Meet the competition

Family friend Na performs a favour for Ball. So why should I feel put out?

Na, a fish monger, lives within walking distance of carer R's ya dong stand.

Sitting around the ya dong table the other night, he volunteered to pick up Ball’s girlfriend from the supermarket.

Normally, Ball’s brother would go, but the motorcycle was unavailable, and the girl was stuck there alone. Ball thanked him for the favour.

‘I am so grateful,’ said Ball.

‘Never mind. You are close to me. We pitch in to help each other,’ said Na.

Na may have been sincere, but it occurred to me as I sat admiring Ball’s boyish features in the dim light of carer R’s shop, that adults such as Na and myself are too easily taken by the beauty of the young.

Ball, 19, must know that adults admire him. When I was his age, I knew I was liked.

Some adults will perform special favours for the young simply because of the way they look. Is Na one of them?

I have seen Ball and Na in huddles over their ya dong, talking earnestly about Ball’s family and girlfriend problems. The stories are probably similar to the ones Ball tells me.

Sometimes, Na catches me looking at them both as they are chatting together in their huddle.

‘Careful, the farang will get jealous!’ Na jokes, deferring to the emotional claim I am attempting to stake over the young man.

Ball turns to smile at me, and puts a reassuring hand on my knee.
-
Carer R has asked us to join him on a trip to the North in April.

He plans to hire a car and has invited me, Ball, and regular customer Na to his home in the provinces, so we can watch a traditional lantern festival.

I haven’t told them yet, but I won’t be able to make it, as my life in Bangkok takes priority. The trip to the North would take a week, which is too long.

My job and boyfriend are important, even if they mean little to Ball, who rarely asks about them. Carer R asks more often, because he is an adult, and more interested in other people’s lives.

I might have to start seeing less of the ya dong crowd altogether, as boyfriend Maiyuu complains that I have been spending so much time over there that I am starting to neglect him.

The other day, I returned home at 2am.

Maiyuu had waited up for hours to cook me an evening meal, after I came home later than expected. Needless to say, I was not popular.

‘I will stop going during the week, and only visit there on my days off,’ I told him.

Carer R’s ya dong stand will now be a weekend pursuit only, perhaps where it should have been all along.

Ball hibernates, drawing closer to carer R

My friend Ball from the slums has left his job at a coffee store owned by a local supermarket.

They did not want him, because he is sick with a persistent cough, and fails to turn up for work on time – the legacy of his late-night imbibing at carer R’s ya dong stand.

His mother is now trying to find him a job as a security guard, which is how he first worked when he left school at 16 a few years ago. She knows a guard who works at a condo near me, and yesterday was planning to take him for an interview.

I wanted to give Ball some food money yesterday, after he told me the day before that he had lost B400. But Ball did not return my calls, so I abandoned the idea.

He has not turned up at R’s ya dong stand for the last two nights, which is a welcome development. Perhaps it was forced upon him by the fact that he has lost his money. Or perhaps Mum has told him, now that he is not working, that he should try to save money by staying at home.

I turned up at his place in the afternoon, after sending a text message asking him if I could drop around with food money.

He was sitting inside, playing a computer game with his brother. He smiled at me through the open door, but did not bother coming out. I walked home, mission unaccomplished.

Carer R and Ball also appear to have fallen out, which is another reason, perhaps, that Ball is avoiding the place.

As for young Ball, I have noticed that when my friend is sober, he needs me less. Certainly, he does not like to be seen around this middle-aged farang in daylight.

‘Why do men your age like to think that young people find you so attractive?’ Maiyuu asked the other day.

He’s right – most of them don’t.

-
Maiyuu has laid rubber floor tiles for the sitting room floor.

The place looks larger with a tiled floor. He also bought a couple of wooden slatted units which lie on the verandah outside the living room.

In other domestic action, Maiyuu called in two air conditioning men to clean two of our air con machines. One had sprung a leak. With the cost of cooling agent included, the bill was almost B3,000.

Generous to a fault, ragged towels, cradle-snatcher

Maiyuu is the proud owner of a Moulinex food processor...actually, a mini-chopper, rather than a fully-fledged processor with many different blades.

He bought it himself, but I am paying for it. I suggested he buy the next model up, as his looks too small, but the next model up is twice the price...about B4,000. ‘I am too mean to want to part with B4,000,’ he said.

-
‘Why do you like spending so much money on other people?’ asked carer R.

Ya dong is a social drink. Customers take it in turns to buy a bottle. If I sit down, someone will present me with a shot glass, filled from his bottle. When he has finished, I will buy one.

That sounds egalitarian, but in fact it isn’t. Thais tend to buy half-bottles, while I buy full ones, as I have hangers-on.

When young Ball joins the table, he drinks from my bottle. Carer R drinks from my bottle, too. So I end up paying more than most.

Last night I contributed B400 to carer Ball’s total takings of B700.

As he was counting the notes in his hand, carer R suggested I might like to be less generous. Thais whom I barely know are taking advantage of my generosity.

I agree. From now on, I shall call in advance. If Ball is not there, or carer R has company, I won’t bother turning up.

-
‘Don’t worry – I won’t starve,’ said Ball.

He lost B400 from his pay packet while visiting carer R’s stand the other night.

Like me, Ball has responsibilities. He gives a share of his pay to his Mum. He also gives a share to his girlfriend, who is helping pay for her brother's board at a university hostel in Bangkok.

After dividing up his pay, Ball had just B400 left for himself – and now he’s lost it.

His Mum is angry. ‘Mum can’t understand how I lost it. She said I needn’t bother asking her for food money this week.’

‘How will you survive?’ I asked.

‘I will come home at meal-times, and fry an egg. I will have egg on rice, which fills me up,’ he said.

I contemplated helping my young friend, who I noticed had turned up with nasty red gashes on his arms and legs.

The night before, he argued with his girlfriend. To make a point, he picked up a cutter and started slashing away at his limbs.

‘Are you satisfied yet?’ he asked her.

If I met Ball half-way – say, by giving him, or his mother B200 – then he won’t have to suffer as much over the next few days. He might be able to buy himself some decent food to eat, rather than relying on fried eggs.

‘I don’t want your money, and have never asked,’ said Ball.

‘I know you haven’t asked, but sometimes I might just want to give,’ I said.

However, I am not sure if it’s a good thing. If I pay him money, I am underwriting poor decisions made by others in the household.

Why is he paying for the board of his girlfriend’s brother? And what about idle Lort, his mother's partner? He's a taxi-driver who rarely goes out to work, but sends poor Ball out to earn a wage instead.

-

I had bought Ball a pair of jeans and a belt, which made little impact. ‘The jeans bulge in the groin area. They are too big,’ he told me.

‘I bought the size which your Mum recommended. Try washing them first,’ I said.

But if the jeans failed to make a difference, a ragged towel I presented him the other night has proved a much bigger hit.

I had turned up at carer R’s ya dong stand after work. Ball, who was there, watched as a pulled a towel from my work bag and mopped the sweat off my face.

The towel is barely large enough to wrap around my waist, but I keep it in my bag in case I need to take a shower at work, or to keep myself dry when I venture into Bangkok’s fetid heat.

‘Can I have that towel?’ Ball asked apologetically.

Images of Winnie the Pooh decorate it. I handed it over.

At home later that night, Ball’s elder brother and girlfriend wanted to know where he found the towel. As soon as they saw him wearing it on his waist, they asked about it.

‘They are envious,’ Ball told me.

I didn’t understand this comment. Carer R explained it to me later, out of Ball’s earshot.

‘He comes from a large family. There are not enough towels to go around. They have to share, but now Ball has a towel of his own.’

-
Ball is working on trial at a coffee shop owned by a supermarket chain, but reckons he may soon be out of a job.

His boss has told Ball that he probably won’t pass the test.

‘I cough all the time. They worry that I will pass on my bug to customers,’ he said.

Ball is unwell, with a nagging cough which sounds allergy-related. A doctor told him he has an infection in his throat, but it sounds to me like it has spread to his chest as well.

He is seized by coughing fits, which are strong enough to wake him from his sleep.

‘I might have to go back to working as a security guard,’ he said.

Ball’s first job, after he left school, was working as a security guard at my condo.

Many youngsters from the slums where Ball lives apply for work as guards at the condo, as it is so close to their home.

Often, they are there just a matter of weeks before they leave again.

Ball is already unwell. I don't want him to end up at my condo as a guard; it would look too sad.

-
Ball asked me to massage his arms and legs, which looked angry and red where he had slashed himself.

Miraculously, I was carrying a pottle of lemongrass-scented balm for easing muscle pains.

I rubbed balm on his arms and legs, and went to work. Within half an hour, he had fallen asleep in his chair.

Carer R tried to lift his body to get him home, but he fell into my lap instead.

I scooped up his legs, and cradled Ball in my arms, where he stayed for the next hour. Carer R chatted away aimlessly, and when he tired of that, played with a street dog which sleeps under his table.

Ball was snoring soundly, but I could barely move, and my legs were starting to ache.

Finally, I decided it was time for bed, as I could stand his weight no more.

Carer R helped me as we tried to get Ball to his feet.

I carried his leaden weight down the alley towards home, but had to stop every 10m to rest.

Mercifully, Ball woke. Carer R offered him a piggy-back ride home, but he managed to get there on foot himself.

His girlfriend Jay met him at the door, and took him to bed.

Earlier, as we sat at the ya dong stand, Ball told me that I was being too kind. He was starting to feel embarrassed.

I was massaging Ball’s back. Carer R told him not to worry.

‘The farang wants to give. You don’t have to ask, and you shouldn’t think he is this or that way inclined if he is helping you.

‘He’s doing it because he wants to, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it,’ he said.

The joys of being used

The spell has broken. My relationship with Maiyuu feels much healthier, while my friendship with Ball and carer R has moved on to a more sensible footing.

I visited carer R and young Ball last night at the slummy ya dong stand. It was not like previous outings – I grew bored!

First, Ball bought out his baby sister for a play. He sat her on the ya dong table while I was trying to drink.

‘I just love Nong Fresh. I think about her all day when I am work. We hardly get the chance to see each other, because she’s usually asleep when I come home.

‘Today I finished early, so we were able to see each other. I think of her as if she was my own child,’ said Ball.

Yes, yes, dear. Now, can we put the child away, please?

He took the child home, and returned to the shop.

I had been to the Carrefour department store earlier, and bought Ball a pair of jeans and a belt. He pulled off his black work slacks and tried them on.

They fit, though carer R, who was with us, reckons I chose the wrong type. ‘Ball likes the slim-fit look,’ he said.

‘I don’t care what he likes...this is all he is getting,’ I thought.

Ball gave me a quick, half-hearted wai by way of thanks. ‘I shall save them for when I go out,’ he said.

A man who makes roti snacks on a food cart rolled past. Ball, who has known the guy for years, pulled him over for a chat.

They talked guy talk. Carer R cracked a joke, which Ball, who was feeling the influence of his ya dong, misunderstood.

After the roti guy left, Ball challenged carer R. ‘Are you suggesting I don’t pay my bills? Is that what you were trying to say?

Carer R insisted that he had meant nothing by the comment; Ball had simply misunderstood.

Ball wore a grumpy, pouty face. ‘I think we should go,’ I said.

I paid the bill, and asked if I could walk Ball home. No, he wanted to escort me back to my place first.

So we headed off across the vacant lot for one of our push-me, pull-you walks, where we agree to part, but then change our minds.

Neither of us manages to get all the way home before we turn to follow the other one back first.

After 10 minutes, Ball decided he had had enough playing, and really did want to go home.

Good. As he walked away, carer R called me on the cellphone. He wanted to vent about Ball. Could I come back to the shop?

I returned, and stood for 10 minutes as carer R talked at me. The dialogue went on, and on...please, Lord, let me go home.

Finally I managed to say my goodbyes, only to bump into farang C, who lives in the same condo complex as me, and was passing on a motorcycle taxi.

He joined us at the ya dong stall for a drink.

Carer R took advantage of the opportunity to start venting again: first, about his parents, then back to the old topic of Ball and how aggressive he can turn when he’s had a few. He talked for at least an hour.

Farang C, who doesn’t have much Thai, grew bored, and angry. He tried to ask this or that, but carer R kept talking at me as if farang C wasn’t there.

We decided to go. As farang C and I walked home, carer R called me on the phone another two times, venting some more about Ball.

What is wrong with these people?

Farang C grabbed my phone, and swore at carer R. He was sick of the young man. ‘Grow up. Get a grip on your life. Stop boring people!’ he said.

To me, he said: ‘You let these people whinge and whine about their lives. They are using you, and taking advantage.’

We parted, and I went home to see my boyfriend for the first time since early afternoon. More than 12 hours had passed, but he was still up waiting for me.

Since opening up about young Ball, I feel as if my relationship with Maiyuu is on a sounder footing. While at Carrefour, I bought him an egg separator.

He was pleased with the purchase, humble though it was. 'I used to have one, but accidentaly threw it out,' he said.

Today I am going back to look for a more substantial purchase – a food processor, or blender.

Maiyuu asked if he could buy a new screen for his computer. I said yes, so he’s gone to the store to take a look.

We are buzzing again; I feel as if we had temporarily lost touch with what matters in our lives, but are in the process of rediscovering it.

My pay came out last week. Money always helps.

As for Ball and carer R, the spell appears to have broken. Carer R is a great talker, but also a tedious worrier.

Earlier the same day, I met him in the market. We sat side-by-side under an umbrella, picking the tops off a basket-full of chillies for a woman friend of his who sells them nearby. It was pleasant, wholesome, and fun.

Last night, however, I saw another side of carer R, as indeed I did of young Ball. When something has upset him, carer R is like a dog with a bone; he just can’t let it go.

‘Ball still loves you as an elder brother, and you still love him like a relative,’ I told carer R.

I was in sweet-talk mode. How Thai I sound. Sometimes, I wonder if I am losing sight of the real me.

‘But I can still cut him off if I don’t like him. It’s my shop, and I serve who I want. Even if you were to take his side and not come back here again, I’d still cut him off,’ he said moodily.

Ball, too, can be stubborn to the point where he just refuses to listen.

As we crossed the lot, he asked me again and again if carer R had meant to insult him. ‘No, Ball, he didn’t,’ I replied. ‘You just don’t get it.’

Neither Ball nor R went home happy. Far from being alarmed when farang C grabbed my phone and started swearing at carer R, I actually enjoyed it.

I felt as if farang C had restored some balance to what was becoming a one-sided relationship, where I let my Thai friends ride roughshod over me.

The parting words in this frustrating saga should go to Maiyuu.

When I walked in the door, I offloaded briefly.

‘I have been wanting to come home for hours, but people kept dragging me back,’ I grumbled.

‘But that’s what you are like. You are soft-hearted with everyone outside home; hard-hearted only with me.’

Boyfriend asks for gift, Ball asks for nothing

‘I shall prepare myself for the day when you turn up with Ball and say he’s moving in, and that I have to move out,’ said Maiyuu, after I told him the story of Ball.

I thought I had better come clean, as my friendship with Ball has been preying on my mind.

Maiyuu had noticed changes in my behaviour, which meant he already suspected I had met someone new. I might as well tell him.

‘When he’s sober, he’s straight. When he’s drunk, he likes men,’ I said, while adding that Ball lost his Dad a few years ago, and dislikes his mother's current partner, Lort.

‘He lives with his girlfriend, but is sick of her. He likes being with me because we can talk – though I also hug him, massage him, and care for him,’ I said.

Maiyuu listened patiently. He did not get angry: ‘I don’t have the right,’ he said. ‘It’s your life.’

‘But if you did feel you had the right to comment, what would you say?’ I asked.

‘You hardly buy me any gifts to show your love for me. If I found out that you had been buying things for someone you barely know, how do you think I’d feel?’

‘I have hardly bought him a thing. Lotion for his scalp...that’s it,’ I said, while declining to add that I had been thinking of buying him clothes as well. Naughty farang, park that thought!

I proposed a solution. ‘I might have to stop accompanying him back to his place. That’s when I start caring for him, as I can’t do it at the ya dong stand...it’s too public,’ I said.

What a pragmatic fellow I am. I should have added: ‘I might have to insist on my right to walk home unaccompanied as well, as we also like to cuddle and hug on the vacant lot between his place and mine.’

I left that bit out. One can be too generous with information.

Maiyuu’s spirits cheered. By late yesterday – when I took myself off to the ya dong stand again – he was back to normal.

Earlier, Maiyuu told me about some of the items he would like me to buy for him, if I wanted to show him my love.

‘Some nights I go to bed, and wonder if you have bought me something – just once – to show you care. But when I wake in the morning, it is never there,’ he said.

'You have my ATM card...in theory, you can buy whatever you want,’ I said. 'I have never bought gifts for people on a whim, as I don’t know what people like,’ I added.

‘A food blender like the one Martha Stewart uses on her show,’ he suggested.
-
At the ya dong stand, carer R was sitting alone, waiting for me.

I had called in advance to say I was coming. His other customers had gone home for the night.

No one else was around but for the rubbish collectors. As is the Thai custom, we offered them a nip of ya dong to take the edge off their labours.

At my invitation, Carer R talked about his hair. He ties it in a knot on top of his head, like a spouting water fountain.

After 10 minutes, he releases the rubber band. It stays upright on his head, which he likes, because he gets sick of it sweeping from the front of his eyes.

‘I need a haircut. This is the longest it has ever been. Before, I wore it ultra-short,’ he said.

R showed me pictures of himself and his wife in his cellphone, taken about 18 months ago while he was in his past job as a salesman in a Timberlands store. In some pictures, he wore a hat and a scarf.

Even with short hair, he is strikingly handsome, I thought.

Half an hour later, Ball’s Mum emerged, followed by her partner, Lort.

‘I don’t want him drinking too much, as he has to work,’ said Mum, referring to Ball.

‘He was here briefly, but had to go back to work for a meeting,’ said carer R.

Lort, who fancies himself as a man of influence, boasted about his generosity to the common folk in the area.

'If I meet someone who asks me for money, I give him whatever he needs, even if I end up without cash for a meal or transport home,’ he said.

Mum, who was listening, agreed.

‘He likes to visit his problems upon others,’ she said, unimpressed. ‘When Lort gets home he’ll ask me for the money which he just gave someone else.’

Mum and Lort finished their ya dong and went off to get something to eat. Half an hour later, Master Ball himself arrived.

‘They asked staff  to attend a meeting - and after that ended, made us clean the windows!’ said Ball, looking disgusted.

He has started working for a coffee shop owned by a supermarket chain.

Ball sat next to me. I touched him. He immediately reached out for my hand, and held it briefly in his.

We talked about Ball’s flaky scalp, and a sinus problem which affects his breathing.

Ball, who suspects both conditions are caused by an allergy, sounds like a child with a chronically blocked nose. He coughs constantly.

'At work, the boss asks me to wear a facemask when I serve customers, as he worries that I have that new strain of flu!’ he said.

The final conversation of the evening concerned Ball’s dress.

He was wearing boxers, which he borrowed from his brother.

‘Would you like some more of your own?’ I offered.

I asked what type he likes. White briefs, he said, as long as they are ‘manly’ – they can't rise too high on the waist.

Carer R needed bed, so we left. Ball took me across the vacant lot towards home.

He found it hard to walk straight, as he had put in an hour's solid drinking. The path is treacherous, littered with broken stones and stray dogs.

Ball stopped for a wee, and waited for me to do up his pants.

We passed a flat-bed truck in the middle of the lot. Ball flipped down the back so we could sit on it.

‘Why don’t you like women?’ he asked. ‘That kid you keep at home – is he a good person?’

‘I used to like women, but changed my mind. My boyfriend is not a kid – he’s 31,’ I said.

Ball does not believe me when I tell him that Maiyuu and I share little intimacy with each other.

He moved on to the subject of money.

‘I am not like other Thais. Have I ever asked you to support me financially?’ Ball asked.

I talk in English occasionally, when I want to emphasise something. ‘Good boy!’

He mimics me.

‘Good boy!’

We said goodbye. I turned to watch my friend -  still in his work uniform of serious white shirt and black slacks - stagger home across the vacant section.

If I truly love my boyfriend, I might have to stop myself showing so much interest in my new friend. I don’t want any of us to get hurt.