Sweet nothings in a vacant lot, out-of-season harvest

‘Do you love me?’ asked Mr Ball as he walked me home from carer R’s ya dong stand the other night.

We were on the vacant lot, a tumbling mess of weeds, broken ground, delapidated housing, and wild dogs.

It was hardly the most romantic place in which to be speaking the sweet language of love, but there you are.

‘Yes,’ I said.

Mr Ball had imbibed to excess, shall we say.

‘I have no one to talk to...I can’t rely on my friends,’ he said.

The next night, when we walked home across the lot, hand in hand, he was more subdued.

‘You can be my elder brother,’ he said.

I was relieved to hear that, as I am not interested in romance with a 19-year-old. I can love him as a father figure or elder brother does, but nothing else.

He likes our walks across the vacant lot, because we are alone. He sits next to me at carer R’s stall, because we are close, and he likes to drink my ya dong.

When he is not there, regulars tease me about him. 'Where's Ball?' they ask, as if I have misplaced my boyfrend somewhere.

I don’t know what Ball really wants, but nor do I worry about it any more.

Last night, my friend farang C, who lives in the same condo complex as me, joined us at the ya dong stand.

As I massaged Ball's back for him, farang C told us stories about women of the night he has known in Bangkok.

Ball has never been to a tourist nightspot in Bangkok other than Suan Lum Night Bazaar. He was intrigued.

The three guys also talked about English football, which they follow.

It was good to see Ball interacting with another farang. I watched his reactions closely.

'Yes, he's straight. That's so straight!' I told myself, as I studied his body and facial movements.

I was convincing myself that Ball is what he says he is: a young men who prefers women, but who is perhaps just lonely, and in need of strong men in his life.

Farang C, who is dyed-in-the-wool straight, reckons Ball is gay, but I am not so sure.

'He's such a girl!' said farang C, when Ball was out of earshot.

When Ball’s had a few, he veers off the straight track, it's true, and the more he imbibes, the more he appears to desire male affection.

When he wakes the next day, he can’t remember anything from the night before. Perhaps that is just as well, but none of this makes him gay.

Carer R says I should just 'harvest' him. But I can't see it happening, as everything between us would change.
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Carer R would like an invitation to my place for a meal. First, I’ll have to pack off boyfriend Maiyuu.

Maiyuu is not a sociable type, and would rather do without the bother of having to entertain one of my friends at home.

Carer R, who is 22, and married, has also invited me to his visit his father-in-law's home in Yasothon in April, so we can take part in the next bun bang fai rocket festival.

The trip probably won't happen, but at least these things are possible to contemplate, for carer R is an adult.

With someone as young as Mr Ball, on the other hand, where do you even begin?

Farang cheek rewarded in noise battle

Construction men have been swarming over an empty building opposite for days.

We close the sliding door on the veranda, fasten the windows, but still the sound of men drilling gets in.

Work started in earnest on Wednesday, when a worker started attacking the concrete floor with a pneumatic drill.

By the next morning, I was going spare. I decided it was time to visit the owner.

The building is in a closed street, which makes access difficult for outsiders.

However, I had visited a building in this street before, so knew how to get in.

Two months ago, workers started drilling work at another building, even closer to our condo than the one where work started the other day.

The rear end of this residence backs onto my condo. It fact, they share a gate.

People regularly enter the building from my side, so I did the same.

I found the gate leading to the back of the building, and let myself in.

On my way through to the street I passed two security guards, and dogs. No one said a word.

I walked down the street until I found the entrance of the place where work started the other day, and let myself in.

Inside, I saw two sweaty workmen, standing amid concrete rubble. On a flight of stairs, I spotted a tallish man with Chinese features.

He must be the owner, I thought. I beckoned him outside. ‘I want to talk to you,’ I said bluntly.

The man, aged in his 50s, followed me obediently out on to the street.

Even from that distance we could barely hear each other for the sound of workmen drilling.

‘The noise is unbearable. It starts at 8.45, and carries on all day. When will it end?’ I asked.

Mr Thai-Chinese apologised. ‘This building is owned by my son, but I am here supervising. It will be over by Tuesday next week at the latest. Please apologise to your neighbours,’ he said.

He asked where I lived, and added: ‘I live in the condo just behind you. This is a residential area. Did you not think of informing the neighbours that you were about to undertake noisy demolition work, or how long it might last?’

He apologised again. No, he hadn’t thought of that.

‘I was worried about the noise. The workers wanted to start drilling each day as early as 8am, but I put them off to 8.45,’ he said.

The owner looked nervous, but did not appear to resent my anger.

He was polite and courteous. In fact, he was so pleasant in that endearing, charming way that Thais have, that I softened immediately.

‘Never mind. I will tell the neighbours what is going on. Thank you,’ I told him.

Back at home, I told boyfriend Maiyuu about my encounter with the owner.

Predictably, he was unhappy that I spoke my mind.

Maiyuu prefers to put up the noise. Complaining would be un-Thai.

‘Now he will resent us,’ he said.

I am used to such responses from Maiyuu, who does not like to assert himself.

‘You have your duty, and I have mine. Don’t interfere,’ I told him.

The next morning, I was rewarded for my brash, outspoken farang behaviour when the workers delayed work.

They put off a start to their drilling labours until the more considerate hour of 9am.

By 8.45am, I was sitting on my veranda overlooking their place. Workers were pacing about on the roof, looking at their watches.

They were waiting to start drilling. The owner had evidently told them to cool their heels until his antsy farang neighbour had risen for the day.

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.