Thai

Master Wichai's yard on Khlong Bang Luang, the last week of the hot season, a year to the day: you've worked here a year now; yes, I came for just one month; how long have you been in Thailand?

A Sunday at the pier, and Tee brings Bee: Jack, this is Bee, my girlfriend; have you ever been to Chiang Mai?

Don Mueang at six in the morning, the seven o'clock flight to Chiang Mai: got your ticket yet?

A teak guesthouse by the moat near Tha Phae gate, whose owner remembers it as her grandmother's: welcome, the room is upstairs; before, it was my grandmother's house; what was this street like in those days?

Seven in the morning in the old city of Chiang Mai, fourteen degrees, hot soy milk and rice porridge at a stall: cold, colder than Bangkok; much colder, fourteen degrees; hot soy milk, warmer than coffee; colder than Seattle?

Doi Suthep by red truck, up the steepest road in the north: Doi Suthep, forty a person; the highest in Chiang Mai?

A noodle shop by the moat, the curry noodles of the north against Aunt Oy's: curry noodles, chicken or beef?

A woodcarver's shed at Ban Thawai, his son's carvings and his father's chisel: the one who carved this is my son; the boats I build are teak too; the elephant at the door, how much?

The Sunday walking street at dusk, scarves and what they cost before: last year it was eighty; last year, yes, this year a hundred; the last time I bought one for fifty; bought in Bangkok?

The last evening on the bank of the Ping river, how Jack became a boatbuilder: how did you become a boatbuilder?

Sunday lunch at the family table, back from Chiang Mai: eat, you've gone thin; the name on the boat leans a bit; I didn't mean anything by it; you didn't say it at home, you said it at the table; the soup is cold already; didn't you notice; nothing, I pass the rice, nobody said anything: didn't, the little word that denies a past act.

The pier at evening with Tee: Nam is sulking; sulking, what's that; a woman goes quiet, that's sulking, and you have to make up; what did I do; you shouldn't have said it in front of Mum and Dad; I should have said it at home, and now; go and make up, don't say it was a joke; I shouldn't have joked at all: should have and shouldn't have.

The soi mouth the next afternoon, Bee and the vendor: does Nam like garlands; she likes mango more; mango with sticky rice, fifty; which one is sweeter; the yellow one is sweeter than the green one; the sweeter one is better; is she still angry; less than yesterday, go on: more than, less than and better.

The pier at sunset, making up: Nam, sorry that I said it at the table; mm, I know; it was my fault, I bought mango with sticky rice, and a garland too; who told you I like it; Bee, and Tee told me you were sulking; I'm not sulking any more; sorry that I joked; the name does lean, I'll paint it again: sorry that, and whose fault.

The noodle stall, an afternoon in July, the first storm of the rains: out of nowhere the sky went dark; and the rain came at once; the lights went out, and the roof is leaking; a tree fell at the soi mouth; was anybody hurt; nobody, the bike got wet, that's all; the lights came back on by themselves; then the noodles come by themselves too; sit, Nui, today it's on me: suddenly, and things that happen by themselves.

The soi the next morning, flooded at its mouth: the water is up to the knee; last year it was only up to the ankle; higher by a whole half metre; at the stall it's lower than here; at my house the water is up to the step; the drain is older than the soi; the pier is the lowest; then I'll go to the pier first; roll your trousers higher than the water: comparing with a measure.

Sandbags at the stall with Aunt Oy and Tee: did you manage to lift the stove; I managed, but the fridge I couldn't lift; did the sandbags come in time; twenty came in time; I moved the pots in time, the rice I didn't; the gas tank I can't lift, Jack, come and help; I can manage only one tank; then both of you, and the noodles in time for lunch: managed and couldn't, in time and too late.

The pier in the flood, Uncle Chai tying the boats: when I was a boy, the water came into the house; was the pier here then; when the water rose, my father was tying the boats; and then what; we were sleeping, and a boat hit the house; did the house break; the house didn't, the boat did, my father built it again; tie the rope, I'm holding the boat: was doing when, the scene against the events.

The express boat pier at seven, a notice read aloud, then Nui's motorbike through the water to the Skytrain: the express boat service is suspended today; can you take me to the Skytrain; before we go, roll your trousers up; before the rain, ten minutes; and after the rain; after the rain, half an hour; after the water goes down, I'll wash the bike; after work I'll help you: before and after in a story.

Master Wichai's yard on Khlong Bang Luang in the rain, the wood under the roof: my father began the yard sixty years ago; since when have you built boats; since twelve, until today; that's a long time; since the roads came, fewer boats; since I came here I've learnt a lot; next cool season you build a boat of your own; I've waited a long time: from then until now, and since then.

The pier, a Sunday in the rains, and Grandma's yearly trip home becomes the whole family's: every year I go home for the planting; we've decided, the whole family goes; I've agreed with Dad; I've decided to take leave; Master Wichai has agreed; then it's settled, Uncle Daeng is waiting; we've arranged Friday at five in the morning; five!

Uncle Chai's pickup on the road north, Saraburi at nine in the morning: how many more hours?

Grandma's house at the village near Khon Kaen, and Uncle Daeng, who farms the family field, on what has changed: welcome; the village has got bigger, Auntie; the road has got better too; but the young people have got fewer; it's quieter here; the nights have got louder, frogs; my house has got smaller; you've got used to Bangkok, Grandma; Jack has got quieter: the little words up and down after a describing word.

The family's paddy at dawn, Uncle Daeng showing Jack the planting and Grandma singing: we plant while there's water; take three seedlings, push them in like this; Grandma sings while she plants; I'm planting and sinking at the same time; back up as you plant; don't talk while you plant; then sing as you sink; Grandma is still faster than me: while, and doing two things at once.

Lunch at the edge of the paddy, som tam, sticky rice and grilled chicken, and everything compared: my som tam isn't as hot as this; mine isn't as soft; the field isn't as big as I remembered; the same size, you've grown; I'm not as tired as yesterday; nobody is as hungry as a planter; the chicken isn't as big; but it's twice as good: not as hot as.

Evening on the porch of Grandma's house, the day's near-disasters told as a story: I almost sank; luckily Nam helped; the buffalo almost ate Jack's hat; luckily it doesn't like hats; luckily nobody fell; I almost fell, twice; so he sat down in the water instead; luckily the water was warm: almost, and luckily.

The village street at dawn, the monks' morning round with Grandma, then the district market: the first time, kneel like this; this time, right?

Khon Kaen station at eight at night, the ticket window, the platform announcement and the attendant of the sleeper: four sleeper tickets, please; the train to Bangkok departs from platform one; as soon as we're on, we eat; as soon as the train leaves, I make the beds; as soon as Jack lies down, he snores; as soon as we arrive, wake me; as soon as we arrive, there's tea; as soon as there's tea, Jack's awake: as soon as, then.

Six in the morning in the sleeper, the river in the window: how was last night?

The pier on a Sunday, Jack and Nam back from the village with mud on them, Tee with a ring in his pocket: where have you two been?