Carer R leaves, SMS intercepted

Carer R walked into Ball’s home unannounced.

As is the Thai habit – or is it Thai slum habit – he just strolled into their living room as if he was part of the furniture. Don't bother knocking, mate - we're all friends here.

When he saw me sitting in the corner, he made a quick excuse, and left.

Carer R leaves for the Northeast today, to live with his wife’s family.

The last time I spoke to R about his plans, he said he would pick up casual work as a labourer.

Ball will be sad to see him go, but I won’t. We fell out several weeks ago over his persistent habit of dragging Mr Ball out to drink until the early hours.

Carer R liked the idea that he was friends with a farang, and did not appreciate it when I stopped showing interest in him.

I began to see him in a new way, and wondered how we ever regarded ourselves as friends.

Several hours later, he turned up again, bottle in hand and looking worse for wear.

Former taxi driver Lort wandered in a moment later. ‘Uncle...take a drink with me...send off your nephew to the provinces,’ R slurred.

They are not really family. The reference to ‘nephew’ is part of a cloying Thai habit of turning everyone into some relative or another when they want to pretend they are close.

Lort, who does not drink the brown stuff, wasn’t interested, and turned down his offer.

Shortly after he arrived, R sent out Ball to buy in more supplies. That was bad news – it was almost midnight. With his mother’s blessing, he had been drinking with me since early evening.

We watched TV, and along with the others – Ball’s girlfriend, elder sister, and her partner – did our bit to entertain the kids. Now, however, it was time he went to bed.

I sat in the corner quietly.

I overheard R make a couple of remarks about the brown stuff, which were intended to wind me up. He knew I wanted Ball to call it quits for the night, but didn't care.

'I don't have any money,' I heard Ball reply.

And: 'I can't have much more. Tomorrow I have to go to work.'

Ball had found the courage to say 'No', but I didn't know how much longer he could keep up that strong act.

Mum was away. I called her, and composed a text message, telling her about the unwelcome guest.

Mum is no fan of R, for the same reason as I dislike him. However, she's Thai, so she's pleasant to his face, while I am farang, and am not.

Five minutes later, Ball’s mother called me back. I gave the phone to Ball, who spoke to his mother. ‘No, I won’t have too much,’ he said.

When he finished, he noticed the text message on my phone, which I was just finishing up when his Mum called.

It wasn’t intended for his eyes, but he read it anyway.

‘I want to go home, but bloody R has turned up. If we’re not careful Ball won’t get to bed in time for work,’ the message said.

As Ball gave the phone back to me, I thought I detected the faint traces of a smile.

I didn’t embarrass myself too much, it seems. Ball doesn’t like me nagging, and who would. Occasionally when he’s in high spirits, he will ask to be left alone.

For the most part, however, Ball doesn’t appear to mind that we fuss over him.

Girlfriend Jay, who had been with us all night, was waiting patiently for Ball to finish. She, too, wanted rest.

While R took a toilet break, I made my excuses and left.

I called Mum this morning. Her son managed to get to work, though I am sure he has an aching head.

Chocolate love cupcake, family outing

A chocolate fudge cupcake, with runny chocolate inside, and a love sign in white sugar powder on top (file corrupted - sorry). Maiyuu left it for me on the kitchen table last night.

I came home from work late. He had gone to sleep by the time I arrived, but stirred himself to heat up the main course - spaghetti pork balls, which he had made earlier.

-
Earlier, I dropped in to see my son. Oops, I mean Ball.

I know how much reading those words will upset some readers. Delicious!

Let’s start again. Mum called in mid-morning, inviting me around for a few drinks.

She had spent the previous day playing Hi Lo, which explains why, for the whole of the previous 24 hours, I did not hear from her.

‘I did well,’ she said, referring to her winnings.

I arrived an hour later, but Mum was nowhere to be seen. Ball played man of the household - ‘Come in for a while!’

He looked like he could do with a few beers.

‘What did you do yesterday?’ I asked.

‘I just hung around home,’ he said.

He did not bother to call, but then most contact usually goes through his mother.

I looked around. Despite having called me only shortly before, Mum was absent.

I made an excuse to leave, and returned an hour later.

By then, Mum was back. She had issued instructions; she and the rest of the family were getting ready for a trip to the Lotus superstore.

Present were Mr Ball, who was just finishing up a shower (one hour). His younger brother, Mr B, was next (another hour). Also present among us were Kae, their elder sister, her boyfriend Tum, the two children of the household, and a niece, Nong Fa.

I bought a bottle of beer and awaited Ball’s presence. After a shower, he must apply make-up, and lip gloss. This can take another hour.

Mum found a make-up compact upstairs in Ball’s room one day as she gathered up the washing.

‘At first I thought it might belong to his girlfriend, Jay. Actually, it was Ball’s,’ Mum told me later. ‘He likes expensive stuff.’

Ball does not need make-up, as his skin is already pale. But make-up removes blemishes, especially under the harsh neon lights of a department store.

'I feel put out. You were both at home all day yesterday, but no one invited me,' I told Ball and Mum.

Thais love a good pouter, because they do it so well themselves. Ball laughed, and Mum apologised.

'The place was crammed. I could barely move. I don't think you would have enjoyed it,' she said.

Mum asked me if I’d like to go with them on the family trip to Lotus.

I accepted, as I like seeing people in different environments.

We headed off in two taxis.

Before shopping, we took a meal at a Japanese-style restaurant. At Mum’s suggestion, I sat next to Ball.

He looked nervous at first, as he usually does when he hasn’t seen me for a while.

His brother was sitting opposite, so he busied himself talking to him.

Ball and Mr B appear to speak a language of their own. They laugh at each other constantly. One needs only to speak a couple of words, and the other giggles. I have no idea what is going on. I am not sure their mother does either.

Mum is seldom off the phone when we go out. As we sat waiting for our order, Mum called her elder sister, inviting her to join us.

‘My purse is heavy. Come and help me make it lighter,’ she joked.

I laughed. Ball, who noticed me laughing, decided he had better join in too.

Two adults were enjoying other’s adult conversation. If he wants to be a grown-up, he should show his appreciation.

I shunted dishes down to the end of the table, where Ball and his brother could get at them.

When we go out together, I am the oldest one there, apart from Mum. I act as Dad, helping Mum.

This gives Ball a break from acting as the senior member of the household. He jokes about with his brother, or helps manage the toddlers.

Ball and Mr B are great with the kids. They kiss and fuss over them constantly. At home, they change them, bathe them, feed them - do whatever is needed to help Mum cope.

Ball’s make-up had left his face within moments of our leaving home, as he can’t stop kissing his baby sister and brother.

In the supermarket, where we headed next, Ball, Kae and I took turns to wheel the shopping cart, or push the pram.

In the sports section, Ball and his brother took out footballs, and played with them.

Ball, a fan of English football, can do clever things with one foot. He can keep the football in the air as he kicks it lightly with one foot slightly off the ground.

Mr B, himself an English football fan, performs tricks with his head.

When Ball tosses the football at him, he head-butts the thing back into his brother's hands. Where do they learn these techniques?

Trolley full, we headed for checkout. Mum paid in 100 baht notes. They looked like winnings from some gambling game, which is exactly what they were. We found two taxis, and headed home.

I had to leave for work, and did not get a chance to see Ball again that night.

However, I called him before bed. He sounded chirpy, as if he had enjoyed his day.

‘I will see you tomorrow. We can have a few drinks together,’ he said.

Does Mr Ball ever wonder what this farang is doing in his life? Maybe I am just some lonely middle-aged farang he happens to know.

I am not sure it matters. We have fun, enjoying family life together.

I come from a large family, as does Mr Ball. I miss family life, while Mr Ball has yet to experience anything different.

Maybe one day he will.

Unwanted bike, Ball plays host, rhapsody to youth

The bicycle which I helped Mum buy for Ball’s girlfriend Jay sits unloved in the living room, which is already cramped for space.

Jay has taken it to work just once in the two weeks since we bought it. Mum and I put B300 each towards the purchase.

At the time it seemed a good idea. If Jay took a bike to the supermarket where she works as a cashier, Mum could save on the money she gives the girl for her expenses each day.

Some days, Mum gives Jay B100, which includes B30 for a motorcycle taxi. The rest goes on food.

If Jay was to take a bicycle, Mum could spend that B30 on something else.

Jay, however, is reluctant to take the bike – an old second-hand thing with a basket in front, similar to the type which tradespeople use.

‘She claims that the supermarket won’t give their staff any parking spaces, so she has nowhere to put it,’ says Mum.

Now, Mum has cut the B100 she gives to Jay to take to work down to B60-70.

If she wants to take a motorcycle taxi to work, she can pay for it, but she will have virtually nothing left over to buy herself food.

-
Several nights ago, red shirt protesters clashed in Silom with the so-called multi-coloured group, which supports the government and opposes the red shirts’ demand that it dissolve the House.

I called Ball and suggested he might like to stay at home the next day rather than going to work in Silom, where he is only a short distance from where the deadly clash took place.

‘Mum, Mali says I should stay at home!’ said Ball excitedly.

I suggested to Mum that he might like to check with his employer whether he should go into work, as it may not be necessary.

In the end, he went anyway, as his boss still wanted him there as a security guard, in case someone tried to sneak into the building.

Ball’s younger brother picked him up that evening. The next day he walked home, once again without trouble.

-
Ball, friends and family were sitting crammed around the TV, watching a football game.

It was my first glimpse of Ball in three days. ‘Come in!’ said Ball, who appeared to be host for the evening.

He looked sporty in a white collared T-shirt and shorts.

Carer R, wearing a sulky look, was also among the crowd.

He and I don’t get along at the moment, as I resent the way he keeps Mr Ball out drinking late, even on nights when he has to go to work the next day.

I decided not to accept Ball's invitation.

Carer R had called me the night before, shortly after midnight. He and Mr Ball were having a beer outside the local 7-11, he said. Would I like to drop in?

‘I am leaving for the provinces on Tuesday,’ he said, as if that was supposed to make the prospect of his company sound more inviting.

I declined.

Carer R is leaving Bangkok to start a new life in the Northeast, where he will live with his girlfriend’s father. We part on bad terms, which is a shame.

When Ball stays up late at R's invitation, Mum calls me, worried; so does his girlfriend Jay, sometimes in tears.

I don’t need the grief. Carer R should find someone his own age, and with no responsibilities, to imbibe with instead.

-

In the lively comments section of the previous post, Anon says:

''Do you stalwarts suppose that BKK would be a reliable contributing fixture in this slum family's daily life if Ball didn't posses 'delicate beauty ?' Remove BKK's lust for Ball from this story and none of it would have happened.''

I like those words 'delicate beauty'. I can't remember where I wrote them, but they sounded good at the time.

Old men have rhapsodised about teenagers before:

'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate...'

...And the world survived the shock and trauma of it all.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate;
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

–William Shakespeare

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 is often thought to have been written about a teenage male.

Some academics group it among the so-called Procreation sonnets, which argue that the young man, to whom they are addressed, should marry and have children.

His child will resemble the young man, so his beauty will live on.

Former Pink Floyd lead singer/guitarist David Gilmour has put the sonnet to a song.

Watch him perform it here.

Let's pay the grocery bill

Maiyuu is fine, for those wondering. He spends his days cooking, sleeping, eating. While I am work, he waits for my return. When not sleeping, he watches TV.

TV is his best friend when he is not cooking or sleeping... but that’s okay. We all have our indulgences. I have my friend Ball and his family to keep me occupied.

-
I told Ball’s girlfriend Jay that I would like to buy him a watch.

She agreed to take me shopping while Ball was at work.

Jay and Ball had gone shopping recently and spotted one at a shop at the Lotus hypermarket. He told Jay: ‘I would like us to pull some money together at the end of this month to buy it.’

Ball has a special relationship with his watch, as anyone who has ever sat with him for more than five minutes will know.

My young man is constantly looking at his timepiece.

Until recently, he wore a watch owned by his younger brother, but it failed to keep good time. As the batteries wore down, he would fret over the thing more and more.

Finally, he discarded the watch in favour of a gold band, which I didn’t like.

Perhaps Ball wants something to cover his wrist. I have never worked it out.

I decided that if his watch meant that much to him, I should buy him a one. Why wait until the end of the month? By then, he might have other claims on his money.

Mum asked if she could come. She needed to go shopping for the toddlers in the household.

At the Lotus store, we found a stall outside a supermarket selling Casio watches for half price. Mum and Jay inspected them closely. Jay chose a smart silver watch with a black band. It cost B600.

At the supermarket, Mum dropped a few items for the toddlers into her trolley. We moved on to the food section, where she found items which she knew would appeal to her son.

‘Ball loves this kind of fish,’ she said.

‘Put it in the trolley,’ I said ‘I’ll pay.’

‘Ball loves macaroni. Can we buy him this ready-made dish of macaroni for him before he leaves for work? Normally he has nothing to eat until lunch,' said Jay.

‘Put it in the trolley,’ I said.

After that, we moved on to the groceries section.

‘Ball likes this brand of shampoo,’ said Mum.

‘Yes, that’s the one,’ said Jay, agreeing with Mum’s selection.

Hold on! This is getting out of hand. But I responded as I had before:

‘Put it in the trolley,’ I said.

I ended up paying B200 for items which Ball’s Mum and girlfriend said he would love, but which they themselves had no money to buy him.

Our day at the Tesco store and supermarket, including the watch purchase, and taxi fare there and back, cost me almost B1,000.

'It is the experience which counts,’ I told myself as we made our way back home. When I am 80 and sitting in my rocking chair, all I will have is memories, as my body won't be up to racing about town any more.

Even in my mid-40s, I am still having adventures. Bring them on, I say, before it is too late.

-

When the day is over, and we take our fading smiles and weary bodies home to rest, who do we need most?

The Dimming of the Day

Richard Thompson (cover by David Gilmour)

This old house is falling down around my ears
I'm drowning in a river of my tears
When all my will is gone you hold me sway
I need you at the dimming of the day

You pull me like the moon pulls on the tide
You know just where I keep my better side

What days have come to keep us far apart
A broken promise or a broken heart
Now all the bonny birds have wheeled away
I need you at the dimming of the day

Come the night you're only what I want
Come the night you could be my confidante

I see you in the street in company
Why don't you come and ease your mind with me
I'm living for the night we steal away
I need you at the dimming of the day
I need you at the dimming of the day

Ball seeks solace in brown stuff, Mum cries

‘How did you know about that?’ Ball asked me, shocked.

I mentioned his bust-up with the tomboy outside a local supermarket.

Ball cleared up the matter on Friday night, sending along his girlfriend Jay – who works at the same supermarket – to apologise to the girl.

Ball had said nothing to his mother or me, though girlfriend Jay knew, as she was present at the time.

‘Lord mentioned it the other night,’ I said.

Jay had asked me not to tell Mum, and in the end I didn’t have to say a thing.

Her partner, taxi driver Lort seems to know everything that goes on in these parts. Perhaps Jay told him.

‘Your mother wasn’t interested anyway. She told him that it was your business, and you’d fix the problem.’

-
I turned up late on Friday night at Ball’s place to find him and his mother in a stand-off.

They were in Mum’s bedroom. I sat down next to Ball, who was flushed in the face. He had spent the night drinking, and wanted to carry on.

He spoke a few stiff words to his mother. ‘You’re pleading with me, and are not being honest,’ he said.

‘I can carry on, or just go to bed,’ he said defiantly. ‘It’s all the same to me.’

Mum had invited Ball out for a night of karaoke. He wasn’t interested, as he would rather spend the night with carer R.

Earlier in the night, Mum saw Ball and carer R heading out somewhere. She stopped them, as thought her son had taken enough for one night.

Making no progress with Mum, Ball declared he was going to bed, and left the room.

Mum insisted I stay with her as she fretted over the argument with her son. They did not raise voices with each other, but Ball had spoken unpleasantly.

‘He’s extremely direct. He would never lie to anyone, but tells them exactly what he feels,’ Mum said in tears.

'I am sure he will be better in the morning. He has had a stressful week,' I said, feeling lousy.

Her son needs a good talking to. But when, and who will do it?

-
Ball was to spend his weekend on the brown stuff.

‘Beer is my friend,’ he told me.

On Saturday, we spent a few hours with R, along with three or four red shirt protesters – the rag-tag mob which is occupying part of the Bangkok shopping district.

Mum knew where they had gathered, and after I turned up at her place, she took me out to meet Ball and his friends.

She took a seat briefly at the table.

'Ball, do you remember what you said last night to Mum?' I asked him.

'Yes,' he said.

But if he did remember, his face showed not an ounce of guilt or remorse.

Apparently, everything had been forgotten.

The most vocal red shirt at our table of five or six men, all of whom live close to my place, was a former soldier, now in his late 40s, who sells fish for a living in a slum clearing.

Until he tried assaulting my ears with his red-shirt propaganda, I had thought that he was at least pleasant.

Now I regard him as a fool.

‘You’re a foreigner. I want to tell you about the red shirt cause so you can spread the word to other farang,’ he said.

‘No, thanks. I don’t want to know,’ I said.

He carried on regardless, and would not be stopped, no matter what anyone else tried to say.

His diatribe lasted 10 minutes. He came up for air briefly, and started again.

‘I am a local leader of the red shirt movement,’ he said, showing me a laminated entry pass.

So what?

The odd thing is, he sells good fish. So why can’t he stick to it?

Being part of the red shirts gives his life meaning which it lacked previously.

I know what that's like. Having Ball as part of my life supplements the meaning of my own dull existence.

Which cause is worthier? I suppose that depends on what we do with it.
-

Ball spent most of the next day away from home, probably with his staple friend of the moment, carer R.

Mum called me in early afternoon to say Ball was back, looking thirsty and restless. But by the time I arrived, he had gone out again, leaving his girlfriend at home looking miserable.

That morning, they had been out together on the family motorbike for a noodle.

‘Are you getting on better?’ I asked her.

‘I’m indifferent,’ she said.

The previous day, she spent an hour cleaning the uniform which Ball wears to work as a security guard in Silom. He wore it two nights last week after work, as he played Songkran with his friends.

It was still stained with powder which revellers smear on each other as part of the festivities. The marks were hard to get out.

Now, however, he had abandoned her to spend the day alone.

‘I am sure it will turn out okay,’ I said weakly. What else could I do?

Ball had dumped her at home, as he went out to indulge his best friend, the brown stuff.

Mum called me again early last night. Ball had arrived home about 5pm, and headed straight for bed, just as he had the night before.

He was under the weather, and could do nothing but sleep.

I don’t know how to break this cycle. Maybe I should suggest a visit to his local temple?

Jay is one of the best things going in Ball’s life, but if he’s not careful, he could lose her.