a traffic-wise couple | sila komchai

a traffic-wise couple SILA KOMCHAI

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a traffic-wise couple TRANSLATED FROM THE THAI BY MARCEL BARANG

© SILA KOMCHAI © MARCEL BARANG for the translation Internet edition 2008 | All rights reserved Original Thai edition, Khrorpkhrua Klang Thanon, 1992

SILA KOMCHAI | A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE

3

My wife is very thoughtful. As soon as I tell her I have an important appointment at three in the afternoon – to take my boss to meet a major customer of ours at a riverside hotel in the Khlong San area – she says we must leave the house at nine in the morning. She, too, has a business engagement at Saphan Khwai before noon, and she thinks that by leaving then, we’ll both be right on time.

Her thoughtfulness doesn’t stop there. On the back seat of our car, she keeps a basket full of fast-food items, an icebox to chill drinks, some snacks and sweets, including tamarind seeds and star gooseberries, a saltshaker together with a plastic trash bag, a spittoon, and even some spare clothes hung on the pegs above the windows. It looks like we’re going on a picnic.

As the theory goes, we belong to the middle class: our residence is in Sai Mai, the subdistrict connecting Lam Lookka and Bang Khen districts. To reach the heart of the city, the best way is to drive past countless housing projects up to Km 25 on Phaholyothin Road, turn in the A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE | SILA KOMCHAI

4 direction of Rangsit, then take Vibhavadi Road up to the Seven Generations Bridge and from there head for Bangkok.

If we were part of the destitute lower classes, we’d be staying in some slum right in the heart of town, like those upper-class people who build condominiums to enjoy the sunset lighting up the ripples on the river.

But what’s that compared to the constant dazzle of dreams?

The goal of the cohorts of the upwardly mobile is plain to see, but the problem is how to achieve it. We work ourselves silly and are always making plans for our own projects, hoping to become entrepreneurs so much we keep changing plans almost on a daily basis. All we can do for the time being is have our own house and our own car, even though this rather cripples our budget.

I won’t deny that one reason for having a car is to uphold our social status, but more to the point, our bodies have begun to protest they can’t stand being left dangling three to four hours at the time in a crowded bus inching forward in the sweltering heat. Though a car stuck in the same traffic will take about as long to cover the same distance, it’s infinitely better to be sitting in airconditioned splendour, listening to our favourite songs.

How odd indeed: just as I am turning 38, I reach home at eleven at night and stagger to bed totally exhausted, as if all the ligaments in my body have got slack and reached retirement age. When I was in secondary school, SILA KOMCHAI | A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE

5 I used to be on the school’s soccer team. The teacher had me play halfback, or midfield as it’s called these days, and could I run then, tireless as a dynamo!

Maybe I have been working too much, but I once heard a feature broadcast on the radio during a break in a variety programme which said that atmospheric pollution due to three or four kinds of toxic gases deteriorated all of our bodily functions and that stress in our daily life impaired our efficiency.

A car is a necessity these days because we have to spend just about as long on the road as we do at home or in the office. And since my wife has enhanced ours with lots of amenities, it has become a kind of combined mobile house and office.

Keeping this in mind, I have stopped worrying about driving conditions. There’s nothing strange about Bangkok having millions of cars, and to see them stalled in the streets as if they are about to spend the night there has become normal too; and maybe because I’m beginning to enjoy our car life, as a couple we have become even closer than before. Sometimes, we have lunch together on the expressway like any other happy couple, with plenty of opportunities to laugh and get more intimate. For instance, when we are stuck in solid traffic for hours, we play a game together.

‘Close your eyes,’ she orders.

‘What for?’ I wonder.

‘Oh, come on, darling, do as I say,’ she insists as she A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE | SILA KOMCHAI

6 takes the spittoon from the back of the car, places it between her feet on the floor, pulls up her skirt and lowers herself to squat under the steering wheel. I do as she orders, putting my hand over my eyes but keeping fingers apart to admire the fair skin I am not unfamiliar with. In moments like these, a strange emotion grabs me and I get all excited.

‘Hey! That’s unfair, stop cheating!’ Her business over, she looks askance at me and slaps me on the shoulder a couple of times to cover her embarrassment.

We got married rather late in life, as advised by the Ministry of Public Health, strictly complying as well with the ad exhorting people to wait until they are ready before they have children. By the time country bumpkins like us striving to make a decent living in town are just about ready, I have turned 38 and she 35. By now, however, my body is no longer willing, what with coming back home at eleven every night and scrambling into bed some time after midnight. Even if I am in the mood, the gonads are probably flat out, and as the fancy takes me only once in a blue moon anyway, there isn’t much hope.

One day, I woke up feeling unusually jolly, perhaps because I had slept soundly, which hadn’t happened to me in a long time. I went out to enjoy the golden rays of dawn, breathe some fresh air and do stretch-out exercises to a samba beat, then took a shower, washed my hair, drank milk and ate two soft-boiled eggs. It seemed SILA KOMCHAI | A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE

7 I was back in midfield shape. Even though the traffic had come to a standstill on Vibhavadi–Rangsit Road just past Kasetsart Intersection, and Miss Peun, my favourite DJ, was reporting on the radio with her usual cheerful voice that a power pole rammed down by a ten-wheel truck had blocked the road in front of the Thai Building and was being removed, I still felt great.

In the car struck across the left lane behind us, a student couple were going at each other like boisterous puppies. The guy playfully ruffled the girl’s long flowing hair; she turned to pinch his forearm; he put his arm around her shoulders and held her tight; she poked his ribs gently with her elbow, and then…

I felt excited like a standby player called into the field.

I turned around and surveyed my wife’s face. She looked prettier than usual. My eyes lingered on her full bosom and her round, smooth thighs. She wore a miniskirt and, to ease the movements of her feet while she drove, she had to pull it up a little closer to the danger zone.

‘You’ve got beautiful legs,’ I quavered, my heart beating unusually fast.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said, but her tone was hardly as earnest as her words. She looked up from inspecting her nails. Her neck was slender, smooth and milky white.

I swallowed uneasily and looked away, trying to bring the painful turmoil inside me under control, but familiar A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE | SILA KOMCHAI

8 images kept firing my imagination. My animal instincts were strongly aroused and since superior animals like to search and experiment with new and weird sensations, I was quickly going crazy with frustration.

My hands felt clammy. When I looked around, I noticed that many cars had tinted windows just like ours, which also has plastic shades to further shield us from the outside glare. The air conditioner was on full blast and the radio was playing a piano concerto evoking a running brook, at once peaceful and wild. I stretched out a shaky hand to roll down the shade of the windscreen.

We were now adrift in the pleasant privacy of our own world.

I’m aware we have been destroying our natural environment for so long it is now harming our inner self in turn, even as we choke on the gagging fetters of urban life, work pressure, pollution and the sardine-can traffic.

Family activities which used to be happily in tune with their own momentum and rhythm are turning increasingly incoherent due to our rush through the obstacle course of life.

Perhaps because it had been a long time since our bodies last met, as well as out of her longing for a child to treasure as all mothers do, or for some other reason, her ‘Don’t do that…you’ll crumple my clothes’ objection and initial resistance soon gave way to the inauguration of our connubial nest on the road.

Our life is full of bliss now that the two of us engage in SILA KOMCHAI | A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE

9 other common activities such as crossword puzzles, scrabble and all those games young couples are wont to play. We seem to have reverted back to the time when we fell in love, although almost every radio station is reporting that traffic conditions all over Bangkok are getting worse – the whole of Sukhumvit is packed solid, ditto for Phaholyothin, chaos reigns from Lardphrao to the Victory Monument, both Ramkhamhaeng and Phya Thai roads are paralysed and nothing moves on Rama IV. But I feel like I am sitting on my favourite sofa in our living room.

I’m thinking of replacing our car with a bigger one which will accommodate a kitchen corner, a toilet, a game area and even a bed. It seems luck is on my side.

Lately, whenever cars are grounded, drivers and passengers have taken to coming out and relaxing by the roadside, and so have I; and this has given me the opportunity to meet quite a few people. We greet one another, commiserate about stocks and exchange views about the political, economic and commercial situation, not to mention important sporting events. We’ve become like neighbours.

Mr Wichai is marketing director in a leading firm manufacturing sanitary napkins and toilet paper, Mr Prat owns a fish-canning factory, Mr Pharnu produces ironing starch and I’m in advertising. To be more popular, I spice our chats with data from our research A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE | SILA KOMCHAI

10 people about the latest consumer trends and social values. I’ve unexpectedly picked up several clients on the road.

A good worker like me is often called to work closely with his boss. Our customer today is launching a new beverage, canned bootleg, and he wants us to present him with a complete marketing strategy – from giving the product an attractive name that will be easy to pronounce and remember to laying plans for tapping the middle-income bracket, to devising an advertising campaign (including hard-sell promotion) that will create a product image able to motivate target customers. All this will command a budget of ten million baht per year.

It means I have to help my boss explain our planning in detail – make a presentation, as we say – and be persuasive enough to convince our customer and win him over.

The car flow in Bangkok’s arteries is solid toffee as usual. My appointment is at three o’clock and it’s now a quarter past eleven, so there’s still plenty of time. I sit thinking about the things I have to do urgently and dream of owning a new, bigger, more comfortable car – which isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds.

Our car moves across the bridge at Kasetsart Intersection and comes to a standstill not far from the place we once used for our outdoor conjugal performance.

Long rafts of cars stretch out in front of us. After more than ten minutes on the spot, I reckon this is going to be SILA KOMCHAI | A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE

11 a long wait. I recline fully against the seat, face up, eyes closed, and try to think of my work but instead my heart begins to quiver…

It looks as though a spell of thrilling intimacy is still haunting the area. Deep in my heart I feel that what happened here was wrong. We had to be discreet and performed in a rush, wriggling awkwardly in cramped space, full of apprehension. It was challenging and exciting, like the times when, as a kid, I used to clamber up the mangosteen trees at the temple to steal fruit.

Her pretty clothes were all rumpled, not just because of my assaults but also because of her eager response, which had warmed up the inside of the car as if the air conditioner had gone short of refrigerant. She had seized my hands to prevent them from roving as I wished, pushed them away, then clutched my shoulders, digging her nails in deep to hurt me, and we had held each other tightly, breathing hard…

I extend my hand to lower the windscreen shade again.

‘Don’t,’ she cries out before turning to face me. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me today: I feel sort of dizzy.’

I sigh, avert my eyes and try to get rid of my wild fantasies. I take the food basket on the back seat and grab a sandwich to stifle my longing while she, looking rather unwell, takes a mouthful of tamarind seeds and chews on them with relish.

A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE | SILA KOMCHAI

12 As soon as I am full, I begin to feel bored. I open the door, get out and start walking to pass the time of day. I smile dryly at those who have also come out of their cars to stretch their arms, straighten their backs to relieve the pains of prolonged sitting, and stroll to and fro along the road. The atmosphere is like early morning in a housing estate, where people get up early to exercise as is the fashion these days. I have the feeling we’re all neighbours from the same block.

Some distance to my right, in the middle of the road, a middle-aged man with a spade is digging into the ground on the traffic island. Intrigued by his behaviour, I walk up to him.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘I’m planting banana trees,’ he answers without taking his eyes off his work. It’s only when he finishes taking the soil out of the hole that he turns and smiles at me.

‘Banana leaves are long and wide, you see, so they are a great help in absorbing pollution,’ he explains with the fluency of a dedicated environmentalist. ‘I plant one or two shoots every day, you know. Would you like to try?

I’ve still got some in my car. We’ll be here for a while yet. The radio says there have been two pile-ups involving seven or eight cars, one at the Lardphrao flyover and the other in front of Morchit.’

‘I guess it’s a good idea: before long, we’ll have a banana plantation around here,’ I opine as I grab the spade.

It’s not just a question of fighting boredom. Actually, I SILA KOMCHAI | A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE

13 was raised on an orchard upcountry and was used to this kind of work, but that was a long time ago and I’m out of practice. The important thing is, it allows me to exercise and get some funny feelings out of my system – something like a transfer of emotions from one kind of banana to another. Besides, planting reminds me of my distant past.

‘When the banana leaves start to grow, it’ll be like driving through an orchard. They should help clean up the air,’ he says when we are finished planting. Friendship occurs easily; we feel close to each other and forget we are on a city thoroughfare. As we exchange calling cards, he invites me to have a cup of coffee by his car, but I decline because I’ve been away from my own car for too long.

‘I can’t stand it any longer – please drive for me,’ my wife moans hoarsely as soon as I open the door. She is very pale and beads of sweat are running down her forehead. She holds the plastic bag ready in case she vomits.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, worried by her looks.

‘I’m dizzy and feel like throwing up all the time.’

‘That bad, eh? Can you hang on for a while? I’ll take you to see a doctor.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be okay,’ she says, forcing herself to look me in the eye. Holding my gaze, she adds: ‘My period is almost two months late. I think I’m pregnant.’

I shudder and sit stock still for a long while, then burst A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE | SILA KOMCHAI

14 out shouting to congratulate myself. The sound of retching and the smell of vomit don’t bother me at all. I’m beside myself with delight. I feel like getting out of the car to holler: ‘Hurray! My wife is pregnant! She’s become pregnant on the road!’

I’m the one driving when the car starts moving again. I think of the little one, who is going to make our family life wonderfully complete. I think of the new car, which will be spacious enough for father, mother and child as well as all the accessories family life requires.

It is indeed an absolute priority for a happy life along the streets of the City of Angels.

Sila Komchai (Winai Boon‐ chuay, born 1952) is a pop‐ ular Thai singer and writer.

His second collection of short stories, A traffic‐wise couple, earned him the SEA Write Award in 1993, al‐ though his better claim to literary fame rests with his short, 1989 novel The path of the tiger, a bewitching, metaphoric coming to terms with his experience as a jungle fighter in the 1970s.

SILA KOMCHAI | A TRAFFIC‐WISE COUPLE