Slum Ball’s mother has an odd way of talking.
Thai language is already vague enough where the subject and object of a sentence are concerned.
Quick-thinking Thais leave them out, and assume that the listener is just as adept at working out who is doing what to whom.
Ball’s mother, however, takes this language peculiarity to extremes. Visiting her home is like being hit over the head with a basket of words as soon as I walk in the door.
‘Stand – fall – hit over head –smash – lost everything,’ she said as I entered her place.
Ball’s place has two doorways facing the slum alleyway. Both have wooden planks nailed over them at ankle level, which serve as child barriers to keep the household's two toddlers indoors.
‘Which stand? Who?’ I thought, trying to find a way into the conversation, as I clambered over one of the barriers.
Mum seldom expects a response from me; it is enough for her just to unload.
I sat on the floor. Ball, who had just noticed my arrival, smiled as he rocked his baby daughter in a swinging bed.
‘Fresh [toddler] – pulled down stand – hit on head – smash,’ she said, attempting to explain her initial verbal onslaught.
Slowly I started piecing it together. I looked at toddler Fresh, who sat in my lap for a cuddle.
Her head looked fine. I looked at the ‘stand’ I thought she was referring to – actually, a small set of bamboo shelves on which she keeps drinking glasses.
It looked fine too, as did the glasses. Ball pulled down a couple of glasses and poured a beer for both of us.
So what did Fresh pull down, what broke, and why does the girl show no signs of injury? Did any of it actually happen, or is it all a dream?
‘...Glass pieces...put in bag...throw away,’ Mum said.
‘Ah,’ I said sympathetically. I shall put the conversation down to some vague drinker's tale. I may have heard it, or I may not...it's hard to tell, as my head was cloudy at the time.
Even if I knew what she was talking about, what difference would it make? The deed is done, the damage repaired, and life carries on.
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