Meritorious fish

'A friend of mine wants to make merit badly. She wants to publish a short story on Lord Buddha's adventures. Could you help her?' asked Song, owner of an internet shop where I teach English.

The woman, aged in 50s, went to a private school in Bangkok and has good spoken English. She is translating a mythical story from Thai into English and wants me to check her work.

At Song's request, to help her perform her good work, I have agreed to check-sub her story.

I met the woman at Song's shop two weeks ago.

What I find curious is that I am expected to perform this labour for free, simply because she wants to make merit.

I have taken a quick look at her manuscript. Hours of work will be needed to knock it into shape.

Is publishing the work itself a meritorious act, regardless of whether it makes money?

And if she does make money, will she give me some?

-

Bird, head bowed as he sat at the table, started to cry.

One of my students, he entered the shop moments earlier without saying a word.

His father chastised him for keeping me waiting.

Dad, who works just down the way, walked past the shop where I teach moments before, and noticed that I was inside waiting for Bird to arrive.

Bird, who loves basketball, sometimes turns up late for class. Mind you, so do I. It is a casual arrangement.

Bird lives with his parents and sister next door in a shophouse/home which is also the family's tailoring business.

Song noticed Mr Bird crying, and rubbed his shoulders. I passed him tissues, wiped his eyes, and told him not to worry.

'Thais are deferential to farang, sometimes without good reason,' I said. 'I turn up late too. How many times have I kept you waiting?'

Mr Bird was too moody to talk, so for most of the lesson we communicated in writing. When I wanted to say something, I passed him a note. He would write down his answer, and pass it back.

'Do you know how to drive a motorbike?' I wrote.

'No, but I want to learn how to drive a car,' he replied.

-
Maiyuu was baking, so I went for a walk in the market to get out of his hair.

Under an overhead bridge, I found a food stall which sold steak. I hadn't seen this woman before. She worked alone.

'Steak...chicken or beef?' she asked.

That was cunning. I didn't have time to ask myself whether I really wanted either.

'Beef,' I said.

On my way home, I bumped into Rut, young gay guy from the local school. He called over half a dozen friends, whom he introduced.

'We have not eaten since this morning,' he said. 'What's in your box?'

'Steak,' I told him. 'How many people need to eat?'

Apart from Rut, four others needed feeding. I could contribute to the meal, but we would still need to order extra.

At a food stall nearby, we took a table, and Rut ordered fried egg on rice. I gave him B100 towards their meal.

I gave them the steak. Mr Rut insisted I eat first. I took one french fry. Only moments had passed since the woman under the bridge made it, but already the steak was cold.

The youngsters were unworried: they devoured it in minutes.

As we waited for the food order to arrive, a commotion broke out nearby.

Nut and a biggish girl whom the others call chang yim (smiling elephant), ran away to investigate.

While they were away, the food arrived. Mr Rut, aged 15, made the most of their absence to tuck in.

He took a large bottle of chili sauce and tipped it over the food, until it was covered in a large pool of the stuff.

-

One of the piers at the canal where locals fish

We joined a group of young men fishing off a nearby pier.

Some were students from the local school. Oldest in the group were two men in their 50s, grizzled types with missing teeth.

One man owns a small canoe-shaped boat which he tethers to the pier.

The pier was done up recently. It is now made of metal. The old one, made of wood, collapsed.

Two signs, in English and Thai, have also been erected. They give the name of the pier, and explain the history of the area. Needless to say, we were all piling around the signs, eager to know what brought us here.

Since the new pier arrived - it took metal-workers weeks to build - it has become a popular fishing spot among local people.

Fifty metres away is another pier, made of wood, which I visit in the daytime. Long-tailed boats pick up and disgorge passengers here.

It's old, but not yet so dilapidated that it needs fixing. Locals gather on that pier to fish too, but the fishing at that end is not as good.

The fishing group used as bait long strips of bread, arranged like a shish kabab.

One man pulling in a fish wound on his line furiously, performing large flicking and sweeping motions with his hand-held rod, like a fly fisherman. The others moved out of his way.

They were rewarded with large muddly-looking fish, which they bagged.

After catching their fish, the fisherman gave them a wai.

Rut and three friends piled on a motorbike. They were off to find a friend.

Rut, who has a small body and is the baby of the group, squeezed in front and bobbed his head. Two girls sat behind Nut, who reached over Rut to get at the handlebars, and steer the thing.

I hope they were not going far, as it looked dangerous.

'Our family car,' said Mr Nut, in English, as he pulled away.