The truth of these lines has always impressed me very much. Furthermore, I feel that when he wrote them, the poet was in a state of carefree serenity, and his superior intellect made him able to perceive the very truth, dreams, joys and pains of mankind. Ah, the circus! The circus of life! The circus of the world!

Although I am only 28 years old, the curtain has already fallen on one performance in the circus of my life. I daresay without the slightest hesitation that you will be spellbound and thoroughly entertained while you watch this play, and that you will lose yourself in its bliss and sorrow. By this, I do not in any way mean to claim that I am an exceptional human being: in truth, I am just an ordinary young man, but what makes me different is the sudden and sweeping changes of fortune I have known throughout my life. Luck – that tiny light shining from some unknown direction – has guided me and turned me into an adventurer, a rogue, an inveterate gambler addicted to almost all games, and I have wandered in all sorts of places to find them, unmindful of their trifling results and lowly returns. And it was luck, too, that had me born into one of the most illustrious families in Siam. But it would not be wrong to say that I was the ugly duckling in a flock of graceful swans, because I had a rather slack and rebellious nature, unlike everyone else in the family. Luck also gave me the opportunity to study, work and travel in almost every country in the world, and to know people of all nations and of all stations in life. I was in France at a time when a severe financial crisis brought deprivation and hardship to the people, and governments kept falling. I was in England during times of labour unrest, and in the United States of America when Lindbergh was the first man to fly across the Atlantic Ocean. I had the good luck to witness the warm welcome given to this magnificent aviator, as well as the achievements of male and female pilots who followed in his wake. Among them was Ruth Elder, a flying ace endowed with charm and beauty who has since become a star in Hollywood; I not only met her but also had a chance to converse with her in Washington. Isn’t it true, dear readers? I was once a lucky man, as very few Thai young men can ever claim to be.

There is nothing worse than inequity and injustice. When they grow up, wayward children usually brood resentfully about the inequities that have been perpetually inflicted upon them since early childhood. These painful feelings condition their behaviour. They become narrow-minded and eye everything in this world with bitterness and without confidence in themselves or in others. Whose fault is it, then? Inequity and injustice have been with us since the beginning of time and are an important part of the laws of life that no one can escape.

There are other people who have also had an unfortunate childhood but who, once they have been able to see the world, prefer to laugh at inequity, injustice and the distress they and others feel. They frequently sport smirks on their faces. To them, life is worthless, cruel and laughable. These people are like that because they have grown accustomed to their own lamentations. Everything they see and experience in the world is like a medicine that dispels their nasty thoughts and opens up their tormented hearts. Though they can be heartless, they are occasionally conscious of other people’s woes and try to help as much as they can.

I used to be both of these. I was a child unfortunate to the point of weeping bitter tears, as well as one who could jeer at the world at the drop of a hat. I wonder how much you will hate the author of these lines once you have finished reading the story of his life.

I intend to keep you thoroughly entertained as you read this story: I will guide you to the various cities in the world that I visited, and introduce you to all the people whom I came to know, love and respect. But before getting on with the tale, I feel I must write about my childhood, which pains me very much. I have asked myself countless times why I must do so, but then I have come to realise that if Charles Dickens was able to write the story of David Copperfield’s bitter childhood for people to read the world over, it should not be impossible for me to write about my own early life.

When I recall the events of my childhood, I cannot help but laugh. I have already stated that I like to laugh at the world. You may feel that mine is a sad and pitiful tale, but to me it is only part of a big circus – the circus of life.

Grandma Phrorm, who was my nanny fifteen or sixteen years ago, was the only person in the world who knew or was in a position to know what kind of child I was. She knew me as a child whom she had raised and loved, and she shared the sorrow and joy of my young existence. She also tried to foretell my future. She always cried when she told others of her worries regarding what would await me as I grew into manhood. She wept because she loved me. But, alas, although she was good at making predictions, she turned out to be wrong about my future. She could never have imagined that I would have the opportunity to study in Europe and the United States, visit China and Japan, and bring back that wonderful medicine for the heart that roaming the world offers. Oh, if there were any way to let her know about this, I can only wonder at how happy she would be.

Grandma Phrorm was old-fashioned as were all the nannies in aristocratic families in those days. She was ugly, but her eyes – and it was only her eyes which made me realise this – expressed her readiness to give her life for me at any time. Whatever the season, she liked to wear an old loincloth and a tight, long-sleeved blouse. Constant betel chewing had turned her lips from red to charry black as if her mouth had been exposed to fire. Occasionally she rolled herself a coarse cigarette and enjoyed it to the last puff. She had one of the heartiest appetites I have ever seen.

When I was eleven years old and a naughty, brooding, vindictive little rascal, Grandma Phrorm took me to the raft of her grandson-in-law, Jek Tee, which was moored at the mouth of the Phadung Krungkasem Canal. We would sit there at our leisure, and I remember that there was a young girl named Bun Hiang who would always come to chatter with me. She was Jek Tee’s daughter, a talkative, lovable girl of about eleven or twelve. One day, as we all sat on the raft watching the rice barges and the rowing and paddling boats passing by, Bun Hiang said to me: “Look, Mr Wisoot, look at all these big Chinese boats loaded with rice: they all belong to you, and they are heading towards your rice mill, too. Doesn’t it make you feel very rich?”

I did not answer but merely stared at the boats, which were entering the canal one by one. Despite my very young age, I was given to brooding. Oh! Bun Hiang was just a girl I knew and liked well enough; if only she could have seen the turmoil caused in my heart by her very sweet words, she would certainly have apologised to me.

Some days, in the early morning, Bun Hiang would come to my father’s house at Phadung Krungkasem Canal, and we – Bun Hiang, Grandma Phrorm and I – would go out to pluck bullet-wood and allamanda flowers at the fence in front of the house. When we had finished, we would help one another string them into garlands which Bun Hiang would put around her neck and take back home. Some days in the afternoon, she would take me to Jek Tee’s raft and we would play at cooking food. At such moments, the little raft was like paradise on earth for me and no other wonder of the world could compare to it. I left for Assumption School at seven in the morning every day and came back home some time after four in the afternoon. As soon as I was back, Grandma Phrorm would give me a bath and help me get dressed, and then take me to Jek Tee’s raft. And so it went on, day after day. Sometimes a week went by before I had a chance to meet my parents, but there was nothing strange about this, because a child like me did not dare to meet his parents more than was necessary. Why should we meet when there was nothing special to discuss or celebrate? I accepted my lot with a cheerful face because I already had Bun Hiang as my friend and playmate and Grandma Phrorm as my faithful supporter.

My father was a high-ranking official in the Ministry of the Interior and he often went on official trips upcountry, in neighbouring provinces such as Chantaburi, which was called Jantaboon in those days, Lopburi and Phetchaburi, as well as to various places in the North and in the South. As each trip lasted several weeks, he took all his relatives with him, with the exception of myself and Grandma Phrorm, who always remained at home. When my brothers and sisters and the servants returned, they were full of tales about what they had seen and one, and I got more than an earful. They talked so much that I, who had never been anywhere but had always been inclined to dream, could picture those places in my mind – the Palace Mountain in Phetchaburi, the Snake Mountain in Ratchaburi, the Three Hundred Peaks of Prachuab Khirikhan, the mines of Phuket Island – and could also picture what they had been doing in those places. I felt bored even though I had never gone there: just think how much more boring it would have been to listen to their conversation had I actually followed them everywhere!

My father’s house was normally frequented by merchants and government officials who either were our relatives or came to visit him on errands. Some of them were in charge of ministries, but I was never introduced to them nor was I asked to keep them company, unlike my siblings, who mixed with them freely. The company I kept was that of Bun Hiang, Grandma Phrorm and Jek Tee, and it was enough for me.

Although I have had many good reasons for feeling embittered, I still am proud of all that my father accomplished for the nation throughout his life. I speak from the bottom of my heart when I say that I have the greatest respect and veneration for him. I worship his intelligence and the ability he had to accurately forecast what was going to happen in our country. He was an outstanding Thai scholar: the books he wrote almost fill an entire library. One may say that Marquess Wiseit Suphalak was truly born to serve the Thai nation and the Thai people.

Along with Prince Ratchaburi Direik-rit, he helped establish the body of Thai laws. Apart from being a legal expert who had graduated overseas, he had an extensive knowledge of commercial practices and was incredibly successful in whatever venture he undertook. Even as a child, I – Wisoot Suphalak na Ayutthaya – loved and admired capable people. Though I was only one of his children and had no part in the happiness he derived from his success, I have always loved and respected my father, and not even a supernatural power could ever destroy these secure feelings. Marquess Wiseit Suphalak was a truly capable person.

Since we are talking about love, as far as I can remember (but you should understand that my memories are quite patchy), I felt that no love between husband and wife was more wonderful than the love between my father and my mother, which was smooth and everlasting, as if they were in a garden of bliss. Those who wanted to enter that heavenly garden had to come in pairs and arm in arm, and whenever they gazed up at the sky, they would see an exquisite moonlight illuminating their own love and bliss. My mother’s love for my father was the key to the success of his various endeavours. It had helped him overcome obstacles and thus bring lasting fame to the Suphalak family.

When my mother was still unattached, she was one of the most beautiful young women in Siam, and she caught the eye of countless young men of noble birth. She had an oval face, a clear complexion and bright dark eyes, and her voice was as sweet and her tongue as sharp as Nature ever endowed a woman. She received various marriage proposals, but finally her heart settled on my father as her life companion, and no one in the world would have dared to suggest she had made the wrong choice. As soon as she went to live with my father, she started to perform the various duties of a good wife to the best of her abilities, and became both a spouse and a friend. Whenever my father was sick or worried, he felt no medicine was as effective as the care and comforting words extended by Lady Yupin, his beloved wife.

Oh! Before proceeding any further, let me tell you a rather peculiar episode of my youth. You may be greatly surprised to learn that, when I was twelve or thirteen years old, I was a masseur, the best treading masseur my parents ever had. No other child nor any servant had ever been able to massage them both as well as I did, so much so that at one time I had to take on this duty and massage them almost every day. In the evening, after dinner, my brothers and sisters were free to play as they liked, but I had to massage my father on and on. This was required of me even on Sunday afternoons. As a child, I felt mildly resentful, to the point of sometimes shedding tears, as I had to do this day after day and not only did I never receive any present or reward as would my siblings, but I seldom heard any word of praise. I was good at making my parents relax because I had the right weight for treading on the aching parts of their bodies, but it required one hour and a half to two hours of treading and kneading to bring about such comfortable relief. I felt bored and was at times lazy, but it had to be done, even without any reward, and I went on with it, because such was my unfortunate lot. On occasion, I asked Grandma Phrorm what I had done in my past lives to deserve such an unjust and unequal upbringing, and whether there was a way for me to adjust my behaviour so that I would finally please my parents.

“This is your karma, and I can see no way to make things better,” Grandma Phrorm would answer. “But don’t you fret, Master Wisoot: even if no one notices your good deeds, The One Above will see them one day.”

The One Above! Well, though I was still a child, I could not help but laugh. I had become so used to the pain in my heart that I could laugh at my wretched life without feeling in the least embarrassed.

Was there Someone above this world? I asked myself. At that time, I, unlike most children, strongly believed in Buddhism. I liked to go to the temple with my grandmother and listen to the monks chanting and preaching, and I had the childish belief that the Buddha must have arranged for some god above to take care of us all. But when I heard Grandma Phrorm talking about The One Above and realised what my true feelings concerning my status in the family were, I never set foot in a temple again, and my faith, my belief, gradually faded away. Is there really Someone above?

Whenever there was a fair, whether at the Marble Temple, the Golden Mound or anywhere else, one of our servants would come down in the evening and ask all of us to go upstairs to receive some money from our father to spend at the fair. We would file up the stairs and find our father reclining on his rattan chair, reading a book. He would call each of his children to come and receive money from him, leaving me for the end every time. Once, he did not even call me, but I walked to him nonetheless to get my share.

“Wisoot, my boy,” he said, “there’s no money left; go and get some from your mother.”

I retraced my steps to the door, behind my brothers and sisters who were swaggering as they filed out of the room. O God in Heaven! Throughout the night, I strove to find ways to forget all those bitter things, but to no avail.

Because of my strong desire to attend the Marble Temple fair, I walked straight to my mother’s room, intending to tell her of my predicament, but she was in the bathroom, bathing my youngest sister. For some reason, instead of asking her for the money as I had planned, I kept my mouth shut. A big lump choked my throat and I did not dare talk – I no longer wanted to ask for anything. That night, my siblings dressed to the nines. When they saw me lying quietly on the bed, they were all surprised and asked me why I was not getting ready. I answered that I had a headache and did not feel like going. Ten minutes later, their exuberant group got into the big car parked in front of the house, and they drove out to the fair in a gale of loud laughter. Happiness!

A short while later, the worn-out body of Grandma Phrorm came towards me, a big chamber pot in her right hand, a rag in her left hand. As soon as she saw me crying on the bed, she realised what was the matter. She dropped the pot and rag near the bed and bent down to stroke my back.

“You didn’t get any money, did you?” she asked.

“No, Grandma Phrorm,” I answered.

“Come on now, there’s no need to cry over so little. Come with me, I’ve got six baht and I’ll take you there. Bur we won’t go inside, because the fee to get in is outrageous. Let’s go to Sampheng instead. We’ll do some nice gambling. With a rickshaw, we’ll be there in no time.”

I realised that she was trying to cheer me up. She was forcing herself to laugh, but as she was speaking I could see tears running down her wrinkled cheeks. I threw myself at her and hugged her out of the deepest love. To me, no one else existed then but my dear Grandma Phrorm!

So we agreed to go to the temple fair by rickshaw. Grandma Phrorm helped me bathe and dress, and then lifted me and sat me down on a rickshaw pulled by a Chinaman. We got off in front of Sampheng Gate, entered and walked around to look at the stalls. Like most servants then and now, Grandma Phrorm loved gambling. At first, she brought me to the fishing game. By some stroke of fortune, I won every time she allowed me to play, and I let her hold the prizes until her hands were full. Then we went to the dice stall. At first, I watched her. She rolled the dice twice, and lost each time. Then she asked me to roll the dice for her, and again, I played several rounds and won all but one. Grandma Phrorm had six baht when we left home, but more than twenty by the time we left the dice stall.

“Grandma Phrorm,” I told her, “let’s go and try other games.”

She took me to try blackjack at another stall. She explained to me broadly how to play, then let me hold the cards and call them up from the dealer while she sat next to me advising me. Throughout that night, the god of luck sided with me: whatever game I tried, I won. On the rickshaw that took us back home, Grandma Phrorm counted the money; there was more than forty baht.

“Ah, Master Wisoot!” Grandma Phrorm exclaimed. “Your life indeed isn’t all roses, but you are most lucky at gambling. If you keep at it, I’m certain you’ll end up a millionaire.”

I did not answer but only thought about my luck at gambling. Since that day, whenever I close my eyes, I see dice and cards and other evil instruments of ruin. Poor me!

For the next four nights, I beseeched my dear old nanny to take me to gamble at the Sampheng fair, and it was astonishing how my luck held all that time. I did not want to ask my parents for money. Grandma Phrorm and I earned about twenty baht from the gambling each night. I did not want to be taken by car to the temple fair with my brothers and sisters, but I was most willing to go there with Grandma Phrorm on a rickshaw. And such matters as where, why and with whom I went were of no concern to anyone else.

When the temple fair was over, I felt despondent, as there was nothing any longer to prevent me from thinking about the inequity I had had to suffer since birth. With no fair and no gambling to distract me, I again began to resent inequity and I brooded over it more and more, which made me depressed. To fight the gloom, I decided to start looking for a gambling den at the earliest opportunity. Since I was lucky in gambling, why should I stay still shouldering all these miseries?

Some servants in my house told me that Chinese and Thai coolies secretly met at the rice mill to play blackjack. I was delighted, and went to gamble there almost every day. As usual, luck was mostly on my side. At first, I gambled small stakes as I did not have much money, but the more I gambled the more I gained. The earnings and the stakes greatly multiplied and finally I became a dealer. Sometimes there were fights in the den. The police came to make arrests, but I was able to run away every time. Such a nefarious but exciting adventure, my dear readers!

I have never given Grandma Phrorm any of the money I earned from gambling. One day, I went to Jek Tee’s raft with fifty baht in my hand. I asked Jek Tee’s wife to go with me to Sampheng to buy beautiful silk trousers and I also instructed her to take Bun Hiang along. I bought her several silk skirts. Grandma Phrorm was astonished when she saw us return to the raft with several pairs of trousers and silk skirts.

“I’ve earned a lot with the cards, Grandma Phrorm,” I told her.

“How come? Where did you play?” she asked, still amazed.

“At the rice mill,” I replied casually.

“Oh dear! Please don’t go there again,” she said in alarm. “If your father finds out about it, he’s going to raise a rumpus.”

How right she was! A few days later, my father learned about the gambling at the rice mill and ordered his men to go there and investigate. Whenever I was caught gambling, he would chide me and threaten me with a thrashing. But my parents never hit us children. My punishment for gambling sometimes consisted in sitting facing a wall for two or three hours at a time and sometimes in being locked up in a dark room.

Never in the course of my life have I obtained love and equity from anyone except Grandma Phrorm. Therefore, punishment of whatever sort was not going to improve my behaviour. I became used to the chiding and punishments, and went on gambling at the fairs and at the rice mill as well!

This is but one story of my childhood. However sad it is, it is true, and truth is always sad; nevertheless, you must understand that I am not weeping as I write this.

Pradit Bunyarrat Δ

At Theipsirin School, I had the reputation of being a cheeky, stout-hearted and rumbustious child. I liked physical exercise and rough-and-tumble activities of all kinds. I felt I had to take part in every kind of school competition, and whenever a fight erupted between students at the back of the school or near the Theipsirin monastery, I was almost always behind it or in the thick of it. Sometimes I won, sometimes I went back home bloodied, depending on luck and strength.

I was 17 years old at the time and had quite a strong physique. As I liked fun and did not mind being hurt, I was popular among students. During most of the term, I had no time for studies, and only crammed a few days before examinations took place, so that I moved to the next level with barely passing marks; I never did any better than that. At this point, I think I must explain to you why I was a brazen and lazy child at school – I had my own reasons.

As I have already stated, I was given to brooding. Every trifling event fed my mood and led me to ponder and dream and build castles in the air. The miseries I faced at home only fed that disposition. I thought and pondered so much that I felt depressed and disheartened. I felt that life was worthless. Since I knew that I was useless, why should I take care of myself just to exist in a world devoid of justice? I felt bored with everything around me. I felt bored with myself too, and often wished for someone to hate me enough to shoot me dead and thus put an end to my misery, or for someone to throw out of love or loathing a strong punch at my chin or some other vital part of my body that would be lethal enough to knock me down for ever. It would be the end of all the adversities I had encountered in the past and was still wrestling with then. Oh, my dear friends, had you known me then, I can only guess how much you would have despised the boy named Wisoot Suphalak na Ayutthaya!

Obvious injustice or inequity have dire consequences comparable to those strumpets who are eager to lure the men they contact to the deepest level of deadly sin, regardless of how many levels of sin there are. I have observed and am convinced that most women in Siam are their men’s true life companions; they have respect and confidence in them; they are sweet, honest and always love them. Even when their husbands become dissolute, they do nothing but cry quietly while awaiting the inevitable outcome. They still love their husbands and are ready to forgive them no matter how much they have to suffer from their behaviour. They are born to be taken advantage of and to endure suffering in silence. Such are the women of Siam whom I have seen, known and loved since childhood. European and American women are different. I have known and observed many of them, and I will tell you about them in due course.

When I was at school, I was narrow-minded and self-centred and it never occurred to me to assess how good or bad Theipsirin School was, nor what my stake in it was. Now that I have grown up and am governed by the rules of maturity, I have come to the conclusion that Theipsirin was the best school in the kingdom. When I think of the school at that time, I cannot help but admire its unrelenting effort to provide knowledge and happiness to its students. Selfishness among the teachers, though it did exist, was a rare thing. The students were taught to be compassionate and know how to behave whether they lost or won in competetions with other schools, so that they would be real men, gentlemen of the Thai nation. This was the important standard that Theipsirin School set for the nation. If truth be told, every school in the world should be like Theipsirin School. But as we can see these days, some schools do not conform to that simple standard, wouldn’t you agree?

My life at Theipsirin School is an essential part of this story, and by reading it you will have a true picture of my life. In an existence full of sheer darkness, Theipsirin School was the first tiny light I ever saw. Life at school and my friends there were important psychological medicines which mollified to some extent my callous behaviour and world-weary heart.

Pradit Bunyarrat was a good-looking boy who always dressed neatly. Though he was only 17 years old, he was tall, mature, hard-working and a good student. He kept to himself and seldom spoke to anybody, but when he did, it was usually about serious matters related to academic matters. Pradit never set foot in the gymnasium and never had a fight with anybody. He never watched nor played football. His daily routine consisted in going to school in the morning and walking to the streetcar station in order to go back home after school. He never played truant.

Pradit and I had been students in the same class for not more than two weeks, but you can easily understand that we were as different as if we had come from opposite corners of the world. One was as good as gold, the kind of well-behaved child adults are wont to praise; the other was a vindictive rascal always spoiling for a fight. I never paid any attention to the likes of Pradit. Although we were sitting only a yard apart, I was hardly aware of his existence. Pradit, on the other hand, seemed to pay a fair amount of attention to me. My mischievous and inconsiderate behaviour interested him, and he was trying to figure out why I behaved as I did. He kept track of my activities in the classroom. Whatever I did or whoever I talked to, every time I looked his way, I found him watching me, and it annoyed me on occasion. He usually kept glancing at me with a smile on his face, and I could not fathom what his attitude towards me was.

“I say, Pradit,” I said rudely when our eyes met one day. “I’ve noticed you never stop staring at me. I don’t know what you want. Or is it that you’ve never seen a human being?”

Pradit smiled gently and replied: “No, Mr Wisoot. If I like to observe you it’s because I feel you should behave somewhat better, as befits the prestige of our class and our school, and that someone should teach you a lesson.”

This was happening a few minutes before the start of the afternoon class, and there were many other students in the classroom besides us. I would never have thought that a quiet fellow like Pradit would speak to me so forcefully, let alone in the presence of others. My blood was instantly up, so I asked him angrily: “Oh yes? And what’s so special about you? What have you ever done for the school? Have you ever seen a gym in your life? Have you ever been to a football match?”

“Sure, why not?” Pradit answered without fear. “When I was at Assumption School, I often played football, but I wasn’t good enough to make the school team.”

“So that’s why they kicked you out and you came here!” I jeered.

“Listen, Mr Wisoot, you have no right to speak to me in this insulting fashion. You don’t strike me as particularly exceptional yourself. You may have lots of friends and behave like a gang leader who goes about bullying others. That’s all right with me, but don’t be mistaken: I may be a newcomer but I’m not afraid of people like you. I’m man enough not to take bullying lying down. When you claimed I was expelled from Assumption and wasn’t good enough for that school, weren’t you trying to bully me?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” I rejoined belligerently.

“Maybe they spoil you at home, and that would account for your mischievous behaviour,” Pradit said to me without fear. “I have seen you several times fighting with other kids behind the monastery and I feel bitterly ashamed for you.”

As I was about to reply, the teacher walked in. We all became quiet. To suppress my anger, I picked up a book and started to read, but the statement “maybe they spoil you at home” kept ringing in my ears. I felt angry and I was not sure whether what Pradit had said was true, and was not certain of what he meant. A short while later, I tore a small piece of paper on which I wrote: “Mr Pradit, if you want to end our quarrel, I think there is only one way, that we go to the monastery this evening after school.” I rolled the piece of paper and asked the student who sat beside me to pass it on to Pradit.

I watched Pradit as he took the note, read it and then turned to me with a gentle smile. He nodded in a way that meant he was not afraid.

That afternoon, after the teacher left the room, Pradit, his books in one hand and his hat in the other, walked straight to me, smiling gently as usual. “All right, Mr Wisoot, let’s go to the back of the monastery,” he said, and waited for me at my desk. I was greatly surprised because Pradit, whom we all knew as a quiet student, now turned out to be a daring and cold-blooded opponent. As soon as I stood up and walked out of the room, he followed suit and walked by my side. All the other students went after us. I was slightly fearful that the headmaster or the vice principal would suspect something, but I did not know what to do. Pradit kept walking by my side. We went out of the Yaowamarn-uthit building and walked across the lawn to the front of the Maen Naruemit building, then turned left to the entrance of the monastery. Whenever I looked back, I saw all twenty students following us in a group.

Our battleground was a lawn under the Bo tree at the back of a small, disused dormitory for monks. As we stood facing each other with the other students standing in a circle around us, I noticed that the smile on Prasit’s face gradually faded away and was replaced by a gleam of eager readiness for battle. We took off our shirts, dropped them on the lawn, and started to exchange blows in earnest.

At first, Pradit was losing, as I broke his guard with several hard punches, but thanks to his endurance, he fought back courageously. After a while, we were exchanging blows, fist by fist, until both of us tumbled over. Some ten minutes later, as we were hammering away at each other in a tight embrace on the lawn, a man shouted: “Stop! Stop this now!” and we felt someone trying to pull us apart. When we were finally separated, the commandeering face of the vice principal stood over us.

“You evil little devils!” he chided angrily. “If you have no consideration for me, at least think of the prestige of our school. We need solidarity among us – esprit de corps!” he emphasized in French. “We want to show that our school is as good as the others, or even better. How can that be when the two of you are fighting like this?”

Our vice principal was big and fat and had a slightly balding head. His pleasant disposition had earned him the respect of all students. Even though he spoke in anger, we still felt that he talked with our best interests at heart.

“Come on, pick up your shirts and put them on,” he ordered, pointing at the shirts lying in a heap on the lawn. “Then hurry back to school with me.”

We dusted ourselves off, put on our shirts and followed him, walking side by side, while the group of students dispersed. We reached the Maen Naruemit building, entered the hall and walked upstairs to the vice principal’s office.

He asked us to stand in front of his desk, sat down on his chair and turned to scrutinize us closely. Immediately, Pradit walked straight to him and, before I had even found my bearings, started to confess that everything was his fault.

“It was I who challenged Mr Wisoot to go to the monastery this afternoon,” he said in a clear voice. “We have had a disagreement for several days, and I feel it is my duty to confess this to you rather than let him be punished, as he did not instigate the quarrel.”

I did not know what to say or how to react. I had never met a man like Pradit in my whole life and never had I thought that there could be a man like him in this world.

“I must praise you for behaving like a gentleman,” the vice principal replied. “But I would like to know why you were unable to settle the matter in a civilised fashion. Why did you have to quarrel in such an unbecoming manner?”

“I did try, but it didn’t work,” Pradit answered. “And then today we had an argument in the classroom, so I asked Wisoot to go to the back of the monastery after school.”

“I am astonished that a placid boy like you would become so unruly. Indeed, it is hardly believable,” he said and then turned to ask me: “Is it true, Mr Wisoot, that Mr Pradit challenged you and instigated this dispute?”

At this point, I am afraid that my writing ability is not good enough to make you understand my real feelings then. A battle was going on in my mind between a most exalted feeling born of the excellent disposition so tangibly demonstrated by Pradit towards me and the feeling of spite deeply ingrained in my character since childhood. Thus, the question thrown at me by the vice principal left me at a loss for words.

“No, sir. I... I...” was all I could say, and I could think no further.

“I’ve had occasional reports about your own misbehaviour,” the vice principal said to me, “but this time, Mr Pradit has freely admitted his fault, and since you have nothing else to tell me, you may as well leave, but if you quarrel with anyone again, let it be understood that your punishment will be severe.”

I stared at him in total confusion, and remained rooted to the spot, until his glare made me realise that he wanted me to leave the room. I slowly walked out in a whirlwind of thoughts that were totally inconclusive. I went down the stairs to the floor below, first with the intention to go back home, but then I hesitated, fearing that Pradit would be punished because of me. The battle between contradictory feelings raged in my head, but the positive side eventually won. I hurried upstairs to the vice principal’s office in order to confess my guilt and save Pradit a thrashing. Unfortunately, as I was halfway up, I had to stop and stand still as I heard the loud sound of Pradit being thrashed – one, two, three, four, five, six times. All because of me! The sound then stopped. I immediately went downstairs. Tears were streaming down my face. I kept thinking about all the evil things I had done and felt utterly ashamed.

A short while later, Pradit came down. I wanted to throw myself at him and give him a hug for the goodness he had shown me that so impressed my heart. But Pradit kept walking with a poker face and paid me no heed. He walked past me without a word. I was at a loss about what to do next. I ran after him like a demented person, calling after him: “Pradit! Pradit! Stop for a moment, please.”

He stopped and waited grudgingly until I reached him. At that time, we stood at the entrance of the school.

“Why – why did you have to accuse yourself?” I asked him breathlessly.

“If not me, who else?” he retorted, smiling faintly. “I figured that if I accused myself, I’d be the only one punished, which was better than both of us getting the cane.”

He stopped talking and went through the gate. At that instant, a streetcar came and slowed down. Pradit jumped onto it and the vehicle soon sped out of sight, leaving me standing on the road in front of the school.

To think that in this world there were men such as Pradit! I kept wondering to myself all the way back home.

The next morning, I left for school early because I felt I really needed to talk to Pradit. I looked for him everywhere, in the library, in the refectory behind the Maen Naruemit building, around the school playground, but to no avail. As soon as I entered the classroom, I was told that he was not coming to school that day.

Throughout the morning period, I sat at my desk with great anxiety, afraid that last night’s punishment had made him sick. During the lunch break, a junior student asked me about Pradit, which made me feel even more ill at ease. Remembering what had happened between the two of us, I felt as though Pradit was the person I had wanted to meet, know and love as a life companion since the day I was born. Had I had the opportunity to know him when I was still a child, my character would not have turned out to be so bitter. I would have borne the burden of unhappiness resulting from inequity with a willing heart and sense of responsibility. All that day, I was deeply engrossed in worrying about him. There was nothing for Pradit in my heart but the feeling that I missed, respected and liked him.

After school was over, I hurriedly went to see Baron Wisut, the chief accountant, to ask him for Pradit Bunyarrat’s address. Once I had it, I got on a streetcar and got off at Thewet Bridge, in Bangkhunphrom. I then hired a sculling boat which went along the canal, crossed the river and reached the mouth of the Bang Chak canal on the Thonburi side. About a hundred metres past the canal mouth, the boat reached a small landing, where I was to alight. After I made sure from the rower that this was Lord Banlue-deit Amnuay’s house, I paid him the fare, stepped on the landing and walked across a large lawn to a big Thai-style house painted in beige. I stood waiting for a while for someone to come out and greet me but no one did. The whole area was dead quiet, except for the sound of the wind blowing the leaves around the house. The house was also devoid of noise as though nobody lived in it. At last, a lovely little girl came out.

“Pradit is not at home,” she replied after being told the purpose of my visit. “His father took him to Ayutthaya this morning.”

“And when will he return?” I asked.

“Probably late tonight.”

“So he is going to school tomorrow?”

“Of course!”

I thanked her and walked back to the landing to wait for a boat. I felt much relieved that Pradit was not sick.

I met him at school the following morning. As soon as he saw me, he asked: “Mr Wisoot, did you come to see me at home last night?”

I answered with a nod, as I did not know what to say.

“I am sorry we had some business to attend to in Ayutthaya. Actually, we had a great time. My sister caught an enormous catfish.”

At first, I had thought that, on meeting him, I would be overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment, but when I heard his normal tone of voice and saw his courteous and friendly manners, that feeling was instantly dispelled.

“I went to see you at home yesterday because I had so many things to talk over with you,” I said. “Besides, when I did not see you at school, I was afraid you had fallen sick because of what happened.”

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked.

“I think it was beastly of me to let you take the blame and punishment. As a matter of fact, I was the one who started everything,” I confessed. “I can’t sleep at all, thinking about what has happened. My mind’s made up: I’m going to see the principal and tell him the truth, that I’m guilty and a coward to boot. I think I’ll feel better if he gives me a dozen lashes.”

“What!” Pradit exclaimed in amazement. “Let bygones be bygones. Why do you have to vex yourself with something that is past? There’s no point in looking for more trouble.”

“I don’t mind, Pradit, I’m used to being beaten. Another twelve lashes to make me feel better won’t make much of a difference.”

I was fibbing: my parents never beat us children; we merely got chided or punished; and I had never been caught when I fought with other students in the monastery. My tussle with Pradit was the first time, and we were caught because we had been too noisy.

“Don’t be crazy, Mr Wisoot,” he objected. “The matter is over, so just forget about it.”

“But what about your reputation in this school?” I said. “Our supervisor will think you are an unreliable boy. Oh I can’t! I must go and see him right now.”

“Please don’t, Mr Wisoot,” he said, pulling me by the hand. “He thinks nothing of the kind about me. He knows me well. Come on, let me invite you to my home tonight. There’s something I want you to see.”

The bell rang, so we went to join the line of students and entered the classroom.

Lamjuan Δ

As agreed, I went to Lord Banlue’s house at five o’clock that evening. As soon as the boat reached the landing, I saw Pradit who stood waiting for me, dressed in trousers of light-brown silk and a shirt of white hemp. We walked across the field, went up to the house and he took me into the waiting room, which was luxuriously appointed. On the walls fine portraits of ancestors of the Bunyarrat family hung in a row. The house was artfully decorated with old and new objects. Pradit took me to a corner of the room and pointed out some small antiques exhibited in a glass chest – a tiny Sphinx, a tome of papyrus, pyramids, pharaohs and various other Egyptian artefacts. I stood admiring these beautiful objects until I felt a hand tap me on the shoulder. It was Pradit. My love and respect for him was growing by the minute.

“Before long we shall be neighbours, you know,” he remarked, pointing through the window to a building under construction. “Your mother bought that piece of land from us to build a house, and I gather that several members of your family will stay there.”

“Eh! I know nothing about this,” I answered. “I only know that it’s being built to be rented out.”

“That’s not the case at all,” Pradit stated.

At that moment, a young woman came through the door.

“Lamjuan! Lamjuan!” Pradit called out.

“What is it, brother?” she answered as she halted in front of the door.

“Where are you going? Come in and talk to us first.”

She walked demurely towards us and stopped in front of her elder brother.

“This is Mr Wisoot,” Pradit introduced me, then turned to me and said: “And this is my little sister, Lamjuan.”

She hastened to bring her joined hands to her face and bowed. I bowed back and we stood looking at each other with curiosity.

“Tonight the moon will be full and after dinner we intend to go out in a row boat. Will you join us, Wisoot?” Pradit said invitingly.

“I’m afraid I’d be an imposition,” I objected.

“What imposition?” Miss Lamjuan answered. “We’ve already prepared food for you too. Father bought a new boat today. It’s beautiful and fast. You’ll like it if you come with us.”

I watched her with sudden interest. The refreshing sound of her voice and her modest demeanour were most praiseworthy. Lamjuan was one of the most beautiful young ladies I had ever met. She had a soft white complexion, a beautiful oval face with big eyes at once coy and sharp, and long hair rolled in a rather pretty bun. That day, I remember, she wore an ultramarine-blue crêpe de Chine silk shirt bordered with lace and a long cream-colored skirt.

“You agree then,” she prodded as I stood there smiling. “You stay with us for dinner and then we all go out in the boat.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “we will certainly have fun.”

“I say, Lamjuan,” Pradit said. “Has Father come back yet?”

“How could he be back? He came to fetch Mother and they went out together again. They certainly enjoy going out, these two, for all their years,” she declared, laughing warmly.

That night we went out on the river in the beautiful row boat. I was made to sit at the rear, Lamjuan sat in the middle and her brother in the front. I still remember that it was the fifteenth day of the waxing moon and a holy day, and the full moon shone brightly. The sky was devoid of clouds and the river was quiet. Occasionally, a steamer or a speedboat would pass by, tossing our boat in a rather amusing way.

Ah, dear readers, from what I have told you of my story so far, you will certainly agree that since I was born, that day – that night – was the happiest, the most contented of my life. It was the first time I had the opportunity to really know Pradit. The soft, sweet voice of Lamjuan in the light breeze was like exquisite music which has forever resounded in my memory.

“I understand, Mr Wisoot, that you are to come and stay with your mother in the building next to our house,” Pradit said.

“It would be nice if Mother really came here: we would go to school together and meet often,” I answered. “But do you know for sure that Mother will come?”

“What do you mean?” asked Lamjuan with obvious surprise. “Don’t you really know, Mr Wisoot?”

“I know nothing,” I said truthfully.

“Don’t you know what’s going on in your own house?” she asked, smiling mockingly but without a trace of condescension.

“I don’t really pay attention to what is happening at home.”

“It may be your duty not to tell us anything,” Lamjuan said in a slightly resentful way, “but it is all over town, you know.”

“I’m telling you the truth: I do not know anything at all,” I answered.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Pradit exclaimed.

On the boat back home, I kept thinking about what Pradit and Lamjuan had told me. My mother would go and stay at the house in Bang Chak. Would she then leave Father? Pradit and Lamjuan had talked as though they knew the story in detail. Something must have gone wrong at home, but how was it that I did not even have an inkling of it?

As soon as I reached home, I began to investigate. Ordinarily, I never paid much attention to the affairs of my parents and relatives. It was my habit since childhood. I tried to study and remain aloof, avoiding anyone in the house unless it was necessary.

At fourteen, I had gone to stay with my maternal grandmother in her small house, and I had lived there for three years by then. If something was happening in the main house where my parents stayed, it was either not important enough or too important for me to be told about it. Even though we shared the same compound, it was as if I and all of my relatives were living in different corners of the world.

I was happy staying with Grandmother, because she was compassionate and took care of me with all the goodness of her heart. Besides, she had been frequenting the temples for decades, had become free from earthly attachments and was observing the Buddhist precepts with saintly dedication. She had never thought of warning me about the common evils of the world because she did not know them and had no wish to learn about them.

The story of Mother leaving the house where she had lived for twenty years and moving to the house on the Thonburi side was an ordinary one, similar to so many other stories happening in the large noble families of Siam, when an ageing wife no longer able to please would simply be discarded. The husband, even though he was about the same age as his wife, was still strong, lustful and wealthy, and he would go on looking for what he had no right to enjoy but could still obtain by hurting the feelings of his aged spouse, who had been his faithful companion for decades. If a wife out of necessity had to sit and watch the behaviour of her husband, she would bleed inside drop by drop. Alas! Such is the fate of the Thai wife, the supreme woman-mother. If a wife could no longer stand this, she would run away, forsaking the wealth she had helped establish and accumulate for decades, leaving it in the sole care of the unreliable gentleman who, trading old for new, would end up with some girl with a pretty face and condemn his old wife and their children to a hand-to-mouth existence at the mercy of fate. Life! O life!

You may be beginning to wonder about what I stated earlier. The love between my parents was most precious and pure, yet it led to a bitter separation. Could such precious and pure love have lasted as long as twenty years? This would be quite exceptional in Siam. Besides, their separation in old age was totally unexpected. Even though it turned sour at the end, what other kind of love will you find in our land that is more marvellous than this?

One day, as I had just come back from school and taken a shower, a servant came to tell me that Mother wanted to see me in her bedroom. I went up trembling with dread because I already knew what she was about to tell me. I found her seated on one corner of the bed. As soon as she saw me, she smiled a little, sad smile.

“Wisoot,” she greeted me, “I do not see you very often these days. How are you spending your time?”

“I am out and about as usual, Mother,” I answered as I walked to her.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“So so. I am used to it.”

“I say, Wisoot,” she said, considering me carefully, “I am about to go and live in the orchard house.”

“I sort of heard about it.”

“I don’t think that anybody here wants you to stay. Would you like to go with me?”

“Yes, Mother. Aren’t some of us going with you anyway?”

“No. Only you and little Samruay. Why would the others go and stay with their mother?”

Despite her sweet smile, I could see that she spoke with bitterness and resentment.

One month later, the orchard house at Bang Chak was ready. We – Mother, my youngest sister Samruay and I – took refuge there. We helped one another arrange the house and make it as pleasant as people of our condition could afford. We were not quite sure whether we would have enough to live on. In fact, I could not help but conclude that Mother was rather poor. Were her current small income to dwindle further she would have to sell some jewellery and gold in order to make ends meet. Mother was often short, and the jewellery was disappearing by the day.

When we were in the orchard house on the Thonburi side, even though we were next to Bangkok, there was no peace and security as in the capital. Bandits were thick on the ground, and wherever one went one heard shouts of “Thieves have entered the orchard!” “Thieves have broken into the house!” “Bandits have harmed someone!” and so on.

At first, I was afraid but after a while I got used to this kind of danger. Even though danger always surrounded the orchard house, I felt a thousand times happier than when I was staying in the house in Samsen. Look at it this way: I lived next to Pradit and Lamjuan, two young people whose friendship was a gift of love, happiness and comfort bestowed without the slightest reservation.

At the end of that year, Father died. His will gave Mother, little Samruay and myself no share of the inheritance. Father had left all three of us to carry on with our hard life without any succour. As far as I was concerned, I did not feel very disappointed because this was only to be expected and I was man enough, in any case, to keep myself out of trouble. Little Samruay would grow into a beautiful woman and find a way out when she came of age. But Mother was most to be pitied. She was old and had undergone hardship for twenty long years and this was her reward! When I think about her life then, I feel that my own suffering was not even one thousandth of hers. Alas! The circus – the circus of the world! The circus of life!

Although I often had the opportunity to be in Lamjuan’s company, I did not have the audacity to bring myself to love her. This was so out of necessity, not because my heart was made of stone or steel. I was able to chat with her in private, travel with her once in a while and know her true disposition. There were several reasons for us to remain just friends. I was poor and had nothing to indicate that I would be able to settle down properly some day. As for Lamjuan, for all her wonderful qualities, she still could not grasp this simple truth. I did not know how she felt about me, but at the very least she must have liked me well enough to accept my love were I to impose it on her. From the day we met, I had tried to be a good person for her sake and for the sake of the world. For her as well as for my own future, I had attempted to forget the past. To force myself not to love her was part of my trying to be a good person. I felt I had no right to love her. Oh, there was no doubt in my mind that she shared with our neighbours the idea that I was a man of means. If she married me and learned the truth afterward, she would at the least feel sorry. I don’t mean to say that she would have loved me because she thought I was rich, but she happened to be an ordinary person who was bound to think like this, though she was the woman who had the purest heart I have ever known.

If I did beat the elementary rules that said “Lad and lass at close quarters must fall for each other” and “Love makes us blind and oblivious to everything in life”, it was thanks to Pradit, Lamjuan’s brother. Pradit had his own code of conduct, which he used in daily life, and he was able to pass it on to me, the friend he loved and cared for. Whatever good there is in my character I owe to him, who fostered and nurtured it in me. I have never had a more wonderful friend than Pradit.

Regarding Lamjuan, although what happened between us took place more than ten years ago, I still cannot forget her. Her life was strange. She lived in a world full of bliss, yet her heart was sad. Whatever she wanted that was available in this world was hers for the asking, but she didn’t want much. Though everyone was ready to please her and she was a good and happy child, she still had to witness the injustice and suffering of others and of the world around us. She was just past sixteen, yet looked as though life had forced her to become an adult prematurely. She had seen and felt a lot. Her father had several wives, and they all lived under the same roof. Although her mother was the lawful spouse, Lamjuan could see how she felt. She knew and understood the life and condition of everyone in the house. The grudges, the quarrels, the wrongs and, worst of all, the jealousies and rivalries she witnessed made her feel utterly disgusted with life itself. Even though these obscene goings-on did not really impinge on her daily life as she was His Excellency’s favourite daughter, she still felt bored and annoyed.

“Mr Wisoot, do you know yet why your mother had to move here?” Lamjuan asked me one day as we sat chatting on the landing in front of her house.

“Yes, I do, Miss Lamjuan,” I answered. “My mother does not have your mother’s forbearance, so she had to get away.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” she said simply. “If Mother could find a way out, do you think she would stay and force herself to watch this wickedness day after day and night after night? Mother has often told me that she would go away, that we would leave together, but it hasn’t been possible because she doesn’t have enough money and she is worried about her children, Pradit and me. She cries quite often, even now... Oh, I can’t stand men! Our present education system does not improve them in any way.”

“You have reasons enough to hate men,” I said, out of sympathy.

“If they went about it discreetly instead of being so blatant, I suppose I could put up with it,” she said in an unusually harsh voice. “I’ve never heard of people behaving like this in civilized countries. Father has many foreign friends, and they often take their children with them here. When they see Phian, Banjert or Samrit, they ask them who they are. Actually, I’m sure they already know, yet I have to tell them they are our servants, but when they see them talking to me, they immediately know the truth because my brothers are not behaving like servants.”

“Sad, isn’t it?” I said, as if talking to myself.

“Mr Wisoot,” she said softly, “I believe that one day you will marry and have children. Will you also do like this?”

“No, Lamjuan. I’ve never entertained such a thought,” I countered strongly. “I don’t believe that men who have several wives can live happily.”

“One day you will have an opportunity to go abroad, and then, you will see how foreigners behave.”

“Does this mean you don’t believe me?” I asked, signalling that I was feeling slighted. “To tell you the truth, I, for one, am totally against polygamy. I think it is barbarous. This kind of thing might have been all right twenty or thirty years ago, but these days, we should be looking at Japan instead and figuring out what it is that is making this country progress. India, on the other hand, is like Hell. The men there have turned their country into Hell. They force their women to get married at eleven or twelve. They keep harems as house decorations, thinking it is so very chic, while allowing their country to be a slave of England because of their own evil.”

“English people usually look down on the Hindus,” she added.

“That’s right, Lamjuan,” I said. “You should really count me among your supporters as far as polygamy in Siam is concerned. Do you know why the Thai seldom become business partners and don’t trust one another? It’s because, since a very tender age, they see nothing but absolutely bad examples, and when they grow up, they go for the same things. This kind of attitude is ingrained from birth.”

“Do you think that if we had a law forbidding men to have more than one wife, it would be of benefit to our children and grandchildren?” she asked.

“I’m sure of it. People from other countries who come and see our Siam in this condition must feel nauseated. I know why this is so. If our children only had good examples to see, it would certainly help them become good citizens. At least, we should make them trust other people. As you know, any family with plenty of minor wives is in no end of trouble.”

“Oh, Mr Wisoot,” she exclaimed with delight. “I would like you to go abroad to study and see all sorts of things and then bring them back as examples for Siam. Will you promise me you will never change your mind on this?”

“I do promise,” I answered with utmost confidence.

“And you will forsake personal pleasures for the sake of your opinions?”

“Definitely!”

“Do you mean you will have only one wife, so that the Thai people can follow your example?” she asked, with a sonorous and melodious voice. “And try to help future generations to be happy and self-confident because they are secure and trust others?”

“Don’t you think that if we are poor, timorous and unwilling to do what it takes to strengthen our country, it’s because we are raised to be like that?”

“Like what?”

“To see only carelessness in this matter of running multiple families. This sort of thing is terribly evil as it destroys our confidence.”

“I agree with you,” she said softly. “I’m sure that whoever is lucky enough to be your wife will have a most happy life.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get married.”

“Why not?”

“I am poor – you can’t even imagine how much so. I don’t know what my future holds. I’ve never been good at studying.”

“All right,” she said firmly. “Whether or not you do marry, I want you to always remember that you still have one of your best friends in the world, a friend who is looking forward to seeing you succeed in promoting your ideas among the Thai people.”

She gazed at me with bright, beautiful eyes, which clearly showed that she had complete confidence in me.

At that time, both of us were still young, and what we were talking about were matters for adults to ponder and discuss. We were not able to convey our opinions to each other in any clear and specific way, but we understood each other because we shared the same thoughts and feelings. From that day, we –Lamjuan and I – became close friends; but only friends, my dear readers. If we were able to keep our relationship in the confines of friendship, it was probably because we knew each other too well to love each other. She called me ‘Elder brother’, as she did Pradit. Lamjuan – my friend for life... Nothing but my friend!

Going abroad Δ

Throughout the period of more than eighteen months that I was an intimate friend of Lamjuan and Pradit, every minute that went by brought me great happiness. We had never had the tiniest trace of mistrust in one another, and it looked as though nothing in the world could ever imperil our friendship. Everything surrounding my existence looked a thousand times more vivid than it once did, like the very difference between fresh and withered flowers, or between sky and earth. The true love that these two friends had for me was invaluable, like a doctor’s treatment bringing full recovery to a critically ill patient. That love helped me forget the past and the torments over which I had so often brooded resentfully. It seemed that it had the mysterious power to reshape and soften my crude behaviour to bring it into line with what was required of a real gentleman. All the time we were together, I often feared that if anything forced us to separate, I would be unable to keep on living. I felt that these two friends were essential parts of my life. Never had I experienced such happiness or enjoyed such a wonderful intercourse of mind and heart. I wanted the two of them to live close to me forever, and really needed their love and help with every breath I took.

My friendship with Lamjuan and Pradit taught me that true love does not stem from power, money or honour, but from the goodness of our heart. I also learned that life for some of us may be full of injustice and bitterness, but it still holds something that allows us to live in happiness. Have you ever had friends like these? Although I fully realised that wealth is not part of love, I never let Lamjuan see that I loved her more than anything in my life, more than anything in the whole wide world. Can you guess why this was so? It was our very friendship that made me forsake that opportunity time and again. I wanted the one I loved to be happy. As I was destitute and had no hope of a bright and smooth future, how could I let her see the truth in my heart? I did not want her to endure any hardship because of me. I only wanted her to be happy.

The time finally came when all three of us had to part. As the earth went on revolving, so did the cycle of happiness and sorrow. Pradit was going so far away that I could hardly entertain any hope that he would ever come back to share my world and life again. And worst of all, Lamjuan and I had to part company for the rest of our lives because we had come to the end of our companionship.

Pradit went abroad, and Lamjuan got married!

I do not think that there was in Siam nine years ago a brighter student than Pradit. The proof is that he came first for a royal scholarship that year, and first also for the railways scholarship. Thus, he prepared himself to go to England to study mechanical engineering. I heartily rejoiced over the news and felt extremely proud of my sole life companion’s superior capability. But at the same time, I felt sad in a way that is beyond words to express because we had to part for a long time, and I had no dream then of going abroad like him. I just thought that after his return, he and I would live in different worlds; our opinions would differ, as between a domestic student and a foreign graduate. Would there be any chance for us to meet and be close again as we once had been?

Finally, the day came when Pradit had to start his trip. In the early morning, Lord Banlue hired a big motor boat to convey Pradit’s personal belongings, Pradit himself and all well-wishers, which included myself, my mother and little Samruay. The boat first stopped at the Borneo store and we helped load Pradit’s belongings into the Delhi ship, which was at the landing at the time.

“Wisoot, I’ll write to you at least once a month. Don’t forget to answer me,” Pradit said as we were alone in the cabin for a short while.

“I’ll write to you twice a month, Pradit,” I replied with assurance, putting my arm around my beloved friend’s shoulders.

“During my absence,” he added wearily, “should anything happen to Lamjuan, you must take care of her for me. Do remember that.”

“I’m ready to die for her, you know that.”

Our faces beamed with happiness as we said goodbye to each other, but in our hearts – had anyone been able to see – ran endless streams of tears. A moment later, we heard the hoot signalling that the ship was about to weigh anchor. I stepped down the gangplank that stretched from the ship’s upper deck to the cement ground of the Borneo landing, and we all stood in line and waved our handkerchiefs as the ship slowly moved away. I stood between Lady Banlue and Lamjuan, and when I looked around I saw that both of them were crying. When the Delhi was out of sight, we all got back in the motor boat to return home.

“Brother Wisoot,” I heard Lamjuan calling me while I was standing at the stern alone. “I feel very pleased but I can’t help crying.”

Lamjuan came to stand beside me. The ‘Folie bleue’ eau-de-cologne she liked to use gave out its luscious fragrance. Without any kind of emotion, I took her in my arms, and she bent her head over my chest. The motor boat sped ahead.

After we returned from seeing Pradit off, I kept Lamjuan company for the rest of the day, trying to comfort and humour her to help her fight loneliness. When I reached home, it was time to go to bed. In my bedroom, I felt pain radiating throughout my body, because with Pradit gone, it seemed to me that every move I made – getting up, sitting down, standing or walking – I made reluctantly, as though under duress. Whenever I closed my eyes, some inner voice kept asking: “Now that Pradit is gone, what are you going to do? Are you good enough for Lamjuan?”

Indeed, my dear readers, I very much worried about Pradit’s sister. She was dejected and unhappy. She needed me as her friend, as her elder brother – nothing more than that. When Pradit was still here, Lamjuan and I could carry on our relationship as we wished, but now that he was gone, leaving both of us behind, there was no one to help me devote the most precious things in my life to Lamjuan’s present and future happiness. Could I resist the law of nature – the power of attraction sugar had for ants?

The days and the months passed by. I still battled courageously against my own feelings and the madness in my heart with strong determination, and so far I was winning.

One day, as I reached Lord Banlue’s house, I saw a young army officer conversing with Lord and Lady Banlue. Upon being introduced to him, I learned that he was First Lieutenant Kamon Jitpreedee. He had only been back from England for twelve days but had not told anyone about his return. Lord and Lady Banlue had known him since he was a child.

“I say, Kamon, do you remember Lamjuan?” His Excellency asked.

“I think so, sir, but she must have changed a lot,” Kamon answered with a slight foreign accent. “When I left, she was still a child. Where is she now?”

“She’ll come downstairs presently,” Lady Banlue replied.

Lt Kamon Jitpreedee had a slender figure and a bright face, and was about twenty-five years old. Sitting on a chair in front of Lord and Lady Banlue, he looked nervous, turning this way and that all the time as if he was trying to appraise all the items of decoration in the room. After a while, he eventually turned to me. “It seems to me that Siam hasn’t changed at all,” he asserted.

“You’ll notice the changes after a while,” Lady Banlue said. “Ah, here comes Lamjuan.”

The little lady whose name had just been mentioned was stepping into the room, a gentle smile on her face. Kamon stood up to welcome her, and invited her to sit down on the chair he had just vacated.

“Don’t trouble yourself. Please do sit there. There are plenty of seats,” Lamjuan replied, and she went to fetch a chair from a corner of the room. “So, do you still remember me?”

“If I didn’t know it was you, I would have trouble recognizing you,” he answered with a smile. “You’ve changed a lot.”

The conversation went on as among people who had not seen one another for more than eight years, with much mutual ingratiation, as you may have guessed. Kamon was fairly humorous and expressed his opinions in a forthright manner. He could not speak Thai fluently and sometimes lapsed into long bouts of English before coming to his senses and switching back to Thai. I sat behind him and took no part in the conversation. Moreover, I felt that no one paid any attention to me; no one talked to me or even looked at me. Lady Banlue looked much excited as she busied herself serving food and drinks. Lord Banlue handed Kamon one foreign cigarette after another, and listened with interest to all that the young man had to say. Lamjuan also sat listening to him with a sweet smile and she did not turn to look at me even once.

“I think it’s a pity the students in our country do not all have the opportunity to go abroad,” Kamon said, talking fast. “We should all go there and try to learn as many things as we can to apply them here and use them as examples. Foreign countries are Paradise, Your Lordship. Compared to them, our country is like Hell.”

“Have you ever thought that for those who have no chance to go abroad, our country is a fairly decent place to live in all the same?” I objected, intruding in the conversation for the first time.

Kamon turned and gave me a look of displeasure, then went on talking with Lord Banlue. “Let’s not quarrel about this, right, Your Lordship?” he said, laughing. “Frankly speaking, our country is nice enough. But I really hate mosquitoes, I hate the dust and I hate cholera. I dare not eat anything anymore. Every time I let myself be tempted, my tummy gets upset.”

“Then why don’t you come and eat here?” Lady Banlue entreated him. “I guarantee that whatever you eat you won’t get stomach ache.”

“All right. Would you mind if I ate with you today?”

“Of course not,” Lady Banlue answered with a smile. “Feel free to come here whenever you want, Kamon.”

“I feel lonely here, unlike when I was abroad. When I return from the barracks, I really don’t know where to go. Well, I’ll come here often. I like to stroll in orchards. What do you grow in yours?”

“Now it’s the fruit season, you know,” Lamjuan answered. “We have plenty of rambutan, santol, lychee and so on. You must take a walk in our orchard some day.”

“Certainly. What a splendid idea!”

A moment later, I took my leave and it seemed that nobody cared whether I left or stayed. Lady Banlue did not ask me to share their meal as she normally would. I left the room feeling giddy and rather stunned. I did not know what to think. Yet, as I walked back home, I kept thinking and thinking endlessly.

I had dinner with Mother, and at the end of the meal she asked me to take her to see a moving picture at Phatthanarkorn Cinema. I sat through the film but I don’t think I understood what the story was about. Images flickered on the screen like fleeting scenes from real life, but nothing was significant or amusing enough to hold my interest. What had happened at Lord Banlue’s house – at Lamjuan’s house – concerning First Lieutenant Kamon Jitpreedee was still very vivid in my mind. I tried to find reasons for my beloved neighbours’ amazing change of attitude towards me, but could not get to the bottom of it. I was not mature enough to fathom the ways of the world and was yet unable to thoroughly understand the twists and turns of social life.

That Lord and Lady Banlue had ignored me because Kamon had joined their company did not depress me so much, but that Lamjuan had as well left me forlorn and miserable beyond words. This was only the first day that Kamon had come to her house, and she had already changed so much. What would my status in that house become as time went by? Lamjuan – Lamjuan whom Pradit had always presented to me as a model girl! Was it really possible? Alas! The comedy of the world!

“Why are you so quiet, Wisoot?” Mother asked as we sat in the boat that took us home. I had long been close enough to Mother to love and trust her like a good son should. I told her everything that I had gone through that evening. She listened attentively and when I had finished talking she smiled softly.

“It’s a simple rule, my son,” she said. “We are poor, and nobody is going to give us the time of day.”

“Do you mean to say, Mother, that the Banlues are going to cut us off?” I asked doubtfully.

“Oh! They have tried to do so for some time,” she answered, and laughed bitterly. “Look! They have not visited us since they have known First Lieutenant Kamon would be their guest. They used to invite us to their home and asked us along to wherever they went. But now, look how they behave towards us! Why do you ask me such a question, my son? You are feeling sorry for losing Lamjuan, aren’t you?”

“No, Mother, I’m not. I’m thinking of a promise I made to Pradit,” I answered slowly. “In fact, I’ve never loved Lamjuan, or rather, I never told her my feelings about her. That’s what I’m very sorry about.”

“There are still plenty of girls for you to choose from, my dear son,” Mother answered.

A month later, it was widely understood that Lamjuan and First Lieutenant Kamon were promised to each other. They went out together almost every day. Kamon was the eldest son of Viscount Sathian Kamonphan, a log dealer in Chiangmai. He had a house on Prajae Jeen Road in central Bangkok. As there was only one servant in the house, Lady Banlue and her daughter made it their business to take care of it for him. The relationship between the Bunyarrat and Jitpreedee families thus grew more intimate as days went by. Kamon usually took Lady Banlue and Lam-juan to his house for the evening and saw them back home after dinner late at night. Lamjuan looked cheerful and happy.

As for the Bunyarrat family and mine, we hardly met even though our houses were next to each other. Our contacts came to an almost complete halt, and it became obvious that Lord and Lady Banlue had cut Mother and I off because we were poor and also perhaps because First Lieutenant Kamon took exception to us. As for Lamjuan, she had forgotten me completely and there was nothing to remind her of me. She had forgotten all the promises she had made to me about being my best friend till her dying day. She had forgotten that she had once entrusted me with the role Pradit used to play for her. She had forgotten everything we had ever told each other, everything that had once made me so happy.

Yet, one day, Mother and I had the surprise to see her coming to visit us, which she had not done for more than a month. I remember that it was a Monday and Lamjuan was dressed in light yellow. She was beautiful as ever, with the same fair complexion and the same gentle smile on her lips.

“Well, well! What’s the big occasion, dearest?” Mother said with some trepidation. “We thought you’d given up on us.”

“Then why didn’t you pay us a visit?” Lamjuan answered as she sat herself down on the carpet next to my mother. “I missed you so much I had to come.”

“How could we go to your house? There hardly seems to be anybody there these days,” my mother replied with a polite laugh.

“Brother Wisoot, you too have made yourself scarce for a whole month,” she said, feigning displeasure. “I think you’ve already forgotten me.”

At that point, despite my efforts to behave politely, I could not help but laugh, and I laughed so hard and so long that Lamjuan became embarrassed. She turned and stared at me with some annoyance.

“Dear Elder Brother Wisoot,” she said in very proper Thai, “I have wonderful news to tell you.”

“So have I, Lamjuan,” I assured her. “Let’s tell each other.”

“You tell me first,” she countered.

“Better let Mother tell you,” I said.

“We are selling our house tomorrow, Lamjuan,” Mother said without flinching. “We’ll go and stay in Bangkok.”

“How dreadful! Selling this house? How come? You’ve lived here less than a year!” Lamjuan exclaimed in obvious disbelief. “Why don’t you want to live close to us? Or is life too hardy on this side?”

“Nothing like that at all,” my mother answered evenly. “We were given a good price, and it’s better to sell right now at a healthy profit. Besides, I prefer to live in Bangkok.”

“Whereabouts will you stay in Bangkok?” Lamjuan asked.

“On Ratchadamri Road in the district of Phaya Thai.”

“Do you have a house there?”

“We’ve already rented one.”

“You must allow me to visit you often.”

“Anytime you want, Lamjuan. We are always glad to see you.”

“And what about your news, Lamjuan?” I interrupted. “When are you going to tell us?”

“I don’t want to anymore, I’m embarrassed,” she rejoined with lovely affectation.

“Why not? What happened?” my mother enquired immediately.

“It was Mother who asked me to tell you,” Lamjuan explained.

“Oh, I see! If it weren’t for that, I bet you wouldn’t have come here, but gone to some better place.”

“No, it’s not that. I really am embarrassed.”

“Why should you be embarrassed: we are friends, aren’t we?” Mother cajoled her.

“We, that is, Kamon and I,” she stammered, “we are to be engaged. Mother asked me to invite you and Dear Elder Brother Wisoot to help with the preparation of our engagement party at our home next Monday, and to be our guests as well of course.”

“Please accept my most sincere congratulations, Lamjuan. I wish both First Lieutenant Kamon and you a happy life. May you both live together for ever.” My mother embraced Lamjuan tightly.

“But you are about to leave this house...”

“No matter where we are or how far away, we will come and help you. I would do anything for the sake of your happiness and welfare.”

Then Mother slowly bent her head and kissed Lamjuan on both cheeks. This was the first time I had ever seen her act like this. As for Lamjuan, while her head was buried in my mother’s bosom, I saw tears streaming down her face even though she was smiling a smile of pure elation.

“Er, I must go now,” Lamjuan suddenly said. “Kamon is waiting for me.”

“Let Wisoot take you home,” Mother suggested.

“There’s no need, don’t trouble yourself,” Lamjuan answered.

I sat still, dumbfounded that Lamjuan had turned out to be the person who had cut off our relationship. Now she was to be engaged, soon she would be married, and she did not want me to be her friend or even her acquaintance any longer. Love – any kind of pure love – is sacrifice, happiness and suffering. Love is life. Since Pradit and Lamjuan had become my friends, I had enjoyed the happiness that love begets for eighteen short months only. That happiness which had showed me Paradise was now followed by suffering and sacrifice – and sacrifice I certainly could, if it was for the goodness, beauty and happiness of two friends whom I loved more than my life.

The days and months followed one another. Lamjuan celebrated her engagement! Lamjuan married First Lieutenant Kamon Jitpreedee! Pradit and I still wrote to each other once a month.

I had several reasons for endeavouring to find an opportunity to go abroad. All of Pradit’s letters, apart from asking for news of Lamjuan, were full of details about life abroad, specifically England and France. Pradit often compared these countries’ cultures, traditions and important events with ours. “It is essential that you understand that foreign countries are not the paradise you think and First Lieutenant Kamon claims,” one of his letters emphasized. “We have to face countless difficulties, poverty, and the loneliness we feel when we are in a strange land among people speaking a strange language. I work like a mad man. If I didn’t, I’d feel so homesick that I couldn’t stand it. But, however difficult life is for us in a foreign country, at least it helps us to become real men. The loneliness we feel when we are on our own teaches us to depend on ourselves, because we have no one else to depend on. A monthly stipend of seven pounds (some 75 baht) forces us to be frugal and thrifty. And if we don’t work, we feel despondent. All this helps us to be good men. Everything considered, Wisoot, you should seek the opportunity to come to England. Come and have a look! And we will meet each other again.”

My father had left enough money for all my brothers at the Samsen house to go and study abroad. As for myself, I was so stupid that it would have been a waste of resources to send me abroad. My brothers therefore went away and returned one after the other, while I was left with the duty of praising their good fortune.

Pradit had gone; Lamjuan had left to live with her husband and she surely did not wish for me to interfere with her happiness – and this was only natural. During the visits I still paid there on occasion, Lord Banlue’s house looked forlorn and deprived of any sense of fun since Lamjuan had left and, if truth be told, I did not care to see Lord and Lady Banlue. Thus, I had no friends left. Although I still had some acquaintances, I felt unbearably lonely.

Once we had moved to the house on Ratchadamri Road, we were often invited to meet students who had studied abroad. In their company, I felt that I was in a place in which I had no right to be, as if I was trespassing on Mars. The students saw me as a barbarian who knew nothing about the civilized and modern cultures that we should imitate. They saw me embarrassed, and spoke to me in a foreign language. Though I understood it well, I could not communicate in it as fluently as I wished.

I had finished my studies at Theipsirin School. To find work was difficult, as nobody would believe that I could do anything since I was not a foreign graduate. The salary that I was offered would not be sufficient for me to live on. Alas! Such is the dismaying status of Thai schools!

I had to go abroad! I kept asking Mother every day about the chances of doing so. When she was still wealthy, Mother had been swarmed with friends and relatives, but now that she was in dire straits, it seemed that all of them thought she was dead. Nobody paid any attention to her any longer. Nevertheless, for my sake, she set about visiting them in turn to ask for their help in sending me to study abroad. They welcomed her reluctantly and help was out of the question. Some promised to help but told us to wait. I waited for months on end, and finally they said that they could not help. So, I became hopeless again.

All that time I had to wait and dream and build castles in the air, only to encounter hopelessness and all kinds of deceit. When someone promised to help, it was only to get out of an embarrassing situation, by making us wait and hope only to end up utterly disappointed. I felt that the world in which I had to live was a bitter and cruel place, and I felt so angry with my destiny that I shed tears. They were not tears of sorrow, let me tell you, but tears of wrath!

Having lost any hope to have others help me, I had to depend on myself. I went to see my eldest brother at the house in Samsen and inquired if there was any money left for me. He said that I had twenty thousand baht, which Grandfather had bequeathed me, but that I could not dispose of that amount until I reached the age of twenty-one and I should keep it as investment capital. My brother claimed that Father had given him these instructions a few days before his death. I protested that if that amount of money was really left by Grandfather, I could not see how Father could have any authority over it. I wanted to go abroad, and that sum of money would be needed to pay for my expenses there. We argued for two or three hours before my brother finally approved, not without warning me that the twenty thousand baht would last me only a few years overseas, and that I would have nothing left to live on when I returned.

I was too determined to go abroad to worry about the final consequences. I wanted to learn the secret of other countries’ advanced development. I wanted to learn why those who returned from abroad looked so prosperous, clever and smart, and gained high salaries and prestige quicker than anyone else. I wanted to discover the celestial pool of gold in which Thai students abroad took a dip before returning home gilded from head to toe. Since I did not have enough money to take a full dip, I only asked to be able to see that golden fount – seeing it would be enough. Even if I had to die over it, it would be worth living for such a death.

That day, after talking with my brother, I left his house and walked to find a streetcar to go and see an acquaintance of mine in Bang Rak. As I got off the streetcar and was about to take a bus at a crossroad, I saw Lamjuan and her husband sitting in a big Buick sedan. She saw me before I had a chance to raise my hat to her, but turned and looked the other way, pretending that she had not seen me. Ah! She had really cut me dead, so definitely that no lingering sentiment would ever restore our intimacy in this life. Goodbye Lamjuan, my dearest, my most beloved friend! Till death do us part! As for Kamon, I think that his experience abroad had taught him to look down on those who were not lucky like him, to be arrogant and to think highly of himself. What if I had to go through the same kind of education: wouldn’t it be enough to want to only see the golden fount?

Soon, the news of my going abroad spread widely among relatives and friends. So, when the day of my departure came, many people went to see me off, which surprised me very much. Mother and I took a car from our house on Ratchadamri Road to go to the Borneo store to embark on the Kuala. As I got out of the car, I saw Lamjuan and Kamon standing with smiling faces waiting to greet us. Next to them stood Lord and Lady Banlue. All of them talked to me in a friendly way and wished me good luck. Lamjuan kept teasing and flattering me, and I was thoroughly bored of having to wear a mask in this social comedy. Although I acknowledged all the niceties and compliments with a smile, I did so reluctantly. The more I heard Lady Banlue and Lamjuan badger me with an endless flow of sugar-coated words, the more I felt disgusted. In this world, apart from my mother, nobody showed any sincerity. Would Pradit have acted in the same way as they did if he were still in Siam? I was suspicious of him and of everyone else in this world, everyone except Mother.

At the appointed time, the Kuala left the dock and slowly went down the river. Goodbye, my dear friend. Goodbye, Lamjuan.

A new world – Paradise Δ

As the Kuala steamed across the Gulf of Siam heading straight for Penang and Singapore and I lay on a rattan chair on the deck in the soft breeze, it was the first time in my entire life that I could think of my fate and of my past existence with a clear mind devoid of any kind of resentment. I do not know what had softened my heart and prompted me to forgive everyone in the world who had ever been malicious to me. During the last few months prior to my departure, I was so weary of Siam and the Thai way of life that I felt as if I had gone mad. Living there only made me suffer and offered an ugly picture of covetousness, selfishness and injustice. I felt that Siam was not a suitable place for me to live in. Nobody needed me. The day when I would have the opportunity to escape for good would be a day of real happiness. I could find a new world, I could find Paradise everywhere except in Siam. And now I had finally left, and I was sitting and sleeping at leisure, basking in the serenity of change. Whenever I thought about Siam and the relatives and friends I held more or less dear, it was with the cheerful heart of a philosopher. I reflected that if I was born under an unlucky star, many other people were more unfortunate than I was. The inequity and injustice I had suffered continuously since childhood may have helped me realize what real life was and how to be a good citizen in the future. Being left with no share of the inheritance in Father’s will may yet strengthen my character by making me strive to earn a living through my own efforts, so that every cent in my pocket would be my proudest possession because I would have earned it by myself. Poverty is not significant, dear readers, if we are knowledgeable and broad-minded.

For the Thai students who went abroad in groups, I was the one who was fortunate because I was going on my own, free of worry like a single man out to conquer the world. At home, my brothers and sisters were already wealthy. Mother had gone to live with my eldest brother, and she received proper support from him. As for the others, there was no need to think of them. The Kuala was sailing on, and so were my thoughts and my heart.

The ship stopped at Penang Island for six hours. Viscount Wiseit, who was taking me to England, hired a car and we went sightseeing around the island. Our Malay chauffeur drove very fast and most dangerously, even though we kept telling him to slow down. Like most drivers in the Federation of Malaya, he was irredeemably addicted to speed. Within two hours we had travelled around the whole island. The road went up and down and often twisted in steep and narrow bends which our car negotiated at terrifyingly high speeds, courting disaster. Even now I still cannot remember how we finally made it back safely to the Kuala. The ship departed in the evening. About a day later, we reached Singapore, which was where we would board a large passenger ship heading for Marseille in France.

Singapore drivers drove as badly as those in Penang. During our three-day stay there, we did not feel like going anywhere by car. In the afternoon, we remained in the hotel or took a stroll in the Botanical Gardens. At night, we went to the opera house to watch Gondolia and The Mikado, composed by Gilbert & Sullivan. Singapore streets were pleasantly clean. Chinatown, the area where most Chinese resided, looked fairly interesting, but its restaurants were very noisy. The beat of chopsticks striking against bowls and plates as well as the clashing sound of cymbals reverberated thunderously.

Two days later, the French ship André-Le-Bon docked to take passengers on board. She was nothing much to look at, because she had not been built to carry passengers but to transport cargo during the war, but I was greatly excited. As soon as I embarked, I set about looking all over the ship. At the time, I knew only one word in French, “merci”, but wherever I went, stewards and sailors addressed me loudly in that language. Undaunted, I tried to communicate with them by gestures. I believe they must have thought I was Khmer or Vietnamese, but when it dawned on them that I could speak no French, they decided I must be a Chinaman. If your complexion is the same as mine, wherever you travelled, nobody, at least at the time, knew enough to assume that you were Thai, because no one had heard of Siam, even though Siam is so close to Singapore. After we got on the ship, settled down and freshened up, we heard a bell clang and a siren hoot, signalling that the ship was about to depart. Then she slid along the dock and left, and it meant the start of my voyage across the ocean – across the ocean of life.

I will not tell you about the people we met during the journey because you can guess what happened: most passengers were French, and they kept to themselves, given that I could not speak their language. There were two or three beautiful foreign women among them, and I liked to follow them to see what they were doing. Sometimes, they turned to smile and try to strike up a conversation, but when they saw that I did not understand them, they gave up. In the afternoon, they played dominoes and bridge in the lounge, and they danced every evening, except when the waves were too fierce.

During the trip, our ship stopped at several South Asian ports. All the things I saw there reminded me of the saying: “The even path winds down to Hell, the rocky path winds up to Heaven”. If we hold that Western countries are like Heaven, then South Asia is Hell indeed. I have yet to see a city in the world more obscene, more despicable than Colombo, Djibouti or Port Said. Whatever we did and wherever we went in these three cities, we faced all manner of pilferage, deception and cheating, sometimes to the point of extreme danger. The people we saw were not only repulsively ugly but also brutal and cruel like savage animals. When they saw travellers with decent, innocent faces, they could not wait to pounce on them.

Of the three cities, Colombo was the worst. To reach the city from our ship we had to take a small rowboat which took about twenty minutes to reach the shore. The rower was a Sri Lankan coolie with a fierce mien and the body of a giant. Once we agreed on the fare, our group of four, comprising Viscount Wiseit, myself and two white passengers, sat in the boat and the dreadful Tamil started to row. About half way through the trip, the man suddenly dropped the oars and demanded double the fare or else he would capsize the boat. Realizing what was happening, the American who sat next to Viscount Wiseit drew up his pistol, pointed it at the man and compelled him to take us to shore. The ruffian could see that the American was serious, so he resumed his duty while laughing broadly in a display of big, white teeth. Hardly had we landed when we were surrounded by all kinds of villains making all sorts of requests in a deafening clamour, offering to change money or to drive for us, and they all vied loudly with one another to peddle their wares.

We – Viscount Wiseit and I – agreed to rent a car and had one of the ruffians drive it for us. After a fairly long drive, the man took us into a coconut orchard, stopped the car and demanded that we give him double the agreed fare or he would let us walk back. We had no idea where we were and had no gun to force the bastard to stick to the bargain, so we were forced to hand him the amount he wanted before we could continue our journey.

As you know, the island of Sri Lanka, which is also known as Ceylon, has a famous Buddhist temple which foreigners from all nations are wont to visit, and it was that sacred temple that the bandits used for their nefarious activities. They offered to guide us to the various places in the temple at exorbitant rates. They would steal whatever we possessed, even in our very presence. For example, if you wanted change from a banknote to pay for a guide’s service, they would say that they had the change, but when you actually handed over the note, they claimed they had to get the change from an official, and ran away, never to return.

Back to the hotel, you were cheated again by the servants, who wore white skirts and white shirts and combed their hair in buns with huge, crescent-shaped combs stuck in them. If you wanted to send a letter home from Sri Lanka and let the hotel handle it, they would tell you that though there were no stamps left they would find one for you presently; then they asked you to leave the letter with one of the properly dressed clerks, who would stick the stamp on the envelope and post it for you. If you handed them the letter as well as the money, you could be sure that both would be lost forever and your letter would end up in a wastebasket. Such was Sri Lanka, my dear readers!

From Colombo, it took six days to reach Djibouti, a little seaport under French control in the eastern part of the African continent. The city was nothing but sand and mountains, and the weather was terribly hot. We were told that Djibouti was almost as notorious as Colombo for its cheating, so we had no wish to go sightseeing there. A moment after the ship docked and while the coolies were busy unloading coal and provisions, several African children came swimming around the boat, calling out and splashing about noisily; all were skinny, with red hair which looked exactly like the fibres of dry coconut shells, and burning red eyes because they stayed in the water all day long almost every day. They shouted at us to throw coins into the water, then dived as deep as they could to catch them between their teeth and in no time popped back to the surface with the coins in their mouths. Some of them climbed on to the deck to beg for money and then went up to the very top of the ship, from which they jumped all the way into the water, head first or feet first as we requested. The ship was in Djibouti for four hours, and then steamed forth to Suez.

As soon as we left Djibouti, we were caught in a violent storm, which tossed the ship for about eight hours. There were gales with heavy rain. Fortunately, I was never seasick. In the midst of the turbulent sea, I would walk up to the deck. I occasionally met the chief mechanic as well as the person in charge of the ship, whom we called ‘Captain’, and they each complimented me over my good fortune, as this was my first sea voyage. When the storm was over, the Red Sea was quiet and the weather hot. The sun shone brightly. In whichever direction we looked, we could see large schools of fish of all sizes jumping up and down playfully near and far from the ship. The longer the ship was steaming along the Red Sea, the hotter the weather grew. At night, we could not bear sleeping in the cabins and everyone went to sleep on the deck chairs stretching in long rows all the way to the stern. I was between Viscount Wiseit and the American who had gone with us in the row boat to Colombo. We chatted until late into the night about the many things that we had seen.

“Why do you folks prefer to study in England?” he asked. “I don’t understand what makes England better than the States.”

“We, Thai students, know that the Americans are prejudiced against the colour of one’s skin, and as you can see, sir, ours is dark,” I pointed out.

“That’s true. I accept that we are quite narrow-minded over this matter, because we have no opportunity to know the peoples of the East, we don’t travel abroad very much, and most of us don’t have enough education to broaden our minds. But in any case, your complexion is not dark at all. I don’t believe anyone in the world would mistake you for a Negro or an Indian; more probably you’d be taken for a Chinese or a Japanese. If you go and study in the States, I think you’ll be as happy there as in England. Not all Americans discriminate against complexion. In Boston, San Francisco or Maine, you could find an American family to live with, and I believe that they’d like you very much,” he answered politely.

Mr William W Hutchinson described to me the goodness, beauty and progress of the United States of America until late into the night. He tried to persuade me to study there and take American education back to Siam. Americans are honest people, he added, they are straightforward and thus easy to understand. Though they have many weak points, they are not like sugar laced with poison. Going to “get” an education in the States does not mean making a superficial study of the Americans and their way of life, but studying their inner feelings, the true and pure feelings of the American people. A close study of those who practise racial discrimination would probably show that they never thought about whether they were right or wrong or whether they had any reason to actually feel as they did. If we, Thai, were able to make most Americans understand us, and let them know who we were, they would not discriminate against us for certain.

Mr Hutchinson went on talking until both of us became drowsy and fell asleep. But I had already made up my mind to study law in England, and I had only twenty thousand baht with me: how could I ever have a chance to study in the United States of America?

Four days later, the ship arrived at Suez in Egypt. She berthed there for three or four hours in order to pay the entrance toll to the canal that links the Red Sea and the Mediterranean. Several passengers disembarked and took a train to Cairo, the capital of Egypt, whence they would take another train to Port Said, and finally a ship to further their travel to Europe. I remember that we entered the Suez Canal at dusk as it was too hot during the day. That night, there was a cool breeze and the moon shone brightly. The ship moved slowly and we could see the desert on both banks of the canal. Though there were no trees or anything else, this empty picture of sky and sand was very beautiful. Sometimes, the soft moonlight made the desert in the distance look like a pond of glass, a clear, shimmering water pond. At about ten o’clock, we reached Port Said. As soon as the ship berthed behind the breakwater, we saw the monument to de Lesseps, the French engineer who designed and built the Suez Canal. Then we set sail in the Mediterranean Sea, making for the Greek island of Crete and then Italy.

As we neared Europe, the weather became increasingly cool and invigorating. There was not a cloud in the sky and the moon shone gloriously. The sea made the view all around us more beautiful. The passengers put on their finest garments because the days of scorching weather were over and we were getting close – close to Paradise? Every night, they enjoyed dancing, and I liked to watch them. Viscount Wiseit, who had taken several official trips abroad and liked to dance, also enjoyed himself.

Two or three days later, the ship passed the Greek island of Crete and skirted the Stromboli volcano to enter the Strait of Messina in Italy. This strait had the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen. On one side, a city clung to mountain slopes among wavy rows of different kinds of orange trees; on the other stood the Sicilian volcano and Messina, an old city with all kinds of ruined military camps and ancient buildings. After passing the Strait of Messina, the ship steamed on, heading for Marseille in France.

When I was in Siam and during my journey through various countries prior to reaching the territorial waters of Europe, I often believed, thought and dreamt that foreign countries such as England, France, Germany or Italy were paradises – paradises of beauty and wealth, devoid of all the things that make life so bitter. The new world I was going to was certainly a paradise. I was too young and not educated enough to know much about the Great War fought in Europe between 1914 and 1918, and I had no idea about all the hardships that had befallen these countries because of the war. It was not until my arrival at Marseille that reality became startlingly obvious. Marseille! Ah, Marseille!

The ship berthed at about eight in the morning. The place was full of people who had come to greet their relatives and of coolies who were busy fastening the ship’s ropes and unloading goods. Handkerchiefs were being waved and names shouted with glee and trepidation. After a while, a doctor and a few officers came on board to examine the ship. When they were satisfied that everything was all right, they allowed us to disembark.

“At which hotel will both of you stay today?” our American friend asked Viscount Wiseit. “You are catching the train to Paris tonight, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” Viscount Wiseit answered. “But we haven’t decided where to stay.”

“Come and stay with me at the Hotel de Ville,” Mr Hutchinson suggested. “It’s hardly expensive and very nice.”

“All right, sir,” we decided.

“And since you are representing your government, you may want to wire ahead to the Thai embassy in Paris asking them to pick you up at the station when you arrive.”

“Certainly.”

“Well, I’ll arrange that for you at the hotel. Let’s take a trip around Marseille. I volunteer to be your guide. If somebody knows Marseille and France, I do.”

“That sounds good. Thank you, sir,” Viscount Wiseit answered. We hired porters to take our belongings into the car, and went to the Hotel de Ville with Mr Hutchinson. Our American friend’s knowledge of French was good enough to make himself understood by the driver, so we were all set.

Though the distance from the port to the Hotel de Ville was short, the various scenes I saw on the way compelled me to ask myself in wonderment: was it true that foreign countries were paradises?

During the Great War, France and Belgium had sustained repeated wounds that were more severe than those suffered anywhere else in Europe. The war had been fought in these two countries from beginning to end, and the ashes of destruction were still there for the world to see. At the time I reached Marseille, the town was still in ruins. The streets were bumpy and full of dust and dirt. There were needy-looking people on the move everywhere, some starving, others barely able to eke out a living. Some were rogues who liked to bully passers-by whenever they had the chance. But let me stop drawing the picture of Marseille now, because I do not want you to feel as sad as I did then.

At eight o’clock that night, we took a through train to Paris.

It took us sixteen hours to reach Paris. At the station, a young officer from the embassy was waiting for us. The train stopped amidst whistles and the shouts of the porters and the greetings of those who had come to meet relatives. Though it was noontime, the station was dark and stuffy, and the air filled with smoke and ashes. The shrieks and clangs of trains changing tracks somewhat startled me. Then boys selling newspapers added their shouts to the clamour.

“Where will you stay here? At the Thai embassy?” our American friend asked me as we shook hands to take our leave.

“That’s right, sir. You can meet me there,” I replied.

“Do you have someone to guide you in Paris?” he kindly asked.

“I don’t know yet,” I answered.

“Well, I’ll meet you at eleven. Wait for me there.”

Then we said goodbye and parted ways. Mr La-or, an assistant to the ambassador, led us to his rented car and drove us to the embassy at 8 Rue Greuze. The embassy was closed and looked dark. The air everywhere seemed to be impure. After I had an audience with the ambassador for one hour, I began to feel dizzy as if I were going to faint. His Excellency the Ambassador – His Royal Highness Jaroon – was very kind to me. He spoke to me in a friendly manner for he used to be Father’s close friend. He said that he would be glad to help me at any time. We stayed happily at the embassy for almost a week.

At eleven the following morning, someone entered my bedroom and told me that an American was waiting to see me. I knew instantly that it was Mr Hutchinson because I had yet to know any other foreigner. Hutchinson took me to visit various places in Paris by car. We stopped to take a meal at Bocardi Restaurant on the Grands Boulevards. I felt as if I was in Paradise, happy as I had never hoped to be. I kept asking myself what kind of good deeds I had done to receive so much kindness from this foreigner. We conversed in English. At the time, my understanding was fair, but I still hesitated when I spoke. Whenever I said something wrong – and that was often – Hutchinson corrected me in a friendly way. We went on sightseeing the whole day in easy companionship.

When I went back to the embassy in the evening, I met many students chatting together in the sitting room. As they thought that I was a new student, they did not wish to talk to me. I went to bed and still kept asking myself: was it true that foreign countries were paradises?

London and Pradit Δ

Three days before we left Paris, I wrote to Pradit Bunyarrat at 13 Langham Garden in London, asking him to meet Viscount Wiseit and myself at the station upon our arrival. When the day and time of departure came, we went to pay our respects to the ambassador and started our journey to England. We took a train at Gare du Nord, got off at Calais and took a ferry across the Channel, which was choppy and windy. About an hour and a half later, we reached Dover in England, where we took a train to London. The whole trip from Paris to London lasted about seven and a half hours.

The train arrived in London at exactly 7pm. At the station, an officer from the embassy had come to welcome Viscount Wiseit, and Pradit had come to meet me. I remember that it was a day in autumn and the weather was rather cold and damp. Because of this sort of weather, Pradit’s complexion looked unusually pale, so that I almost failed to recognize him. He rushed to me and shook my hand firmly with obvious delight, then put his arm round my shoulders and led me straight to Viscount Wiseit.

“Your Excellency, sir,” he said. “His Excellency the Ambassador has given me permission to take Wisoot home for the night. We need not have an audience with His Excellency until tomorrow morning. May I take Wisoot with me now?”

“Hum, what’s the relationship between the two of you?” Viscount Wiseit asked.

“We are like brothers, sir,” Pradit replied.

“All right then, but listen to me first: he has just arrived, so don’t do anything foolish, will you,” Viscount Wiseit teased.

“I promise, sir. Goodnight.”

As soon as we were out of the station, Pradit introduced his three Thai student friends to me. Their names were Bunchuay, Jamrat and Manee. The five of us took a dilapidated rented car to 13 Langham Garden. Bunchuay, Jamrat, Manee and Pradit shared a “flat” on the third floor of the house, which was all for rent. They had the use of two small bedrooms, a sitting-room, a kitchen and a bathroom, all with worn-out furniture and decoration, and they lived there as students do.

“Hey, Pradit, let’s take Wisoot for a meal at the Chinaman’s Hall,” Bunchuay proposed only a few minutes after we had arrived.

“You got some dough?” Manee asked. “I don’t.”

“Don’t worry,” Bunchuay answered. “Let’s share among those who do.”

“All right,” Pradit agreed, then he turned to me and said: “Wisoot, go and freshen up before we go out.”

Once we were ready, the four friends took me to Earl’s Court Station, where we went down in a “lift” to take an underground train. The train moved very fast through a tunnel and stopped at every station. At Piccadilly Circus, we changed to another train, which took us to Oxford Circus. Once out of the station, we turned right and almost immediately came to a house with a porch, where a man in a soldier-like uniform welcomed us and invited us to step inside. We went past the porch, up five steps and finally reached the place we intended to enter. We were greeted by a fairly loud mixture of dancing music, conversations and laughter.

The Oxford Chinaman’s Dancing Hall, as the Thai called it, was a huge place with a second-floor balcony bound by a balustrade. When you looked down through the balustrade, you could see the people dancing on the lower floor. The band played from the balcony. There was not much decoration, except for brightly lit lanterns, and nothing to show that this was a Chinese dancing hall, except that the owner looked Chinese, as did two or three head waiters, who stood there supervising. The place was not Chinese – and neither was the food, but then it was not western either, or in any way pleasing to the palate. I concluded that men came here only to dance with women, drink whiskey and chat at leisure.

That night, there were only a few people, because it was the end of the month and money was scarce. The customers were mostly Indians, Japanese, Chinese and other Asians, some fifteen of them in all, with only two or three Westerners. As for the women, a quick glance was enough to realize what sort they were. They sat together in a great number as usual, waiting for men to pay for their drinks or take them dancing or whatever. Some looked lively, others looked depressed. The pretty ones, who were the stars of the establishment, were invited to dance time and again, but those of lesser looks were left sitting idly by watching the lucky ones enjoying themselves.

The five of us sat at a table in the middle of the balcony and were left undisturbed by the ladies of the night. My friends took turns dancing, while I sat watching them with admiration. I was a newcomer, who could neither dance nor speak English fluently, so I had to sit back and watch. Some ladies occasionally cast inviting glances at me as they walked past our table, but when I did not return their glances, they figured that I was dead wood and walked on.

At eleven the following morning, Pradit took me to meet His Excellency the Ambassador. We found him engrossed in work with his secretary. He greeted and addressed me cordially though, offered to help me to the best of his ability and kindly accepted to act as my guardian. I handed him the one hundred pounds I had brought with me, and he invited Pradit and me to have dinner with him that evening.

“The important point is for you to decide which subject you want to study,” he counselled. “If you want to enter a university, I advise you to go to a public school first. Since you are a self-supporting student, you can apply to any school you like. If you wish to study law, I suggest you live with a family to improve your English first and then come back to London and enter a law school.”

He detailed the various expenses my studies would entail. I decided that I would stay with some English family in order to improve my knowledge of the language, and then return to study law in London. His Excellency said that he would take care of everything according to my wishes and would hasten to find a family for me so that I could start studying as soon as possible.

When we stepped out of the embassy, Pradit took me onto a “bus”. It was a large passenger vehicle with solid rubber tires, a cabin and an upper and a lower deck. Passengers could sit on either level, but there was no roof on the upper deck. Advertisements for movies, plays and whatever else were pasted on the sides of the bus and gave it the appearance of a toy more than anything else. Fortunately the air was invigorating that morning, slightly cold but pleasantly sunny, so we went up to the upper deck.

“Are you on holiday now?” I asked Pradit once we were seated.

“No. All four of us passed the entrance exam to the University of London, but courses won’t start before next month, so we have nothing to do but rest until then,” Pradit explained.

“Tell me about life abroad,” I said. “To tell you the truth, I’m rather scared.”

“Everything’s fine, except that we are so damn poor,” Pradit answered. “They give us seven pounds a month and, with that, we have to pay for the laundry and the bus fare and buy our own clothes and everything else. You’ll see for yourself before long. But actually it doesn’t bother me very much, because Father sends me some money every three or four months, enough to make my life less uncomfortable.”

Me: “Have you ever lived with foreigners?”

Pradit: “Do you mean staying with a family?”

Me: “That’s right.”

Pradit: “I studied English for one full year before taking the entrance exam. Staying with that family was so depressing! I was sent to live with some damned vicar. There was no one else except this old man and his wife, and he was such a zealot he almost converted me into a Christian.”

Me: “Well, you must have been good at your studies?

Pradit: “Not exactly. I was depressed. The food was awful and I never ate my fill. I had to ride on a bus for an hour to go to the cinema. I gave myself entirely to my studies because I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.”

Me: “Why can’t they find us better places than that?”

Pradit: “It depends on your luck, you see. Some are fortunate enough to live with a good family; others are unbelievably unlucky – I was one of those.”

Me: “By the way, Pradit, I’ve got several letters for you from your family. They are all in my trunk.”

Pradit: “Good. Your trunk should have arrived by the time we are home, because I’ve asked the people at the embassy to forward it to you there.”

During the bus ride, I had avoided mentioning Siam to Pradit, partly because I wanted to forget about it. Yet I was surprised that he did not ask news of anyone and did not even mention Lord and Lady Banlue or his dear sister Lamjuan.

“Pradit, I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about home, though it’s been a long time since you left,” I could not help but remark.

“Lamjuan writes to me often and I think I’m fairly well informed of what’s going on there,” he answered.

“Does she mention me in her letters?” I asked.

“She used to, but not any longer. I suppose it’s because she’s married now...” Pradit left the sentence hanging, which puzzled me.

“You don’t mean to say that something happened between Lamjuan and me since she got married, do you?” I asked in a firm voice.

“Not at all, but now that she’s married, she may want you to forget her, for the sake of your own happiness. Life is strange, you know.”

I thought for a moment and then replied: “Honestly, Pradit, I have never loved Lamjuan in any other way than as a brother or a friend. When I learned she was getting married, I was extremely glad and I looked for her everywhere to offer her my congratulations, but I never got a chance to meet her. From the very first day First Lieutenant Kamon came visiting, your family started to behave rather oddly with me.”

“I understand, Wisoot,” Pradit replied sadly, as the bus kept on speeding through the streets.

London is widely touted as one of the largest, most beautiful and most extraordinary cities in the world. Since the end of the Great War, no country in Europe has been as peaceful as England. And London, the capital and seat of Parliament, is the centre of the prosperity and greatness of England, a country whose power radiates in all directions. As I understood that London had the said characteristics, it was only natural for me to imagine her as wonderful as Paradise or at least as beautiful as Paris, which I had just visited. But I am sorry to say that London, in fact, is not at all like that. It is indeed a large and clean city with an exceedingly large population, but should anyone claim that London built itself as a beautiful city of universal appeal, I would strenuously protest. In terms of visual attraction, London is still far behind Paris in its artistic development. Paris has the Champs Élysées, Place de l’Étoile, Place de la Concorde, Place de la Madeleine and the Grands Boulevards. Though England has Regent Street, Piccadilly and Oxford Circus, you will not find streets or places there as beautiful as those in Paris. Monuments and sculptures at road intersections in Paris are all well proportioned, but those in London are so dowdy that it is almost impossible to figure out what they represent. The largest monument, the so-called Nelson’s Column at Trafalgar Square, is a huge stone pillar as high as the sky with the statue of Nelson on top. To see the statue, you have to raise your head and twist your neck, and in winter, fog from dawn to dusk makes it even more difficult to catch a glimpse of it, even through a field glass. I do not know what the English had in mind when they built such a sky-scraping structure. Buildings in London also look inordinately bulky and it is hard to find any beauty in them. Perhaps it is because England is an island which was constantly attacked by its enemies, and her people were too busy fighting them off to bother about the niceties of internationally accepted artistic beauty...

After about two hours on the bus, we stopped for lunch at a Chinese restaurant on the Strand at Charing Cross. The food was good and looked and tasted very much Chinese, and yet the cook, the owner and the manager were all Japanese. Thai students called the place the Charing Cross Chinaman’s Hall. The restaurant that day was full of Thai, Chinamen and other foreigners from the East. What made the place particularly attractive was that the owner had hired several beautiful waitresses to serve and entertain the guests. Apart from frequent visitors, there were plenty of regular customers who came for both lunch and dinner. The restaurant’s owner was clever, so he was rich.

After lunch, Pradit took me for a walk along the Strand and then we turned into Holborn to see the afternoon movie at the Stall Picture House. When the movie was over, it was teatime. We took the underground to Gloucester Road, and entered Lion’s Tea Shop near the embassy. Many Thai government officials sat in a group and they ordered – rather than invited – us to join them at their table. Afterwards, Pradit persuaded me to play bridge at the Langham Garden house.

There, we chatted until dusk. At the appointed time, Pradit and I got dressed for dinner with the ambassador. After dinner, His Excellency Prapharkorn Wongsawang kept us talking until late into the night.

Three or four days later, I had the surprise of receiving a letter from Lamjuan, and a very lengthy one it was, stretching over many pages. She enquired about Pradit’s wellbeing and mine and asked me to reply promptly and give as many details as I could about Pradit. She wrote of her new life and happiness, and gave news of Kamon. Her letter was full of flattery, as though she still presumed we were intimate friends. She hoped that when I returned, we would resume our relationship and that our friendship would grow even more intimate as days went by. She also reminded me of our discussions on monogamy.

“Oh, my dear brother Wisoot,” one part of her letter enthused, “we are enjoying ourselves so much now. Everyday, Kamon’s friends, all overseas students, come here and we are having a good time. When you return, I will drag you over to join us, and we will have great fun together, my dear brother and only dearest friend.”

Alas! Poor Lamjuan! Hadn’t she realized that she had already killed the pure love I had for her – the love of a friend, to which no other love can compare? Every sweet word she poured forth fell like water on a stone. Not a single drop could seep into my innermost feelings. She had cut me off, turned away from me and left me exposed to Kamon’s contempt when she thought that I would never get a chance to go abroad. None of this was mentioned in her letter, however. She did not utter even one word of apology. Instead, she flattered herself with all sorts of presumptions, posing as my very best friend from the moment we met unfailingly to the present day. What a shame! The circus of life! Were we to wear masks forever in front of each other?

At first, during the voyage across the sea, when I was in France and when I arrived in England, I felt at times that I could forgive her. I reasoned that she had reacted to me the way she did at someone else’s instigation. I told myself that she was like a ship drifting on the ocean without helm or rudder, her direction left to the vagaries of wind and waves. Moreover, I did not believe that Kamon was good enough for her. Kamon liked to look down on people, and it was only a matter of time before he saw some flaws in her. He then would look down on her as he looked down on all Thai who had no opportunity to go abroad. A man like him had no true love. But Lamjuan was not a rudderless ship drifting alone on the deep sea. Her letter plainly showed that everything that she had done to me she had done deliberately, without prodding from anybody. She was old enough to know her own mind, and she had never repented for what she had done. Poor me! I kept asking myself if ever there would be a day when I could forgive her.

I often brooded about how changed I would find her four or five years from now when I would go back home and meet her again. In Siam, women age quickly or at least think of themselves as old even though they may have retained some of their youth and beauty. How many children would she have? Her face might have lost the youthful radiance I had seen. She might have turned pale and gaunt with suffering and become bored with what she now called her “new life”. When the novelty had worn off, how would she be faring?

After I finished reading her letter, I looked up at Pradit, who was on his bed putting his socks on. Our eyes met. He asked me: “So, is there anything in Lamjuan’s letter?”

“Plenty,” I replied reluctantly.

“Good news?”

“Sort of.”

“I can’t stand women,’’ he suddenly said. “They bore me. I can’t find one who is constant in love – and foreign women are even worse!”

I threw Lamjuan’s letter into a drawer, and remained silent.

My dear readers, did you notice how Pradit’s behaviour had changed since he was abroad? He had turned into a boy who talked idly and jokingly. He often used slang expressions and had even changed the form of address he used with me in Thai. Yet he was happy, and enjoyed his childish behaviour!

A new life Δ

No other chapter in the story of my life will give me more pleasure to write than this one. I write it with pride. I write it out of my love for writing. Happiness! A new life, my dear readers! The new is always better than the old, don’t you think?

I had been in London for about two weeks when His Excellency the Ambassador instructed me to go and live with an English family at Bexhill, in the south of England. His Excellency guaranteed that if I stayed with Captain Andrew, I would enjoy myself and be comfortable, because that man was not at all like the foolish vicar Pradit had lived with. I left at ten one morning and it took only two hours and a half to reach Bexhill. The train had hardly stopped when a man in a golf outfit walked straight to the window of my compartment and asked me:

“You are from the Royal Thai Embassy, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir,” I replied.

“I’m Captain Andrew. Come with me.”

I got off the train. Captain Andrew extended his enormous hand and shook mine so vigorously that it hurt. He then helped me take my petty belongings off the train.

“Let’s go over there and find your trunk,” he suggested. “All luggage is stored at the front of the train.”

We walked side by side to the front part of the train. I pointed at a large trunk in the pile of luggage and said: “There, that one is mine.”

Captain Andrew turned round and looked at me with a puzzled expression, then said: “Eh, you speak English very well.”

“Not so, sir,” I answered. “I studied a little at home and during my voyage on the ship.”

“Good,” he replied.

He ordered one of the porters to load my belongings onto a large truck, gave him his address, then took me to the front of the station, where a nice car and its driver in a neat uniform were waiting for us.

“This is our car,” Captain Andrew said.

The captain was in his fifties, tall, big and balding, with a rather dull complexion and the red and blurry eyes of a heavy drinker, but he was a good-natured man. As we sat in the car which trundled along the shore, I felt him observing me with interest.

“Do you know that I’ve never been a teacher and have never taken a student as a boarder in my life?” he said with a note of intimacy in his voice. “You are my first, and maybe the last one as well.”

“Why?” I asked.

“During the war, I happened to live in Siam for two years. I was very well treated there, and I felt that, even though your country is not as developed as we are, it’s still peaceful and happy. Thai people helped me a great deal, and I came to know many high-ranking officials, including your father. Siam made me very happy, and I wanted to do something in return, so I decided to take care of you.”

“How did you know I would be coming?”

“Well, last summer I invited your ambassador here for a week’s holiday,” he replied, and then lit a cigarette. “We talked about Siam almost every day. He told me that another student would be coming shortly, so I asked him to send that one to me.”

“Oh! How lucky I am,” I said enthusiastically.

“I’m glad you feel this way,” he answered. “We’ll try our best to give you comfort and happiness. Mrs Andrew will take good care of you. We have an eleven-year-old daughter. Her name’s Stephanie. She’s beautiful and talkative. You’ll like her when you see her.”

“Certainly, sir,” I acquiesced.

Bexhill-on-Sea was a calm, clean and dazzlingly beautiful place. All the time the car was moving leisurely along the coast, the air was deliciously cool and refreshing. The waves broke along the shore at regular intervals in splashes of white foam. Though it was noontime, the sunshine was not hot to the point of making us uncomfortable. We passed two or three small theatres and the Seville Restaurant and then turned into Middlesex Road. A moment later, the car stopped in front of a nice two-story house with beautiful green plants creeping along its walls. It used to be a summer residence of Queen Victoria of England, and Her Majesty kindly called this abode ‘The Queen’s Cottage’.

Immediately, a well-dressed servant opened the door to welcome us.

“Take off your coat and your hat and put them here,” Captain Andrew told me as we entered a small room at the front of the house. I took off my coat and hat and hung them. Then I stood uncertainly, not knowing what to do next.

“Elsie! Elsie!” Captain Andrew called.

“What is it, Bertie?” a voice answered from upstairs.

“Our friend is here,” the husband said. ‘‘Do come down.”

The woman who had thus been called came running down the stairs. She was of the same age as her husband, fat and big, but her face glowed with kindness. She walked straight to me and extended her hand. I respectfully lowered my head and shook her hand gently.

“It’s wrong to shake hands so softly, Mr Visutra,” Mrs Andrew admonished with a radiant smile. “You should grasp my hand vigorously to show me that you are really glad to meet me. Please do it again.”

I executed myself satisfactorily, which pleased this kind woman very much.

“Where’s Stephanie?” Captain Andrew asked.

“She’ll be down presently,” his wife answered. “Let’s go and have a chat in the sitting room.”

Both of them took me into the sitting room, which was luxuriously decorated. On the walls hung photographs of Queen Victoria and of the present King of England as well as other pictures. The furniture – upholstered chairs, mahogany table, bookshelf and so on – looked neat and clean.

“Are you feeling tired?” Mrs Andrew asked.

“Not at all, Madam. I have done nothing but sit on a train for a couple of hours,” I answered.

“We were thinking of taking you out this afternoon. We’ll drive to Eastbourne and have tea there. What do you say? We’ll take Stephanie along.”

“That is fine, Madam,” I acquiesced. “I am sure it will be great fun.”

“Eh, how come your English is so good?” Mrs Andrew exclaimed in surprise. “Why do you have to study it? Er, you spell your name ‘Visutra’ – what should we call you?”

“My name is Wisoot,” I replied.

“Is it all right then if we call you by this name?”

“Certainly, Madam.”

At that moment, we heard a knock on the door and a child calling: “Mummy, mummy, may I come in?”

“Please do, Stephanie,” Mrs Andrew answered with a sweet and gentle voice.

The door was pushed open and the little girl thus named came running into the room and stopped right in front of me.

“This is our only child, Mr Wisoot,” Mrs Andrew told me. “And this is the friend I told you about, Stephanie.”

I shook Stephanie’s hand and was stunned by the little girl’s beauty and loveliness. To speak truthfully, I felt that she was the most beautiful and lovely girl I had ever seen in my life. Stephanie was rather short for her eleven years. She had a creamy-white, oval face with sparkling blue eyes, rosy cheeks and a well-shaped mouth and nose, but her most striking feature was the curly blond hair that flowed down to her waist. As we shook hands, she stared at me with a slightly puzzled expression, because I looked odd to her: my complexion, face and manners were unlike anything she had ever seen. But this child’s puzzlement did not turn into distaste; on the contrary, it was a marvellous fuse which brought love, intimacy and friendliness to both of us as we came to know each other better. When the handshake was over, Stephanie sat down on an arm of Mrs Andrew’s chair and put her arms round her mother’s waist.

“We have lunch at one,” Mrs Andrew told me. “You should go up to your room and freshen up. We’ve prepared the most beautiful room for you.” She then turned to Captain Andrew and said: “Bertie, please take Mr Wisoot to his room.”

“Sure, Elsie,” her husband answered, and he led me out of the sitting room. Upstairs, he showed me the bathroom and then the bedroom, which was indeed luxuriously appointed. Though the room was fairly narrow, due to the smallness of the house, it looked comfortable. Captain Andrew explained to me how to use the wardrobe, the bed and the other items in the room. Then he took me to one side and pointed to a small box against the wall with a wooden bird on its lid.

“This is where you’ll keep your money,” he explained. “When you press this button, the bird pokes its head and chirps, and the lid opens. Once you’ve inserted the money, you should press the button again. The bird will chirp, and the lid will shut.” He demonstrated how to use the box, and we both burst out laughing because the chirping of the bird was very funny indeed.

After I washed my face and finished dressing, Jenkins, the servant who had opened the door for us when we reached the cottage a moment ago, entered my room in polite fashion and said: “The meal’s ready, sir. Mrs Andrew asked me to invite you to go downstairs.”

I followed him to the dining room, where the owners of the house and their daughter were waiting for me. I apologized for being late, explaining that I got dressed very slowly as I didn’t know how to dress properly.

“Don’t worry, Mr Wisoot,” Mrs Andrew said. “We’ll teach you how to dress quickly in the next few days.”

Captain Andrew pointed to a chair and signalled me to sit down. When I saw the table, I was completely surprised, because it was made of polished black wood, shiny with lacquer, and there was no tablecloth on it.

“Aren’t we going to use a tablecloth?” I asked.

“This is modern furniture,” Mrs Andrew answered. “Be careful not to spill anything on the table while you are eating, though. There’s a sixpence penalty for each mistake. My husband has to pay nearly a pound every month.”

I sat opposite Stephanie, with Captain Andrew to my left and Mrs Andrew to my right. We started to eat and it wasn’t long before I spilt a glass full of water on the table. The three of them had a jolly good laugh.

“How much shall we fine you, Wisoot?” Captain Andrew asked.

“Never mind,” his wife said, rushing to my defence. “Tell Jenkins to clean up. Accidents do happen, Mr Wisoot. We’ll forgive you this time.”

After lunch, we sat chatting in the house for a while, then got into the car. Mrs Andrew pointed out various important places to me along the way, while Little Stephanie kept asking her father when we would reach Eastbourne.

“Since you have come to live with us,” Mrs Andrew said as the car was speeding along, “you’d want to know who we are first. Bertie and I got married very late, though we’ve loved each other ever since we were children, but some obstacles kept us separated for many, many years. We got married during the war, in India actually. That’s where Stephanie was born, also during the war. Bertie was in France for three years and he was shot three times. Finally, he was demobilized and transferred to the reserves. Then he went to Siam for two years, and liked it very much. We just returned to Europe two years ago and stayed in London for a while, but we got bored and decided to buy a house here in Bexhill.

“We decided to take you with us because we’d like to know Thai people better,” she went on with a kind voice. “Besides, we feel quite lonely as we have no son. If you like us well enough, we’d like you to call Bertie ‘Daddy’ and me ‘Mother’, so that we feel even more intimate and happy than we do now.”

My dear readers, you can imagine how delighted I was over Mrs Andrew’s kind, sweet words. I was so elated that I couldn’t find the words to express my gratitude to her. I was to be the son of these two honest and kind-hearted people. I felt as if I were in a dream, and couldn’t believe that what I was hearing was true. Ah! my dear friends, I can’t think of any other statements in the world as pure and precious as those Mrs Andrew had just made: Captain Andrew was to be my father, Mrs Andrew my mother and Stephanie my sister! Could there possibly be a higher heaven that would bring me more happiness than the present one? Suddenly, memories of my childhood in Siam came vividly back to me: the house in Samsen, Grandma Phrorm, Jek Tee’s raft, little Bun Hiang, the gambling with the coolies at the mill behind the house, the house in Bang Chak, Lamjuan – the veil of tears I used to live behind. All of these memories much enhanced my present happiness – the happiness of living with Captain and Mrs Andrew – by inviting the comparison between suffering and happiness and between reality and dreams.

After about two hours’ driving, we reached Eastbourne, which was a gorgeous and festive big city in the south of England. We stopped at the Grand Hotel to freshen up, then went to drink tea and listen to music in a large, overcrowded hall. We sat there until five, and then got in the car to return home.

That night, Mrs Andrew came into my bedroom and, while she fussed over everything for me, gave me all manner of advice, about the best kinds of soap and toothpaste, the time of the various meals at home, and so forth. Finally, she said goodnight and left. And this marked the end of my first, supremely happy day at the Queen’s Cottage.

The longer I lived at the Queen’s Cottage, the more my happiness grew. I called Captain Andrew Daddy and his wife Mother. Stephanie was my only sister. The harmony shared by the four of us developed smoothly and was devoid of misunderstandings. Daddy and Mother did their best to cater to my comfort and felicity and to make me feel that the house in which we lived was also my home. As for me, I tried to behave myself to be worthy of the goodness I received. Though I did feel lonely at times – Bexhill was such a quiet town – as I mentioned earlier I took advantage of that loneliness, and there wasn’t a single minute when I wasn’t happy. Foreign countries are indeed paradises! I had found the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and I was savouring it and wallowing in it from head to toe. If I am able to do some good in the future, I owe it to the Andrew family with whom I lived during the first part of my stay in England.

The happy life I led taught me to feel concern for other people’s wellbeing and not merely my own; it also taught me what true love was and helped me forget the miseries of the past. Better leave fate to fate!

I lived at the Queen’s Cottage like an ordinary Englishman. There was nothing Thai there, except myself. As my character was not too hard to reform, and as such a reform was beneficial, it wasn’t long before I became a good-natured man able to get along with other people without feeling embarrassed. For the period of more than a year that I lived and travelled with Captain and Mrs Andrew, I never met a Thai nor did I ever speak any Thai.

I could go on endlessly about my life at the Queen’s Cottage. It was a life full of sweetness, life in a paradise in which I was surrounded with loving concern from dawn to dusk and treated with care and tenderness as if I were some kind of priceless jewel. Every Sunday morning, the Andrew family took me to church and after church Daddy and I went riding along the beach, or else, when Mother felt like going out, I went fishing with her and Stephanie.

Although I am not a Christian, going to church regularly has never bothered me, and those visits helped me understand the truth in life that says: “Broad-mindedness and concern for others lead one to happiness”. The sermons I heard Reverend André Mernalist preach every Sunday at St Marie Church have led me to believe that all religions which are not mumbo jumbo are equally valuable and full of meaning. They may take different paths but they share the same destination: they aim at supporting our lives by granting us rewards commensurate with the good we do. Thus, do Christianity (Daddy’s and Mother’s religion) and Buddhism (mine) substantially differ?

Apart from great happiness and positive thoughts, the Andrew family bestowed on me yet another invaluable gift, namely knowledge which few people receive, about various forms of art found in the world such as literature, music and life chronicles. Captain Andrew, who had studied at Harrow and Cambridge University, had never been a teacher, but with me as his only son and student, he was able to fully impart his knowledge and introduce me to the world’s most famous writers and musicians – Tolstoy, Sir Walter Scott, Dickens, Lord Byron, Shakespeare, Mendelssohn, Schubert, and so forth and so on. He taught me to understand the objectives of these great men in creating works of art that were part of the history of the world.

Even now, whenever I close my eyes and think of the Andrew family, I feel I still have not fully paid back my debt of gratitude to them. The happiness and advantages they gave me are so invaluable that I cannot possibly ever acquit myself of such a debt.

Lady Moira Dunn and Maria Grey Δ

“Wisoot,” Daddy told me one day as we spoke in my room. “I have a feeling that sometimes you are very lonely, because it’s so quiet here. Are you happy with us?”

“Daddy, I have never felt so happy in my life,” I replied enthusiastically. “I would like to stay here till the day I die and I don’t even feel like going out at all.”

“Well, we’ve arranged a couple of friends for you to meet,” Daddy said with a little smile. “They’ll arrive here from Paris on Wednesday. You are a young man, so you probably won’t mind having a couple of young women to talk or dance with. Staying all the time with old people and an innocent child like Stephanie isn’t good for you. If I were you, I’d be bored to death.”

“Stephanie is a fine girl and she is good to me, Daddy.”

“I know, but she’s too young.”

“Who is coming on Wednesday?” I asked.

“Lady Moira Dunn,” Daddy answered. “She’s a correspondent of The London Times. She’ll bring her friend Maria Grey along. Miss Grey is also a reporter for that newspaper.”

“Is Lady Moira old or young?” I asked him jocularly.

“She’s one of our close relatives. She’s about thirty-five,” Daddy answered in earnest. “But her friend is still young, and she has promised to cheer you up for the duration of their stay here.”

“Will they stay here long?”

“Newspaper people like them can’t stay with us for long,” Daddy replied as he lit a cigar. “They have to travel and work a lot. However, they’ll be with us for at least a week. It’s their holiday.”

Presently, there was a knock on the door. I asked who it was.

“It’s Mother, Wisoot.”

“Do come in, Mother,” I answered.

Mrs Andrew came in, holding Stephanie’s hand.

“Bertie, it seems you’ve told Wisoot all about Moira’s visit, haven’t you?” she asked her husband.

“Yes, Elsie,” her husband rejoined. “And Wisoot looks much happier already.”

“Wisoot, Lady Moira is good at riding horses, playing golf and writing,” Mother told me. “You will like her as she is a very interesting person. Besides, she’ll be here with her friend. But, my dear son, be careful not to fall in love with Moira’s friend because you will forget us all and go away with her.”

“Is Lady Moira’s friend beautiful, Mother?” I asked.

“We have yet to meet her,” she answered. “But Moira said she is. Of all The London Times female reporters, Maria is one of the most beautiful, she said.”

“But they will only be with us for a week,” I said sadly.

“You’ll meet them in London when you are at the university or when you study law,” Mother answered. “You should make friends with them. But I must ask you not to fall in love with her.”

Since that morning, my thoughts revolved around Maria Grey and Lady Moira Dunn’s impending arrival on Wednesday, which made my stay at the Queen’s Cottage more exciting. They would be the first young English women I would come to know. But the longer I waited, the more I felt that Wednesday would never come.

On Wednesday morning, I was asked to help tidy the room where the two visitors would stay. The Queen’s Cottage was a small house with three bedrooms. The largest was that of Mother and Stephanie. Daddy slept in another, and the smallest one was for me. While Lady Moira Dunn and Miss Maria Grey would be with us, Mother and Stephanie would share Daddy’s room and leave theirs to the guests. We helped one another spruce it up. They were expected at eleven.

That day was very close to winter and fog filled the streets, and we felt cold all the way to the station although we were in a car. We had been waiting at the station for twenty minutes when the train arrived.

“Auntie, my dear Auntie!” a woman called out from a window of the train.

Mrs Andrew immediately answered: “Moira, darling!” then ran and went into the carriage where her niece was. I saw the two kissing and getting off the train. A young lady walked behind them.

“Hello, my dear Captain Andrew. How are you?” Lady Moira said merrily and then shook hands with Captain Andrew.

“Don’t call me Captain Andrew, Moira,” Daddy remonstrated. “For you, I’m Bertie.”

“All right, Bertie,” Lady Moira readily agreed.

“Moira,” Mrs Andrew said, introducing me to her. “This is our son I often wrote to you about.”

Lady Moira and I shook hands with mutual enthusiasm. Though I could not see her face clearly because she wore a hat and its span almost covered her eyes, I could easily see that she was beautiful. She had a strikingly white face with sharp, dark eyes.

“Oh, Mr Wisoot,” she said pleasingly as we were shaking hands, “Aunt Elsie wrote me so much about you that I had no trouble picturing you, even though I’d never met you. Would you believe it? I know you so well I could have drawn your picture last week.”

I stared at Lady Moira Dunn with delight, but did not answer. A moment later, she introduced me to her friend. “You must know my friend – and she will soon be yours too – Miss Maria Grey.” She then turned to the lady whose name had just been mentioned and said: “My dear Maria, this is Mr Wisoot.”

Maria Grey and I cordially shook hands. She wore no hat of any kind as her long hair, neatly parted in the middle, was rolled in a bun at the back. Though she was a bit plump, she was indeed beautiful and charming. Her eyes were black and large and shone brightly. She had a fairly long nose and healthy skin and was conservatively dressed. During our handshaking, Maria stared at me and smiled gently without a word. Once Lady Moira had introduced her friend to all of us, we got into our Austin sedan and drove directly to the Queen’s Cottage.

The car was too narrow to carry us comfortably. Captain Andrew and Stephanie had to sit in the front, next to the driver. Mrs Andrew and Lady Moira sat on the back seat, while Maria Grey and I sat on small flap seats facing them. As the car sped along, I noticed that Lady Moira often shot glances at me. Finally, she asked: “Do you like the cold weather in our country, Mr Wisoot? You are used to hot weather, so perhaps you don’t like it.”

“Weather like this is not too cold; I like it,” I stammered.

“I don’t think you’ll like it when winter really comes – it’s almost with us, actually,” Lady Moira went on. “Winter here is terribly cold, with only rain, fog and snow. To go anywhere is a problem and we catch cold so easily. In London, it’s worse, but Bexhill isn’t too bad.”

“I have already prepared myself for winter,” I said.

“What are you going to study?” she asked.

“I intend to study law in London next year,” I answered.

“Law,” she repeated. “Do you like being a lawyer? A lawyer must be good with words, but I’ve yet to hear you speak at all. Or is it easy to earn money in the legal professions in Siam? Is there not much competition?”

“No, it isn’t,” I answered. “In Siam, there is much competition in this field. There are many law graduates, so it is hard to earn a living this way. But we come to study law here because it does not take much time and we can study fast.”

“I don’t think legal professions are any good,” Lady Moira stated peremptorily. “It would be most difficult for us to be like Sir Edward Marshall Hall or Sir Ellis Humes William. Besides, I can’t see any justice in the law. Just think about it: what you need to win a case is rank, money and good lawyers. People who have enough money to hire good lawyers have no problem winning their cases, no matter how wicked they are. If they have done something terrible and everybody knows about it, the court will find them guilty but they’ll get off with a light sentence out of proportion with the offence they have committed – just because they have good lawyers. Oh, I could give you many other examples.”

I did not reply. Our car passed the Seville restaurant, turned into Middlesex Road and finally reached the Queen’s Cottage.

While Mrs Andrew took both guests to the room we had prepared for them upstairs, I sat with Captain Andrew in the sitting room downstairs.

“Is Maria Grey beautiful, Wisoot?” Daddy asked.

“She is very beautiful, Daddy,” I answered. “But she doesn’t look English at all.”

“Her mother is Italian, and Moira tells me she looks exactly like her mother. Do you like Lady Moira?”

“I do. She is a good talker.”

After the women had freshened up and changed, they came down to chat with us. Without a hat, Lady Moira looked less beautiful. Her hair was cropped at the nape and discoloured, which did not quite match her complexion and dark eyes. At a rough guess, she looked past thirty. She was tall, rather thin and had distinguished manners. She had travelled all over the world as a London Times correspondent and was well versed in literature and world politics.

As for Maria Grey, she was a young woman of twenty or twenty-one, a newcomer to the newspaper world. As Lady Moira talked about all sorts of events she had witnessed, she listened intently and asked the occasional question.

“Why don’t you try journalism, Mr Wisoot?” Lady Moira asked. “It’s exciting, and you’d see lots of things ordinary people have no opportunity to see. You speak English well. Can you also write?”

“Wisoot likes to write short pieces. He is very good at them,” Captain Andrew answered in praise.

“That’s fine then,” Lady Moira stated firmly. “Why don’t you try to become a member of the newspapers’ association? We call it the Press Club; it’s at the Haymarket. Once you are a member, you could contribute to one of the good papers, like ours, why not? I’ll help you.” Lady Moira paused for a moment, then added: “I’m sure, Mr Wisoot, you’d love travelling all over gathering news. We have opportunities to go to America, Japan, China, all over the world, you know. Once you’ve proved yourself a good and reliable reporter, you’ll be promoted to correspondent status, with a comfortable monthly salary.”

“Why do you want me to be a journalist?” I asked.

“Is there anyone in Siam who has made a name for himself in the press?” Lady Moira asked back.

“No, there isn’t, because the press in Siam has a very low status and people do not consider working in a newspaper as a career. A newspaperman there earns three pounds a month at most.”

“In this country,” Lady Moira explained, “only ten years ago, those who worked in newspapers weren’t considered human beings. It was Lord Northcliffe who helped upgrade our status to what it is today. But I thought Siam was a country with good newspapers acting as the voice of the people and of the government, because Siam rules herself admirably, unlike Burma, India or Cambodia.”

“If we are able to govern ourselves, we owe it to other talents, not to journalism,” I pointed out.

“The small countries of Scandinavia have a population of five to six million people each, yet they can support a lively press. What’s the population of Siam?”

“More than nine million*,” I replied, “but you cannot really compare Siam to the Scandinavian countries because we just began to develop with the hope of becoming a modern country under Rama V**. Although this beloved king started a great many things for our country, we have not yet had the time or resources to carry them out properly. We are very poor, Lady Moira. If we concentrated our development on education or journalism only, other equally important sectors would stagnate.”

At that very moment, we heard a bell ring, signalling that lunch was ready.

“I’ve never been to Siam and don’t know enough about your country to be able to discuss it with you. But since Siam still has no good newspaper, I think it’s all the more important you should study journalism so that you can be the Lord Northcliffe of Siam.” She shot me a teasing glance, then turned to ask Mrs Andrew: “Wasn’t that the lunch bell? My dear Aunt, I’m famished.”

We then all moved to the dining room.

“Lady Moira,” I asked as we were eating, “what are the duties of reporters and correspondents? Do they have a motto of their own?”

Lady Moira paused to think for a while and then answered: “Just as good citizens must be loyal and well-disposed towards their country, so must journalists towards their newspaper. Press and nation are one and the same thing. The journalists who become famous are those who love or hate their country equally strongly – but you must understand, Mr Wisoot, that those we call unpatriotic might be so from our point of view only, while they themselves think they love the nation – an automatic kind of love, shall we say.”

“Everything that’s written in a newspaper,” she went on, “is ideas, opinions or feelings which reveal the patriotism or lack of patriotism of the writer. As a journalist, you can’t think one thing and write another, and even if you could, you wouldn’t do it. Before applying to become a journalist, you must determine what you personally feel about your country and about the world, and you must know for certain the objectives of the newspaper you choose to join.”

“And how about the motto of journalists?” I asked.

“Journalists must always be disciplined and aware that various things constrain their opinions and their very life,” Lady Moira replied, “and yet feel free, feel happy – and their freedom is real! So, their motto is something like: freedom derives from strict discipline – the discipline that comes from the newspaper’s objectives and from the wellbeing of the nation.”

“Do journalists earn enough money?”

“It depends on personal ability. For capable people, journalism is a profession which can earn the greatest amount of money in the world. A single article may bring you five hundred pounds. And if you are famous, there’s no end to what you can earn from your writings. Furthermore, most journalists are able to write short stories or novels because they travel all the time, accumulating experience. So, apart from writing articles, they can earn money from writing fiction in their spare time.”

“Go for journalism, Wisoot,” Mrs Andrew intervened. “It’s more interesting than studying law. And maybe you’ll be the one who will establish a permanent press in Siam.”

“Do study journalism, Mr Wisoot,” Maria Grey, who sat next to me, joined in, “and you can be with us on Fleet Street.”

“There are several reasons why I can’t study journalism,” I answered. “Journalism is an ongoing subject that knows no end. Besides, it is not sanctioned by a degree. In Siam, those who return from abroad with no degree are at a great disadvantage. People will think they wasted their time abroad only to come back empty-handed. Even though they do find employment, they are paid so little they can hardly eke out a living. No one will believe in their ability if they have no diploma to vouch for it.”

“Then go to Oxford or Cambridge first. Once you have a degree, you can start learning journalism,” Lady Moira countered. “As soon as you are back home, you should set up a newspaper to show the people how a good newspaper can be of benefit to the nation. I’m sure you are wealthy enough to do so, Mr Wisoot.”

“Not everyone is born lucky, Lady Moira,” I answered slowly. “I cannot afford to study in Oxford or Cambridge, let alone establish a printing press in Siam. I have no money, but this does not bother me. I will be twenty-three this year, and I have been in this world long enough to know not to regret what I do not have or am not offered.”

“How very wise of you,” Lady Moira said, sounding disappointed.

I turned to look at Maria Grey and saw her beautiful eyes gazing at me in a way which showed plainly that she was pleased I did not try to hide my real condition.

“When Mr Wisoot speaks,” she told Mrs Andrew, “I don’t feel that he is Thai at all. I think of him as English all the time. Apart from his features, I can see nothing that shows that he is Thai. Mrs Andrew, since Mr Wisoot is already your son, why don’t you give him an English name so that we can call him more easily?”

“Er, what should we call him?” Mrs Andrew asked.

“I had an elder brother who died in the war,” Maria Grey said. “He was the best person God ever put on earth.”

“What was his name?” Mother asked.

“Bobby,” Maria answered.

“So, we’ll call Wisoot Bobby. How about it?” Mother asked.

“That’s good,” she replied and then looked up at me.

Seven days in seventh heaven Δ

A period of untroubled happiness began in my life while I stayed with Captain and Mrs Andrew. It was a strange bliss. It was more than people of my condition deserved. I had better luck than I had any right to even imagine, and the truth was that the Queen’s Cottage was the abode of supreme happiness in Paradise for both body and soul. Even now, although my body is thousands of miles away, my soul remains there forever. Never shall I forget the Queen’s Cottage.

The peace and quiet of Bexhill in which I was thoroughly immersed was not conducive to loneliness and misery. That peace and quiet gave me a unique opportunity to read all kinds of books and learn about the ways of the world past and present. Charles Dickens, Sir Philip Gibbs and other famous authors were my friends and they came to converse with me every day and gave me more felicity than I could ever express, teaching me about life and making me pity some people whom I would have hated otherwise. Within this blessed solitude, constant reading and learning generated in me wonderful thoughts and dreams and gave me the ambition to create something that the world would notice, something that would contribute to the happiness of mankind on this, our common Earth. I dreamt and thought about what our good life should be like. I would create some work to fit that dream, and pondered what form it should take. I thought of all the goodness and beauty of the world, which I would try to immortalize in writing. But these pleasant reflections had neither consistency nor substance; they were like thin air, and I was like a bird in a tree who is not sure on which branch he will come to roost. This kind of musing went on until I met Lady Moira Dunn and Maria Grey.

Lady Moira Dunn was not merely a citizen of England or of any particular country; she was a citizen of the world and her thoughts were of the world. Even so, she loved England because she was English. She was prepared to sacrifice herself for her country at any time. Even though she was aware that the British government and England herself did many things wrong, she still stood by them with body and soul, because she believed that she was a true part of the English nation and as such the rights and wrongs of England were hers too.

I am a Thai, born in Siam of Thai nationality. My character is thoroughly Thai and no power on earth would force me to belong to another nation. My duty to the land of the Thai is of the same nature as Lady Moira’s duty to England. How unfortunate that I did not have the opportunity to stay with Captain and Mrs Andrew and know Lady Moira and Maria Grey before I went to live in the house in Samsen as a son of Marquess Wiseit Suphalak. There is no way that I could know for sure what my life would have been like, but I might have been able to make Father really love me and be truly kind to me, and I might as well have been able to love my parents, relatives and friends more than I ever did. What a shame, don’t you think.

The saying ‘to go abroad is to gain prestige’ probably applies only to those Thai students who have the opportunity to mix in good foreign company. Thai students abroad are just like Thai students back home: some are lucky, others are not; some go abroad and return improved; others come back the worse for it. Those who return with a pleasing disposition and constructive thoughts have had excellent opportunities during their stay abroad, staying with foreign families of high or fairly high standing and receiving a good ethical and professional education. Others, even before they go abroad, behave like uncouth Chinamen, spitting everywhere, swearing and talking vulgarly at all times, and once they return from abroad, they behave just as they used to, they do not change in the least and constitute a threat to the peace and quiet of the land. That is because they never met with anything good abroad, and even if they did, good people were unable to correct them and finally gave them up and abandoned them to their own nature. Whenever I went to the Chinaman’s dancing hall or to any of those places the Thai abroad like to patronize, I would meet youngsters like this always surrounded by dancers and drinkers, always roaring drunk and making vulgar comments about everything without the least sense of propriety. I think that those who sent these unfortunate Thai students abroad must also share the blame. Rather than selecting them beforehand, those with money and power send them without thinking about how much damage their bad manners could cause Siam. Badly behaved students should be corrected in our country, and those who cannot be reformed should be sent to jail. We should not leave it to foreigners to correct them, as it could cause pain and shame for the students, those who sent them and the country as well.

I want you to understand that foreign countries are paradises only for a few Thai students.

As for me, I must count myself among the lucky ones. Although I went abroad for only six years, I had the chance to see and experience many beautiful things and to visit wonderful places. I saw things that were part of the very heart of the country’s progress. I did see the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and I can die happy. Once you have read this story, if you are able to see in it something even remotely good and beautiful, you owe it largely to Captain and Mrs Andrew, to Miss Stephanie, to Lady Moira Dunn and to Maria Grey. Had I not had the opportunity to know these five people, I would never have been able to write this story.

The Andrew family helped me appreciate the goodness and beauty of the English way of life. They taught me the duties of a good child towards his parents, brothers and sisters, and I was never as happy as while I was studying. Lady Moira Dunn guided me towards certain things that were good and beautiful. She was the one who helped orient my thinking in a suitable way, the one who stilled the branch for the bird of my thoughts to come to roost and nest. Maria Grey is the wonderful power that compels me to write this story to the very end. I write it for her!

Talking of Maria Grey, even though we have finally parted for more than a year now, her name and spirit are still deeply etched in my memory and will remain there forever. Remembering her brings happiness and the thought that, whatever life will be in the future, it will be worthwhile because I have lived long enough to meet a woman like her. Besides being my friend and my love, she has been my guide as well and she will keep guiding me in the many ways of goodness and beauty. Maria Grey!

The day after Lady Moira and Maria arrived at the Queen’s Cottage, I hurried to get dressed before dawn, hoping to be lucky enough to meet someone downstairs. As soon as I went into the living room, I saw Maria standing at a window. She wore a dark-brown skirt and a jumper with black stripes, a sports outfit that was fashionable among women at the time.

“Good morning, Bobby,” she greeted me like a close friend. “You are up early.”

“Good morning, Miss Grey,” I answered politely. “You too are indeed up early.”

“Working people like me only stay in town,” she claimed with a sweet smile. “A holiday like this comes once in a long while. I must seize the opportunity to get up early to go out and breathe the pure air of the sea as much as I can. Will you accompany me, Bobby?”

Her tone, although almost alike a command, was also melodious and was most agreeable to my own purpose. To go for a walk with a young woman as lovely as Maria, and for the first time in my life! Who would have refused?

“Let’s go, Maria. But wait,” I said, “I will go and change. It will only take a few minutes.”

“All right, hurry up.”

The Andrew family had taught me how to dress correctly on all occasions in conformity with the tastes of the English, and I had become quite an expert at it. I had soon put on plus fours and a jumper and I went down to Maria.

“Oh, Bobby,” she exclaimed in surprise at seeing me dressed in a way she had not thought possible, “you dress so well, but your jumper is too thin. Aren’t you afraid of being cold?”

“If I am cold, walking will soon warm me up,” I answered, pointing to the sun, which was appearing above the wooden fence on the side of the house. “Look, there is already some light and it should be pleasantly warm before long. We have not seen any sunshine here for a week but today the sun is coming out especially to welcome you, Miss Grey.”

“Tell me, is this the way Thai poets express themselves?” she asked. “If so, Siam must be a paradise.” After a short pause, she added: “But don’t call me Miss Grey. It’s so formal. I call you Bobby – my name is Maria for you.”

“All right, I shall call you Maria from now on.”

We then began our walk together along Middlesex Road and down to the beach, where we strolled at leisure, talking away. Sometimes we would run to get some exercise.

Bexhill was as peaceful as ever. Apart from the sighs of the waves that broke on the shore at regular intervals, there was no other sound. We went past buildings of various sizes – restaurants, clubs, churches, houses to let. In front of us were St Leonard and Hastings. These big resorts were so dead quiet they seemed completely abandoned.

“Bobby,” Maria asked, “is it true that you are poor?”

“What do you think?”

“Moira and I talked about it last night and we agreed that you were not telling the truth. For all we know, you are a prince in your own country, with wealth and a huge palace.”

“Not at all, Maria,” I answered, then smiled. “What I told you at the dinner table last night is the truth, nothing but the truth. I am poor. If I had not met and stayed with Captain Andrew and Mrs Andrew, I would not have known how much of a burden life is, and I may have long been dead.”

“I like poor people who are well educated,” she answered then glanced sideways, looking at me with her beautiful eyes. “They always make me happy. I’ve seen a lot of poverty, Bobby. I used to stay in the East End of London and at Montmartre in Paris.”

“And you also used to stay in posh Mayfair and Rue de la Paix,” I added.

“I think I have liked you since the first minute I saw you at the railway station, Bobby,” Maria said as if to change the subject. “I first noticed your eyebrows, which look so much like those of the Buddha. Your eyes are so big, so full of goodness and honesty. I have felt since the beginning that we were going to be real friends.”

I looked at Maria, my beloved friend, with delight. She linked her arm to mine and we proceeded until we came to a fairly large rock jutting out into the sea. Maria invited me to sit on it and talk with her. “Oh, it is so wonderful, Bobby,” she exclaimed.

“Bobby, tell me the truth,” said my beloved friend. “Do you have the drive to do something big that the world will notice? The ambition to become famous?”

“I do, Maria,” I answered. I took her hand and held it tightly. “I am ambitious. I want to be a good writer in Siam, my country. I am poor, and I want to find enough wealth to have a decent enough life through writing books, but this is difficult in Siam: nobody there likes to read books, and most writers are short of money.”

“Why not be a writer in Europe or America, then?”

“There is much competition among writers here,” I answered, “and I do not believe that I know the language well enough to write as well as English or American writers do. I have the ambition to write something outstanding unlike anything anybody has ever done. Siam is a country with the best opportunities, but, before I achieve success, I must make myself known to create public interest.”

“How right you are, Bobby,” Maria answered. “To advertise is most important for the success of any kind of endeavour, and maybe in Siam someone has already written a few novels of substance to open the path.”

“Maria,” I said admiringly, “you are still very young and yet you have a fairly good knowledge of Siam. I am amazed, as what you say about Siam having only a few novels of substance is very close to the truth.”

“I was only guessing,” she answered, “but if that is the case Siam is the best place to carry out the kind of undertaking you have in mind, Bobby. The important thing is that you must make yourself known. I’m sure you will succeed. This much I can predict – do you know why?”

“I don’t, Maria.”

“Last night, Mrs Andrew gave us a few of your short stories to read in our bedroom. Some are good, they have substance and are deeply moving, which shows that you have elevated thoughts and a good character full of kind-heartedness. Moira will ask you to let her present these stories to the editor of a monthly magazine we know who will check them, and maybe some will get printed as well.”

“What! I have been able to write that well?” I asked incredulously.

“You’ve done them well enough, but I don’t want you to be overconfident,” she answered. “You must try to write better than this several times over, but you’ve told me that you have the ambition to write a new type of novel that will be the best in Siam. Why don’t you join a newspaper, then?”

“Why should I?”

“To write a good, useful novel, one must know a lot about life beforehand, and reporters and newspaper correspondents must travel around; they go to various places and see more of life than people in any other profession. Since your heart is not in being a lawyer or a judge, why do you bother to learn law?”

“The life of a novelist in Siam is very hazardous, Maria. Writing a novel, you must fear dying of hunger more than anything else.”

“Bobby, have you never felt that, whatever we undertake in earnest, there are lots of obstacles and risks along the way? For the peace and quiet of the country, we must get rid of thieves, which puts the detectives, the police and ourselves at risk to some extent. Whatever we do, we must face danger. I want you to be successful in the way you really want, Bobby. I like you very much, because I’m certain that you are a good man – good for me and good for the world.”

“And what story do you want me to write, Maria?”

“You must become a journalist, to go to various places in the world beforehand,” she said, moving closer, almost touching me, “and then write about all the kinds of life you have encountered, and call that story The circus of life.”

I did not answer. We fell quiet for a while, watching the small waves crashing at the bottom of the rock on which we sat side by side.

The days and times of supreme happiness for me in the company of Maria Grey were inexorably drawing to a close. The needling feeling that soon the friend that I most loved must go away without knowing when or indeed whether we would meet again kept piercing my heart relentlessly. Although we had only known each other for a few days, Maria was clearly showing me how much she felt for me. She believed in my abilities, she believed that my ambitions would soon be fulfilled. She called me “my Bobby” and I was her Bobby only. Even though we had not once told each other that we loved each other, dear readers, we knew each other’s heart well enough. I tried to suppress the extravagance of my love because I felt that I had no right to it. As for Maria, she tried to show the world that we were in love, because she held that pure love is nothing to be ashamed of.

“Maria,” I said, almost imploring her, “if you are good to me like this forever, I think I must love you – love you more than my own life for sure. I know I should not, because – because we have no right.”

Maria immediately looked at me with sad eyes, smiling a little.

“Bobby, why do we have no right?” she asked, wrapping her arms around me. “Why can we not love each other?”

“There are many reasons, Maria,” I answered, seizing her in my arms in the same fashion. “The main one is that you are European, living in a cold country with certain customs. I am Thai, I come from a very warm country with other customs – very different from yours. You would not be able to get along with my relatives and friends in Siam and – and I am poor, Maria. Where would you find happiness?”

“Bobby,” she answered, “haven’t you ever thought that God created everything on earth as couples, has meant one being for another being, and we do not know what He has meant for us until we meet that other being? Why can we not love each other?” she insisted. “Coolies, beggars – even they get married, and surely we are better than coolies or beggars, because we have received an education and we can choose what we want. Oh, Bobby, my darling, I love you. I love you. You must try to understand.”

We fell into each other’s arms and exchanged a kiss of the purest love.

“I have only known you for four days, Bobby,” she declared slowly, “but I feel like we have known each other since we were born.”

“Maria, since the first minute I saw you at the station,” I said, still holding her gently in my arms, “I have felt that I would be in seventh heaven for seven days, but after those seven days are over – you will leave, Maria.”

“Bobby,” she said with a beautiful voice, “time and duty may force us to be apart from each other but love will bind our hearts together forever. We will meet again, Bobby. I know that this world is full of mercy for the two of us. God will not allow us to feel hurt.”

“Lady Moira told me about the life of reporters and newspaper correspondents yesterday,” I said sadly. “I know that, no matter what, it is your duty to go anywhere. It will be difficult for me to find you. I am afraid that once you have left we will be separated until we die, Maria.”

“Separated until we die!” she exclaimed with dismay. “That cannot be true, Bobby, that is impossible. We shall meet again. Aren’t you also going to London? I stay in London all the time, and so will you, and we will meet there, we will meet everyday if you so wish.”

“Are you certain, Maria, that we can meet in London?” I asked.

“I love you so much, Bobby,” she moaned. “I love you so badly that I am allowing my heart to press you into changing your way of life in a direction you have not chosen.”

“Maria,” I declared, looking at her earnestly, “what do you want me to do?”

“In your country, you have never received anything of value,” she said, bowing her head to rub it against my shoulder. “No one there wants to help you. You have no position or anything to care for. And you still are not free?”

“Free, Maria – I am free.”

“Then what do you want to read law and go back to Siam for?” she asked. “Who wants you? What will you do there? Why don’t you apply to be one of us journalists, to stay with us, to stay with me, Bobby? I want you – I want you more than anything in the world. Stay here and everybody will want you. You will have parents – Captain and Mrs Andrew. You will have friends. You will have a woman who loves you and who will love you for as long as we live. You must be a journalist, Bobby, my darling. Be it for me, be it for the life and happiness of us both.”

It is true that “tears are happiness and happiness is sorrow”. I was then happier than anyone will ever be, I was happy because I loved Maria, I was happy because I was certain that, whatever person I was, at least one woman in the world loved me with all her heart, body and soul – and that woman was a foreigner from another land, speaking another language and endowed with another complexion. Yet I was suffering because the woman for the sake of whose love I was dedicating my life was about to depart. As she implored me again and again and mingled with me in the highest love, I knew not how to answer her questions – and tears flowed ceaselessly.

“Have you already forgotten, Maria,” I asked her finally, “that you told me the other day you want me to go back to become someone important in Siam, that you want me to write The circus of life for the Thai people to read?”

“I talked that way then because I did not know you well enough,” she answered. “Now that I know your character and feelings, I can’t let you go back to your country. I feel that you’d only waste your time there.” After a moment, she added with a voice that had lost hope: “But then, Bobby, if you really want to go back to Siam, to your country, to your own kind, to your own home, you should do so – nobody can stop you.”

“Not at all, Maria, I am not thinking like that at all,” I answered. “I love you more than to let you go and not want to see you again. But your idea of me becoming a journalist scares me. I am afraid I do not know English well enough.”

“English is a language that is easy to learn, and you know it well enough already. I don’t see any reason to be worried,” she stated.

“It is getting late, Maria, we should be going back home, lest Mother is worried,” I urged her.

“Let’s go, Bobby.”

We walked arm in arm down the beach, turned into Middlesex Road and finally reached the Queen’s Cottage. I felt that Maria was angry with me. I was afraid that she was, but I did not know why.

Great sorrow Δ

The last evening before Lady Moira and Maria had to go back to London to resume their duties, Daddy arranged for all of us to go dancing at Alexandra Hall in Hastings. Mrs Andrew excused herself, saying that she was too old, but insisted on Daddy and me keeping Lady Moira and Maria company. The night was terribly cold as winter had set in. It was raining and a cold wind kept blowing. We sat in the car with all the windows closed but we still felt cold, and it took us nearly an hour to get there from Bexhill.

Alexandra Hall, the most luxurious dancing hall in Hastings, stood on the west side of Victoria Street. As soon as we got out of the car, a young fellow in some kind of uniform came to greet us and asked us to step inside. The place was luxuriously decorated. There were about thirty guests, which was a fair number for an establishment of this kind in the English countryside. Though the food was tasteless and the music corny, I thoroughly enjoyed myself because I had a chance to dance with Maria and Lady Moira.

“Bobby,” Lady Moira told me while we were dancing, “will you become a journalist or will you return to Siam to write The circus of life?”

I was startled as I did not expect such a question from her.

“Ah, how very odd,” I said. “How is it you know about The circus of life? Did Maria tell you?”

“Why? Are you embarrassed?” Lady Moira parried. “You shouldn’t be afraid of genuine concern.”

“I am not embarrassed at all, Moira,” I answered, “but I wonder how it is you know about it.”

“I believe I am Maria’s best friend in the world,” she replied. “Maria has told me everything about you, Bobby, and you should realize I am your friend as well.”

“Lady Moira,” I said, delighted, “I have never been as confident in anything as in the confidence I have in your good intentions. I know you are one of my best friends, and I am sure you will remain so as long as I behave nicely.”

“As long as you behave nicely?” she repeated. “Since the day we met, you’ve been nothing but a good boy, Bobby.”

As soon as she stopped speaking, the first song was over. The applause encouraged the musicians to play the next song.

“So what will it be, Bobby?” Lady Moira asked. “Are you going to be a journalist or are you going to write The circus of life?”

“I don’t know. I am still of two minds about it. What would you advise, Moira? What should I do?”

“I’d like to advise you to go back to Siam and write The circus of life. It will be much easier for you,” she answered swiftly. “The life of a journalist is fraught with hardship and danger. I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to stand the drudgery of it.”

“Moira, do you think I am so weak?”

“Not at all, Bobby,” she answered. “Besides, you and Maria have only known each other for a week. You are both very young.”

“We love each other very much, Moira,” I countered to make her sympathize. “Although it is true we have only known each other for a week, we have been happy with each other from the first day we met. You understand, don’t you, Moira?”

“Hasn’t it crossed your mind that you have no right to love Maria?” she asked.

“Perhaps I have no right, but I am only a man, not a god. Do you think I can help it?” I retorted. “From all I have seen of her during these seven days, Maria is such a wonderful person that I can’t help loving her.”

“What you say is right, Bobby, but if you still want my advice, I do suggest you go back to Siam and write The circus of life.”

“Aren’t you and Maria sharing the same house in London, Moira?”

“That’s right. We live in the same house.”

“May I go and see you there?”

Lady Moira paused for a while, then answered: “Honestly, for your own sake and for Maria’s, I’d rather you didn’t meet us again in London or anywhere else.”

“Why?” I asked her, anger swelling in my voice.

“I had a relative who married an Indian prince four years ago. She committed suicide about six months ago. A few weeks before her death, she wrote me a letter telling about what she was going through. But, oh, Bobby, I can’t tell you what she wrote. It was too sad.”

The music stopped for the second time. We went to sit at the table in a corner where Captain Andrew and Maria were waiting for us. I sat motionless, feeling despondent. I heard Lady Moira’s voice ringing softly in my ears : “For your own sake and for Maria’s, I’d rather you didn’t meet us again in London or anywhere else... I had a relative who got married to an Indian prince. She committed suicide six months ago...”

Alas! The circus of the world! East and West!

The following morning, the two ladies from the capital began to pack their belongings in order to go back to London. I did not pay any attention to their preparations, nor did I think of helping them in any way. Before breakfast, I sat waiting for them in the room downstairs, trying to read a newspaper but unable to understand any of it.

“Would you mind if I open this window?” Jenkins asked me. “The weather’s good today.”

“Go ahead, Jenkins,” I answered.

Though the weather outside was fresh, I felt it was full of sadness, loneliness and equivocation.

“For your own sake and for Maria’s, I’d rather you didn’t meet us again in London or anywhere else... I had a relative who married an Indian prince four years ago. She committed suicide six months ago...” These words were still ringing sharply in my head.

After Jenkins rang a bell to signal that breakfast was served, everyone in the house gathered downstairs. Daddy and Mother looked as brisk as ever.

“Poor Bobby,” Mother said, “all your friends are about to leave. But don’t worry, my dear son, you can go and visit them when you are in London.”

I smiled then glanced at Lady Moira, but she avoided my eyes and walked straight to Captain Andrew.

After the meal was over, Maria Grey excused herself, saying she had to finish packing, and went back upstairs.

“Bobby,” Lady Moira told me, “you should go up and help Maria pack her things. I think she needs you.”

“All right, Moira. I’ll be right back.”

I went upstairs, stopped in front of Maria’s room and knocked on the door. A short while later, she answered, “Come in.” I opened the door and went in. She sat with her back to the door and did not turn around to look at who had entered, which made me wonder whether something was wrong. I slowly walked to her, then extended my hand to touch her shoulder and asked: “Maria, are you all right?”

She turned towards me instantly. Her face was full of sadness and her eyes brimmed with tears. I suddenly realized that she still had unwavering love for me. I bent over and kissed her beautiful red lips and she did not demur.

“Do come and visit us again in London, Bobby,” she said, her voice trembling. “Moira gave you our address, didn’t she?”

“What do you mean, Maria?” I exclaimed. “Moira refused to give me your address in London.”

“Why would she do that?” she asked.

“You mean Moira didn’t tell you what we talked about during the dance last night?”

“No, she didn’t. Moira never talks to me about you, except to say that you are a good fellow.”

“And did you tell her about what is going on between us?”

“Of course, Bobby. Moira likes you and she is my best friend.”

“She does not want me to meet you again in London or anywhere else.”

“What! Moira is really strange,” she said. “But you still love me, don’t you, Bobby? We share a flat on the second floor at 314 Piccadilly. If you do come, do so around three or four in the afternoon, because Moira is hardly there at that time.”

“I will, Maria,” I agreed. “I will see you there, second floor, three-one-four, Piccadilly.”

“Write it down in your notebook, my darling,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to forget. In any case, I’ll write to you often.”

I took out my notebook and wrote down her address. Finally, I said to her: “Maria, there is something I would like to tell you. We have been very happy loving each other in the past few days but this is not enough for you to feel obliged to be loyal to me in any way. If you find a good man ready to love you, I beg of you not to think of me – do not think that I am an obstacle to your happiness. I love you and want you to be as happy as you can be. I am poor, I am from another country, and nothing in my life points to an easy future.”

“Oh, Bobby, Moira is right,” Maria exclaimed with a soft smile. “She says you are the best young man in the world, only concerned with other people’s happiness. You’ve made me love you so strongly, Bobby. Oh, Bobby, I’m very fortunate to know and love you.” She paused for a moment, then said, “The same goes for you, Bobby. If you do meet a good woman, then love and marry her as soon as possible. Do not think of me.”

She said this with bitterness, as I could see from her manners and from the smile on her face.

“You don’t mean it, Maria.”

“I do,” she said most seriously. The smile on her face faded and, though she tried to show no emotion, she looked rather sad. “I want you to be happy. But anyway, we’ll meet again, Bobby. We’ll meet each other in London.”

As the departure time of the train was getting near, we loaded the belongings into the Austin and drove to the station. On the way, I kept brooding about Maria’s imminent departure. When would we meet again? My thoughts went back to the day Lady Moira and Maria had arrived. We had picked them up at the station and sat in this very car on our way to the cottage. The car had been so full that Daddy and Stephanie had had to sit with the driver in the front, Mother and Lady Moira at the back with Maria and I on strap seats facing them – just as we were today. But what was different was that on that day the car was headed for the bliss of the Queen’s Cottage, whereas today it was heading towards emptiness. To me, there was but loneliness and longing. Happiness and suffering, cheerfulness and loneliness are so close together that they look like friends on intimate terms.

“Moira,” I forced myself to say, “I will be lonely once you are gone.”

“Bobby,” she answered, “do you really like me that much?”

“I like you very much, Moira. I enjoy your conversation and I have learned a lot from you.”

“Oh, no. You are young, that’s why you think I can teach you something,” she pointed out, “but actually, men learn fast and have more opportunities to study than women. When you are my age, your knowledge will be several times greater than mine.”

“That’s not true, Moira,” I objected. “I do not think I shall have the opportunity to learn as much about the world as you do.”

“Moira,” Mrs Andrew said, “I’m afraid you are going to make Bobby unhappy for days on end after you are gone, at least out of loneliness.”

“Oh, my dear aunt, do you really think it’s my fault?” Lady Moira asked back. With a teasing smile, she added: “Why don’t you ask Maria instead?”

‘No, Mother,” I intervened, “loneliness is not a problem for me. In fact, I am used to a quiet life. Besides, I always try to put my loneliness to good use. But yes indeed I am going to miss Moira and Maria very much.”

“You don’t sound all that distraught, Bobby,” Lady Moira noted.

“Not too much, Moira. Since I’ve known you, I have tried to control my feelings and I have now come to my senses.”

“From the day we met until today,” she said with a smile, “you’ve changed a lot. You used to be quiet, but now you speak very well. I suppose I should be proud to have the power to make you as intelligent as you now sound. Now you can be a good lawyer as well as a good writer.”

I could not fathom what Lady Moira’s true feelings were. Maybe she only spoke to fill the time it took us to reach the station and did not mean what she said. As for me, I felt we were in a big circus and I played my part, and went on playing it until the scene in which I featured came to an end.

There were few people at the station when we arrived. We helped one another take the trunks to the platform and then went on chatting as we waited for the train.

“Bobby,” Maria whispered to me, “don’t forget to think about me sometimes. Don’t forget me as soon as I am gone.”

“How could I forget you, my dear Maria?” I answered. “Bexhill will be dead quiet with you gone: how could there be anything that would help me forget the happiness of your stay? But how about you? London is an exciting place full of pleasures everywhere, and you have lots of friends. I am afraid that you will forget me completely once you are there.”

“I will never forget you as long as I live, Bobby.”

“That is good enough, Maria. Think of me occasionally. Don’t forget me right away, because we shall meet each other again in London soon.”

“Certainly, we’ll meet again soon,” she said firmly.

A moment later, the train came to a stop in front of us. We helped take the trunks onto it. As we finished placing them, we heard a whistle signalling it was time to depart. I shook Moira’s hand, bid her farewell, then walked straight to Maria. We gazed at each other for a while, holding hands firmly.

“Goodbye, Maria. Goodbye,” I said with a trembling voice.

“Goodbye, my darling. I want you to meet me again in London,” she replied sadly. “Don’t forget my address. Goodbye, Bobby.”

I got off the train and watched it slowly pass by, taking my friend and my love away. The train gathered speed with every second. The handkerchiefs we waved to each other drew further and further apart... and finally vanished from each other’s sight.

As the Austin took us back home, Mother tried to soothe me: “Bobby, don’t be too sad; there are plenty of other girls you can befriend,” she said. “I feel sorry for having Moira and Maria know you for only a week and then let them go so easily, leaving you to suffer alone.”

“Dear Mother,” I said, “I am not suffering. I’m happy... very happy to be with you and Daddy and also very happy to have had the opportunity to know Moira and Maria.”

The loneliness I felt once Lady Moira and Maria had left was very different from the one I had known previously because it disturbed me no end. I tried and tried to prevent my feelings from running wild, but it was in vain. I missed Maria, I missed the certainty of her love for me. Though I later had the opportunity to know several of our neighbours in Bexhill, I found no one to replace my Maria. She had etched the purity of her love in my memory, where it would remain forever. Days and months passed by but the turmoil in my heart refused to quieten down.

Once in a while I would receive a letter from Maria, telling me of her life as she travelled about. She enjoyed being a journalist and would not have swapped places with anyone in the world. Her last letter said: “Bobby, I have been promoted and am now a correspondent. My salary was raised almost a hundred percent. My duty is to travel to various places in order to report on high society all over Europe and perhaps America as well before long. When shall we meet again, my dearest?

“Since I left you, I have made several male friends but none can take your place in my heart because they are all far too serious. They keep asking me to marry them and quit journalism, which is something I most definitely will not do. I want to remain single and devote myself to journalism. I do not want to marry anyone. I want to meet you and be with you because we both know we can only be lovers. We will have no opportunity to get married or at least, you have no intention to marry me.

“Bobby, do you still love me a little? If you do, there is one way for you to meet me, which is why you must become a journalist. As journalists, we would have plenty of opportunity to meet and be together. It will be very easy for you to enter our career, because Mother and Daddy are preparing a surprise for you very soon. I will not try to explain anything here because I do not want to spoil their pleasure in any way.

“Finally, I would like you to always remember that, whether or not you become a journalist, and no matter how far apart we might be, I will always love you with the purest heart till the day I die. Goodbye, Bobby, my darling.”

Maria Grey is English, of an Italian mother; I am Thai – and yet she does love me this much!

Maria said that it was very easy for me to be a journalist because Mother and Daddy were going to surprise me some day, and that day came very soon indeed. Mother walked straight to me in the sitting room and handed me a copy of The London Times. And there I found an article entitled “The League of Nations and Germany” – the very one I had written and Daddy had edited over a month ago! And the article was signed “Bobby”! I nearly collapsed with delight as I had never dreamt it would ever get printed.

“Take this too, Bobby, it’s yours.”

I took a piece of paper from Mother’s hand. Upon seeing that it was a cheque from the Bank of England drawn in my name for an amount of thirty pounds and fifteen shillings, I was so astounded that words failed me. I hugged Mother and kissed her on both cheeks with the greatest love and respect.

“Look at this, Bobby,” Mother said. “The Times editor knows you already: he spelled your name correctly. Do you see it on the cheque?”

Then I sat down and went through my article in The London Times. I found that it had been much improved, and asked who had made the changes. Mother replied: “Lady Moira Dunn.”

This showed clearly that although Lady Moira Dunn had said many things unpleasant to my ears, she still wanted me to be her friend.

“Next Friday, another article of yours, entitled ‘Life in Sussex’, will come out,” Mother said, “and you will receive one more cheque.”

“Is it true, Mother?” I asked. “I feel I must be dreaming!”

“Now, Bobby,” Mother added, “can you see how well you know English and how good your knowledge of the world is? I think it is time for you to go to a law school or whatever else in London. But when you are there, don’t forget to take your holidays here every time.”

Two or three days later, I saw an advertisement in The Times which said: “Siamese student wants good London family to stay with while studying law. Will pay three guineas and a half per week. Interested parties please contact Mrs Andrew, the Queen’s Cottage, Bexhill-on-Sea.”

More than a week later, we received many responses. Mother spent days trying to choose one and finally agreed to send me to live with a Mrs Freindrich in Hampstead, North London. And so it was that I left Bexhill for the capital, with the intention to study law – not to be a journalist at all.

Life in London Δ

Two days before I left Bexhill, I had written to Maria and to Pradit Bunyarrat informing them that I was coming and asking each of them to pick me up at the station because I did not know London and had not been there for more than a year. Two days being too short a time to expect any answers, I merely hoped I would be lucky enough to have one of them waiting for me. The train arrived at Victoria Station in London at 5 pm. Before I got off, I perused the groups of people on the platform waiting for their friends and relatives to see whether Pradit or Maria were among them. There was no trace of either. This meant I had to rely on myself alone. I ordered a couple of porters to take my trunks big and small to a taxi, then told the driver to take me to Mrs Freindrich’s house at 95 Roslyn Hill, Hampstead.

Hampstead is a very hilly area in the northern part of London. Roslyn Hill was steep and the car had to climb it in second gear. It took about a half hour to arrive at my destination – an old house which looked haunted and gave me a creepy feeling which grew when I went inside. As I entered the main room, I felt so scared I almost startled. The darkness, dampness and filth of the house as well as the expressions of the two or three people who came to welcome me frightened and disgusted me. Mrs Freindrich was as lean as a hungry ghost and her cruel face seemed ready to feed on blood. Although she did her best to talk to me nicely, I felt that I had indeed entered dangerous times in London, as it was obvious she was dishonest. In her response to Mrs Andrew’s advertisement, she had claimed that her house was modern, clean, warm and most comfortable in winter, and that she had many distinguished English and French guests, which I could see right away were patent lies. She ordered one of her servants to help the driver take my trunks to the room upstairs, and then led me to it. I felt somewhat relieved that the room she had prepared for me was not as dirty and scary as the others because it was spacious enough to breathe at ease.

Pradit Bunyarrat had informed me by letter that he had moved from his apartment at Langham Garden to a house on Graham Marsh Road in Putney. I asked Mrs Freindrich how to get there. She told me that Putney was very far from Hampstead; it would take more than an hour to get there by the underground train. I replied that it was necessary for me to go. After she had given me proper directions, I set about on my journey. It took more than an hour and a half for the underground train to reach Putney Station. I got off the train and after a ten-minute walk came to Pradit’s house. I pressed the doorbell. A moment later a girl servant came to open the door. I asked her if Pradit was in.

“Yes, he is. Do come in,” she answered and stepped aside to let me enter the reception room. “Wait for a moment, please. I’ll go and tell Pradit.”

A short while later, Pradit ran into the room. We had not met each other for over a year; he had never come down to see me in Bexhill and I had never gone up to visit him in London.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t pick you up at the station on time,” he said. “My lessons lasted until late in the afternoon, and by the time I got there, I was told the train had arrived long ago.”

“Pradit, there’s something I need to consult you about,” I said. “The house where I’m staying is really scary. It looks like a haunted house!”

“What do you mean?”

I told him everything I had just seen there as well as Mrs Freindrich’s lies and my own fears.

“Maybe you think too much,” Pradit answered somewhat harshly. “Try to stay there for a while; maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.” He paused for a moment, then went on: “I’m sorry you can’t stay here: this house won’t take any more boarders.”

I was flabbergasted, because I never expected someone like Pradit to use such discriminatory words with me.

“I have no intention to live with you, Pradit,” I said to pacify him. “If I came to tell you about the house, it’s because I’d like to share my trouble with someone and I can’t think of anyone else but you.”

He did not answer. As for myself, I was trying to figure out why Pradit, my very best friend, would talk to me in such a dismissive and impatient way. Suddenly, the truth appeared. There was a knock on the door and then a girl’s voice cooing: “Pradit, may I come in?”

After receiving permission, the girl walked in. She could not be more than seventeen or eighteen. She was pretty, had golden hair and blue eyes and looked like a doll. She was the daughter of the owner of the house in which Pradit lived. She looked on intimate terms with Pradit, who introduced me to her. Her name was Kathleen Miles.

“Pradit,” she said with a melodious voice, “are you ready for dinner yet?” She turned to me and added: “Would you care to join us?”

“Thank you, Miss Miles,” I answered politely, “but there is something urgent I have to do and I must go now.”

Suddenly, Mrs Miles, who was the owner of the house as well as Kathleen’s mother, walked in. I was introduced to her. Mrs Miles had a good disposition.

“Where do you live, Mr Wisoot?” she asked. “Why don’t you come and stay with Pradit? I have one bedroom left.”

“Thank you very much indeed, Mrs Miles,” I answered. “I am afraid I already have a place to stay.”

“Are you comfortable there?” she asked.

“Quite,” I replied.

After I had left the house, I made the firm decision to never visit Pradit at Mrs Miles’ house again. I had come to like him very much, and I did not intend to destroy his happiness, if that is what he was afraid of. I had once made the sacrifice of forsaking Lamjuan, so why could I not make the sacrifice of giving up Pradit as well?

That night I had a meal in a small restaurant in Soho, then went to see a movie in the same area. I was trying to forget everything that had happened – everything that had happened at Mrs Freindrich’s house and Pradit’s behaviour at Mrs Miles’. This was how London was welcoming me on my first day – London, the capital of England!

After the movie was over, I sought my way back to Roslyn Hill. I got lost time and again and finally reached the house some time after midnight. The house was totally dark; not a single light in sight! Luckily, I had a box of matches with me, thanks to which I found my way to my room. It was so cold inside that I felt numb. The whole place was damp. I hurried to change clothes, clean my teeth, wash my face and slip into bed. I tried to fall asleep in order to let this unpleasant night come to an end as quickly as possible. I tossed and turned for an hour but still could not sleep. I kept thinking of what would happen to me if I went on living in this house. Finally, tired with this line of thinking, I dozed off.

The following morning, I woke up at dawn but was unable to go back to sleep. That day was one of the coldest days of winter. Hampstead spreads over high hills and the weather there is colder than anywhere else in London. Through the window, I could only see snow falling and covering everything in white. A cold wind blew into the room, so cold that I had to get up and close the window. As I could see no fire to keep the house warm, I had to stay in bed, not daring to get up and do anything at all. In late morning, someone brought me a pot of hot water to wash my face with and advised me to go and have breakfast in the dining room, which had a fireplace.

I got dressed and went downstairs. As soon as I entered the dining room, I was shocked out of my wits. What was it that I saw in front of me? The whole room was filled with smoke coming from the fireplace, which had been built against all the rules of hygiene, and a gang of seven or eight Hindus stood around the fire warming themselves. The din of their chatter reverberated throughout the room. Mrs Freindrich’s house was very small and for the life of me I could not figure out where were the rooms these fellows slept in. When they saw me, they came up to me and introduced themselves higgledy-piggledy, speaking English fast as a train, and I just could not keep up with them. Then, the evil one, the landlady, came in and had me sit at the same table as the Hindus. Although she tried to please me and gave me preferential treatment, I still felt disgusted as these Hindus were uncouth and lacked the manners expected of overseas students. They kept jabbering in their own language, unmindful of the presence among them of someone who came from a different country and spoke a different language. As for those who did talk to me, they were impertinent and rude to a man, asking me questions about my financial status and whether my parents were rich or poor – all queries that were most painful to my ears. I answered curtly every time and felt annoyed to the point of distraction. I forced myself to swallow a piece of buttered toast and a cup of Ceylon tea, then excused myself and left the table, telling them I had urgent business in town.

All this reminded me of the Tamils I had met in Colombo, Djibouti and Port Said. Captain Andrew, my dear godfather, had once told me that to see good Hindus or other Indians one had to go to Delhi (pronounced ‘Del-lee’), Calcutta or Madras. England was filled with Hindus who were all Bolsheviks intent on destroying their own nation. They were greedy and miserly because they were low-class destitute; they were selfish cheats who always took advantage of their own breed as well as of foreigners. Daddy had warned me to be constantly on my guard with them. Although I had only spent fifteen minutes in their company, I was absolutely certain that what he had told me was true.

I left the house and walked along the road. It was bitterly cold. Snow fell continuously and white fog covered the area. I had no idea where to go or who to visit. Finally I decided to go to the embassy. Once there, I still had no idea what to do, as I did not know anyone there well enough to strike up a conversation and anyway all of them must be busy with their work. So I left the embassy and went to relax at Lion’s Tea Shop, trying to think of what to do next.

Finally, it dawned on me that I still had a life companion whom I should visit – a friend, a lover who had promised to love me forever: Maria Grey! She would be the ideal partner to fill my life with happiness. I took a bus to Piccadilly and spent a lot of time trying to locate her house. I went up the stairs and pressed the bell at the door in front of Lady Moira and Maria Grey’s apartment. A short while later, a young servant opened the door and asked me the purpose of my visit.

“Lady Moira and Miss Grey left a long time ago,” that girl said. “They must be in Paris by now.”

“Do you know when they will be back?” I asked.

“I don’t,” she answered. “They no longer live here. Now we are cleaning the place so that someone else can rent it.”

“I wrote to Miss Grey a few days ago. I wonder if the letter is still here?”

“Oh yes, it is. Wait, I’ll get it for you.”

A moment later she returned with my letter. Maria had gone! Oh, my dear life companion! How could she possibly know that “her Bobby” was now in London awaiting her every passing second? Poor me! O God in Heaven! Was there anyone I could turn to for help?

I had to reconcile myself with the idea that my situation was hopeless. I returned to the hell of Roslyn Hill and went straight to my room without talking to anyone. At first, I intended to write the whole story to Daddy, but then I thought I did not have enough to go by and it would be better if I forced myself to stay here a few more days. Besides, I did not want to disturb him unduly, he who had already given me so much happiness.

Daddy! Mother! Stephanie! The Queen’s Cottage! The cottage of supreme bliss!

From an early age, facing danger has appealed to me so long as I have known I shall be safe in the end. Life at Mrs Freindrich’s house offered plenty of danger, but it was not a pleasurable adventure. It made me aware of the vile manners of a bunch of uncouth men, whose company should be sought only for the purpose of studying their character. I forced myself to live with them for a full week and bear stoically the iniquities I had to witness and be a party to. I put up with the cold, I put up with food that was poison by any other name, I put up with Mrs Freindrich’s lies every single day and I put up with the chats these Bolshevik Hindus imposed on me as they took the liberty of entering my room uninvited.

They had no other purpose than preparing themselves to return to India in order to wreck their native land. They went as far as to encourage me to return home to destroy Siam and bring down the royal institution, which I most revere, as they would in India. After taking this line for a while, they saw that I was not playing along and they became angry and upset at me for staying in the same house. But I was not mollified. I forced myself to keep watching with interest their strange way of life.

Indeed, dear readers, if we intend to study something, we must put up with the suffering that comes from the way we go about our study, otherwise we can never successfully learn anything. I had to put up with suffering in order to learn the dispositions of Mrs Freindrich and of those crude Hindus. Apart from Pradit, I had no intimate friend in London whom I could go out with, and I was alone amidst the dreadful demons I had to meet whenever I stepped into the house on Roslyn Hill. For the first two or three days, I felt so sick and scared and miserable that I could hardly control myself, but after giving it some thought, I was able to carry on because I wanted to learn.

After a week, I felt I had learned all there was to know about life at Mrs Freindrich’s house. One morning, I took a train to visit Captain and Mrs Andrew at Bexhill. They received me warmly. I told my dear parents every detail of what had happened in London in the past week.

“How come, Bobby?” Daddy said, his voice grating with anger. “Why didn’t you come and tell us the first day you were there? Instead, you’ve been keeping silent for a whole week. That woman Freindrich lied through her teeth in her letter to us. I’ll go with you tomorrow. I must get you out of this hell as soon as possible, and I’ll give that hag a piece of my mind as well.”

“Don’t be so rash, Bertie,” Mother admonished her husband while taking me into her arms. “It’s no use quarrelling with people like these. Besides, Bobby is a man now. After all, he survived his fall into the hands of those devils, but it’s a good lesson for him all the same, isn’t it, Bobby? I think you should talk politely to this Mrs Freindrich. There’s no need to mention her lies and all that; just ask her to let Bobby go. Don’t you think so too?”

“Yes, Elsie, I do,” Daddy answered.

“Bobby,” Mother said, “you’ll stay with us tonight and tomorrow Daddy will go to London with you and find a new place for you to live.”

I kissed Mother on both cheeks with the greatest love and respect, and then we talked about other matters.

The following morning, shortly after breakfast, Daddy took me to London. We found Mrs Freindrich and the Hindus standing in a circle over some picture in the main room. Daddy asked me if she was the woman in question and I answered that she was.

“Good morning, Mrs Freindrich,” Daddy said so that she would turn to us.

Mrs Freindrich turned round and found both of us standing in front of her.

“I am Captain Andrew, Mr Wisoot’s guardian.”

She immediately took Daddy to the privacy of a room upstairs. I believe he talked to her politely because when she came down again, she was all smiles and well behaved. She even asked me to go upstairs to help Daddy pack my belongings and said she was going to call a cab for us. As we were leaving the house, the Hindus lined up to watch us and some came to ask me where I was going, why I was leaving and whether this house was not good enough for me. I had yet to answer any of this when Daddy told them, “This is none of your business!”

That same day, Daddy took me to a small hotel in South Kensington and then went out to look for a place for me to live. He returned to the hotel at around 7pm and took me to have dinner at Barclay’s Restaurant and then to watch a play at the London Hippodrome. He stayed with me at the hotel for three nights. On the fourth day, he took me to stay with a Mrs Harris in Fulham. Her house, situated on a high hill, was quiet and clean. It was the kind of place which only accepted distinguished boarders and the fee charged was reasonable. When he was sure I would be happy staying with Mrs Harris, Daddy returned to Bexhill. Are there any foreigners in this world who would love and be as good to me as the Andrew family?

The people staying at Mrs Harris’s left for work in the morning and returned in the evening. During the daytime, except on Sundays, the house was very quiet, as the only other person there was Mrs Harris. At night, the boarders, all foreign gentlemen, were back but the only noise there was was over jokes at the dining table or whenever we played bridge.

I liked this house very much because its quiet allowed me to think and write at will. Mrs Harris was not greedy, she was good-natured and polite, and the food she served was wholesome and delicious.

As soon as the occasion allowed, I wrote to His Excellency the Ambassador to inform him that I was ready to enter a law school. I did well at the entrance examination and was in the quota of law students accepted at Middle Temple. Even now, I still remember what the legal heart of England was like – the network of short and narrow lanes, the superannuated gates that needed repairs, the school buildings shouldering one another along both sides of the street, so ancient they seemed about to collapse... Inside each building, there was a profusion of rooms, each bearing the name of a famous law practitioner. All of the doors looked dark and none of them shut properly. The dilapidated wooden floors were awaiting the day when they would finally cave in underfoot. In fact, apart from law itself, I could see nothing that would entice me to study there.

Middle Temple accepted many students from countries of the East, mainly Indians, Chinese and Japanese. I met a few good Hindus there. They behaved and talked politely, yet were so niggardly no one could make friends with them, because they were always taking advantage of you. The Japanese would be good friends so long as they were away from fellow Japanese. The Chinese were always broadminded, outspoken, clever and keen to learn. There were several Thai students at Middle Temple and I had the opportunity to make their acquaintance.

As for the special lectures for Thai law students, known as ‘coaching’, they were conducted by a retired major who had been a teacher for many years. Although this major had been a lawyer in England for a long time, he was not well-known and only handled minor litigation in the low courts. I am sure he must have been of much service to Thai students and the Thai nation as a teacher, given that he used his knowledge of the Thai to insult us with derogatory remarks at every opportunity. He seemed to know everything that was none of his business, taught perfunctorily, and never cared whether we understood. As for the poor students – he always knew which students were poor and which wealthy – he taught them reluctantly. Rich or poor, students had to pay the same tuition fee, however, and he made no exception for anyone.

“With so little money, what else do you expect?” he asked me one day when I raised a question because I could not understand his explanation. I did not answer but felt sad that a man like this retired major, who had studied law all his life, did not in his old age have a heart pure enough to be of service to others as he should.

For Thai people and other foreigners, life in London, like in every other capital of the civilized world, is not very safe. London has all kinds of problems which slow down her progress. Cheating and pilfering still exist, and scientific progress, which is an important part of a country’s development, is inadequate in wiping out such evil doings.

The longer I lived in London, the more friends I made, which in a way was fine. There were plenty of excellent cinemas and theatres, and travelling about was convenient. Nevertheless, I still felt lonely and at times bored. I felt that London should be better than she was then. She should have something that would give happiness and friendship to strangers from other lands.

The big circus Δ

When I had some time to spare, I liked to write short stories or short articles which I sent to Daddy for correction, asking him to forward them to monthly magazines or to The London Times. I was amazed that my ideas, spelled out on paper with Daddy’s help, were popular with all kinds of newspapers. When Daddy received a cheque from a printing house, he would pass it on to me without fail, warning me to spend the money wisely. So, every now and then, I would see an article of mine in the pages of this or that publication under the pen name “Bobby”.

The financial reward I received every time one of my articles appeared in a well-known English daily or monthly was a great encouragement for me as it meant I could earn a living while studying law. This extra income allowed me to afford some creature comforts, and I was no longer poor like most students.

I kept brooding over what I could do to express my deep gratitude to Daddy and Mother for their unfailing love. I tried to save money on what I gained from my writings in order to buy them something that would be meaningful to them, but I had yet to make up my mind about what I would get them. One day, I went to Bexhill and saw their Austin parked near the railway station. It was badly damaged after a collision with a truck. I knew there and then what Daddy and Mother needed most. Instead of going on to the Queen’s Cottage, I took the bus back home without letting them know I had gone to Bexhill. When I arrived in London, I went to the Bentley sales agent, bought a large and luxurious sedan and ordered the company to deliver it to the Queen’s Cottage in Bexhill with my card, on which I wrote: “With the greatest love and respect, from your beloved son.”

At about 4pm the day after the car had been delivered to them, Daddy and Mother arrived at my place in London in the Bentley. As soon as she saw me, Mother rushed to hug me and covered my cheeks with big kisses while teasing me out of sheer delight: “Look, Bobby, my dear child, you should have saved your money. Why did you squander it on a car? You are such a spendthrift I think you deserve a good thrashing.”

“Not so, Mother,” I answered. “Buying you a car can in no way compare with the thousand-fold happiness you have given me.”

“Did you spend all your money on it?” Mother asked.

“All of it,” I answered truthfully. “But it doesn’t matter. I have already written another two articles and I’ll get more money for them before long. Besides, I need not spend money on anything at the moment.”

Mother took her purse and handed me a hundred-pound bank note. “Keep this,” she said. “Use it to tie you over until you come into some more.”

I thanked her and put the bank note in my pocket. That night, Daddy and Mother had me stay with them at the hotel in South Kensington. We had dinner at the Savoy, watched a play at Piccadilly Theatre, went to have supper at the New Princess Cabaret and then went back to the hotel where we talked almost all night long. Daddy and Mother stayed with me in London for two nights and then went back to Bexhill.

Regarding the matter of visiting prostitutes in London, I had the cleanest reputation among Thai students, many of whom liked to “go whoring”, as they put it. I never dreamt of going out with the ladies of the night, though there were plenty of them in London, because I had to think of Daddy and Mother, who would be most distraught were I to catch some dreadful disease, not to mention that some future wife and children could also catch it. I had read and been warned that the diseases caught with whores were extremely severe and had no known cure.

I went on studying law and writing articles and short stories which Daddy sent to various printing houses in London and I often wondered whether their staff were aware of who Bobby was and whether fellow writers would be eager to meet with Bobby. Although I had sent many stories to various publications, I never got in touch with any of the latter. After receiving their cheques, there was no further contact with the printing houses and I had no way of knowing the various editors involved.

One, then two, then three months passed and my life went on as usual. There was nothing to alter my routine. I still had no news from Maria Grey, and it was as if she had disappeared into thin air. Throughout all that time I felt that my beloved Maria was like Lamjuan; all women were the same: easily seduced and inconstant. But as agreed, we – Maria and I – were free to meet or love anyone else as we wished. By now, she must have found someone to love and thus had completely forgotten me.

One afternoon, one of the house servants brought me a name card which read as follows:

Mr. Arnold BERINGTON

Newspaper correspondent

The London Times

I do not know why but as soon as I saw the card, I felt utterly delighted. It seemed that since my arrival in London I had been waiting for the day I would receive such a card, and that day had finally come. I hurried down the stairs to meet Mr Arnold Berington in the reception room.

This London Times correspondent was of small build and had curly black hair. When he saw me, he got up from his chair and walked straight to me to shake my hand.

“You are our ‘Bobby’, aren’t you?” he asked, acting as if we had once been close friends.

“Yes,” I replied with a smile.

“Our deputy editor, Mr Edward Bell Benson, asked me to invite you to attend his birthday party which will be held at the Press Club, in the Haymarket, tomorrow at 8pm. You must be there. I’ll come and pick you up.”

“Eh, how come Mr Benson knows of me?” I asked.

“Oh, everyone at the printing house knows Bobby,” Mr Berington replied and laughed. “But we didn’t get in touch with you until now because we were waiting – we were hoping you’d join our group without being asked.”

“And what did you think was the reason I never got in touch with you?”

“I don’t know. Why didn’t you?” he asked eagerly.

“I am Thai, Mr Berington,” I answered.

“Let me call you Bobby as Lady Moira and Maria do,” he said, with a little smile as he pronounced the names of the two women. “And it would be better if you called me Arnold.”

“All right, Arnold,” I answered with a smile.

“Several of our reporters and correspondents are foreigners and we send them on news assignments in many countries all over the world. I don’t see why you can’t be like us.”

“I have never visited any press office or press club.”

“Then it is all the more important that you should join us.”

“Arnold, please explain to me clearly what a newspaper is all about. I must be sure before I decide to do anything.”

At that time, we sat chatting at the table in the middle of the room. Arnold lit a cigarette and started to explain: “A newspaper is a big circus. Everything which is related to life high and low is in a newspaper. Do you remember what Omar Khayyaám once said:

‘Watch the play, the circus and then yourself

You will jeer, laugh and dance as in a dream’?

“I love these lines and that’s why I became a journalist; I can’t look at myself until I’ve read a newspaper. It’s a big circus, Bobby. Always interesting and full of love and sorrow.”

“And why should I become a journalist?” I asked.

“You are good enough as a writer,” Arnold replied. “Your ideas are sound. You like to know everything about life. And since there are stories about life in this big circus, why don’t you become one of us?”

“Are there any other reasons?”

“Yes. First of all, you are poor. If you join our profession, you’ll earn enough to have a comfortable life. Second, you may become famous eventually. Third and most important, you’ll be able to meet Lady Moira Dunn and Maria Grey.”

“Do you know Maria Grey well?” I asked.

“We went together to the Continent for two weeks on assignment for the newspaper. I believe you and Maria Grey are lovers. Isn’t that so?”

“No,” I replied and smiled. “We are only friends.”

“You think of Maria Grey merely as a friend; that’s why she loves you so much and always talks about you.”

“Where is Maria now?”

“She’s still in Paris, but she’ll arrive in London tomorrow at 7pm, in time for the party. She’ll go straight from the railway station to the club.” He stood up and grabbed his coat and hat. “I must go now. I’ll be seeing you. I wish you the good luck of joining us soon. Bobby, don’t forget it’s a big circus! Goodbye, Bobby.”

“Goodbye, Arnold.”

I accompanied him to the gate to see him off, and watched my new friend walk away until he went out of sight.

At the appointed time on the following day, Arnold Berington, wearing an evening suit, came to pick me up. We talked about newspaper life during the whole ride. Our taxi passed the Haymarket Theatre, went through a small street which turned to the right and finally arrived at a big two-story building with a sign written in golden letters saying “Press Club”. When we arrived, the place was crowded with people in evening dress and there was music playing inside.

“Hello, Arnold,” someone greeted my friend, who turned to say a few words, then took me through the entrance.

As I stood in the large central hall and a servant came to keep our coats and hats, I was amazed by the beauty of the place, which had been especially decorated for Mr Edward Bell Benson’s birthday party. A profusion of multicoloured lamps and glittering chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Lanterns shone brightly. Beautiful paintings from various nations lined the walls. The cluster of dinner tables was decorated with a profusion of flowers, party crackers and other items. We admired the room for a moment and then Arnold took me upstairs.

He led me to a small room, told me to wait there for a while and disappeared down the corridor. A moment later, he was back with a tall, bald-headed man with big round eyes and thick lips.

“This is Bobby,” Arnold said, “and this is Mr Edward Bell Benson. We call him Eddie.”

I shook hands with the deputy editor and we talked to each other for a while. Then Mr Benson turned to Arnold and said, “Arnold, be a good lad and go tell them to prepare the board.”

The young man nodded and hurried out of the room.

“You will have to stand on stage,” Mr Benson told me. “When the curtain opens, all the members of the club will applaud you. Don’t forget to take a bow.”

“Mr Benson, sir,” I said, dumbfounded. “What have I done to deserve such an honour?

“Well, you are Bobby of The Times,” he answered. “And you are now one of us.”

“Mr Benson, I –”

“That’s final and you can’t refuse,” he interrupted. “You are already one of us. Everyone who comes to this club must be a member. No one has ever got away with it.”

Right then, a bell rang loudly.

“That’s the signal for sitting down to dinner in the main hall,” Benson explained. “Let’s go down. Just follow me.”

Benson walked me down the stairs and took me into a small room. A red curtain on one side separated it from the central hall, which resounded with the clamour of conversations and laughter.

“Bring the board in,” Benson ordered.

A servant dressed like a bellboy entered, holding a white board, on which was written in large letters: ‘Introducing Bobby!’ After putting the board in its proper place, Benson rushed out.

“Are you ready, sir?” the bellboy asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

Instantly, the brightly lit lanterns in the central hall were dimmed and the red curtain in front of me gradually opened. Then the whole room reverberated with deafening cheers and applause in my honour.

“Introducing Bobby!” “Introducing Bobby!” People kept reading out the words on the board which was set by my side. I bowed several times. Then, an old man with a big book in his hand walked straight to me and asked me to sign my name in order to become a member of the club.

“I am Ronald Ritston, the club president,” the old man said.

I respectfully bent my head to him and extended my hand to shake his. The bellboy handed me a pen and I signed my name on the book as requested by Mr Ritston. Again, cheering and handclapping resounded throughout the room. Then, the curtain closed.

I walked out of the stage and found Arnold waiting for me.

“Bobby, I’m sure you don’t want to dine with the elderly, now do you?” he asked. “Come and sit with us. Maybe we can drag Maria to our table as well.”

“You mean you can actually get Maria to sit with us?” I asked.

“It’ll be difficult,” Arnold said wearily. “Maria is very popular. Everybody knows her. As it is, she may already have found a table. But you never know. I’ll do my best.”

While we were walking in the hall, someone sitting at a table which still had seats available invited us to join him. “Arnold, have Bobby sit here, and you too,” he offered. “There are plenty of seats available.”

“Sorry, Philip,” Arnold answered. “We already have seats. Thanks.”

We came to one of the vacant tables. Arnold motioned for me to sit down and wait while he would try to find Maria and Lady Moira for me. My friend disappeared for a while, then returned. He said hopelessly: “Eddie invited Maria and Moira to his table. Some old people are really foolish. Anyway, you should go and see Maria. I told her you were going to. We’ll be back here afterwards.”

I followed him to the opposite corner of the room where Mr Benson’s table was. Most of the people seated there were powerful, such as Lord Beaverbrook and Lord Rothermere, the wealthiest newspaper owners in England, and Mr Douglas, the editor of The Daily Express, and there were several others, including Lady Moira and Maria. As soon as she saw me, Maria stood up to welcome me. We shook hands, trembling with delight. She was beautiful. The glint in her big, dark eyes was as enticing as I remembered. She wore a black velvet evening gown with a long, glittering pearl necklace. A glance at her was enough to realize that she still loved me. Maria was different from Lamjuan. During the time she had been away from me in Paris, nothing in the world would have made her mistrust me.

“Bobby,” she whispered in my ear. “I want you to be the first to dance with me tonight.”

“Certainly, Maria.”

Then Arnold and I walked back to our table.

The party proceeded in the way large parties of this kind usually do, amidst the clink of cutlery and the drone of dozens of conversations. Then, Lord Rothermere raised his glass to wish Mr Benson a happy birthday and we all drank up. A second toast followed, dedicated this time to the newspaper – to the big circus. There were more words of praise for the host, as guest after famous guest rose to deliver witty speeches spiced with jokes and exciting anecdotes. In his delivery, Mr Benson thanked everyone for attending and wishing him a happy birthday. He briefly outlined the history of The Times and ended his speech with this statement: “I am most proud of our big circus. It has made me happy ever since I joined it as a young man. My dear friends, if you really want to wish me true happiness, then let us drink to this big circus of ours!”

“Cheers! Cheers! Cheers! To the big circus!” we all shouted as one.

“Mr Benson, sir,” someone called out. “How is it you never got married?”

The assistant editor stood up at once and answered, “In order to get married, you need at least two partners. I count as one, but I have yet to find the other one to make it two. However, my dear friends, I am already married...”

“How come?” someone exclaimed. “To whom?”

“I am married to the big circus!” Mr Benson answered.

“Cheers!” everybody shouted. “To the big circus!”

We all walked up the stairs to the ballroom, which was magnificently decorated. As we entered, the band started to play a fox trot. It took me quite a while to locate Maria among the throng. Finally, I heard someone calling out: “Bobby! This way.” I turned around and saw my sweetheart, who stood waiting for me in a lovely pose. Oh! my dear readers, Maria was so beautiful! While we were away from each other, nothing had happened to lessen her beauty; if anything, it had increased. The bright, multicoloured lights around the room flattered her fair complexion. With her black velvet evening gown, pearl necklace and pendant earrings, she looked gorgeous beyond words. She wore the paper cone of the cracker she had picked up downstairs as a cap, and that childish touch made her look much younger.

“Maria,” someone said as we stood close to each other. “May I have the honour of the second dance with you?”

“Oh, I am so sorry, Arnold,” Maria replied. “I already promised it to Mr Benson. Can you wait for the third one?”

“Sure, Maria,” Arnold said, nodded and left.

“So, Bobby, have you been happy all this time?” Maria asked me as we were dancing.

“I have been doing fine, Maria,” I answered. “I am happy because I am able to write things the newspapers find interesting.”

“What did you think about me?”

“I though you were like all the other women I know,” I replied honestly: “easily seduced, forgetful and inconstant.”

She laughed.

“I was sure you’d join us one day. When the newspaper wants someone, it’s hard for anyone to resist,” she said. “I didn’t really try to contact you because I wanted you to feel free before you joined us. You see, when you are a reporter or a correspondent travelling all over the world, the thing you want most is freedom. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to meet women from other nations with greater bewitching powers than the women you know. If I made you feel that you are not free, that you have to be faithful to me no matter what, it would be most unfair of me. A reporter or a correspondent will meet good women all the time, and there are some women whom men feel they are not men if they can’t get to know them.”

“Then it must be the same for you,” I countered. “You no doubt want to know other foreign men...”

“Women are different, Bobby,” she replied. “We must stick to our own code of conduct. Women are the ones who bear children, remember?”

“...You do not intend to love someone truthfully, and like to change your mind.”

“Bobby, I belong to the newspaper, I belong to the big circus.”

The music stopped and the dancers dispersed. Maria went to talk with other people. As I walked away, I met Arnold and we decided to have a drink.

That night I could dance with Maria only once because there were so many people. Before we left, Arnold offered to take me home. I refused because I felt it was late. I told him I could go back by myself and he relented. Before my taxi left, he said: “A big circus, Bobby, don’t forget that!”

“A big circus indeed, Arnold,” I answered.

A performance on stage Δ

Before carrying on with my story, it is necessary for me to explain to you first why I, Wisoot Suphalak na Ayutthaya, became a journalist, as a reporter, correspondent, feature writer and even subeditor whenever pages of the daily needed to be proofed, filled in or standardized – all regular professions which no Thai students had ever learned before. Why did I completely forsake my law studies, something no one would ever recommend? You may think that I was infatuated with a woman, had fallen for Maria Grey and was so impressed by the merry and luxurious life I had tasted at the Haymarket Press Club that I volunteered to join the press and learn a subject which provided no degree or certificate of qualification whatsoever. I will accept all of your speculations but whether or not they are accurate is none of my concern.

I had brought with me twenty thousand baht. After paying the fare for my travel from Siam and the few expenses of my stay in Bexhill, I was left with fifteen thousand. To study law, I would have to complete the course within three years, which meant passing every single examination on the first attempt. If I failed just once, I would not have enough money left to pursue my studies and would have to go back home without a degree or a certificate. For a poor student like me, learning law in London meant a solitary life fraught with humiliations stemming from poverty. I would have no opportunity to travel anywhere as I would have to remain in London to do nothing but study. After three years, assuming I had passed every examination twice a year, I would obtain a degree and everything would be fine, but if I failed even once, that would be the end of me and I would no longer have the opportunity to know other countries and cities besides England and London. I would return to Siam empty-handed, so to speak, not to say empty-headed, disheartened and broke. Taking into account my limited intellectual abilities, I could not but feel discouraged and fear for the future. But when I thought of the exciting life of the people at the Press Club, when I thought of Lady Moira and Maria Grey and when I thought that my articles were accepted by almost all kinds of publications, I started to ask myself why I should not devote myself entirely to journalism. Although I would return to Siam with no degree or any other evidence of qualification, I would not feel in the least bit sorry.

Journalism has taught me to curb my aspirations and be a responsible adult. What other profession in the world could give me more happiness than this? Journalism has allowed me to travel to several countries and meet and associate with people of different nations and languages and from all walks of life – aristocrats and commoners, beggars and millionaires, brave men, heartless bandits, civilized people as well as betrayers of the natural laws of the world. Everyday I sat in the front row of the big circus investigating and reporting news. Although I had the opportunity to go to many places, it was an arduous life, and I would not recommend it to any young man as a career. The truths of life are always bitter, cruel and unfair. Reporters and news-writers are those who witness these truths and they must steel their hearts and not allow themselves to be affected by reality, as it would only lead them to destruction. For those who want to have a regular income, an orderly life and a happy home, journalism is not the career to embrace.

Reporters must be ready to get out of bed at any time of the night upon receiving a phone call from the office of some deputy editor on Fleet Street to gather the news their papers require. Once they have enough information, they must rush to the printing house to write their article – and write until the pen slips from their hand! Even if the bell of life rang for the last time, they must be the ones to wake up. They must be men of nerve whom no event will ever frighten or discourage. In the course of my duties, I often felt tired, disheartened and ready to give up and go home, but the sense of adventure and newspaper life did keep me going for a period of more than a year.

Despite all of its difficulties and hardships, newspaper life remains a wonderful challenge for young men with fine brains, good spirits and the ability to write well. The circus of life can be beneficial to them and help turn them into real men possessed of dignity and confidence.

My having to leave the press, which is the life I most cherished, and return to Siam is the most heart-rending story. I had to give up because my health was not up to the demands of this fast-paced and ever changing kind of life. Before I left England, I was injured in a car accident and had to be hospitalized for more than two months. Once I was well again, I went to America and worked for the New York Times and the Boston Gazette, but I fell ill. The doctor told me I had a weak constitution and forbade me to do any work for at least two years. I did not take his advice because I could not afford to believe him. After I left America, I went on to Hawaii, Japan and China, where I was a reporter again. During my stay in Peking, there was a fierce reaction against all foreigners, and England and Japan had to join forces to subdue the Chinese, leading to clashes around town. Our duty as reporters was to keep in close touch with events at all times. Sometimes we found ourselves among groups who did not know who we were and mistook us for their enemies. We had to flee for dear life, running or walking along the streets, entering people’s homes or clock towers, and as soon as we were safe, we returned to the hotel to write up the information we had gathered into what we called “scoops”. I did this every day for two weeks until I fell ill once again. I had to leave Peking and was confined to a nursing home in Shanghai. Once I had recovered, I had lost any hope of ever again being a journalist. It was the end of my life of adventure. The curtain had fallen on the circus of life.

My father had been right when he had said that sending people like me abroad was a waste of money.

Lady Moira had advised me to go back home and write The circus of life for Thai people to read. For the sake of my love for Maria Grey, I will continue writing this to the end.

Shortly after I became a journalist, I moved from Mrs Harris’s house in Fulham to share Arnold Berington’s apartment on the Earl’s Court Road. The apartment was on the top floor of a three-storey building. It had two small bedrooms, a sitting room, a study and a bathroom, which was perfect for two bachelors. Arnold and I were good friends. We usually went out together. Whenever we had some spare time, we invited fellow journalists, male and female, to come and dance or play bridge, and it was most cosy and enjoyable.

London, if you are really interested in its life, has all kinds of adventure in store for you, like all other famous capitals of the world. The city should be ashamed, though, of the quick temper of some of its women. In it, people struggle for a living, there is competition, bravery and human injustice. Have you ever thought that the beauty and fame of London are but masks hiding dreams, madness and all kinds of mischief?

Once, it was reported that a beautiful woman notorious for her loose life had been murdered in her plush residence in Mayfair. The murderer had fled the scene without taking any valuables. A policeman on duty had seen him and started to chase after him. Before long, the murderer was lucky enough to find a taxi and he forced the driver at gunpoint to take him to some address in the East End, an unruly lower-class area. Undaunted, the policeman requisitioned a car to carry on the chase. When he finally caught up with the taxi, the driver told him the suspect had already alighted. The policeman spent hours searching the area in vain. The story was in every newspaper the next day. The deputy editor instructed Arnold and I to follow up on the progress of the police investigation in the East End and promised us a substantial reward if we were able to locate and identify the suspect.

In order to familiarize ourselves with the case, we spent four days investigating in the lower-class alleys and by-alleys of the East End, and we did pick up a few clues. The whole London police force was still unable to track down the criminal. A notice in front of the central police station on Bow Street promised a one-thousand-pound reward to any policeman able to inform the director general of the address and identity of the person suspected of murdering the woman. Another three days went by and there was still no news from the secret police investigating the case. Some daring newspapers carried big headlines demanding to know “When will the murderer be caught? Isn’t a £1,000 reward enough?”

During the seven days we spent working on a “scoop” for this murder case, I thoroughly enjoyed myself as I observed the way of life of the lower classes in the East End. I met Russians who had escaped from detention camps in Siberia during the reign of the Tsar, their arms and legs bearing scars and other marks left by fetters, shackles and whips. I met other Russians who had been similarly thrown into jail by the Bolsheviks during the great revolution which had taken place eight years earlier. I saw groups of Chinese and Negroes who lived in dreadful conditions. In the morning, women of different races and tongues came out to wash nondescript clothes in the street. I could not help but feel compassion for the destitute conditions of life in White Chapel and the East End.

In the course of our investigation, I had learned that most big shops and stores in Mayfair and the West End catering to the wealthy usually carried clothes which had been sewed by people in the East End, who dirtied them and washed them perfunctorily, and one wondered how many germs these clothes held when they were purchased. In the East End, there was a manufacturer of cigarettes which employed several thousand male and female workers, who could roll cigarettes at an unbelievable speed.

At nightfall, we would leave the East End and head for Soho, a small district with rows of “continental” food shops which was famous for offering the most delicious food in London at prices that suited the purse of every customer – the wealthy as well as your poor self. Leaving the Petit Riche Restaurant, we would walk down Warder Street and Old Compton Road. Along the way, we often saw French girls making various kinds of coloured flowers that were used in ballets and pantomimes or doing needlework for London theatres.

From Soho, we would follow Leather Lane in Holborn, where many Italians lived. This district was like a little Naples, with the same colour, smell and grime. There were courtyards by the roadside where groups of Italian women sat washing clothes. Most of these women were beautiful and made me think of Raphael’s Madonna. They sang beautifully as they worked and sometimes little children joined them around the basins to listen to them.

We would leave the alley and soon come to a small bakery where a beggar played his barrel organ to entertain us. As soon as we were in sight, two or three destitute children would run to us with hat in hand and beg for money, and as soon as we gave them some coins, they thanked us and ran back to the old man who stood grinding his organ.

In the same area, there was a man all dressed in white who was busy casting plaster statues of famous figures such as Napoleon, Nelson, Queen Victoria, General Gordon, Venus and Mercury, which stood in a row. These one-cubit* tall dolls were taken to be sold at Ludgate Hill everyday. One evening, as I stood watching this craftsman at work, someone patted me softly on the shoulder twice and said with a sweet voice: “Hello, Bobby!”

I turned and found Maria Grey standing with a smile on her face.

“Hello, Maria,” I answered, “I didn’t think you were still in London.”

“I just returned from Rome a few days ago. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for a scoop on the murder of a woman,” I replied.

“And what about you, Maria?” Arnold intervened. “What brings you here?”

“Arnold,” Maria said, “was it you who tipped off Eddie about the criminal who killed Mrs ...? He’s told the police department and they decided to arrest him at nine tonight in a house on Grove Street.”

“That doesn’t leave us much time. Shall we go?” Arnold asked.

“Oh, didn’t you known about this?” she asked.

“We didn’t. We were going back to the printing house,” I answered.

“Will you come with us, Maria?” Arnold asked.

“Of course.”

We hurried to catch a bus in Holborn which took us to White Chapel. As we looked for the way to Grove Street, we were asked repeatedly by the police: “Who are you? Journalists?”

“That’s right.”

“Which paper?”

“The Times!”

“Fine, you may go. You’d better hurry.”

Grove Street was narrow, but it had several open spaces where people in the old days laid out their clothes to dry. When we got there, everything was quiet. The police had yet to move in. We walked up the street until we arrived at the small house we were looking for, a known meeting point for criminals in London. We walked around to examine the house for a while and then saw a big car stop in front of it. Two or three bandits got out of the car and stood in front of the main door, consulting one another in whispers. Then their leader unlocked the door with a key and took his underlings inside. The house looked mysterious and dark. All doors and windows were closed. The complete silence and scanty moonlight made us feel a minor war was about to erupt. We hid in nearby bushes and waited to see what would happen next.

After a while, we saw two policemen walk straight to the door and knock on it softly two or three times.

“What d’ya want?” a voice asked.

“We want Brian and Murdorf,” one of the policemen replied.

“They aren’t here.”

“Okay, if they aren’t there, open up. We want to search the place.”

The door opened slowly. The two policemen stepped into the house without fear. Three or four minutes later, we heard a gunshot. Immediately, dozens of policemen rushed the house, some carrying machine guns, others pistols or revolvers. A violent shootout ensued, which stopped as suddenly as it had started. Then we saw two or three policemen come out and rush to the nearest telephone, which could only mean that the police had won. The three of us walked up to watch the scene from the vestibule leading to a room which was packed with people. Three policemen had been shot dead. Several bandits had been seriously injured. Some gritted their teeth to resist the pain, others moaned and groaned and I nearly panicked. When we entered the room, we found that both Brian and Murdorf had been captured alive. Their faces were covered in blood. Brian was a man of about forty, with an ugly, bearded face. Murdorf, who could not be more than twenty-five, had rather handsome features. As soon as the two of them were handcuffed and brought to the front of the house, a young woman rushed to Murdorf, put her arms round his neck and kissed him repeatedly, crying and moaning all the while out of love and grief. It took the police a long time to separate her from her lover and get him into the car they had waiting outside.

After the police and the bandits had gone, the three of us went to console the woman. Her name was Nancy Smith; she worked in a tobacco factory in the vicinity.

“I love him,” she said, weeping. “I love Murdorf.”

“Why did Murdorf kill Mrs ..., Miss Smith?” Maria asked.

“Over a year ago, Murdorf and I worked together in Cornwall,” she told us. “We were happy together until that woman appeared. She seduced my Murdorf and took him to live with her here, in London. After a couple of months, she got fed up with him and dropped him in a way that made him suffer very much. One day, I received a letter from him asking me to come and live with him in London. When I arrived, I found he’d become a thief with the rest of them. London has completely changed my Murdorf’s good nature. That woman destroyed our happiness.

“One day, I don’t know why,” Nancy went on, “he says he’s got something to do so he’s going out for a while, and when he’s back, I see this cop running after him. He asks me to help him, so I take him to hide in the bedroom and ask him what’s happened. He says he’s killed her... He killed that woman because she destroyed our happiness.

“Miss,” she asked Maria beseechingly, “will they sentence my Murdorf to death?”

We consoled her for a while.

“I’ll pray to God my Murdorf won’t be put to death,” she said, sobbing pitifully. “Even if he gets ten years, that’s fine by me. I’ll wait for him until I die. I love him so much.”

My dear readers, even a “cruel and heartless murderer” like Murdorf, to use the words of the police report, can receive a superior kind of love like that of Nancy Smith. She loved him regardless of who he was and her love was steadfast. Among the lower classes, there are still good people like Nancy. She had never thought of stealing anything. She was not envious of other people’s wealth. The only thing she wanted was her Murdorf, who was totally unworthy of her goodness. And this is why the court, to match his deed, sentenced Murdorf to death.

This instance of news reporting is only part of a newsman’s life. The stories reflecting the reality of human life form a vast and never-ending cycle. Happiness and suffering are like wealth and poverty: though the wealthy may suffer and the destitute be happy, they are the realities of human life. So, the journalistic world has to get involved with all kinds of people of all nationalities and languages. Such is the newsman’s duty.

During the six-month period I worked and lived with Arnold, I had the opportunity to mingle with the poor, the rich and the very rich, attend the big parties held in England, enter the theatres as a critic, and generally watch the performances in the theatre of life.

Behind its curtain were a printing house, a newspaper office and a press built on both sides along one section of Fleet Street. I still remember vividly what the area looked like. The operations which went on twenty-four hours a day in the area were the fonts of friendship and solidarity. No matter how feverish or miserable we felt, our newspaper had to come out as usual – stopping or slowing down its operations was out of the question. If obstacles forced the newspaper to close down even for a single day, it would be a tremendous loss of face and source of shame for us as it would herald to the world that the whole lot of us were incompetent and had no pride. For the countries of Europe and for the United States of America, the strength of the press is the strength of the nation. Countless journalists have been appointed ministers or heads of state and have held the reins of government.

I remember that when I started, I shared the table of the typists, whose work was very loud and went on round the clock. Looking through the window, I could see about a hundred workers feeding paper into the printing press, which roared and clanged merrily away as well. At whatever time of the night when we came back from gathering news, we had to rush to that table to write in this constant din. At first, I could not do it; I just could not concentrate and felt exasperated; but as time went by I got used to it. Sometimes, as I was busy writing an article, a shade on my forehead to protect my eyes from the glare of the lamp, there was a call from one of the assistant editors urging me on: “Bobby, how about that scoop of yours? When will I get it?”

“Just a moment, sir. Another five minutes,” I replied.

“What! Five minutes?” he exclaimed. “I’ll give you two. It’s very late, you know. I want to check your story so I can go to bed.”

After work, I would go back home and right to bed. Within ten minutes at most, I was sleeping like a log. Deep sleep is absolute, which makes me confident that death is the final oblivion, the greatest bliss of all, freeing us from worry about the future. Death is not a serious matter at all: it is merely the absence of reality and consciousness. As long as we remain conscious, we cannot free ourselves from the cycle of life in which happiness is part of suffering and vice versa.

In the morning, around nine or ten, I would awake from bliss and see the world in which I was a part of the daily machinery forever going round and round. The earth goes on revolving mercilessly. Is there anything crueller than life? It turns us into machines and at the same time lets us have consciousness.

While I got up, washed my face and brushed my teeth in my room, Arnold would come in with a cup of Ceylon tea in his hand.

“How are you, my dear friend?” he would ask. “Are you still okay?”

As time passed, the liking and admiration I had for Arnold grew. His attention to my comfort, pure friendship and confidence in his friend’s dignity were Arnold’s good points, which I shall never forget. Those who knew him superficially would feel that he was strange, quiet, hard to understand and rather dull, but for those who were close to him, he was one of the best Englishmen I ever knew.

As for Maria and I, we met often, at the Press Club, at my house and in restaurants, unless she was on an assignment out of town. Our love, our dreams, the castles in the air we once had built on the beach in Bexhill, had changed completely. But it did not mean that Maria had stopped loving me. What she experienced as she travelled to various places in Europe as a Times correspondent had made her more mature. She was no longer as communicative. Although she could be passionate, she was now able to keep her passion in her heart. Thus, I was confident that she still loved me very much. Yet, she was not selfish. She wanted me to be free and enjoy myself when travelling to other cities throughout the world as a Times correspondent.

My dear readers, we still loved each other very much, but our love was strange, sluggish, colder than ice. We still often went out together, walking in parks or other places where lovers strolled arm in arm. Yet, we were frequently separated. Maria went to France, Germany, Austria and so forth. I was still in London. We belonged to the newspaper and were part of its life, and the life of a newspaper is made of such forced separations.

A warning from an old friend Δ

After six months had passed and I was still drudging through the assignments assistant editors gave me, I was promoted from reporter to correspondent. Few outsiders would know the difference between a correspondent and a reporter at The Times. To a correspondent goes the honour of interviewing famous people on behalf of his newspaper. A correspondent must know world affairs well enough to converse with the powers that be without fear of being embarrassed by saying something wrong, and he must be aware of his newspaper’s stand and objectives. A reporter, on the other hand, is always on the beat, gathering news by hook or by crook to fill the columns of his paper on a daily basis. Journalists consider the promotion from reporter to correspondent as a major distinction sanctioning professional success with a salary raise.

When I was promoted, my friends at the Press Club and at the printing house clubbed together to throw a party in my honour at the Petit Riche Restaurant in Soho. My new status meant I would now have the opportunity to travel abroad like Maria and the honour to interview the likes of Signor Mussolini, Monsieur Poincaré, President Coolidge, Baron Tanaka or Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek.

One day, I left Arnold at the printing house and went to have a cup of tea on my own at Lion’s in Piccadilly Circus. I sat there for a while when a young woman in a grey fur coat and pleated hat walked in. When she reached my table, she paused and stared at me as if she knew me well. Smiling a little, she asked: “Mr Wisoot, don’t you remember me?”

I stood up to greet her although I had no idea who she was.

“Good afternoon,” I said hesitantly, then invited her to sit at my table. She had a pretty face, dark-blue eyes, a well-shaped nose and mouth, and golden hair which hung loosely beneath her hat. I thought for a while and then remembered: she was Pradit’s doll.

“Miss Kathleen Miles,” I said, “I haven’t seen you in a long time. I am sorry I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Why do you never come and see us?” Kathleen asked. “Are you angry with us? Did Pradit do anything to you?”

“It has nothing to do with Pradit,” I answered firmly. “It’s just that I am always busy, and I find it difficult to go out.”

“I know a lot about you, Mr Wisoot,” she said. “Through Edith Marshal.”

“Edith Marshal, the Daily Chronicle correspondent?”

“That’s right. Edith took me twice to the Press Club, but I never saw you there. What a pity.”

“I am sorry too I missed the opportunity to see you there. I spoke to her a couple of times. She is fun. Do you know her well?”

“We went to the same school,” Kathleen answered.

Right then, Jack Parker, a friend of mine at the printing house, hurriedly walked up to me.

“Bobby,” he said, “Eddie wants the article you wrote yesterday. He told me to take it to the printers right now.”

“I was not happy with it, so I threw it away,” I answered.

“For God’s sake, Bobby!” Parker said in alarm. “Have you got another one?”

“I have a scoop, about two thousand words long,” I replied. “Take it to Eddie, will you, Jack.”

“Sure, Bobby,” Parker replied. “For tomorrow, Eddie wants you to interview Charles Edgerton and send him the piece as soon as possible.”

“No problem.”

I took the article out of my briefcase and gave it to Jack.

“Miss Miles,” I said, “let me introduce you to Jack Parker. Jack, this is Miss Miles.”

They shook hands, then Parker excused himself and rushed out.

“What a famous man you are!” Kathleen said. “All your friends call you Bobby. Where does this name come from?”

“I forget,” I replied. “I don’t know how it came about.”

“Are you angry with Pradit?”

“No. We are friends.”

“He told me he’s only seen you twice since you arrived two years ago.”

“There has never been any special reason for us to meet, Miss Miles.”

“You are free today, aren’t you?” she asked. “How about going to my house for a while?”

“I wanted to go to the cinema. I haven’t seen a movie in a long time,” I replied politely. “There is a good movie showing at the Realto. Would you like to come with me?”

“Why not, Bobby. Is it all right if I call you Bobby?”

“Certainly, Miss Miles!”

“Then, call me Kathleen.”

I do not know whether it was a coincidence, but that day I met the very people I did not want to meet as I walked arm in arm with Miss Kathleen Miles along the crowded streets. The first person we met was Pradit Bunyarrat. I was startled, as I feared Pradit might be suspicious and somewhat unhappy, but Kathleen Miles showed no sign of surprise and went on behaving as usual. As for Pradit, I could see from the expression on his face that he was displeased.