Shattered dreams (part 3, final)

The lane leading up to their place where we hid

I recall two scenes vividly - Orng hanging on for dear life to an iron fence at the mouth of the soi as her family pulled her by the hair; and another of Orng, her hair astray and shorts adrift, being kicked inelegantly around the front yard. 

Auntie Lek and I were sitting at the table when the first punch was thrown and quickly found a place to hide, down the lane about 15m from the house. We watched as the attack carried on, not game to interfere as it was family business. 

It was only a matter of time before someone in the soi called the police, I thought, such was the commotion; finally I left for home as I couldn't stand being present as the assault unfolded.

One of the regulars at the table warned Auntie Lek and I not to get involved (by all means watch, but say nothing), and it was good advice. 

I can't recall if the police were called but when I turned up the next day Orng, Noi and her family had made up, though the younger brother, the first to hit her, remained on the outer. 

In late October I wrote to my parents about the family fight - a new one for me, even after all the time I have spent in Klong Toey slums:

"Last week I witnessed her younger brother and older sister beating up Orng, after she got into debt. Her husband had to take on responsibility for repaying the loan sharks, but called on family to help.

"It was an awful fight, and thankfully little blood was shed. Life is now getting back to normal there, and Ong and her husband Noi seem as close as ever, despite the dreadful scenes that night. I am pleased few kids were around to witness it; Orng's teenage son Dream was away on a trip to the provinces.  

"Dream turned up the next night, crying, according to Auntie Lek. He asked his uncle over and over why he had to beat up his mum." 

My parents, who have given up warning me off odd types in the slum, remarked laconically that the scene must have been an "eye-opener", which indeed it was.

My relationship with this crowd has waxed and waned. We renewed our ties again in May last year when, coincidentally, my sister was due back in Bangkok on another visit. 

Orng urged me to bring the kids over, though a churlish member of her drinking group said I should stay away until my sister had arrived. "Don't bother with him now - wait until he's brought the kids," she said brazenly at I sat at Orng's table. 

Their interest in befriending me again was tied solely to whether they would get to see those cute farang kids. After that, presumably, they would give me the cold shoulder.

My family was in Bangkok just a week so time was limited. I raised the prospect of a visit with the kids but no one seemed keen. "Are you still seeing that family we had lunch with?' my oldest nephew, now 16, asked. 

He recalls the day we went there for lunch, when he was a little over 10. When I said yes, he grimaced.

Where Dream is concerned, things are adrift. Funnily enough, even after we made up, I found it difficult talking to the lad, as too much time had passed.

Dream and I have spoken a few times online about our shared fondness for dogs (he raises two Beagles ), and we exchange greetings at the 7-11. "You are my friend," he declared in one online chat.

I gather he still works as a messenger, though no longer for his aunt as he did before. He still plays football, though appears to have finished night school. He had a live-in girlfriend for months, but they split up and on FB now declares himself single. He is also a social media addict.

"One day I willl ask you about your life, as I know almost nothing about you," I told him on chat. "I hardly ever bother snooping on your FB."

These days even that's not an option, as he has put most of his posts in friends-only mode. However, he leaves up a few pictures with his old girlfriend, no doubt to let the world know that he once had one. Dream was never big on self-confidence, and I doubt much has changed.

"He has football in his life, and that's about it," his mother liked to tell me.

These days, you can add to that his drinking mates, and FB feed.

Dream may be willing to make a new start, but I find I am too nervous. If I see him outside his house, I whizz past on my bike; we don't talk. I hear his friends, some of whom I know independently of Dream, ask: 'What's wrong with the farang?'

When I see Dream in public I stumble over my words and don't know what to say. Where do you start, after years in which we were estranged, long periods which we should have spent getting to know each other but didn't? 

He was such a charming young man, and my early experiences of mixing with the crowd at his home warm and vivid. 

However, when I go past the house now it seems a shadow of what it once was. While Orng's friends still gather, the drinking circle has shrunk dramatically. 

They fall in and out with the folks who gather further down the lane to drink. Worse, the young people who used to lighten the atmosphere there have all but gone, as they are now old enough to socialise at bars and eateries with their own mates instead.

Another phase has passed with an unsatisfactory ending. I often think of Dream and his family, but the cost of re-entering their lives - tolerating hours of miserable, endless talk about 40 baht street food and 20 baht football bets - seems too high. I must have moved on, even if they haven't.