A few days later, Sirinya was walking alone through the town, making for the riverbank. The presence of the Japanese army had cast a dark shadow over the town. Kanchanaburi was no longer the colourful, carefree place it had once been. Her uncle now insisted that she and Malee stayed in the apartment in the evenings, that they did not wander as they had before through the streets or by the river, meeting friends, stopping for a snack or a drink at a food stall. She found these restrictions hard to bear, and resented being a virtual prisoner inside Chalong’s home.
She had even thought about returning to her family village to be with her mother and grandmother. It had been weeks since she had been back home and she suddenly longed for the simplicity of the life there in the hills; rising at dawn to feed the pigs and hens, working in the fields by day, eating a simple meal of fried rice and vegetables on the porch of her grandmother’s hut by evening, going to bed on the floor of the hut shortly after sunset. She decided to try to persuade Chalong to let her go there on her next days off. But she knew he’d be reluctant, with the Japanese soldiers patrolling the neighbourhood.
This afternoon Malee was working alone in the shop. Chalong had a visitor, a man Sirinya had never seen before, with whom he was deep in discussion in the apartment above the shop. Trade was slow, and before the visitor arrived, Chalong had said that Sirinya could take the rest of the day off. She had wasted no time in rushing up to her room, changing her clothes and slipping out of the back door alone.
Only a few brave street vendors were out touting their wares. There was hardly anyone about, and those who were, hurried about their business, heads down. The presence of the Kempeitai in the house on Saeng Chuto Road had instilled fear into the place. If the soldiers were out on the streets they stopped and searched people at random. They also insisted that everybody had to stop what they were doing and bow to them as they passed.
Now, she wandered on the riverbank, watching the fast-flowing water, hoping that it would exert its timeless power of peace and calm over her. She sat down on a rock, trying to lose herself in the sound of the rushing current, the endless flow of the river. But when she lifted her head and glanced over at the opposite bank, she noticed that the landscape had changed dramatically.
Directly opposite her was the field that Chalong had been forced to sell to the Japanese army. It was no longer the sleepy meadow she had known and loved; it was transformed. It was now alive with movement and activity. She got to her feet and shaded her eyes, peering across the water. Men were busy carrying lengths of bamboo and great bundles of palm leaves. Some were tying the lengths of bamboo together, or hammering stakes into the ground. She realised they were constructing long huts out of these rudimentary materials. Even from this distance Sirinya could tell that the men looked the same as the men that she and Malee had seen on the road to Whang Khanai. Most were very thin and dressed in rags. As they worked, uniformed guards strutted around amongst them with sticks and bayonets, occasionally striking out or prodding someone at will.
She turned away, horrified. How could this be happening here, in this quiet, beautiful place that had always protected and sheltered her? A shudder went through her. She needed to get away from this spot. She turned to retrace her steps up the bank to the path. But sensing she was not alone she stopped and looked up. There, standing at the top of the bank watching her was Narong.
‘What are you doing here, Siri?’ he asked, moving towards her.
‘I just wanted some fresh air, but I’ve been watching what’s going on over there. It’s quite shocking, isn’t it? Look at the state of those poor men.’
He smiled, ‘Yes they do look in a state. They don’t look much like soldiers do they?’
‘They must have been virtually starved, by the look of them.’
He shrugged. ‘Why won’t you see me, Siri?’ he asked, turning away from the bank. She noticed his car parked on a piece of ground nearby.
‘Things haven’t been easy lately, what with the Japanese soldiers in town,’ she said. ‘You know, the secret police have moved into one of the shophouses opposite my uncle’s shop.’
‘It’s not because of the Japanese soldiers though, is it? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks.’
‘What makes you think that?’ she dropped her eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze. It was true.
‘I’ve been into Chalong’s shop several times. You’re never there.’
‘Oh, I’m often out,’ she said evasively, ‘I have lots of deliveries to make.’
He watched her silently for a moment, as if he was assessing whether she was lying. Then he said, ‘Would you like a lift home now? I’ve got my car here.’
‘No, thank you. I came down here to get some fresh air. A walk will do me good.’
He shrugged. ‘If you say so. How about coming out with me this evening?’
‘I’m sorry, Narong. I have to get up early to work.’
‘Well, what about your day off?’
She had run out of excuses. Why did he persist? Perhaps she should just tell him now that she had no desire to continue seeing him. Get it over and done with.
‘Look, why don’t I come with you now,’ she said on a whim, turning back towards him. ‘Perhaps we could drive out into the country? I have a little time this afternoon.’
He brightened visibly, walked over to the car and opened the door for her. She slid onto the leather passenger seat. He started the engine and revved it several times making a throaty roar.
As he drove through the streets towards the edge of town, Sirinya thought back to the first time she’d met him. He was a new acquaintance of Somsak’s, and apparently had returned to live in Kanchanaburi after a long absence. Malee had introduced them, and the four of them had gone to the cinema together one evening. Before the programme began, they’d gone to the hotel in the centre of town for a drink. Malee and Somsak were soon engrossed in each other’s company, deep in conversation. Sirinya felt a little awkward left with this stranger.
‘I haven’t seen you before,’ he said, toying with his beer and appraising her. ‘I’m sure I would have remembered you if I had done.’
She smiled politely and sidestepped the compliment.
‘I went to school here in the town,’ she said. Then I went back to live in my family village in the hills with my mother and grandmother. My grandmother owns some land there. A small farm. But I wasn’t back there for very long. My uncle has been expanding his business so he asked me to come back and help out in the shop. What about you?’
‘Oh, my parents live in the town, but I’ve been away for most of my life. School in Bangkok, then university there too.’
‘So what brings you back now?’
‘I’ve just started working in my father’s paper factory. I’ll be taking over from him when he retires, so I have to learn the ropes.’
‘Ah, yes,’ she said slowly.
Now she understood. The paper factory was the town’s biggest employer, established here to exploit the bamboo that grew rampant everywhere around. Hundreds of people were employed there; she had seen crowds of them walking to their shifts early in the morning, even before the monks began their morning rounds. She’d thought there was a pampered look about Narong when she first set eyes on him; his expensive clothes and shoes, manicured hands. There was no denying he was good looking. Liquid brown eyes with long lashes, regular features, perfect skin. But there was something ice-cool about his manner. Something that stopped her warming to him.
At the cinema, while Malee and Somsak held hands and whispered together, he’d shifted restlessly about in his seat throughout the film, Gone with the Wind. Although it had been cut ruthlessly for Thai cinema, it was still over three hours long. Sirinya sensed Narong’s impatience and boredom.
As they came out into the warm night he said, ‘Well thank goodness that is over. That was a real marathon, wasn’t it?’
‘I thought it was just wonderful,’ said Sirinya, half her mind still dreamily occupying the landscape and atmosphere of the deep south of America.
‘Would you like to go for a spin in my car,’ he asked. She swallowed. ‘Car?’ she stared at him. She’d never met anyone of her own age who owned a car before.
‘Yes, Father bought it for me as a home-coming present. Partly to make up for having to live back in this dump again.’
She eyed him coldly. ‘I don’t think so, thank you,’ she said.
But after that night, he’d been round to the shop many times to see her. She was always cool with him, but he persisted. He often brought her flowers from the market; lotus blossoms or a spray of orchids. One day he brought her a more expensive gift: a close-fitting turquoise dress made of thick, raw silk.
‘I thought it would suit you,’ he said, and for the first time she noticed an anxiousness in his manner, as if he really cared how she would respond. She couldn’t help feeling flattered, and held it up to her cheek to feel the texture of the cloth.
‘Thank you. It’s very kind of you.’ Later when she tried it on, she was amazed to find that it fitted perfectly and complemented her skin colour and her jet black hair.
Finally she’d agreed to go out with him on two or three occasions. He drove her out through the narrow streets of the town. As they roared past, people stopped to stare. Sirinya could not help feeling self-conscious at this shameless display of wealth when most people here had few material possessions. They were soon out in the countryside, speeding along the bumpy valley roads, past villages and temples, rice fields and tapioca plantations. He drove quickly and recklessly. The car was a green sports car, an open-topped Bugatti. Sirinya’s hair soon worked its way free from its ribbon and streamed out behind her. Despite her reticence, the feeling of the wind rushing through her hair, the hot air on her face, the countryside flashing past was exhilarating, and she’d found herself laughing with pleasure, turning to him with shining eyes.
Once, he drove her into the hills, to the Erewan waterfalls. They swam in the deep cool rock pools beneath the falls, floating on their backs, letting the river fish nibble at their skin. But she still felt ill at ease with him. As if, despite all his charm, he was hiding something from her. She would often catch him watching her, as if he was silently judging her.
That last time had been a few weeks ago. That day, on the way home, she’d taken the decision not to see him again. She knew that this uneasiness she felt in his presence was never going to be dispelled. And although he’d called at the shop a few times after that, she’d hidden in the storeroom when she saw him approach. She could not explain why, even to herself, but his attentions made her feel uncomfortable. She knew she should find the courage to tell him that she did not want to see him, but for some reason she always made excuses to herself.
Now, as before, Sirinya found herself shrinking from the gaze of people who turned to stare, looked up from their snacks at food stalls, or from sweeping the road to watch the Bugatti roar past. Unconsciously she kept her head low and slipped down in the seat a little.
This time he drove eastwards beside the river, along a road fringed by jungle on one side.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure. We could drive to Bangkok.’
‘Bangkok? But that’s over a hundred kilometres.’
‘It would only take a few hours. I’d like to take you there. Forget all about this rotten place for a while.’
‘No, Narong,’ she said, alarmed. ‘That’s too far. I said I have some time, but I haven’t got that long!’
He drove on in silence. Then he said, staring ahead, ‘I want you to understand what I am, Sirinya. I know you think I’m some spoiled rich kid. And maybe that’s true. But I’m much more than that.’ He began to accelerate, to take bends at speed, skidding on the uneven road surface.
Sirinya was thinking quickly. She hadn’t intended this turn of events. She’d just thought they would go for a short drive and she would tell him gently that she didn’t think there was a future for them.
‘Look,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady as the greenery flashed past at an alarming pace, ‘why don’t you pull over? We can talk properly then.’
He glanced at her bitterly, then swerved the car off the road into a clearing and skidded to a halt.
He sat staring ahead of him, breathing heavily. Sirinya tried to slow her pounding heart. The thought flashed through her mind that he was unstable, that her rejection of him might tip him over the edge. Perhaps he might even try to harm her?
She got out of the car and leaned against the door, taking deep breaths, wondering what to do. Should she take a risk and tell him the truth about how she felt?
Then, as she lifted her head and looked through the trees she glimpsed movement. She walked a few paces forward to the edge of the forest and stared ahead.
‘Sirinya, what is it?’ Narong called from the car.
Through the trees floated the sound of axes chopping, of trees crashing to the ground, of something heavy being dragged along the forest floor. She was bewildered for a moment, then she heard some words she had heard before; ‘Tokkyuu, Speedo,’ being screamed angrily, and a stream of Japanese expletives following. The jungle was thick here, but a few yards ahead she could just make out shadowy figures hacking away at roots, teams of half-naked men dragging tree trunks along with ropes.
She felt the blood drain from her face. She turned back to the car. ‘It’s more of those prisoners,’ she said. ‘They’re working down there. They seem to be clearing the jungle.’
‘That must be for the railway,’ he said casually. ‘That’s what they’re here for. They must be getting on with it.’
She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to rid herself of the fear and revulsion of what was happening all around her. She remembered Chalong’s words to the Japanese soldiers that first day, ‘Now I know you are joking … That is impossible. It’s dense jungle and a mountain range of limestone and granite all the way, it will never happen.’
She turned back to Narong, weak with shock. ‘Those poor, poor men,’ she whispered.