Boyfriend reads minds, the Ball 'harvest' proposal

Readers have asked how boyfriend Maiyuu feels about Ball, my young friend from the slums. The short answer is, he doesn’t know.

Maiyuu knows where I drink. In fact, I invited him there on New Year’s Eve.

He cycled across the vacant lot between our condo and carer R’s shop, and took a quick look from about 10m away, but decided not to go any closer.

I have invited him back since, but he is not interested.

However, he has a good idea of what is happening. After nine years together, he knows me that well.

‘You have found a young man over there, and you’re pretending to be his Dad.

‘He needs a father figure, and you suit each other so well, because you need someone to love,’ said Maiyuu one day.

His description of what had transpired between me and Ball was so accurate that I assumed he must have paid a furtive visit to R’s shop, and asked him for the details.

In fact, he knew nothing. He was just speculating, based on similar relationships I have struck up with youngsters in the past.

Maiyuu hasn’t met Ball or carer R, yet has figured out what is going on.

When I visit carer R’s ya dong stand, I come home late, though rarely beyond 2am, as Maiyuu does like to see me occasionally, even at that ungodly hour of the morning.

Mainly, I visit carer R’s stand on my nights off from work, though I have also been known to visit during the week.

I visited last night, for example, after a 12-hour day at the office.

Two days ago, I swapped phone numbers with carer R. On the first night, he called about 10pm to say he was packing up shop.

I needn’t bother calling in after I finished work later that night, as by then his place would be closed, he said.

Last night, carer R and young Ball called me several times while I was at work, urging me to pay a visit.

They were drunk, having fun, and wanted me to join in.

I turned up as soon as I could. We drank for an hour, before Ball invited us back to his place for something to eat.

Mum, who is celebrating her birthday, was making suki (beef, seafood and vegetables cooked on a portable hotplate, with charcoal underneath), and we were invited.

Ball’s elder brother, a soldier, was visiting home for Mum's birthday.

When we turned up at Ball’s place, the elder brother had just showered. He spent the next half hour drying himself and applying powder to his body. He looked extremely strong, and fit.

‘He’s big,’ said Lort, shooting me a cheeky grin.

Lort sat next to me as we formed a circle around the suki hotplate.

A taxi driver by trade, Lort is the most senior in the household, and keeps careful measure of the younger males' progress beneath the waist.

Ball is so-so big, followed by his elder brother Beer, who is bigger still, and then the soldier, who is biggest of all.

I chatted to Ball’s girlfriend, Jay, who was doing most of the cooking.

She had only recently come back from work, but had changed into casual clothes: shorts, and a T-shirt.

I noticed that one of her legs was bruised, and asked about her injuries. ‘It was a work accident. I had to pay for medical treatment myself, as my employer refused to help, and I hadn’t been there long enough to get cover from the company insurance scheme,’ she said.

Jay has since left that company, and joined another. Now, she works for the same supermarket as boyfriend Ball.

Like me, Ball was dressed in work gear. He had not changed since finishing his shift, but had gone straight to carer R’s ya dong stand.

His white shirt was stained and ragged, his black trousers torn on one knee. I fingered the hole in his trousers, and asked how it happened.

‘Why don’t you buy him a new pair?’ Lort jumped in, before Ball had a chance to answer.

Why not indeed?

An hour earlier, at the ya dong stand, carer R suggested I do away with my farang pretense, and just take the lad.

‘I heard about you, the other night at Ball’s place. You were in his bedroom, and his girlfriend was downstairs,’ he slurred.

‘Yes, but nothing happened. Ball is straight, and apart from that, he’s too young,’ I told R.

‘He’s straight, you’re straight...so what? Just ‘take’ him, as we say in the provinces,’ he said.

Care R used an unusual word, kep (เก๊บ), which can mean arrange, collect, kill, keep - but which in a provincial context sounded oddly like harvesting rice.

‘I know what you’re thinking, and what you want to do,’ he said.

So why don’t I?

Lort is all for it too, as long as I contribute to his keep.

I haven’t asked his Mum about our friendship, though I suspect her answer might be just as non-committal, perhaps even encouraging, because she can see that I care for him.

Ball was sitting next to me, as he should, because he is uppermost in my affections in this family.

I ran my hand through his hair briefly, though had second thoughts when I heard Lort say: ‘I don’t mind you doing that.’

They can see that I care for Ball. However, I don’t want to ‘harvest’ him. To do that would be to declare that he is my own, even if I do have to share him with his teenage girlfriend.

About 1am, Carer R excused himself and went home to bed.

‘I know my limits,’ he said.

Half an hour later, Ball asked if he could take me home. He lives just metres away from carer R’s ya dong stand. I live just metres beyond that.

We played our old game: Ball escorts me across the vacant lot. We stop just short of my place. I turn to watch him walk back across the lot.

Dogs are barking, and the ground underfoot stony and uneven, which makes the path treacherous.

He stops short of his place, turns around and looks at me.

I walk back to him. I hug him, we say our goodbyes, and we try again.

We played this game for 15 minutes, which was mercifully brief compared to the last time we tried to walk each other home.

This time, when I turned to look a second time, he had disappeared.

Ball needs older men in his life, it’s true. He misses his father dearly, and finds it hard to talk to Lort.

But what do I have in common with a youngster just hitting his 20s?

Let’s say I buy him a new pair of trousers. Next week, he’ll tear them again.

Ball has to learn for himself the importance of looking after clothes.

That only comes with time, and a little fatherly advice.

I am up for that, much more than I am a 10-minute conquest in the greasy love pit which Ball shares with his girlfriend.

As I have said before, I am on his mother's side. Mum, girlfriend Jay and I will make a decent man out of young Ball yet.

We want Ball to be pleasant, functional, successful.

I’ll shower you with love, young man, if that’s what you want. I might even buy you clothes occasionally, as hanger-on Lort desires.

But if I do, it’s not because I have harvested you, and declared you as my own, like some marital asset. It’s because I want you to venture into the world as a better man.

Just whip out that pneumatic drill

Workers have started refurbishing a place opposite us, just to our left of our balcony.

For the last two days, a worker has been using a pnuematic drill to break up the concrete roof. The noise, as you can imagine, is terrible.

They are also tearing apart the inside of the place, which is inside a closed street. Only residents have keys.

It has always looked deserted, but I did not expect anyone would attempt to gut a building so close to where we live.

The place next to it with a lichen-covered roof, even closer to where I sit on my balcony looking over the Silom business district, has also shown no sign of life for months. Perhaps that one will be next.

The owners obviously care not for their neighbours. No one has told us that a big job is starting next door, and that we should brace ourselves for noise menace.

If we want to sleep during the day, we have to close the sliding doors on the balcony, and close the windows in my room. It dampens the noise, but not much.

The family where nobody talks

‘Ball’s still asleep,’ said Mum. You can meet him this afternoon,’ she suggested.

That was Ball’s Mum as we chatted on the phone a few moments ago.

I called to see if he had risen in time for work. Unfortunately not; he was supposed to get up at 8am, and when I called his mother it was already 11am.

Ball and I met at carer R’s stand last night. Carer R is in the provinces, so his mother-in-law was serving, along with a couple of 10-year-old lads, who live in the same apartment.

After the stall packed up about 10pm, we repaired to Ball’s place with a half-bottle of ya dong.

At Ball’s place, I met his Mum, who was playing cards with friends in a small, concealed space off the living room.

‘Have you won anything yet?’ I asked Mum.

‘All I can do tonight is lose,’ she said.

About 10.30, Ball took me on his motorbike to the local supermarket, to pick up his girlfriend, Jay, who was finishing her shift.

We hung about in the supermarket watching young ones pack up the place for the night.

‘I want to end our relationship, but can’t find the words,’ he said, referring to Jay.

Ball noticed a pretty girl in an ice-cream shop nearby. I offered to fetch her phone number on Ball’s behalf.

‘Are you sure she’ll be interested? What if she says no?’ he asked.

‘I am the one who gets embarrassed in that case; you don’t have to worry,’ I told him.

I was just about to head into the shop and ask the girl for her number when Jay turned up, her shift over for the day.

We squeezed on the bike: Jay in front, steering, Ball behind her, and me as the third passenger perched on the rear.

The two in front chatted away animatedly. I could tell they were having fun.

‘We made love on the first day we met,’ Ball had told me as we waited at the supermarket.

‘I want to quit with her, but feel sorry for her because of what I did. If I force her to leave our home, she will have nowhere to go.

‘I don’t like the idea that she may go to bed with some other guy just to make money,’ he said.

‘Is that jealousy, or just pity?’ I asked.

As I listened to them chatting on the bike, I realised Ball and Jay are still close. How could they not be, when they have shared each other's lives for past four months?

While Ball likes to complain that he is sick of Jay and wants to end the relationship, I am sure that if they put in the effort, they could make it work.

Back at home, however, Ball's moods changed. He did not want to talk to Jay.

He sent me upstairs with our bottle of ya dong and two glasses. We sat in his bedroom, while Jay remained downstairs with Ball’s younger brother, their Mum, and a few other visitors who I did not know.

Outside, half a dozen Thais who live opposite in the narrow slum soi were drinking.

They were squeezed into the front of their place. The sound of them partying travelled into Ball’s room through holes in the walls and roof.

We lay on a greasy bedspread which felt as if it had not been cleaned in months. Such is the general state of disrepair, the room had no fixed light; Ball had rigged up a torch, which plugged into a wall socket.

In one corner of the room lay a small bucket containing water mixed with blood. What the hell was that?

Ball was feeling the effects of his ya dong.

‘Mum's partner Lort says you are gay...but I don’t care. I want us to be brothers. Can we be friends??’ he slurred.

‘The last time you were here, Lort asked you to buy a ya dong stand, and in return he would let me be your lover.

‘I have the money to buy a bottle myself. I don’t need to sell myself for it,’ he said, looking disgusted.

‘He was wrong to do that...I am sorry it ever happened,’ I said.

Ball asked me to wait while he went back downstairs.

Moments later he was back, followed shortly by girlfriend Jay, who gathered up her clothes, and stormed out.

While he was downstairs, Ball had told his girlfriend brusquely to go.

I tried to stop her leaving the bedroom, as it was past midnight, and she had nowhere else to sleep.

'Please stay and talk,' I said.

Ball grabbed me, holding me back.

Shortly after, Ball and I headed downstairs looking for her. The sitting room was empty.

We also searched for her outside his place; no luck.

We returned to his place, when we found Jay had not left at all, but had taken shelter in Mum's bedroom downstairs. She was lying next to Ball’s younger brother, Beer.

‘I don’t mind the fact that you and Ball are alone in Ball’s bedroom upstairs,’ she told me. ‘I am not jealous. It’s the way he is acting and speaking to me. It’s not right,’ she said.

Again, I urged Jay and Ball to talk.

‘No one in this family is willing to talk openly. Yet it’s the only way you can solve problems,’ I said.

‘When you are forced to meet at meal times, you are surly with each other because you won't talk about the things troubling you.'

Jay listened, but said nothing.

What I said next probably surprised her.

‘Ball thinks you have no future together, but I do. I have seen the way you get along. I am sure you can make this work,’ I said.

Ball, however, had decided his girlfriend should go. As we sat down for a quick meal, he swore at her and again told her to leave.

I took Ball back upstairs again, to give the poor girl some breathing space.

As we lay down on his greasy bedspread, Ball asked me to stay next to him for the night.

Ball sleeps in his casual clothes; I doubt he has any pyjamas. This is probably not a pyjamas kind of home.

I stroked my young friend’s head until he slept.

I had no intention of staying over. The state of the place, including the blood in the bucket, horrified me.

As soon as I was sure he had fallen asleep, I headed back downstairs, said goodbye to Jay, and left.

Bad back strikes, the phone girl pays a visit, Ball's Mum opens up

I am sorry for the lack of blogging action over the last few days; I have a sore back.

The chest cold I caught a few weeks ago has now turned into an old man's wheezy asthmatic cough, and when I cough, my back aches.

I went to see the doctor the other day. The pills she gave me (four different types, though I don’t know what any of them are called) should hopefully put things right.

-
Maiyuu ducked out briefly, and turned up again with Golf, his woman friend who owns a pet Chihuahua.

‘Can Golf use the toilet?’ Maiyuu asked as soon as he returned.

Visitors to our place can see almost everything from the front door.

I was naked at the time, as I was preparing to take a shower.

Thankfully, I had time to get behind my bedroom door before the main door separating our unit from the outside world opened fully.

While she was in the toilet, I heard Golf’s cellphone go. It rings almost constantly, so she has plenty of distractions tugging her away from whatever business she is transacting with people face-to-face.

I could tell her any kind of shocking news, and I doubt she would have time to register, as her phone would have started ringing again.

It pulls her back into the world of electronic communication as opposed to the face-to-face stuff which most of us call Real Life.

‘Your Mum is on steroids and wants to become a man.’

‘Oh, hang on, my phone’s going.’

-
Carer R has been on a visit to the provinces, but hopefully should be back by the time I wander across the slum section to drink at his ya dong stall tonight.

I have just embarked on my weekend break, and am looking forward to meeting people, something I rarely get the chance to do during the working week, as I am stuck in an office.

When I wandered into the slummy section two days ago, a boy aged under 10 who is related to carer R was serving customers at his ya dong stall.

‘Are sales going well?’ I asked. He was pouring a shot glass for some grizzled old man.

‘Not so well. Some customers come because they like talking to P' R, and he isn’t here,’ the young one said.

-

I haven’t seen Ball the egg-seller since last week, though I did meet his mother, when I dropped in to see her at her home on Friday.

I took food, as I recall Mum had asked Ball anxiously a few days before when his pay packet was due.

Ball has found work selling eggs at a supermarket.

Mum invited me in. Ball was at work, as was her partner, taxi driver Lort.

Ball’s younger brother Beer, who ferries around members of the family on his motorbike, was there, as was Ball’s surly girlfriend, Jay.

Jay barely acknowledged me, perhaps because she suspects (rightly) that I hear terrible things about her from her boyfriend Ball.

A few weeks ago, Ball thought he might have impregnated the girl. That scare has now passed. It was just wishful thinking on her part, it seems, though it gave Ball a fright at the time.

Jay lives with Ball’s family, even though they have little enough money as it is.

She fell out with her own parents, who live in Chiang Mai. She works in a supermarket, but still asks Ball's family for help.

Ball wants to end their relationship, but feels sorry for her.

‘How can I throw her out if she has nowhere to go?’

‘Just do it,’ I said. ‘She is visiting her own problems upon your family. You are young, and deserve your freedom.’

Mum looked just as unhappy when I asked her about Jay.

‘They fight, but she won’t go. We end up paying for everything,’ she said quietly.

Jay has an elder brother in Bangkok, staying at a university dorm. 'She won't live with him, as it costs more,' said Mum.

Just like Ball, Mum could always say no, but won’t pluck up the courage. I can't feel too sympathetic.

Mum showed me pictures of Ball’s birth father; and a school leaving picture of Ball's elder brother, a soldier. He will be home in a few weeks.

'You must come and meet him,' said Mum.

While Ball and Beer look like their Mum, their elder brother the soldier is the spitting image of their Dad, who died a few years ago.

Modem kicked for touch, Ball reforms himself

I am still catching up with my obligations on the internet after my modem was knocked out of action three days ago.

They include my commitments to this blog. I like to respond promptly to reader comments, but am still catching up there, never mind on the small matter of posting. Please bear with me.

Boyfriend Maiyuu kicked the modem across the room as we were having an argument.

Whenever we argue, some damage to our household possessions results. This time it was the modem, and a half wall-length mirror, which I accidentally broke as I walked out the door in a huff.

Thinking he was about to be evicted, Maiyuu put it there for safekeeping. Forgetting it was there, I dislodged it from its spot behind the door. Crash! There goes B1000.

The argument is now over, and we back to normal...closer than we were before, in fact.

The man from the company which supplies our computer and satellite TV service has replaced the damaged modem. We didn’t tell him that we had kicked it across the room for sport.

When Maiyuu and I argue, I go into feverish cleaning mode, as the boyfriend sulks and waits for my moods to return to normal.

This time I accomplished more cleaning than usual: I put back the CDs in their covers, dusted the TV and stereo area, and washed down the kitchen.

‘We should argue more often,’ I said after we had decided to call off the argument. ‘The place looks great!’

Maiyuu laughed.
-
Readers worried about the health of Ball, the young man I know from the slum next to my place, can take heart.

Ball has started work at a supermarket, selling and packing eggs.

He works a 10-hour day, including breaks. After he quits work early in the evening, he heads for carer R’s ya dong stand as usual, to wind down.

However, he has tempered his drinking habits, so no longer imbibes to excess. He knows he has to work the next morning, so takes himself home to bed after a couple of hours.

I saw him early in the week, on my nights off. He took himself home on both nights after he started to feel the effect of R’s ya dong concoction. 

‘I don’t want to go back to the way I was before,’ he said. ‘When I take too much, I lose control of myself.’

On the first night we met, we shared the stand with customer John, a boisterous type wearing a muscle shirt who assumed I must be a soldier.

'You are wearing a singlet just like mine, and look so well-built,' he said, feeling up my arms.

He supported the anti-government United Front for Democracy against Dictatorship (the red shirts), and wanted to discuss Thai politics.

No thanks, mate. Shut up, if you don’t mind.

In a previous encounter at R’s ya dong stand, Ball and John started to fight.

Ball had imbibed to excess, and started hitting John. Ball, who has a small frame, was lucky to get home in one piece.

The two met again on the night I was there, and made up, though it was a difficult business, and at times I wondered if they would come to blows again.

Early in the night, Ball apologised for his conduct. John accepted it, but was not entirely happy. He tried to get in digs at Ball by talking critically about his mother.

‘I don’t know how Ball's mother can allow him to work so hard,’ he said to anyone who was listening.

‘Don’t listen to him – he’s trying to wind you up,’ I said.

Carer R, who is close to Ball, told John to keep his distance.

‘I would rather you not talk that way about my young friend, as it makes him look bad in public,’ R told John bluntly.

In the end, Ball decided he had better deal with the problem personally.

After apologising repeatedly, he switched seats for a one-one-one chat with disgruntled John.

John, declaring himself as Ball’s new ‘uncle’, accepted his apology wholeheartedly, and heaped praise on the young man.

On the second night, John was mercifully absent. Families who live locally dropped in for a chat. I met two dads and their kids. One child gave me a hug, while the other tugged on my farang arm-hair, and played piano on my outstretched hands.

I also met Ball’s mum, who popped out with her adopted child Fresh in her arms, soon after Ball turned up from work.

Ball loves Fresh, and showered her with kisses.

‘I don’t normally get a chance to see her, as she is usually asleep by the time I get home,’ he told me.

I heard Mum asking Ball about when he could expect to get paid.

By this time, Ball had been at work for three days. He was likely to earn just B1,000 in his first pay packet. It was not due out until three days after Mum asked. I hope she has been able to cope.

‘Mum's partner, Lort, brings very little money home,’ said Ball.

Ball lost his real Dad a few years ago to illness. Lort, who keeps himself emotionally aloof from family, fails to compare.

Lort’s failure to provide has forced Ball and his elder sister into the role as the household’s main breadwinners. Ball, however, shows no trace of resentment.

‘It’s my duty as a Thai man,’ he said.

I have written about Lort previously. He is a taxi driver by trade, and the last time we met tried to interest me in investing in a ya dong stand, or buying a taxi as an investment.

‘I suspect he drinks it all away,’ said Ball.

I have stopped giving a wai greeting to Lort when I meet him. I reserve that for the real battler in the household, Ball’s Mum.

That night, I massaged Ball’s shoulders, as Ball and R chatted about guy stuff.

Ball and I left carer R’s stall for home at the same time.

We have yet to meet since, as my working week has started. I work nights, and R is usually in bed by the time I finish.

‘I feel really warm with you, Mali,’ he told me as he headed towards his his place. 
'You are just like my real Dad.’

If I can make other people happy, my own failings seem less prominent in my eyes. 

I enjoy doing it. Why else, in fact, are we here?