Thai

An evening in the cool season in the flat in Khlong San, Nam back from the hospital: sit down, I went to the hospital today; are you ill; no, we're going to have a baby; a baby, when; the doctor says July; in seven months we'll be three; call your mom; it's four in the morning in Seattle; then Mom's nearly awake: about to, nearly, and in so many months, then.

Sunday lunch at the house behind the pier, the week of New Year: Mom, Dad, Grandma, we have good news; I knew it, you haven't touched the som tam; the baby's due in July; congratulations, both of you; may the child be strong and the mother safe; happy for you, father-to-be, from Bee too; thank you, Yai, the child is very lucky; the great-grandmother holds her first; great-grandma first, grandpa second, eat: congratulating and wishing.

The first check-up at Siriraj, Jack beside Nam: you should come every month; and work, I sit all day; don't lift anything heavy; doctor, she works in the sun; in the sun she shouldn't; and the express boat; no motorbikes; Nui won't like it; next time bring the father too: advice and prohibition with the doctor's soft ending.

The end of a day at Master Wichai's yard on Khlong Bang Luang, the band saw off: how many jobs did we turn away this month; six, maybe seven; with a child you should probably have a yard of your own; my own yard, it would probably be expensive; on a canal it probably isn't; Nam probably won't like it; she probably won't at first, then she might; and your yard, Master; the yard probably won't fall down: four shades of probably.

The flat after dinner, the sums on the back of an envelope: let's just go and look, just looking; a baby and a workshop in the same year; a small workshop, you'd paint the sign; who's at the workshop at three in the morning; there'd be an apprentice, just think it over; think, fine, but no signing; shall we go and look on Saturday; one shed, and I pick the name; deal, you name it, I choose the wood: proposing and pushing gently.

The pier at closing time, Aunt Oy counting the stall's tin: looking for a shed, enough money; enough for the rent and the tools; I put in two hundred thousand; I can't, I'd feel bad, I'd rather do it myself; he's lending it, no interest; when the shed earns, then pay back; a loan, then, fine; write it or don't, either way; the first boat, I ride in first: refusing and accepting an offer.

The mouth of the soi in the morning, the helmets on the rail: is there a boat shed for rent; Bangkok Noi, someone used to build boats there; is the slipway still there; still there, but no building any more; who do I ask; Uncle Prasit still lives next door; are you still riding; still riding, my son doesn't ride any more; tell him to come and see me: used to, still, and no longer.

The old boat shed at Bang Khun Non, Tee bringing Jack by boat and Khun Prasit with the key: eight metres wide, fifteen long; enough for two boats; enough, my father kept three in here; the roof's too old, look; the slipway is good enough to use; the wiring is old, a little off the rent; at low water, is the landing deep enough; deep enough, this canal never dries: enough and too much, with the measures of a building.

Khun Prasit's veranda, two glasses of water, the canal below: fifteen thousand a month, two months' deposit; come down a little, to about twelve; fourteen, not a baht less; I mend the roof myself, two years; no rise, at least thirteen; not more than twelve; down to twelve, then; agreed, I start in February: the numbers of a bargain.

The landlord's table, the papers in Nam's name: the lessor, me; the lessee, who; my name, the registration in my name too; the rent is paid within the fifth; is the deposit returned; back within thirty days; pay late, a fine of three hundred a day; clause seven, no rise, clause nine goes; agreed, sign every page, both of you: the Thai of a lease.

The registration counter at the Bangkok Noi district office, a number in Jack's hand: the registration of a boat workshop; the form, the lease and a photo; does the slipway need a permission; the use of the canal bank, window four; how many days does it take; three working days; and safety; safety, the lessee: the two little words that make nouns.

Window four of the district office again, a letter wrong in the name on the form: could you check whether it's right; the shop's name, in Thai letters; I'm not sure whether the spelling is right; here the vowel is short, in the lease it's long; may I ask whether I can correct it; you can, then sign as well; is anything missing, or not; the photo of the house number is missing: asking whether.

The shed on a Monday morning in February, the band saw still under its cloth, Nui at the door with his son: this is Ton, my son, he can lift; Ton, ever held a plane; never, only a hammer; wages of eleven thousand a month; and days off, Pi Jack; Sundays off, three months' trial; yes, what do I do first; take the cloth off, slowly: talking down the ladder, and the words of a job.

Uncle Chai up the ladder with the tin, Ton on the rope, Jack below: send the sheet up, pull the rope; lift it higher, it's catching on the beam; fix it tight, or it goes to Ayutthaya; carry the old planks out; to the landing; then bring the new ones in; the slipway's good, my father's leaned more; finish it before dark: the direction words after a moving verb, and give for the result wanted.

The timber yard at Bang Pho, Khun Somboon between the stacks with a pencil behind his ear: takhian planks, twenty; how long, how thick; four metres, an inch and a half thick; an inch and a half must be ordered, and teak; six lengths and two tins of paint; delivery Tuesday before nine; Tuesday at nine, then; the deposit today, half: the counting words of the trade, and a delivery with its day and hour.

The shed on a Tuesday past eleven, the planks on the landing, Ton counting and Jack on the phone: delivered short, only sixteen; the boy miscounted, twenty went out; we counted twice, the thickness is wrong too; the inch and a half isn't ready yet; an inch can't be used; then next time I send the inch and a half; Thursday, deliver it complete; and I can't find the paint either: a verb and its result in two words.

The twenty-week scan at Siriraj, the screen turned to them: lie back, everything's fine; can you see, a boy or a girl; do you want to know, or either way; either way is fine; I want to know; it's a girl; whatever she'll be is fine; whichever, she paints boat names first: either way and whatever, with the little words for then and can.

The shed in March, Dam's long-tail from Taling Chan on the slipway, sent by Master Wichai, two planks gone: let me look first, Pi Dam; how much do you charge; labour four thousand, materials three; in all it comes to how much; it comes to seven thousand five hundred; Bang Luang charged six; Bang Luang sent you here; Pi Jack, it's three planks; then eight and a half in all: pricing a job.

The shed on a Tuesday at noon, the phone on the workbench and no truck at the landing: the truck hasn't come at all; it's on its way, stuck at the bridge; three whole hours late already; last week it was only two hours; the teak, I ordered six, only four came; the yard only had four; I've waited a whole month and it's still not complete; next Tuesday, six lengths, I promise: complaining about what is late and little.

The Saturday of Songkran at the shed, Nam's sign over the door, the soi arriving by boat and water on Grandma's hands: come in, make yourselves at home; pour, child, wish for what you want; a straight boat, Grandma; both, keep them wet; Ton counts planks every day, is that work; counting is half the job; try the noodles, no need to hold back; stay a while, all of you: the host's words.

Khun Pranee's coffee stall at the next landing on a weekday morning: the usual coffee; the usual, Khun Pranee; the sawdust reached the washing, it's fine; sorry, I'll turn the saw; I'm not saying anything; the machine is a bit loud in the afternoon; the sander, I can sand in the morning; the boats at the landing, that's fine too; I'll tie them at my landing; I only mentioned it, sugar: the little hedges a Thai neighbour wraps a complaint in.

The flat in Khlong San that evening, the neighbour's morning gone over line by line: she said it's fine three times; three times means not OK; she said she's not saying anything; which means she has said it; why not say it straight; Thais talk round the thing; actually, she did ask; then tomorrow I answer round it too: the words for what someone means.

The next landing the morning after, a net over the saw, a rope at the posts and a bag of mangoes from the flat: sorry that the sawdust reached your washing; from now on the saw faces the canal; I guarantee it won't reach the washing; you didn't have to; I promise no sanding after noon; and what are the mangoes for; for the coffee, and thanks for waiting; coffee's on me, it's really fine: apologizing for something and promising.

Jack's boat workshop on Khlong Bangkok Noi, Dam's long-tail back on the slipway, the engine mount loose: the boat's fine, but the engine mount shakes; we didn't touch the mount; you should have, from the start; I should have told you the bolts were old; then why didn't you; I shouldn't have kept quiet, sorry; new bolts, no charge; a pity, I should have said too: should have and shouldn't have, when the thing is past.

Jack's boat workshop, Khun Somboon in person with a new price list and Jack with a sheet of terms: in the hot season the timber goes up ten percent; if it goes up ten, I order only half; otherwise I buy elsewhere; paid only when it's unloaded; and the deposit; no deposits, except thick planks; and if the truck doesn't come; then you call the day before: a condition and what follows from it.

The landlord on the phone in the hot season, the lease in the drawer: next month the rent is fourteen thousand; according to the lease, it can go up after two years; everything's gone up; clause seven states no rise; leases are written by people; but signed by two; all right, after two years then; in writing, please: quoting a document.

Jack's boat workshop on a Wednesday evening, the pier's second boat on the slipway and a tour group of twenty on Saturday: Saturday I need the boat, twenty people; the rush rate, one and a half times; then double the wood; double and I'd be embarrassed in front of Uncle Chai; the usual price, but I add a bonus for Ton; what bonus, Pi Tee; boat noodles every night, from Mum's pot; done Friday, and Ton eats double: multiples and extras.

Sunday lunch at the house behind the pier in June, the first rain of the year on the roof: have you named the child yet; not yet, Grandma; then I name her Mali; jasmine, the garland flower on the prow; and the nickname; the nickname waits for her face; Mali is easy to say, my mother will cry; let her cry on the phone, I hold her first: naming a child.

The next landing late in the afternoon, the tarp lifted off a small boat: you're busy, of course; under the tarp there's my husband's boat; you'd like me to look at it, is that it; it can't be fixed any more; it can; shall I fix it for you; do you want it fixed, yes or no; yes, please fix it for me: the direct ask, and how to pull it out of a neighbour.

Jack's boat workshop at the end of June, the first real rain on the tin roof, a cradle from the leftover teak and the hospital bag by the door: a cradle, from the teak; the offcuts, Ton sanded it three evenings; in case the baby gets splinters; the bag's ready, in case it's early; Mum asks whether the tenth is good; say the tenth, babies don't read calendars; what if it's early; there's my mother, and the hospital is across the canal: in case, and the end of this level.