Boyfriend shares wisdom, Mum opens up, Ball starts work

‘I told you all along it would end like this,’ said boyfriend Maiyuu, in his usual sympathetic mode.

‘But you wouldn’t listen.’

I had told him the story of the day before, with Ball and his family. The day had started when I took him to an interview in town.

In the middle of the day, I lost my cellphone, probably in the taxi but possibly to a bunch of thieving game players at Ball’s place.

At the end, I was called upon to take Ball and his girlfriend to hospital.

Because I happened to be there, I was asked to pay for the taxi rides and any other incidental expense we encountered. I could see that if this arrangement carried on, soon I would be left with no money.

Maiyuu doubts as if anyone set out to dig into my pockets. ‘But you are sensitive, and Thais know it as soon as they meet you.

‘Ball’s mother should have offered to repay your taxi to the interview, as Ball is her responsibility, not yours. And Ball should not have asked you to take them to hospital until he had asked his mother first.’

All true...but it’s not the end of the world. I shall have to tell his family what kinds of help I can, and cannot provide.
-
Ball's Mum came from a large family and started work at the age of 12. She lifted heavy bags of cement in a factory, toiled in fields, to help her parents make ends meet. Even now, the burden has not lifted.

After her husband died, she was left with four dependent children to raise.

They have grown into young adults, only one of whom works.

However, in addition to her own children, Mum also raises two infants: Nong Fresh, 1, the child of a relative who died; and a boy, aged a little younger, who is the first child of Mum's only daughter, Kae.

The list of family dependents does not end there. The other day, a bunch of family members turned up for a short stay. They comprised Mum's own mother; a cousin aged in her early 30s, and a large tribe of nephews and nieces aged under 10.

‘I look after them during the long school break every year, as their parents are dead, ailing, in jail, or have no money,’ she said.

Ball’s family did not complain, but simply made way. Their living room is already crowded, and the combined toilet/shower is tiny. Where before their small, ramshackle home catered to the needs of eight permanent members, it is now housing twice that number.

The remote appliance for the home’s only air con unit, in Mum’s bedroom, is broken, and will cost more than B1000 to fix.

She cannot adjust the temperature, which is set too high to compete with the sweltering conditions outside. Electric fans, pressed into service instead, are now the family’s own means of keeping cool.

The family’s only means of transport, a motorbike, eats up B100 in petrol a day. Ball’s younger brother, Beer, ferries people about.

He takes Ball’s girlfriend Jay to work at a local supermarket, brings her home for meal breaks, and picks her up again at the end of her shift.

He is also the family’s chief stand-by childraiser. When a child needs changing or feeding, it is usually poor Mr B who is called upon to help.

Ball, too, pulls his weight. He knows how to make up a milk bottle, change nappies, bathe and dress the little ones. He takes them for walks, plays with them, and will even sleep with them in his arms if it keeps them happy.

Mum is one of the bravest women I have met. We are only one month apart in age, and get along well.

I spent an hour with her yesterdy as she told me about her friends, family, her own childhood.

Her own family knows how good she is with money, and ask her for it often. Her eldest son, a soldier, sends her virtually all his earnings.

Ball’s elder sister Kae, and Ball’s own girlfriend, also contribute financially. But it is not enough.

When I turned up yesterday, Mum's partner Lort was preparing to pay a power bill going back three months. ‘If we don’t pay it today, we will be cut off,’ she said.

Given these straitened circumstances, I am amazed I am not asked to help more often.

-
As I write, Ball has started duties as a security guard, his first day back in the full-time workforce in two months.

The interview with the security contractor in Silom was not as futile as I thought.

Maem, a woman who knows Ball’s mother, happened to see us there. She works in the building where the interview was held.

Maem remembered Ball, and asked after his family.

Three jobs were going, including one at an office in the Silom high-rise in which the interview took place.

The security guard interviewing Ball told him he would be too small for that job.

However, after we returned home, Maem called Ball’s mother. She had obtained the number from a mutual friend.

On Mum's behalf, she spoke to the head of the company, who gave Ball the job.

Mum told me the good news when I dropped in yesterday afternoon. As we chatted, Ball and his girlfriend Jay sat in the living room, eating their first meal of the day.

An hour later, Ball and Jay went into Klong Toey to buy two black-and-white uniforms for him to wear.

They bought them at the same shop which used to supply Ball’s school uniforms. ‘I will put them on deposit. The pants will also need taking up at the leg, as none of Ball’s trousers fit him,’ said Mum.

They took the trousers to the Tesco Lotus store on Rama 4 to get them fixed.

I could not accompany them on this family outing, as I was due at the office.

However, I offered to call the family at 6am to wake Ball in time for work.

When I called, no one answered, which was a bad sign. However, Mum called me about 8am to say that Ball did in fact make it to Silom, though he was an hour late.

His brother, Mr B, took him on the family motorbike.

‘Ball’s girlfriend is unwell, and Ball asked if he could put off his start until tomorrow. However, the company has already relocated the security guard who was working there, so he had no choice but to go,’ said Mum.

‘You should have seen him in his security guard's uniform,’ she added. ‘He looked handsome.’

Slum adventure ends dismally

Boyfriend Maiyuu must be wondering when finally I will learn not to mix with dodgy Thais.

I took Ball to Silom to apply for a job as a security guard with a contract security provider.

Noi, a friend of his mother’s, accompanied us.

The building where the security firm has its poky office, in Soi Convent, is one of the biggest in town. Noi, who used to work for the place, took us in through the carpark rather than the main entrance.

We walked down to the basement, where the security guards and cleaners chck in and out of their shifts.

On street level, the smart people of Bangkok mingled. Yet here we were descending into the dusty bowels of the building where only people who leave school too early have to work.

Noi found the office of the head security guard who would interview Ball for the job.

Cleaners and security guards, who used the same poky office to take coffee and meal breaks, squeezed past.

The company had three vacancies, including one job working as a security guard for a tenant in the building.

However, the tenant wanted someone big. Ball was too short to meet the job requirements.

Ball is 163cm tall, and weighs 50kg. If he wanted a job, he would have to work off the premises, said the interviewing guard, who revealed that, like Ball, he finished his education with a modest Grade 3 leaver’s qualification.

‘Who is the farang?’ the guard asked. He was friendly, but curious.

‘Ball is his son,’ said Noi.

That was vague enough. Most answers we gave were vague, but it seemed adequate for the setting.

So what was left? The company had two other jobs going: one, as a guard at a warehouse in Kluay Nam Thai, about 10min from where Ball lives; another, as a guard at a hotel in Soi Cowboy, which again is not far from where Ball lives.

Ball, dressed in a tatty white shirt and scruffy jeans, did not look happy to be there, and showed no interest in what was offered.

Ball misplaced his Thai ID card, so couldn’t present the thing when asked for it. He had run out of passport photographs of himself, too.

In tiny hand, Ball filled out a job application form. Job done, we left.

We ascended to street level to Soi Convent. Noi said goodbye, and went back to work. I took Ball for a quick Thai meal, which cost twice as much as it would just 10min away where we live. We caught a taxi home.

I ended up paying for the transport there and back. Noi did not offer to help, and nor did Ball’s mother, who was playing a board game, Hi Lo, when I turned up at Ball's place to pick him up for the interview.

Mum had skipped sleep, and played through the night. Three or four people were playing with her. I don’t know where she finds her gambling friends, but they look a forlorn bunch.

Somewhere between Silom and home – or maybe even at Ball’s place itself – I lost my B3,500 cellphone, which I have still not recovered. I am almost sure I made it back to his place with the thing, which means someone in that Hi Lo circle slipped it into his pocket while I wasn’t watching.

We were seated in the same cramped sitting room with four of five children and Ball’s matriarchal grandmother, who turned up on one of her royal-style walkabouts.

At least two of the children belonged to a relative of the family, a plump woman in her 30s who arrived in granny's train.

She had a voice like a chainsaw which she wielded on her kids with impunity.

I complained about the noise. ‘You’re bursting my eardrums!’ I said. She ignored me.

Grandma, a toothless, swarthy thing, perched herself on the couch and swatted her grandchildren over the head whenever they said something to displease her.

That was her lot for the day, but no doubt she thought she was doing a good job.

To keep the brood quiet, they put on cartoons. The sound of Tom and Jerry was so deafening I could hardly hear myself think.

Earlier, while I waited for Ball to get ready, one of Mum’s low-so Hi Lo guests – a smallish woman with serious, butch-looking trousers and a face like a tree stump – barged into bathroom where Ball was showering.

Ball was naked.

‘Have you ever met people in this life to whom you take an instant dislike?’ I asked him later.

‘For me, that woman is one of them.’

I spent a few hours with Ball that day, including the interview.

‘If I can’t get to these places easily, it won’t be worth the wages,' Ball told me on our return taxi trip.

If Ball had taken the job, he would have earned just B350 for a 12-hour day.

He would have to find a bus serving that route, or he would end up losing a big chunk of his pay on taxis.

‘In my last job, my younger brother took me to work, and picked me up on his motorbike. He does the same now for Jay,’ said Ball, referring to his girlfriend.

Jay works at a local supermarket.

For poor people, as we know, every last baht counts.

Later that night, my services as financial underwriter were to be called upon again, when Ball decided he wanted to take his ailing girlfriend to hospital.

The taxi ride to Lerdsin hospital cost me B150.

Thankfully, I did not have to pay for her medical prescription as well, as her work insurance covered it.

‘Jay earns just B6,500. She gives my mother B2,500 every pay day, and helps her elder brother as well. After meeting expenses, we had just B500 left for ourselves,’ Ball told me miserably as we sat in the waiting room.

‘We do not have enough money left over to save,’ Jay herself was to tell me later that night.

We were back at his place. Ball had ducked out to fetch some friend whom he had invited for a drink.

I had seen this youngster just the night before, when two or three of Ball’s friends crashed his place while we were drinking.

In a moment of childish over-enthusiasm, Ball invited him around again.

His friend, who was older, asked Ball to pick him up nearby, which meant Ball had to find money for a motorcycle ride.

‘Even after quitting ya dong, Ball still doesn’t know when to stop,’ said Jay.

Today, Jay plans to take him to a local department store, so he can apply for a job at a Japanese-style restaurant. They have advertised for an assistant cook, and service staff.

I have offered to accompany these star-crossed lovers, but on second thoughts might try to avoid them. In the last two days, I have powered my way through B1400, spent mostly in their company.

Add to that the cost of my missing cellphone, and the last two days have been an expensive exercise in self-flagellation.

Ball’s job interview in Silom was a waste of time. I suspect his interview at the department store today will be the same.

I doubt his girlfriend Jay was so sick that she needed to visit a doctor straight away; however, being a doting (or is it guilty?) boyfriend, he wanted to show Jay how much he cared about her plight.

Yet how would he have found the money for the taxi, if I hadn’t been there?

‘I am sorry to bother you, Mali, but do you mind if I borrow the taxi fare?’ he asked plaintively. ‘I don’t want to ask my mother for the money.’

After finishing her Hi Lo game, Mum went on walkabout to visit her debtors.

Mum extends small, high-interest loans to needy folks in the neighbourhood. She has another group of ‘clients’ in Thong Lor district.

Mum collects interest payments most nights, from what I have observed. ‘She doesn’t make a huge amount...just enough to keep going,’ Ball explained, sounding almost apologetic. Sometimes she sends Ball or his brothers out to collect her dues on her behalf.

Ball is young, so he makes impetuous choices. Often, these are the wrong choices, I told his girlfriend.

‘I doubt you were so sick with flu that you needed to visit a doctor, but he insisted on taking you anyway,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry if that sounds harsh.’

I left their place about midnight. Ball’s grandmother, the noisy relative and her swarm of kids were spread out asleep like faded plants on the living room floor.

Boyfriend Maiyuu has given me a spare cellphone he owns, and bought me a new SIM card from the 7-11. I have decided to start again with a new phone number, which I have yet to give to Ball’s mother (Ball’s own phone does not work).

I might keep it that way, as I am in no hurry to contact them again.

I feel slummed out, bummed out, and disappointed.

I might feel lonely in Maiyuu’s company, but I didn’t sign up for this.

If I see Ball and his girlfriend again, it might have to be somewhere outside home.

Reader Lance suggests we meet at a Thai eatery.

His suggestion sounds sensible, but even that holds little appeal. I need some well-earned time away.

Maiyuu's ya dong, Ball's demons

Chef Maiyuu is trying his hand at ya dong. After hearing me talking about my friends at the ya dong stand over the last few months, he felt inspired to try making the drink himself.

I can’t tell you too much about it here – not because it’s a state secret, but because Google will yank the advertising from my page if I mention that dread word which starts with ‘A’, and which most people associate with a good time.

‘My ya dong will also help you sleep, as I added lavender,’ said Maiyuu.

The cheesecloth pouch sticking out of the top of the jug contains the herbal ingredients, which mixed with lao khao (the dreaded ‘A’), give ya dong its distinctive flavour, and supposed medicinal benefits.

Maiyuu whipped it up this morning, after making an early trip to the supermarket to buy ingredients. It will sit on the shelf for the next two days. After that we can try his brew, to see how it turned out.

-
Maiyuu’s pie, which he whipped up the other day, contained dry fruit, oats, almonds, apple, honey, and even a little cream, to help lend it a caramel flavour.

At Maiyuu’s suggestion, I took a couple of slices to Ball’s family last night. Young Mr B answered the door, as his mother the slum lender was doing the rounds of folks in the neighbourhood who owe her money. In the early evening, she visits their homes to collect interest on their debts.

I haven’t asked how much interest she charges. I am sure it’s extortionate.

-
As I write, I am an hour away from a rendezvous at Ball’s place. I have agreed to take him and a woman friend of his mother’s to visit a company in Silom, where Ball will apply for a job.

Ball’s Mum found him the job yesterday. I heard her talking on the phone to her friend Noi, who used to work for the company. They need a security guard, who - in one of the job's few perks - can sit in the company’s air-conditioned office all day.

On the negative side, Ball would be asked to work a 12-day day, for which the company would pay him the princely sum of B350.

Noi visited Ball’s place last night to tell him about the job.

Ball and I were sitting on the living room floor, drinking whisky.

‘If you don’t go, I will have lost face, as the boss will be expecting you,’ she said.

‘Been there, done that,’ I thought to myself.

‘I will go for sure,’ said Ball, who was in good spirits.

I volunteered to take them to Silom, to improve his chances of getting there.

-
Earlier, Ball and I paid a fleeting visit to carer R’s shop, who has yet to be told that Ball is officially off the ya dong wagon.

Ball wants to improve his health and his chances of getting work, which he can only do if he stays off the stuff. He also wants to rebuild his strained relationship with his girlfriend Jay, who is enjoying seeing a new, caring side to Ball.

Where previously he would turn up late after a hard night on the ya dong, now he is at home most nights, and taking care of her as any good boyfriend should.

Last night, he made her fried egg on rice.

Jay is coming down with a cold. After making her dinner, he disappeared upstairs. I heard him rustling about looking for something. A few minutes later, he emerged with three pills for her cold symptoms.

‘You can sleep in Mum’s room,’ he said, banishing his girlfriend from our small drinking circle.

However, he didn’t just leave her there, but visited the ailing patient every 10 minutes or so to see how she was doing.

‘I feel sorry for her,’ Ball said when I remarked on how close the two had become.

‘Ball, you don’t have to explain how you feel – if you love Jay and want to care for her, that's your right. It’s no one else’s business,’ I told him, donning my big brother hat.

Ball is trying to convince himself that he is doing the right thing in quitting the ya dong.

‘I miss it during the day, but have to take this step for the sake of my own future, and my family,’ he said earnestly.

‘I am not hooked on the drink as such...it’s the fun which goes with it. I miss my friends.’

In a moment of weakness, he asked me to take him to R’s ya dong stand.

R welcomed us, and immediately poured us two shot glasses of his malevolent brew.

I left mine. For the first 10 min, Ball managed to ignore his, too.

In a quiet moment, he succumbed, picked up the glass, and tossed the lot back.

I pretended I didn’t see. He sat in silence for another moment, and suddenly left the table.

‘I am just going home to check on Jay,’ he told R.

I was left sitting there, wondering what happened.

Ten minutes later, I headed off in search of him. I found him at home, making a fried egg for Jay.

‘I needed to escape, or I knew I would slip back into my old habits, and end up drinking ya dong all night,’ he said.

‘You’re a brave kid,’ I commended him. ‘If your Mum knew, she’d be proud.’

PS: The underpants made a re-appearance last night.

Dad discovers child is normal, breathes sigh of relief

After a careful examination, I am pleased to report that Ball looks and sounds quite normal.

His Mum’s suggestion the other day that he might not be all there was just mother’s talk, I have concluded.

What a relief!

I visited him twice yesterday: once, for an hour in the afternoon, and again after midnight, when we were joined by his girlfriend Jay and a gay colleague of hers from work.

On the afternoon visit, we sat in his mother’s bedroom, playing with his baby sister, Fresh. Mum was trying to sleep; idle taxi-driver Lort, his mother's partner, was already out to the world.

I watched his behaviour. Nothing out of the ordinary. He wore flimsy cotton shorts, and a T-shirt.

As I played with Fresh, Ball watched TV, flipping between the football, a gameshow, and news coverage about the red shirt protest in Bangkok.

By last night, when I saw him again, he had changed into a new outfit: a matching red top and bottom, decorated with teddy bears, which looked like a pyjama suit.

Moments after I arrived, he excused himself to visit a friend. Still wearing his pyjamas, he wandered outside to see Boy, a regular at carer R’s ya dong stand.

Ball hasn’t been to R’s ya dong stand for the last two nights, and hopes to stay away as long as he can.

‘Relatives on my Dad’s side have pleaded with me to stop,' he said.

‘They say ya dong builds up in the liver and is no good for the body.’

Girlfriend Jay is delighted with Ball’s progress. ‘It’s been two nights so far...he’s doing really well,’ she told me.

Jay turned up with her gay friend from the supermarket.

She excused herself, and changed from her black supermarket outfit into casual gear, including a skimpy pair of shorts.

I detected no signs that Ball was not the full baht, as his mother had suggested. In fact, he behaves like many other teens.

He gives as good as he gets from his girlfriend Jay, who is excitable and talks too much, and enjoys teasing.

He also held his own against Jay’s gay friend Ton, who enjoyed playing up to Ball’s jealous streak.

‘Jay and I are lovers...but only as girlfriends,’ said Ton, hugging Jay to his chest.

Ball pouted.

Jay suggested visiting the local store to replenish the drinks supply, but Ball was having none of it.

‘If you take a step outdoors wearing that revealing outfit, you’ll get a free kick,’ he said.

He was joking, but looked serious. Jay kissed him, and stroked his head for caring.

Holding a cigarette at a jaunty angle, gay Ton turned to me.

‘Do you have any farang friends who can care for me? he asked. ‘How about you...are you free?’

‘He already has an owner,’ said Jay. ‘The farang’s not available.’

I stayed for an hour. Jay and Ball asked me to carry on with them a little longer, but my body had given up.

‘Let Mali go...he’s worked hard, and needs his sleep,’ said Ball protectively. He patted me on the leg.

‘Tomorrow, we can talk,’ he said, giving me a serious look.

Moments earlier, he told me again about how much he wants to change.

‘Drinking ya dong every night, I was starting to feel run-down. Today I played football with friends, and ran around. I felt so much better.’

‘Good boy!’ I enthused.

Ball noticed how happy I felt for him, and smiled.

‘Tomorrow, I will see you at home. We don’t have to visit the ya dong stand,’ I told him.

Spending time with Ball at his place is proving to be much easier than I thought.

I had assumed Jay would be unwelcoming, or that other family members would get in the way.

Far from it. We are enjoying more fun together at his place than ever we did at the nasty ya dong alleyway, with its dogs, garbage collectors, and noisy teens racing about on bikes.

Not the full baht?

The thought hadn’t occurred to me – maybe Mr Ball is not the full baht (tem baht)?

‘He almost died when he was in the womb,’ his Mum said.

‘I had to take many drugs. He survived, but this is how he came out...’

Mum and her elder sister were talking to me about the Young Prince, who had stepped out to pick up his girlfriend Jay from work. I turned up a moment or two after he had left.

‘I am struggling to bring up a family, his sister wants him to find work...but Ball carries on regardless, drinking late and sleeping in, because he is not aware of what is going on,’ she said.

‘He just has no idea, and has been this way since childhood.’

I contemplated these words. I doubt Mum is saying he is not quite all there...he just might be a little slow to gather what people around him are thinking.

Well, I hope that’s what she meant, anyway. If he’s missing a few ticals, I have never noticed.

On the other hand, a sceptic might say, if he was the full quid, baht or whatever, he probably wouldn’t be spending so much time in the company of a middle-aged farang like me.

‘He’s never been a bad lad as such, but is so different from his elder brother, Boy, who worked hard as a student, and is diligent even now as a soldier.'

Earlier in the day, I had dropped in to see Ball. Girlfriend Jay was there too.

I asked him to sit next to me. I rubbed his back for him, wiped sweat off his lip, and pulled his hair away from his face.

He submitted to this manly treatment without any complaint, even though his Mum, aunt and girlfriend were in the same room.

‘Jay is growing more beautiful every day I see her,’ I whispered to Ball.

Jay was sitting on the other side of the room, but still managed to hear me.

‘That’s right, I am!’ she said.

She crossed the room, and squeezed herself into the gap between us.

Ball, unimpressed, tried to shoo his girlfriend upstairs, where she faced the unappealing prospect of sitting alone in their squalid bedroom while the conversation carried on below.

But Jay, who was in good sprits, would not be fobbed off.

She works at a nearby supermarket. This weekend's rally by the red-shirted United Front for Democracy against Dictatorship has been good for business, she said.

‘Customers have been hording food for days. They turn up first thing in the morning, and there are still long queues at the counter at 11pm when we close,’ she said.

Ball loves Jay, despite the bickering.

The other night as we drank at carer R’s stand, I asked after Jay.

‘Just the same...we argue, then make up,’ Ball said.

‘But you love her, right?’

‘Yes...in the same way as ever.’

It was the first time that he had admitted loving the girl, though I always knew he did.

The Little Prince is proud to have her in his life, and no doubt enjoys knowing that someone other than is Mum loves him for who he is.

‘Carer R is moving to the provinces. Do you think we can still see each other?’ I asked Ball.

‘We can meet at home,’ he said.

‘Why do you think I like being with you so much?’ I asked.

‘Maybe you are lonely,’ he said.

‘Do I ever irritate you, wanting to be with you all the time, and touching you as much as I do?’

‘No,’ he said, smiling.

Hopefully, that’s not because he’s missing a few quid, I told myself after listening to his mother's meanderings.