Castles in the air

Dream and a friend turned up at home after their weekly football game.

I might be imagining these things, but I thought I detected a wave of hostility when he spotted me next to his mother.

We were seated at a wooden table which also serves as a local gathering point outside her home.

His teen anger rises before my eyes like a vapour cloud, but disappears just as rapidly, or so I like to think.

All teens like an audience, and we hadn’t seen each other a couple of days. I follow him around with my eyes. While he is careful to avoid my gaze, he knows I like to watch, and appears to get used to my presence.

Dream’s mother Orng, and her best friend, Aunty Lek, are attentive hosts. They ask me to sit next to them, as they know I have nothing in common with the rougher men folk.

I rarely talk to the others, unless they throw a comment in my direction. Lately I take a book or magazine with me to kill time.

I prefer the company of the women folk, and the younger ones – Dream, his cousin Dear, messenger Laem.

The others are middle-aged, and talk about typical male stuff…gambling, football, encounters with a mutual friend at the local 7-11.

The women folk joke about a lot. Disappointingly, they rarely talk about the things I normally associate with the fairer sex, such as family. or feelings. Money is prominent in most conversations, probably because no one seems to have any.

When I turned up the other night, Uncle Mee, a driver, was building a wooden stall for Orng.

As I watched the box-shaped structure taking shape – complete with its own recess on the top in which a cooking wok will sit – I marvelled at how easily men can make things out of nothing.

The waist-high structure looked simple enough, but I know I could never put a hammer, nail and wood together to create anything with such apparent ease. I admire them for it.

Uncle Mee is unusual in that he can combine practical skills such as carpentry with creative skills such as cooking. He is the resident cook every night, churning out one Thai dish after another.

One woman who I don’t recognise took over cooking duties last night, transforming a fresh fish and Thai herbs which Mee bought at the local market into a delicious dish of tom yum pla (fish soup) in less than half an hour.

Dream’s mother is just as clever at whipping up great Thai food. Again, how do they do it?

But men will be men. They might be good with their hands, but when it comes to the finer art of conversation…

I have tried listening, I really have. It seldom works. The result of the latest Man U clash is about as interesting to me as a cup of sick. Yet it is the abiding passion of most men folk at the table.

Dream disappeared inside to take off his football shirt. He took a seat at the table a moment later to commence the earnest business of laying a football bet. He consults his cellphone and a list of the big games of the day.

He and the other guys have entered a gambling pool. They predict the scores of various games, shell out their money, and send off one of the youngsters on a motorcycle to place their bets.

I am often asked if I follow English football. ‘I played team sports when I was young; now I just jog and swim,’ I tell them. 

Most appear happy with that answer. They can see I have grey hair, so can hardly be expected to run around a playing field.

I withdraw from the male-driven activity at the table to indulge my own fantasies, such as when angry Dream might finally agree to be civil.

The men have an annoying habit of shouting when they could speak in moderate tones and still be understood. What is it, the excitement of the moment?

Their conversation is so dull that it leaves the field wide open for the women of the household to indulge their feminine side, or so you would think.

They could take advantage of a small pause in a conversation about the closing moments of last week’s riveting Man U game to talk about their latest makeup purchase from the supermarket, or some cooking discovery they have made.

But no. No one bothers with the make-up here, still less the scent. Often I wonder if the women are trying to compete with the men for the mantle of rugged Thai.

Perhaps they are too busy trying to keep their families together. While men indulge their interest in booze, gambling and women, their other halves are left carrying the baby, so to speak.

‘I give P' Noi B200 a day,’ Orng told me, referring to her husband, who runs an ice factory and delivers bags of ice for a living.

‘If he gets carried away at the table, he will spend the lot on gambling or booze. The next day, all his money has gone, and he has to go without meals,’ she said.

‘Men are like that,’ I said, trying to console her.

‘Dream isn’t!’ she retorted, as quick as a flash. Dream has a reputation for salting money away. He might put out B20 baht on a bet, but he knows he still has B80 left in his pocket to put away for a rainy day.

I feel sorry for Dream, having to grow up in such rough surroundings. But I know he doesn’t need my pity, still less my conversation.

Today, Orng heads off by bus to a city market to buy cooking supplies.

She wants to sell khao kaa moo (pork shank with rice) as a sideline to her regular kuay thieo (thai noodles) offering.

Uncle Mee built the stall for her so she could start her new venture. ‘No one on our side of the market sells it,’ she said.

‘I like salted fish,’ I said, apropos of nothing.

Orng offered to buy me some at the market, and told me to come and get it later today.

That might give me another chance to see my young man before I go to work tonight. On the other hand, why obsess? These are just regular, everyday encounters.

Orng appears happy to have me around, declaring before the table last night that we were ‘close’.

The matronly women at the table know I would like to do some clucking myself, over young Dream. It doesn’t appear to bother them, as they have decided I pose no threat.

As for the wild young man himself, I might be able to get through to him one day. 

His birthday is coming up, and before that, we have a family wedding to which I have been invited. For now, I just keep my distance, and watch.