‘Did you make a lot?’ Siswan asked.
‘Would I be working a beach, if I had?’ Karn laughed. ‘No, I made the biggest mistake of all.’
‘What was that?’
‘I married a farang,’ Karn told her.
‘Why was that so bad?’
‘He didn’t have a lot of money. When we went to the village, for him to meet my family and for me to collect my son, he couldn’t afford to buy my respectability,’ Karn said, wistfully. ‘It was different back then. Now, lots of girls take farang husbands.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oh, we stayed together,’ Karn said. ‘You see, unlike some of the girls, I didn’t marry him for money. I married him because I loved him.’
Siswan looked at her old friend. Without thinking, she reached out her hand and placed it on top of Karn’s.
‘What happened to him?’ she asked.
‘He died twelve years ago,’ Karn told her, with a smile. ‘He was a good man, Siswan. He had a kind heart and laughed easily.’
‘Did he swear a lot?’
‘How do you mean?’
Siswan told her about the two farangs in the bar. What Nong had told her about the way they spoke.
‘No,’ Karn said, with a shake of her head. ‘He didn’t use those words. I hear the farangs talking now. They don’t know I can understand them. It’s not good, what they say about the locals.’
‘You understand the farangs?’ Siswan asked, in surprise.
‘Yes, of course!’ Karn laughed again. ‘I was married to one for over thirty years.’
‘Can you teach me?’ Siswan asked.
‘Only if you’re willing to learn.’ Karn looked at her.
‘Yes. I’m willing,’ Siswan said, truthfully.
*****
For the next year, Siswan worked the bar during the nights and, during the days, spent a lot of her free time with Karn learning English.
When she wasn’t with Karn, and whenever Joy and Nok were out of the room, she would turn on the television and watch the news programmes. She began to learn about her own country. The politics, the superstitions, the problems and the apparent solutions. The first thing she realised was that the country was run by men. Women were subservient. Second class.
Whenever she could, she read the local newspapers and, after a few months, started reading the ones printed in English as well.
When she walked down to the beach or the bar, she would read all the shop signs, the bar signs, the restaurant signs. She read them again and again. If a sign changed, Siswan was the first to know.
She came across a small shop that sold second hand books. They were cheap and, when she took them back, the shopkeeper gave her half her money back against another. She read only those books that were in English. Simple ones to begin with, then more complicated. Any problems she had, she resolved with Karn.
She listened to the conversations in the bar, on the beach, or sat outside the coffee bars. She paid particular attention to how the farangs interacted with one another. How they gesticulated as they spoke. Their mannerisms.
One thing she realised very quickly was that, unlike the locals, the farangs were spatially aware. They had a circle around them that they didn’t like anyone entering. It was complicated to learn.
The area around the farang, the no-entry zone Siswan called it, was about half a metre. Only really close friends, children, or, in the case of the male farangs, attractive members of the opposite sex were allowed to enter it.
When strangers, or street traders like the persistent tailors, approached within the zone, the farangs stiffened. Became defensive. They didn’t like it. Didn’t like the physical contact. Siswan could immediately spot the signs.
Once, when she had been sat outside the coffee bar, she had witnessed just how hostile a farang could become regarding his no-entry zone.
She had been sitting watching an Indian tailor plying his wares. He was working for the shop next door to the coffee bar and was obviously new to the game. As the farangs walked towards him along the pavement, he would step directly in front of them and use some inane comment to gain their attention.
‘Hello, my friend. Where you from?’ Was one of his favourites.
Each time he did this, the farangs would awkwardly move around him with their eyes averted. The looks on their faces told Siswan that they weren’t happy with the man invading their space. They deliberately avoided his outstretched hand.
Whenever a local walked toward him, however, the tailor moved out of the way. He’d quickly learned that the locals had no problems with no-entry zones and would quite happily walk right over, or even through him, as though he didn’t exist.
Siswan had been watching him, and the farangs he annoyed, for about an hour when the incident happened. A young looking farang couple were happily ambling along the road looking into the shops. As they approached, the tailor jumped directly in front of them and gave his latest opening gambit.
‘Hey, English! How are you?’ He held out his hand for the man to shake. Immediately, the young couple stopped smiling and, with eyes averted and heads bowed, made to move around the tailor.
‘No, thanks,’ the man mumbled.
The tailor made the mistake of moving in closer and pressing the back of his hand gently against the farangs chest.
‘Good suits, mate!’ he said, in a mock imitation of a London accent. Suddenly, the farang raised his head. He looked the tailor directly in the eyes and spoke in a voice like ice.
‘I said, no thanks.’
That was when the tailor should have backed off. He didn’t. A mistake he would regret for a long time.
‘Hey, man. What’s your problem?’ he said, again using his fake accent and flashing a grin.
The farang brought his head further up, pulled it back and, with as much force as he could muster, brought his forehead down onto the tailor’s nose. Siswan heard the sound of the nose breaking under the force of the head butt from where she sat. It was a sickening sound.
In the bar, the no-entry zone was more relaxed. The more drunk the farangs became, the less distance they seemed to protect. Siswan had been amazed, one evening, to see a particularly drunk farang wandering around hugging all the other farangs he came across. They hadn’t minded either. They just laughed, swore at him in good humour, and carried on drinking, or talking, as though nothing had happened. He had even kissed one or two on the cheek as he slurred about how happy he was to see them.
Slowly but surely, Siswan learned. She didn’t use her knowledge to actually talk to any farangs. It was easier to pretend ignorance. That didn’t mean that she didn’t understand what they were saying, however. In fact, as time passed, she understood them all too well.
One evening in particular, she had almost spoken up for herself. Almost revealed what she knew. She’d had to bite her tongue to stop herself from berating the foul mouthed farang that was pestering her.
He’d arrived early and alone. A fat man in his fifties by the look of him. Nong had been making an offering to the monks shelf and asking that the bar do well that night. Siswan, herself, had been busy loading new optics and ensuring that the bottles of beer were cold in the ice box.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he had called out, amiably enough. ‘A cold beer.’ Siswan had smiled, taken a bottle from the ice box, and passed him his drink after sliding the bottle into a rubber sleeve.
‘You made that look easy,’ he laughed. ‘Used to putting condoms on are you?’
Siswan knew exactly what he had said. She’d heard it many times before.
Every time a farang said it, he thought he was the first. She just smiled, as though she hadn’t understood, and passed over his check bin.
‘You weren’t here last year when I came,’ he s
aid. Again, she just smiled and got on with her work.
‘What’s up with you?’ he said. ‘Can’t you talk or something?’
It was Nong who answered. She’d finished her prayer and came over to sit next to him.
‘She’s new here,’ she lied. ‘Can’t speak English. She’s just the cashier.’
‘Well, she ain’t going to be ‘just the cashier’ for long!’ He laughed. ‘Not after tonight, anyway!’
Siswan had heard that before as well. Over the months she just ignored the comments made towards her. The other girls would take care of him when they arrived. That was their job, not hers.
Unfortunately, even after the girls arrived and assailed him with their formidable arsenal of charms, he was still interested in her. Even when Nok danced on the bar top, gyrating her hips as seductively as she could, the farang kept his attentions firmly focused on Siswan.
‘So, you don’t speak English,’ he said to her. ‘I’ll bet you understand money though, eh?’
Siswan concentrated on her job. She deliberately ignored looking at the man, kept herself busy, just as she had before when men wanted to gain her attention. He would give up eventually.
‘Hey, Nong!’ he shouted across the bar. ‘Tell the virgin I’ll give her five thousand to be first.’
‘No, you cannot, Robert,’ Nong answered with a laugh. ‘She does not go with farang!’
‘She’ll go with one eventually,’ Robert told her. ‘She may as well make some real money doing it.’
Nong moved along the bar and spoke to Siswan in their own language. The language of the bar girls.
‘Five thousand is a lot of money, Siswan,’ she told her.
‘No it isn’t,’ Siswan said, quietly.
‘It’s more than a months wages,’ Nong argued.
‘Five thousand.’ Nok had lowered herself off the bar and stood with Siswan and Nong. ‘Don’t be stupid. Take it.’
‘No,’ Siswan told them both. ‘Never.’
Nong turned back to Robert who was still leering at Siswan.
‘Cannot, Robert,’ she repeated. ‘Another girl?’
‘I don’t want another girl, Nong!’ he raised his voice. ‘I want that little bitch.’
‘Sorry, Robert. You cannot,’ Nong said. ‘You must look at another.’
‘What the hell’s the matter with her?’ Robert asked. ‘She’s a bloody bar girl. Too good to go with a farang eh?’
Nong smiled and walked away from him. Everyone could see that he was becoming angry. Losing face. No one wanted to be with him.
‘Bollocks to you, you little bitch!’ he shouted at Siswan. ‘You’ll open your legs for enough money.’
Siswan didn’t look at him. Ignored him completely. Inside she felt her anger growing. Rising from deep within her body. She looked at the heavy ashtray on the bar in front of her. She wished she still had her knife.
‘I’ll give her ten thousand,’ the big farang shouted across the bar. ‘But for that I want her jacksy as well.’
None of the girls paid him any attention. They looked the other way. Tried to welcome new farangs to the bar. Nobody stopped. Robert was too noisy. Too aggressive. No one would come to the bar whilst he was there. Even Nong was getting angry.
‘He is going to ruin business tonight,’ she said to the other girls.
‘Siswan should go with him,’ Nok replied. ‘She could just give him short time.’
Siswan overheard the conversation. She knew that the girls would blame her for the big man’s behaviour. It wouldn’t be his fault. It wouldn’t be down to the fact that he was an overbearing, loud mouthed bully. No, it would be because she wouldn’t go with him. Never the man’s fault.
‘I’m not going to go with him, Nok. I’m not going to go with any farang,’ she said, quietly. ‘I don’t care what you think.’
‘Well, you’re stupid. How can you make enough money?’ Nok almost spat the words at her.
‘I make enough,’ Siswan told her, without looking up.
‘You could make a lot more!’ Nok shouted. ‘Your family must think you are useless. A stupid buffalo!’
It was the worst insult Nok could think of to use against Siswan and one that the girls knew only too well. To be called a buffalo was to be called, fat, ugly, stupid. An animal.
Siswan didn’t reply. Her face showed nothing. The insult washed over her as though it hadn’t been stated. The anger, however, rose within her. Unheard and unseen.
Having watched the discussion, Robert burst out laughing. He hadn’t understood the words but he’d understood the body language. The angry interaction between the two girls. He enjoyed the fact that they were arguing. He rose from his barstool, walked around the counter and leant over in front of Siswan.
‘See what you’ve done now, you little bitch?’ He grinned at her. ‘Even your friends think you’re stupid.’
For the first time since he started his tirade, Siswan looked at him. He had obviously drunk too much. His white skin was blotchy, his complexion pallid. She guessed he drank too much every night. She was tempted to speak to him, tempted to tell him he was an ugly man with a bad heart. She didn’t. Instead she bit her lip.
‘Ten thousand for your first time?’ He leered. ‘It’s a good deal.’
Siswan felt the anger. Felt the familiar rush of hot blood rise to her face. She glanced at the ashtray.
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ he smirked. ‘No ashtrays!’
For a big man he had moved quickly. His hand reached out and pushed the ashtray out of her reach. It didn’t matter to Siswan. The glance had only been a feint anyway.
She had considered the ashtray but it was useless as a weapon. Too bulky. Difficult to grasp quickly.
The only reason she had looked at it was to distract him. To make him follow her eyes. As he did so, and even before he had brought his arm back from pushing the ashtray away, she hit him on the side of the head with the beer bottle she held in her hand. Her sting was as fast as any scorpion.
He went down. Blood spurted from the gash in his scalp. He fell heavily against the barstools, knocking several over.
‘Siswan!’ Nong shouted.
None of the girls moved. They were shocked. Surprised at the sudden explosion of violence. They looked to the farang and then up at her. She stood quietly. Looking down at the prone figure lying on the other side of the bar.
‘He’s had enough to drink,’ she said to the security guard who came running over to see what the problem was. ‘He fell off his stool.’
No one questioned what she said. No one disagreed. The calmness of her voice, the coldness within it, brooked no argument. She turned to Nok.
‘If you ever call me a buffalo again,’ she said, with a voice like cold steel. ‘I will cut your face open.’
She sat back down. Started checking the ledger. Carried on with her work as though nothing untoward had happened. Slowly, the anger within her receded.
From that moment on, not one of the girls, not even Nong, and especially Nok, ever joked, or berated her, for not going with a farang again.
Eventually, the time came when Siswan had to put all that she had learned into practice. She and Karn were sat on the beach together when the decision was made. They had sat together so many times. The old woman had taught Siswan all she knew. They had drawn words in the sand, practiced the different sounds groups of letters made, and spent many hours speaking together in the foreign tongue.
‘It’s time for you to start talking with the farangs,’ Karn had told her.
‘Yes. I suppose I have to try at some stage.’ Siswan smiled.
‘You’ll be fine.’ Karn looked at her. ‘You’re better than I ever was. I never saw the things you’ve taught me.’
Siswan had not only
learned how to speak and read English, she had pointed out the subtleties of the language to Karn. The gestures, the body language. The meanings that were sometimes hidden within the words.
‘I still feel nervous about trying,’ Siswan said.
‘Don’t start in the bar. Talk to someone in the coffee bar.’ Karn smiled at her. ‘It’ll be easier.’
‘What do I say?’
‘I don’t know, girl!’ Karn laughed aloud. ‘Ask someone the time!’
‘Okay. I’ll do it,’ Siswan said. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, okay?’
Without waiting for an answer she stood and walked up the beach to the road. Before she crossed it, she saw a farang walking towards her. She waited. This was it. Her first ever real conversation with a farang.
As the man approached, Siswan moved across the walkway to intersect him. He looked like a nice man. His eyes, a deep blue, appeared to be smiling at something.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Siswan said, in her best English. ‘Do you have the time, please?’
The man stopped walking. Looked her up and down. It seemed to Siswan that he took a long look at her breasts before his gaze returned to her face. She suddenly realized the position she had put herself in.
A lone farang. A young girl approaching him from the beach. It reminded her of the night she had watched Sood for the last time. She felt her face flush. She averted her gaze from his face. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been.
‘It’s just after three,’ the farang told her, with a smile. ‘And I’m sorry, very sorry actually, but I already have a girlfriend.’
Siswan didn’t say anything else. She ran back down to the beach and collapsed on the sand next to Karn.
‘Oh, my god,’ she laughed to the old woman. ‘You’ll never guess what happened.’
‘He thought you wanted sex,’ the old woman smiled.
‘How did you know?’
‘Well, before you ran off, I tried to warn you.’ Karn chuckled. ‘A young girl, coming off the beach, talking to a farang? What did you expect him to think?’
Bar Girl Page 21
