left it up to the girls to sort out. Tam was good with an empty beer bottle. She seldom missed. The only time he saw the police these days was when they called for their monthly handout. All the bars had to pay them. One or two had tried to get away without paying but they hadn’t lasted long. First the girls had left. Then the local men had turned up. Drinking as much as they could without bothering to pay. There was nothing the farang owners could do. Who could they call? All the time they drank, the young men smiled. Even the police smiled as they took his money. The land of smiles. Oh yes, they all smile.
Still, tonight wasn’t looking too bad. Tam had brought in another lamb to the slaughter. She laughed and flirted with him. When she put on her act she was quite good. A bit old in the tooth now, but sill pretty good. The poor bastard had already been talked into ringing the bell twice. A short for everyone, including the girls. Another few like him and he would make a profit.
Tam would keep the farang in the bar as long as she could. Every drink he bought her, every time he rang the bell, she got a percentage. When he was too drunk to care, she’d whisper in his ear that she wanted him. Wanted him so bad. He’d pay the bar fine and she’d get a percentage of that as well. All the girls worked that way. Fleece the farangs. Get their money.
Mike sometimes wished he’d been born a woman. When he thought of how hard he had to work to get what these girls could make in a single night it made him jealous. Not only did he pay them,
not only did they get their rooms free, not only did they get a percentage of the drinks and the bar fines, they also got paid directly by the farang for whatever service they were prepared to offer.
He knew he was being unfair. He knew it wasn’t that simple. The girls didn’t like what they did. It was just another way to earn money. Money that they probably had to send home anyway. He knew they didn’t keep much for themselves. Sometimes their boyfriends took what they earned. Occasionally, husbands.
There weren’t too many married women working the bars, but he knew one or two. Their husbands were right bastards. He’d never understand the local mentality. Never. Not now, anyway. He’d given up trying.
The evening wore on. A few more new tourists were encouraged to have a beer or two by the remaining girls. Tam left with the now very drunk old farang she had brought in. She had stopped just long enough to collect her drink and fine earnings from the cashier. The smile had disappeared as she counted the notes. She hadn’t said goodnight to Mike. Just walked out with her two-legged, portable, ATM machine.
Two a.m. rolled around and the bar closed. Mike couldn’t afford to pay the extra money the police demanded to allow him to stay open past closing time. Anyway, the girls had gone. Off to the nearest club, he guessed. That was where they went when they hadn’t picked up a farang they liked in the bar.
The regulars finished their drinks, paid their bills and wandered off into the night. There were bars that stayed open. They could find more places to drink.
The cashier, a nice little girl called Pan, tallied up the evenings takings. Not a lot after all. Never mind, there was always tomorrow. He nodded to Pan as she left. She didn’t say goodnight either, but at least she gave him a smile. Out of pity, he suspected.
That was what the farangs didn’t understand. The smiles weren’t just smiles. They were used as communication. Of course they smiled to express happiness. Who didn’t? But they also smiled to acknowledge inferior persons. The wai, the formal greeting, was only used for people with an equal or greater standing in life. The smile was used for children and lesser human beings. Like farangs. The locals thought it extremely funny. The farangs just didn’t get the joke.
Bar Girl Page 3
