Elusive timepiece, calculating ya dong seller

I saw a beautiful watch at a pawn shop.

It was silver-plated, with gold inside, and looked expensive, like some mafia type might own it.

‘A man brought it in last night. He wanted money for drink. I gave him B350. If he fails to pick it up by Friday, I can sell it. It’s yours for B500,’ said the shop owner.

A largish woman in her 40s, she runs a shop offering mortgages, selling pawn goods, even buying and selling land, according to a sign outside her shop.

Her shop is close to the slum where Ball lives. He needs a watch, and a cellphone. I have been looking for days, but have yet to find anything I like.

By last night, when I went back to take another look, the fancy timepiece had gone.

‘The owner came back with his B350 and reclaimed it. But now that I know what you like, I will keep looking,’ the owner said.

She has asked me to return today, when she will have a selection of watches and cellphones on display.

-
‘How much does a second-hand cellphone cost?’ I asked carer R.

R’s girlfriend sells cellphones at a department store.

R himself has a small collection of the things, and knows his stuff. But he declined to answer me directly.

‘It depends on what features you want, what the make is, and how old,’ he said.

‘A woman who runs that pawn shop down the way has offered me a cellphone with a camera, and which plays music, for B500,’ I said. ‘Is that a fair price?’

Again he declined to give me a direct answer.

‘Tell me how much you want to spend, and I will ask my girlfriend to look for you,’ he said finally.

Everyone’s an operator these days. If I’d wanted his girlfriend to look for me, I would have asked.

I said thanks, and left.
-
Ball has little time for rest after his 12-hour work day as a security guard ends.

Shortly after arriving home - yesterday he took a song taew (small truck with two bench seats) back from work - he has to pick up his girlfriend from the local supermarket.

Or, if he’s not doing that, his Mum asks him to take her on the motorbike to visit her debtors in the neighbourhood.

She collects interest owing on money she has loaned them.

That keeps her own family going the next day, though often her clients have no money to give her.

‘What does Mum do if they refuse to pay?’ I asked Ball.

She can hardly call in her strapping son to look fierce, as Ball has a small, slight body which would not intimidate anyone.

‘She raises her voice,’ Said Ball.

Ball’s girlfriend Jay has also accompanied Mum on these nightly interest-collection rounds.

‘Often Mum returns home with little, or nothing,’ she said.

-
‘You are growing a belly,’ said Jay, unimpressed, giving Ball's stomach a poke.

Wibble, wobble.

‘You could do with a trip to the gym,’ she said.

Ball had just emerged from one of his interminable 90-minute showers (in which he likes to sing to himself, I have discovered). He donned a long pair of pyjama pants, but wore nothing on his chest.

His girlfriend is right, it was not a pretty sight. But who cares? Ball was winding down after a long day.

They teased and ribbed each other, as young ones like to do. Ball made a couple of cheeky remarks, for which his reward was a slap over the ear, a belt over the head.

He took the punishment good-naturedly.

Shortly after 10pm, it started to rain, for the first time in weeks.

The fresh smell of falling rain entered the living room on a gust of wind, competing with the stench of babies, old food and musty breath inside.

We finished our beers, and before 11pm, I excused myself. I don’t want to keep Mr Ball away from bed.

‘He gets hardly any time for rest as it is,’ said Jay.

Anniversary plans, wife plays football, Mum-in-law cheers eldest son

‘In August, I will have been living here 10 years,’ I told boyfriend Maiyuu.

‘And in October, we have another anniversary - you and I will have been together 10 years,’ I told him.

I met Maiyuu only weeks after I moved to the Land of Smiles.

‘What shall we do to celebrate? As it happens, I am going to see my family overseas about the same time,’ I said.

‘Never mind. So, 10 years ago, we married. To mark the anniversary, shall we get a divorce?’ he asked jokingly.

‘No, I think we should stay together a while yet,’ I replied.

Where else would I find such a good cook? He’s the keeper of my stomach flame, if there’s such a thing.

-
‘Oops – your wife is calling!’ said Maiyuu.

He was about to enter my bedroom early last evening when he heard my phone go. He assumed it was Ball.

Actually, it was Ball’s Mum. She invited me to drop in before I left for work.

‘Ball is playing football nearby. He might want a beer when he is finished,’ she suggested.

‘Okay, I’ll be right there,’ I said.

I turned to Maiyuu, who was listening.

‘It’s not my wife – it’s his Mum,’ I joked.

I had just finished on the phone. Or maybe I had cupped my hand over the phone while Ball’s Mum was still on the line, I can’t remember.

In any event, Maiyuu and I know not to get too serious about such things.

I like to take a wife in addition to Maiyuu. In my eyes, Ball's a surrogate son. But for Maiyuu's he's my second wife, even if our relationship is innocent.

That makes Ball’s mother my mother-in-law...and appropriately enough, when I am with her, I call her Mae (the Thai word for Mum).

‘Mae!’ I said last night, as I turned up at her place about 11.30pm.

I had just finished work, and was on my way home. I didn’t make it to her place earlier that evening, as I was already running late for work.

'I couldn't get here,' I said, while declining to say that my real reason for the no-show was that I thought Ball had already imbibed enough.

I had seen him earlier in the day, when we polished off four bottles of the brown stuff.

A few hours after I left, Ball went out to play football with his friends.

Last night, before I turned up at his place, I called him from the office.

'I didn’t fall or get any new ankle injuries,' he told me, after I asked.

That means that this week I shall have no new scabs to pick.

Damn. I can’t pursue my lustful ways with his spindly legs!

By the time I called in to see them last night, Ball had gone to bed.

He had only just mounted the stairs to his room, after waiting for hours for me to turn up. But I couldn’t get there in time, so that was that.

Mum was drinking beer with two of her women friends, one of whom, Noi, works with Ball in Silom.

‘He sits there all day, bored and lonely, as he has no one there for company,’ said Noi.

‘However, the cleaning and security staff are amazed at how beautiful he looks. One woman asked if he was gay, he has such a soft face,’ she said.

I chatted to Mum. She pulled down pictures and certificates which she keeps on the wall of her eldest son, Boy.

He is a soldier, and unlike the others graduated with a school leaving qualification, and a youth award.

‘There might be 600 people in this slum. Not one of the families has a son who achieved this award,’ she said proudly, holding aloft a portrait of Boy receiving his award from a member of the royal family.

‘He’s the only one who has never disappointed me. He doesn’t smoke, or drink. He works hard, and looks after his Mum,’ she said.

Ball and his younger brother Beer must have heard this story 100 times before, I thought – about how their angelic elder brother outshines them all.

While Boy has no discernible faults, Ball drinks, while Mr B is addicted to computer games.

Mum still loves the other kids, of course. Boy is merely the pride of the household – its public face which she can show the world when it drops in for a visit.

Boy looks most like his Dad - Mum's husband, now deceased - while the others take after Mum herself.

‘I don’t have any ugly children – that’s a good thing at least,’ she said.

If I could change the world

So, you want to know, do you, whether I will carry on my relationship with Ball?

In English, the word ‘relationship’ is heavy and burdensome. It is fraught with expectations, not always reciprocated equally by the other side, which for some of my readers can only mean one thing:

‘Exploitation!’

I can’t expect Ball, aged just 19, will return my interest in me, think on the same thought plane, or even give a damn. I know this, and still I carry on.

B-a-a-d news!

He’s a teenager, and I am twice his age. I like taking on the caring role, while he is still busy trying to find himself.

How could it be anything but exploitative?

Lighten up, people. Let the lad be. And give me a break too, while you’re at it!

Why do readers insist on reading sinister things into what could be an innocent pairing?

Where I am concerned, not a few readers here have concluded that I can have only malign motives. I want to get into his pants, and that’s it.

Where Ball is concerned, not a few readers have decided that this young man is a waster, and that -  regardless of how he shapes up in the eyes of a judgemental world -  I am taking advantage of his weakness for the brown stuff to ingratiate myself into his life.

News flash: Of course I find him attractive. I wouldn’t bother turning up in his living room every day if I didn’t.

But it’s just possible that those feelings can be paired with higher, worthier things.

This is a young man who, on the first night we met, ended up in my arms in tears, reminiscing about his Dad...and who still confides in me about family matters which he says he can’t tell his Mum, or his other friends.

He likes to have me around as a father figure, though he won't admit it. Is that so bad?

As for my interests in this affair – oops, business – Mr Ball meets my need, in my lonely middle age, to care for someone as if he were my own.

I like worrying about him. What is he doing? How will he overcome this or that problem? What will he do next, to shock or delight us?

He’s tiny, still forming into an adult. You think he should be harvested? Only by a girl his own age, thanks.

If you think I would take something which is not mine in such a wanton fashion, you’re out of your mind.

Some might say I am just besotted, and that if someone else came along, I’d quickly forget him.

Quite possibly!

But for the time being, I enjoy my time with Ball. I love being part of his family, and having a place to belong.

If he said goodbye tomorrow, I’d be heartbroken.

But I’d still know I did the best I could to make him a better man.

As I have said here before, this life is about giving. What else is there, to make it all worthwhile?

We can't all change the world, people. Why not let it be?

Helping, or interfering?

Here's an except from an email I sent to a friend, also a reader of this blog, who wants me to stop 'interfering' in the life of Mr Ball and his family.
-
You're not the first reader to claim I am 'interfering', presumably because any financial contribution on my part, no matter how small, upsets the natural balance of things.

If they didn't have my money, would they behave any differently? Or to put it another way, does the money I give them make them change their behaviour?

At the moment, I appear only to be aiding and abetting his drinking problem, which is not what I want. His mother called me half a dozen times at work last night. She and other members of the family, including Ball, were drinking at a ya dong stand close to home.

She had bought Ball three bottles of beer, but it wasn't enough...he wanted more. He asked his Mum to call. To sweeten me further, she gave the phone to him so I could speak to the Little Prince himself.

His Mum won't let him drink ya dong any more. When I turned up about midnight, his glass was empty. I gave him B100, he bought two more bottles.

This is not ideal...I don't want to encourage his drinking, but that's all I seem to have accomplished. When I help in other ways, such as topping up his cellphone or giving him money for food at work, Ball appears not to care. He's only interested in booze.

So I might have to talk to his Mum. Or, when I go to see her, I might have to keep my wallet closed.

I wanted to help his life along, because I felt sorry for Ball, and I like his Mum. But these are not the right motives; or, even if they are, they end up with unintended results.

I didn't know giving would be such a hard thing to do. Increasingly, my motives or intentions have nothing to do with it. I can't change the way these people are, so I am stuffed.

Best laid of plans

A little more than a week after Ball started his new job as a security guard, he has missed only one day at work. Surely that’s cause for cheer.

In mid-morning, after Mr Ball has left for work, I drop in to see his Mum to catch up on news.

She tells me if there were any dramas getting him out the door in time for his 7am start.

On Tuesday, he didn’t go to the office, because he drank too much the night before.

Before bed, he took a few beers with me. At 3am, a friend of his turned up and invited him out to watch football.

I blame myself for what happened. I had thrust B100 into my young man’s hand that night before bed.

I gave Ball the money to supplement the meagre allowance which his mother gives him to meet his expenses at work.

Ball's brother forgets to pick him up on the family motorbike after his shift at work ends. In his absence, Ball must walk home.

I gave him the money so he could hire a motorcycle taxi the next day if his brother again failed to show.

Ball, however, is a teenager. He succumbs to impulse, threatening to upset the best laid of plans which adults in his life have made.

That night, he went out with his friend to watch football, even though he knew he should sleep.

'I spent your B100 on beer,' he told me later.

His mother called me several times the morning of his no-show at work, but I did not answer. I was in one of my moody phases of wanting to put distance between Ball’s family and myself.

However, by 3pm, I was starting to miss them, so dropped in for a visit.

Ball was asleep with his younger brother on Mum’s bed. Mum was in the bedroom too.
As I entered, Ball stirred. He was wearing the same clothes I saw him in the night before.

‘He called you this morning because he wanted a drink before going back to bed,’ said Mum.

‘What?’ I thought. If I was her son, I would have been too embarrassed to admit such a thing.

He had already pulled out of work for the day. Now he wanted to carry on as he had started the night before.

‘Ball needs his full quota of rest. If he doesn’t get it, he just can’t cope,’ said Mum, explaining why her son had failed to go to work.

Ball works 12 hours a day; some days, he must spend another hour or more walking home.

When I see him after work, which is seldom (I work nights), he looks worn and ragged.

He can’t afford to go to bed late. If he does, he will rise still feeling exhausted from the day before.

Slowly he is adjusting to the fact that he no longer has the freedom he enjoyed when he was jobless, or indeed when he worked in his most recent job, for a local supermarket, which was only five minutes away.

Now, he works in Silom. Complicated transport arrangements are needed. Everything, in fact, seems that much more difficult.

Ball was to spend the whole of that day in bed. That night, he took his Mum to visit families in the neighbourhood to whom she had loaned money.

She collects interest from them, to help keep her own family going the next day.

Ball’s company said he would need a medical certificate from a doctor showing he was unfit to go to work.

While they were out on their travels, Ball and his Mum tried visiting a doctor, but he was out.

In the absence of a medical certificate, his company will deduct wages for the day he missed work.

When I saw Ball’s girlfriend Jay that night, she was bitter about Ball’s failure to rise in time.

As it happens, I had called her at 6am, to make sure Ball was out of bed.

Jay told me that he had risen, but didn’t say he had only just returned from watching football with his friends.

‘You are his girlfriend. You have a right to get annoyed. Tell him he can’t go! And if that doesn’t work, call me,’ I told her.

As I lectured Jay about Ball’s errant behaviour, Ball was standing nearby, frying an egg for the girl.

I am sure he heard everything I said, but did not seem worried that I was criticising him.

Ball’s father is dead, and his mother's partner, Lort, a mere cipher in his life. In me, he has a substitute ... someone who gives him direction and ticks him off when necessary.

He doesn’t seem to mind when I get parental. In fact, he appears to expect it - even welcome it.

Apart from Absent Tuesday, Ball’s working week has been normal. On Wednesday night, Ball, his mother and a friend managed get through eight bottles of the brown stuff after he finished work.

The next day, Ball made it to work, but suffered a hangover.

Last night was normal, as he needed to catch up on sleep more than he needed to imbibe or have fun with his friends.

Mum has two cellphones. One is more reliable than the other, and normally, she keeps both devices at home.

Now, she gives one device to Ball, to take to work. When he wants to be picked up or just to talk, he can call home.

She has also given him his own phone number.

I was thinking of buying him a cheap one myself, but now I needn’t bother. When I called him last night, he was outdoors, but answered on the phone his mother gave him.

‘I am having a drink with friends from the neighbourhood,’ he said chirpily.

Ball sounded proud to have his own phone. Good move, Mum.

That morning, Mum asked her son to buy two servings of pad thai noodles before he left for work.

If he took his own food, he could save money, as food costs twice as much in the business district of Silom where he works than it does around home. That was another clever move on Mum’s part.

Ball and his girlfriend want to buy their own motorbike, though it will take them a couple of months to raise the deposit.

‘If they have their own motorbike, Ball will no longer have to rely on his younger brother to ferry him about,' said Mum.

'However, Jay will still need her own transport to get to work, so we should buy a pushbike for her.’

Mum knows a place in the neighbourhood where second-hand bikes – simple ones with a basket in front, the kind which cleaners and housekeepers get about on – go for B1000 or less.

I have agreed to stump up half, if she can come up with the rest.