‘We agreed twenty?’ Mirak said, counting the money.
‘Yes. Of course,’ she smiled at him. ‘But you have to pay for your beers, gentlemen. We aren’t a charity, you know.’
‘But your cashier gave them to us. We didn’t ask,’ Mirak was smiling.
‘But you accepted them, Mirak. Nothing in this life is for free,’ Siswan said in reply.
Mirak looked into her face. He laughed. He’d never met anyone like her before. Standing straight he made a formal wai to her. As an equal. His colleague joined him. This woman deserved respect.
‘Thank you, Mirak,’ she said.
He smiled, turned and left the bar. As he walked he shook his head as though to clear it.
Siswan told Mike everything that had happened with the police. He just listened and nodded as she explained what she had arranged. When she told him how much it cost he was shocked to say the least.
‘How much!’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Mike, twenty thousand is nothing. We’ll be making that much in just a few hours. Trust me,’ she told him.
It worked out really well. Every now and then they would spot the plainclothes police officer taking a quick look to ensure everything was well. He did as he was told and never entered the bar unless needed. The police never bothered them, helped them out when they needed it and gave them the very best service. Apple never heard from her ex-boyfriend again and the bar stayed open until four every morning. Siswan knew she had done the right thing. The bar was gaining respect. She was gaining respect. That was what mattered.
It was making money as well. Big money. More money than Mike had ever earned before. Every night the place heaved with customers. The girls were working hard, had their pick of the farangs, and never looked happier. Apple was the first of them to hit twenty five thousand in a month. Tak wasn’t too far behind.
‘I don’t believe it!’ she said early one evening when they were all sat eating. ‘Miss Siswan, you were right! Peter is all over me now!’
Peter was a new regular. He’d been in almost every night for the last month. He couldn’t take his eyes off Tak. Wanted her to stop working in the bar.
‘What happened?’ Lon asked.
‘I liked him. When I first saw him I liked him. He didn’t swear and was very polite,’ Tak said, excitedly. ‘So, I remembered what Miss Siswan said, and ignored him.’
‘Ignored him?’ One of the newer girls didn’t get it.
‘Yes. The more I ignored him the more interested he became!’ Tak told them all. ‘Finally, when I thought he couldn’t take any more, I spoke to him.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, “hello, I haven’t seen you in here before, are you on holiday?” and then smiled. Now he wants me to go to Germany with him!’
‘Are you going?’ Apple asked.
‘I don’t know. What do you think, Miss Siswan?’ Tak asked her. All the girls waited for her answer.
‘You must do what you think is right, Tak. You came here to sell your body to make money. It is not a good thing to do in this country. Any country. It is not a good way to live. If you think Peter can offer you a good life you should take it,’ she told them.
‘But what about my family? I have to take care of them,’ Tak said.
‘Why?’ Siswan was suddenly very serious. ‘Why do any of you have to take care of your families? What have they done for you? You didn’t ask to be born. You didn’t ask them to bring you into this world. Why do you owe them anything? They are just people. People you happen to be related to. You owe them nothing.’
The girls looked at her. They saw anger in her eyes. What she said was contrary to everything they believed, everything they had been taught. They had to look after their families, didn’t they? They had been brought up to believe that. It was their duty. The only way to make merit for their souls. They had to do it. Had to.
‘You work hard. Make good money.’ She looked into their faces. ‘And then you give it all away. What will you do when the farangs no longer want you? What will you do when you are old?’
The girls never thought about being old. Today was important. Not tomorrow. They didn’t understand this way of thinking. Work, make money, send it home. That was all they were used to. Apple was the first to break the silence that followed.
‘What about you, Miss Siswan? What will you do when you are old?’
‘I won’t be working in a bar, Apple.’
Siswan looked at their faces. What she had said had upset them. She could see that. Maybe their lives were different. Maybe they hadn’t been through what she had been through. They were like children. Little girls who were playing at living. She couldn’t believe how naive they were.
It had only been a few months since she had met them. How quickly would they allow someone else to take over when she left? Miss Siswan they called her. Out of respect. Respect for what? How much money they were now making? Because she earned respect? Deserved it? Good god, if only they knew the life she had been through. How much respect would they show her then? Miss Siswan. A title reserved for older women. Women who commanded respect. Would they call her that if they knew? If they knew that she had just passed her eighteenth birthday?
She had been seventeen years old when she walked into Mike’s bar. A seventeen year old girl that had seen too much. Learned too much. Knew too much.
Respect? She could hardly bear to look at her own reflection in a mirror. How many of these girls would ever feel like that? She hoped none of them would ever need to go through what she had gone through. She wouldn’t have wished that upon anyone. Not anyone. Without realising it, her fingers stroked the angry scar on her arm.
Chapter 4
When Siswan had walked away from her childhood five years before, she didn’t have a clue as to where she was going or what she was going to do. She just knew she had to get away.
Even as she walked along the dusty road clutching her small bundle of belongs, she could hear the voice of her mother. The condemnation. The spite. Their relationship was over. The mother despised the daughter.
Siswan walked towards her future with her head held high. She would not allow the events of the last year to crush her body or her spirit. She didn’t know where she was going but anywhere had to be better than her village. It had to be better. She would make sure it was.
The small amount of money she had made Bak give her wouldn’t last for long. She would need to earn more and she knew of only one way to make money. Men. They were the answer. They had the power. The money. They were the ones in control. Please them or starve. She’d rather starve. That was the one thing she had learned really well.
It was almost dark by the time she made the town. The noise of the traffic, the lights, the thousands of people all hurrying to get somewhere, unnerved her. She felt lost. Alone. Small.
Only once had she ever been there before. When she was very young her mother had brought her in on the bus. That had been different. She had held her mother’s hand and been amazed by all the sights and sounds she saw. The big cars, trucks and motorbikes all roaring their way around the streets. The tall buildings that made her neck ache as she tried to see all the way to the top. The excitement of seeing all those people coming and going had made her dizzy.
Now though, it was different. Now she was brushing shoulders with those people, as they bustled to and fro, and the contact made her feel even more alone. So many people that she didn’t know.
When she had walked in her village she had known everyone. Every face she saw she knew. Even on Buddha days, when the whole village gathered together to visit the temple, she knew every face. Recognised every person. Some to talk to, others just to say hello to, some to be afraid of. It didn’t matter how many people turned up, and sometimes there seemed like hundreds, she knew every
one.
In this town there were thousands of people. Tens of thousands. She knew none of them. Not one face stood out from the crowds for her. Not one. She was alone. For the first time in her life, she was truly alone.
Walking aimlessly down through the crowded streets she felt tired. Her legs ached from their long walk. She was hot, sticky and dirty. She wanted a shower. Something to eat. A good nights sleep in her little bed. It was that last thought that saved her.
The thought of her little, safe and comfortable bed, saved her from giving up. Saved her from crying and being afraid. Stopped her from being the little frightened girl that she almost allowed herself to become.
That little bed. Where she would lie and listen to her father. Hear his drunken rants. Hear the sound of her mother crying. Waiting anxiously, hoping that Bak wouldn’t come to her. No. The thought of that bed filled her with revulsion. Her mother had condemned her. There would be no more tears.
With a shrug of resolve, she hefted her small bundle of clothes over her shoulder and, more determined than ever, continued her walk into the centre of the town. Whatever happened now, whatever happened in the future, she was going to be the one in control.
She looked into the shop windows as she walked. So many beautiful things. Clothes. Jewellery. Ornaments. Of every size, shape and colour. The sights made her realise how shabby she must look. Her worn jeans, faded tee shirt, old sandals. Her hair was dirty and hung across her face. Her skin felt as though it were caked in dirt. She felt unclean. Inside and out.
It was dark by the time she arrived at the park in the centre of the town. The garish street lights made the shadows look real. More alive than the objects that made them. There were still people about. Motorbikes zipped past her, their drivers, sometimes their passengers, cast her a glance. No smiles. No signs of recognition.
She sat down on the grass bank that enclosed the central lake of the park and watched as people walked by. So many people. Out for an evening stroll. Some with partners. Some alone. They all walked by.
She bent down towards the water. Scooped some in her hands and rinsed her face and arms. A couple walking by, paused to watch, then walked on, laughing. Siswan didn’t mind. At least they had seen her. Made a comment concerning her existence. She had begun to think that perhaps she had become invisible. She rinsed the water through her hair. Pulled her fingers through it. Tried for a semblance of normality.
She collected her thoughts. She needed to eat and sleep somewhere. The small street cafes over the road may be able to help. There must be something she could do to earn a bed for the night.
Crossing the road, she looked along the row of small eating areas. They were nothing more than rattan mats spread out over the pavement. The customers sat cross legged on cushions as they ate the meals prepared on small charcoal grilles. Siswan wandered up to the first and stood looking at the meats being slowly grilled by an old woman.
‘Yes?’ The old woman was looking at her expectantly.
‘Hello.’ Siswan gave her a wai. The old woman smiled in reply.
‘Do you want to eat?’ she asked.
‘Can I work for you?’ Siswan asked, in all innocence.
The old woman cackled. She revealed black stumps of teeth and a yellow coated tongue.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘I have nowhere to go. I need a bed, somewhere to shower. Food,’ Siswan told her.
‘So do I,’ the old woman cackled again. ‘No. No work here.’
Siswan left her and wandered down the road to the next. The story was the same. No work. No bed. No food. She tried every cafe along that road and then the next. Nothing. No work. No help. No pity offered and none expected.
By the time she got back to the park, the street cafes were closing. There were less people about. The old woman with the black teeth was collecting her cushions. She looked crooked, old and frail as she bent to pick them up and load them into the trailer attached to her old motorbike. Siswan wandered over and started to roll up the rattan mats.
‘I told you before. No work. Not here,’ the old woman told her.
‘I know. I heard you. I’m only helping you, that’s all,’ Siswan replied.
‘So you think I’ll take pity on you, is that it?’
‘No. I’m just helping. You don’t have to talk.’ Siswan bent and rolled another mat.
‘I won’t, you know,’ the old woman said, as she took the mats. ‘I’ve already told you.’
Siswan didn’t reply. She just collected the rest of the mats, stored them in the old trailer, and then wandered back across the street to the park.
She guessed she could sleep there for the night. It didn’t look like it was going to rain. She heard the old woman start the motorbike behind her. Heard it pull away from the kerb.
‘Here.’ The shout came from behind her.
Siswan turned. The old woman had driven across the road and was sat on her bike holding one of the mats out.
‘Make sure you bring it back tomorrow.’
‘I will. Thank you,’ Siswan said and took the proffered mat.
It was the first act of kindness she had seen since leaving home. She was grateful for the mat. She gave a wai to the old woman who, after looking at her a moment longer, drove off down the road.
That night, Siswan lay on the rattan mat in the park. She had made her bed under the branches of a big old blossom tree that stood to one side of the small lake. She used her small bundle of clothes as a pillow. In her hand she held the small knife. The blade was very sharp and she made sure she didn’t cut herself in her sleep.
She spent a total of eight nights sleeping in the park before having to move on. Eight nights alone in the dark. She had been disturbed only once. A brown rat, one of the dozens that came out at night to scavenge for food, ventured too close. Siswan had cut it almost in half and thrown its bloody carcass far out into the waters of the lake. A rat was nothing compared to a scorpion.
During the days she wandered from one business to the next, looking for work. She discovered a large restaurant that threw out food at the end of the day and she managed to get enough from the big green bins to keep her going.
As she drove off the dogs that threatened to bite her, she remembered how easy it had been to get food in her village. A short stroll into the fields and you could eat your fill of fresh vegetables and fruit. This wasn’t her village. Nothing grew around here. Just buildings. Concrete buildings.
Every night she helped the old woman roll up her mats and every night she was rewarded with the loan of one to sleep on.
Apart from the fact that she couldn’t wash properly, Siswan felt she was doing okay. Alone in the world, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, she struggled on. Her mind was unchanged. It was better than the village. Better than hearing her mother cry.
It was on the ninth night that her luck changed. She washed, as usual, in the waters of the small lake. She ran her fingers through her hair and, out of sight of the road, washed and changed her clothes as best she could.
As she rolled out the mat under the branches of the big blossom tree she heard voices coming toward her. Laughter. Shouts. A group of boys came into view as they crossed the small footbridge that led into the park. Siswan rolled up the mat quietly and ducked behind the tree. She didn’t want to be seen alone. Not at night. Not by men.
The four boys walked the small path that led towards her. She ducked back into the shadow of the tree and they moved past without seeing her. They were loud. Excited. One of them carried a plastic bag. Siswan heard the chink of glass on glass as they walked further away.
She didn’t stay where she was. When they had drunk their beers they would wander back this way, she thought. She would skirt around them and head over to the far side. She’d be safe there.
As she walke
d around the edge of the lake she could hear their shouts and laughter as they consumed the beer. Young boys seeking some fun. That was okay. She would avoid them. She would never understand how men thought fun could only be found in alcohol, but it didn’t matter. As long as she kept out of their way, she’d be all right.
Finding a spot on the other side of the park was easy. She rolled out her mat under another tree that had branches falling almost to the ground. Inside their canopy it was like a small room. Hardly noticeable from the path or the road, she lay her head down on her small bundle and fell asleep clutching her knife.
Hardly an hour passed before she was shaken awake. Rough hands were grabbing her shoulders. The smell of whiskey was the first thing she noticed. Still half asleep she thought of Bak. He was there. Waking her up. Touching her. She moved instinctively. The knife moved like a blur in the dark. The blade caught what little light reached under the canopy of branches. A yell. Almost a scream. Then silence. Except for heavy breathing. She pulled herself awake. Into a sitting position. Ready to stand and run.
‘You’ll pay for that.’ A voice. Slurred. Old. The smell of whiskey.
She felt sudden pain in her arm. He had lashed out at her face and she had raised her arm instinctively, in expectation of the blow. She fought to get to her feet. To run.
Hands grabbed at her. Caught her by the hair. Pulled her down. Another pain, this time in the face. He had hit her. She tasted the blood from inside her nose as it ran down her throat. She was stunned. Shocked by the sudden violence that interrupted her sleep. Couldn’t think. She needed more time but was offered none.
She lashed out once more with the knife. Missed. Her arm flailed against nothing. It was held. A strong grip. She couldn’t bring the knife back into play. She tried to kick, to pull away, but the grip was too strong.
She felt the small knife being wrenched out of her hand. Felt another flash of pain as he struck her again, across the cheek this time. She stopped fighting. Stopped struggling. The pain raced across her vision. Her head span and reeled in the dark. Hands pulled at her clothes. She heard the raw sound of the cloth being ripped. Her tee shirt was torn apart. Hands touching. Feeling. Rubbing against her bare flesh. The front of her jeans were pulled open. The smell of whiskey. Overpowering. She fought for clarity. She could still taste the blood. Her mind struggled to hold onto something. Something real. Tried to concentrate. Her head span. She stopped it. The pain still throbbed in her face. She blocked it out. Her vision was blurred. She blinked it clear. What was happening to her was wrong. It would be her fault. She knew it would all be her fault. It didn’t matter. What was happening was still wrong. Her mother had condemned her. She could hear her voice.
Bar Girl Page 7
