Guilt money

Ball’s Mum called. It was Friday night, and her son was tossing it back.

‘Are you coming around?’

I was at work, but said I’d drop in afterwards. I stayed for 10 minutes.

Ball’s elder brother, a soldier, was back home on a weekend’s rest.

By the time I turned up, the soldier had gone to bed. Mum was there, along with the two youngest members of the household – toddlers Fresh and Maew, who were still awake.

Mum’s elder sister was also present. They were watching karaoke videos.

Ball sat in a corner, knocking back the brown stuff.

‘He has been waiting for you,’ said Mum.

She had bought nine bottles of the brown stuff that night, though they were shared. Ball was red-faced, but still relatively sober.

He said little, which is usually a sign that the brown stuff has yet to take an effect.

When I walked in, he did not say Hello. He asked me nothing after I took a spot on the floor next to him, as he was too wound up watching karaoke videos.

‘Why aren’t you talking?’ I asked.

‘I have nothing to say. I am quiet by nature; yet you would have me talk,’ he said.

Rude bastard, I thought to myself.

'I’m going home,’ I said.

Ball ignored me.

His mother asked me to stay, and as I was putting on my shoes by the door, poured me another drink to entice me back.

I returned to their living room, and sat for as long as it took me to finish the glass.

‘Why are you going so early?’ she asked.

‘Your son is in no mood for conversation, so we will talk another day,’ I said, and left.
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Mum called mid-morning, the first of half a dozen calls she would make that day.

I failed to take most of them, as I was busy.

I returned one call about 2pm. Her son was sleeping, though earlier in the day he had performed errands on the motorbike, taking various family members about town.

‘Drop in about 4pm,’ she said.

I know what Mum wants. She wants me to call around so I can give her money.

‘Mum is in a bad way financially,’ Ball had told me a couple of days before.

Her own mother, and two of her nephews have been staying for weeks. They add to the household expenses. On top of that, Ball’s elder sister lost B3,000 a few days ago.

That added to Ball’s stress levels. He takes on burdens on behalf of his Mum...though by the time he has finished work, would like Mum to help him relieve them, by buying him beer.

That’s where I come in. I visit her during the day, while Ball is at work. If she is having trouble meeting household expenses, and I think it’s a worthy cause, I might help her pay.

Many of the payments are small, and have nothing to do with Ball. I doubt he’d even get to hear about them.

Yet Mum, her son and I have entered an unhealthy symbiotic relationship. Ball goes to Mum, wanting a drink. Mum pays, which is always much easier when, earlier that day, I have given her money, ostensibly to meet some unrelated expense.

I used to ‘tag’ my outlays, if they are Ball-related: ‘Please spend it on Ball’s lunches, or transport...I don’t want merely to pay for his booze,’ I would say.

Yet who is to know?

If I give her money, she has more to go around, which can be a good thing, or bad.

The other day, Mum had an ear problem, but she put off seeing a doctor as she did not have enough money.

If I gave her money towards Ball’s drinking expenses, I thought, she could spend her own money seeing a doctor.

Yet it doesn’t always work this way. She simply spends more on the brown stuff for her son.

Last night, Mum called while I was at work. She wanted to know if I would have time to drop in after I finished.

‘I have bought him one bottle of Leo,’ she said.

Ball, who was sitting next to his Mum, wanted more.

'I will finish late ... probably not,' I said.

‘He probably can’t come, as he is busy,’ I heard her tell her son.

That means: ‘If he doesn’t come, I can’t help you any more – one bottle is probably all you get!’

If I was there, he could drink much more than if he had to rely on Mum alone.

Ball is working as a security guard at Silom, but has yet to get paid. That makes him even more dependent on his mother.

When he does get paid, he will probably give a chunk of it to Mum, who will put it in the pot.

She will disperse it to meet his work expenses (B100 a day, as he walks out the door), his after-work wind-down expenses (a beer or two each night) – whatever he needs.

Everyone else in the household gets help on the same basis. Hardly anyone seems to put his hand in his own pocket to meet personal expenses, as he has given a chunk of his income to Mum, who is in charge of the household finances.

Yet no matter how much she gets, it never seems to be enough, as she has 10 mouths to feed.

Foreigners would regard such cup-in-hand behaviour as financially emasculating. Who would tolerate having to ask Mum every time he wants to fill up his petrol tank, or buy a packet of cigarettes?

Yet that’s the way the finances are run in this household, and in many other Thai families, whether they live in slums or not.

If I give Mum B400 to buy a security guard uniform for her son, it may not go to that cause, at least not immediately.

Some of the money I give her probably ends up on paying for the brown stuff, even when that is not the intention.

When he asks for something, she will do her best to meet her son’s request.

I am his friend, so to the best of her ability, she will use the money I give her to meet his needs rather than someone else's.

The thinking is, if we help each other meet his needs, we are both doing our bit to make him happy. And if we love someone, we want to make him happy, right?

Yet is it enough? I don’t like some of Ball’s needs, in particular his desire to imbibe every night. A bottle or two, yes...but when he’s finished them, often he wants more.

And if I wasn’t around, his Mum would have to say no.