'Dead' mother reappears

I called tearaway Thai boy Kew, which I don't do often.

I thought he lived aone, so was surprised when a woman answered. I was even more surprised when she introduced herself as Kew's mother.

'How are you, Mali? We last met years ago. Kew tells me about you. I hope you are well.'

Kew has told me consistently, for many years now, that his mother is dead.

He had called me the other day, suggesting we meet for a drink. Kew was about to travel to Pattaya on a work errand and wanted to see me first, but I was busy, so declined.

However, I called him back yesterday on the same number he used to call me.

I last saw Kew's mother four years ago or more, when she was suffering from a bone disease. That was back in Kew's wild phase. He was just 20 or 21, mixing with bad people, and according to his mother, taking drugs.

'They made him crazy,' she says.

I met her in a large one-room space she occupied in a condo not far from my own. The same night, Kew had asked me for B3,000, for his mother's hospital bills.

She was about to go into hospital for an operation to treat her bone disease. I told Kew that I would like to meet his mother first, to be sure that he did indeed have a sick mother in need of help, and was not merely paying off gambling debts or putting the money to some other hopeless cause.

'Mum is poor. We have sold all the furniture to pay her medical bills. The condo is bare. I do not want to take you there,' he pleaded.

I insisted, as I did not trust him. I wanted to believe him, but I did not want to hear later that he had made up the story.

As it is, I did not want to give him the money, as I needed it myself. I have a boyfriend to support, and my own needs to look after.

Kew took me to his mother's place. He had spoken the truth. His mother was indeed sick. Propped up on a bare mattress, with no other furniture in sight, she looked thin and gaunt. Her daughter, 10, had woken her so she could meet the farang.

I felt embarrassed, as if I had intruded on a personal space. Kew took me to an ATM machine, and I withdrew B3,000 for his mother's medical expenses.

He had asked for B4,000, but I did not have enough. He turned away angrily and walked off, without saying a word.

Last night, while I was at work, I called the number again, to make sure I had heard right.

'Forgive me for asking, but are you Kew's Mum - the one I met years before when you were sick?' I asked.

'I am. Did he tell you I was dead? How long ago did he tell you?'

Kew's Mum knows about her son's tendency to make up stories when he wants sympathy.

His father and mother are estranged, and live apart. Kew seldom hears from his Dad.

'He told me years ago that you were dead...and we have talked together many times since about his memories of you. He said he wondered what you were doing, and if you were still looking over him,' I said.

'He told me that his sister now lived with an aunt, and that you had left your condo to him in your will.'

Kew's Mum did not sound surprised. 'So you were thinking I was dead, all this time?' she asked.

'Yes. But now that I know you are alive, I feel much happier,' I said.

I asked after her health. Her bone cancer did not kill her as Kew claimed, but has rendered her unable to walk.

'I am now in a wheelchair. I visit the hospital every couple of days. Kew takes me. He lifts me up and puts me in the taxi, then we get to the hospital, lifts me out again and puts me in the wheelchair,' she said.

Kew is now single, but until recently, lived with a girlfriend.

'When he was with her, he hardly ever came. He was not interested in me, so I had to call on his sister to get to hospital.

'Now that he is single again he is much more attentive. He takes me regularly,' she said.

I sympathised. 'I am pleased he left that girl. She was too young for him. He needs an older woman who can look after him, and keep his behaviour in check,' I said.

I said that after all these years, it was time I met her again. Mum sounded reluctant.

'We are poor, and the condo is bare. I am too ashamed to let you see it. Perhaps one day we could meet when I come out of hospital,' she said.

I told Mum that I was not angry or upset with Kew. 

'Over the years, he has had many opportunities to correct his story, to tell me that you are still alive,' I said. 'But I am sure he had his own reasons for not saying.'

Mum was having none of it.

'Kew tells me stories about you. He says you care for him, and are never angry at him for what he is,' said Mum. 'You are like a relative of the family. He should have told you the truth.'

As I write, Kew has not yet returned from Pattaya. He doesn't know that I have spoken to his Mum.

'I will get him to call when he returns,' said Mum.

I would like to spank his bottom in public for misleading me for so long, but I suspect he might even enjoy it. I shall have to think of another way to discipline my wayward young man.

'He's 24. He's old enough to know better, but is much better than he was,' said Mum.

I agree. If Kew is taking his mother to hospital every two days, he has certainly improved on the wild young man I knew of old. But we still need to talk.

The lying has to stop. We have known each other too long for such nonsense.

These days, Kew - a security guard, former Pattaya bar-boy, shrimp farmer, and pirated-CD merchant - no longer asks me for money.

He has finally learnt that real friends do not go to each other constantly for financial help.

Kew has little money of his own, but no longer expects me to supplement his family's meagre income, even though he knows he could. As his mother says, that is a huge step forward.

Now, if I could just get him to overcome his foolish pride, and tell me the truth...