the judgment | chart korbjitti

the judgment CHART KORBJITTI

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the judgment TRANSLATED FROM THE THAI BY MARCEL BARANG AND PHONGDEIT JIANGPHATTHANAKIT

© THAI MODERN CLASSICS, Internet eBook edition 2008 | All rights reserved Original Thai edition, Khamphipharksa, 1981

CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

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prologue This is the story of a young man who took as his wife a widow who was slightly deranged. (The story would probably have ended there had the widow not been his father’s wife.) And as the affair happened to take place in a small rural community, it grew into a major scandal which shook the morals of nearly everyone in the village and set one and all gossiping and passing judgment on the basis of whatever opinion each had formed about this abnormal relationship.

Rumour had it that, less than a month after his father died Fak had taken his stepmother as his wife. Some went so far as to claim that the two of them had cuckolded Old Foo even before his body had been laid to rest in his coffin. Just look at Somsong, so bucked up these days, and look at Fak, skinny as a bag of bones– The rumour started with Young Lamai, the boiledpeanut seller at the twelfth-month temple fair, which, that year, also celebrated the sixtieth birthday of the temple’s abbot. In the morning the villagers had made THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

4 merit by offering food to the monks and in the evening dedicated temple-goers had organised all kinds of entertainment to keep the whole community in high spirits.

That evening, during the likei∗ performance, the villagers crowded before the stage, some sitting, some standing, the latecomers watching from beyond the covered area. Behind the multicoloured lights that shone at the front of the stage, the leading actor was singing his lines and dancing his part. His costume glittered and shimmered and his every move sent flashes of silver and gold. The backdrop was a throne hall drawn in perspective which seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, hypnotising the audience and transporting it right into the palace and its wonder.

Young Lamai sat beside the stage selling boiled peanuts from a basket placed on a table next to a kerosene lamp. Young men kept dropping by to treat themselves to some peanuts and to chat and flirt with the young vendor, who was filling them all with the hope that she might treat them to something else altogether some day.

As Fak was passing by with his stepmother, the widow Somsong, Young Lamai called to him with the familiarity of those who have known each other all their lives. At the time, two or three youngsters were munching their peanuts next to the table.

‘Fak, aren’t you going to buy some?’ she asked, flashing him an enticing smile. ∗ Open-air folk opera

CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

5 ‘I’ve already eaten.’ Fak came to a stop and stood there, smiling back.

‘Oh, come on, a handful or two won’t hurt you. All right, if you won’t buy ’m, you can have ’m for free.

Here!’ Young Lamai wasn’t letting up and she went on teasing Fak, but the widow Somsong didn’t take this as a joke at all. She was clearly possessive over Fak as she glared at the young vendor.

‘You leave my man alone, you hear!’

Young Lamai turned red in the face and shot back a volley of abuse. There and then, the area before the kerosene lamp would have turned into a battlefield had not Fak dragged his stepmother away, the young vendor screaming in their back: ‘Sure, Fak don’t like to eat peanuts, but his mouth isn’t big enough to munch yours, you bitch!’

It was on this night, then, that the announcement was made that stepson and stepmother had become man and wife. The revelation was relayed by Young Lamai, who was seething with anger, and let no one ignore that as everybody knew, this happened to be the twelfth month, during which, as she didn’t fail to point out, nobody got married because it was the month in which only dogs were in heat.

The temple fair had been over for many days and with it the visual entertainment, but the entertainment derived from gossip was only just beginning and it looked as though it would get juicier in coming days.

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6 The temple was the centre of activity for the villagers.

When a child was born, it was taken to the temple to be given an auspicious name by the abbot according to the date of its birth. Those who had offspring of ordination age would have them ordained in the temple, where they remained for the duration of the Buddhist Lent. Of course, when someone died, the body would be brought to the temple to be cremated. Whenever people wanted to meet and talk, or whenever the community leader sought to convene a meeting of all the villagers, they did so at the temple. When district officials came to issue identity cards, it was there, too, that they interviewed the villagers. The doctors who gave immunisation shots had everyone line up at the temple. The elderly regularly went there to make merit and renew their vows.

Officers from the police station investigating a crime or looking for a suspect would stop at the temple to ask questions. Individually and collectively, everybody relied on the temple.

Fak himself had his hut behind the temple, built on monastery grounds. So some people, when they came to the temple, kept their eyes and ears open in the hope of finding out a little more about the disgusting affair between Fak and his stepmother. Sometimes, they took back home a bit of gossip to feed the rumour.

Fak worked as school janitor, a job he had inherited from his father. It was rather like a legacy his father had bequeathed to him before he had drawn his last breath.

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7 But some people sneered at Fak behind his back, saying: ‘He sure has made a clean sweep of his father’s property, wife included.’ ‘A pity all the time he spent studying as a novice is now wasted.’ He thus became in their eyes an ungrateful person who showed no respect for the memory of his father. His friends began to desert him one after the other and even the monks refused to sit and chat with him for hours on end as they had used to do. He had almost become an outcast in the village, but not quite, because there were still occasions when it was necessary to exchange a few words with him.

With every passing day, Fak’s world became more desolate as if he lived all alone in the village. To other people, he was a target of ridicule and contempt. Every word that reached his ears sounded harsh and coarse as if the speaker was unwilling to talk. Sarcasm lay behind every joke.

Work was like a friend to him, the only thing that soothed him and prevented his thoughts from running wild. He passed his days lost in work, but his nights were protracted battles to find sleep as they stretched out in a turmoil of thought.

As time went by, Fak became increasingly tormented by his suspicion and dread of the people around him.

During the day he wore himself out, but at night he couldn’t sleep. As he became thinner and thinner, the villagers began to call him a bag of bones.

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8 As far back as he could remember, he had never seen his mother’s face, not even on a photograph. All that his father had told him was ‘Your mum died a long time ago’. His dad was all Fak had ever had. They lived together on the stage of the small open theatre in the temple grounds. Whenever the likei was to perform, they had to look for another place to sleep, either in the monks’ quarters or in the basement of the prayer hall, and take along with them their mat, mosquito net and pillows, as well as the few clothes they possessed. But it wasn’t often that there would be a fair with a likei, and even though he had to move, Fak was always excited when it came. He liked to sit in front of the stage and would watch the whole performance without ever feeling sleepy. The morning after the fair, he and his dad and the temple boys would pick up all the rubbish, sweep the ground and tidy up the lawn. Fak liked to do this just as much, because he sometimes found a few coins people had dropped during the night.

Fak’s father was employed by the temple. He was there to wait on the monks and do any work that required physical strength, such as digging, laying out concrete, doing carpentry, cutting grass or gardening.

He didn’t receive any payment for his labour other than being fed by the temple: father and son didn’t have to worry about finding enough to eat. Whenever he had nothing to do at the temple, he hired himself out for odd jobs: cutting the grass in coconut groves, clearing the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

9 forest, chopping firewood, turning over the soil – in short, anything anyone asked him to do. When Fak was a little boy, he always went out with his dad.

At that time in his life, Fak’s closest friends were the temple boys. In the morning and at lunchtime, he would help in the monastery, bringing the food to the monks and waiting on them while they ate. He carried out his duties just like any other temple boy; the only difference was that at night he didn’t sleep with the rest of them.

He went back to sleep with his dad on the small stage.

His life as a child revolved around the temple, the monks and the other boys, and was filled with the smell of incense, the sound of chanting and the sight of the heavens and hells of Buddhist mythology and the lives of the Buddha depicted on the rows of paintings that hung on the walls in the basement of the prayer hall.

These things were like precious ornaments that kept his heart warm. He never grieved for not having a mother, maybe because he had never had one, and besides, the other temple boys were not allowed to have their mothers sleep with them either. He never felt wanting in having only his father with him. Having his dad was enough for him.

As Fak turned eleven, the temple began to build a school, and when it was finished, his father’s responsibilities increased. He had to look after the building, open and close windows and doors, do the cleaning and sweep and mop the floors. At first the work wasn’t too THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

10 heavy and Fak would give his dad a hand. It was in this very school that the young Fak finished Grade Four.

Later, when education began to gain prominence in the village and the number of students and teachers increased, his father became the full-time janitor and drew a monthly salary from the administration. As it seemed that there was more work in the school than in the temple, Fak’s father thought it wouldn’t look good if he continued to live and eat at the temple; besides, he was afraid of criticism from the villagers. So, he decided to move from the open theatre and built himself a hut behind the temple, but he didn’t cut himself off from the temple altogether. He still found time to drop by and chat with the monks, and if any work needed to be done, he could always be relied upon to do it. Sometimes he would eat at the temple as he used to, but not every day as he did before.

After Fak had finished Grade Four, he decided to be ordained as a novice. He thought in the wisdom of his age that he could do well in the church. He planned to go through the three levels of theology examinations to follow in the footsteps of the abbot, who was highly respected by everybody in the village. Fak the novice immersed himself in religious studies, reciting the scriptures over and over and earning himself a solid reputation for his outstanding abilities, and finally fulfilled the highest expectations of the villagers when he passed the three levels of theology exams over a period of just three CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

11 years. Some monks had been sitting for the same exams for years! The little novice became the delight of the village, loved and admired by monks and laity alike.

When the elderly, who came to take their vows on holy days at the temple, listened to Fak delivering a sermon, they were captivated by his expert delivery as he read from the palm-leaf texts.

The villagers fully expected that, one day, when the young novice would be ordained a monk, they would have another great teacher at the temple. Some went as far as to call him, seriously or in jest, Arjarn Fak – Reverend Fak. But the people’s expectations were shattered when the novice requested to disrobe just as he was about to reach the age of ordination. The abbot tried to dissuade him by reminding him that the world of man moves between extremes, is full of trouble and uncertainty, and lacks the serenity of religious life. He bullied him with the gentleness of a loving father, but Fak the novice remained adamant he wanted to disrobe. As the old saying goes, ‘Rain will come, shit will out, children will be born and monks will disrobe: these four events no man can prevent.’

And Fak had his reasons. Even though he still wanted to remain in the shade of religion as one of the Buddha’s disciples, he couldn’t help feeling concerned every time he looked at his father. How could he go on chanting prayers, reciting the scriptures and basking in the comTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

12 fort of religious life when his father had to struggle to earn his living day after day? His father had brought him up all by himself; he had neither brother nor sister nor other relatives; so, who, if not him alone, could help his father when he would be too old to work? Each time he saw his father, whenever he spoke with him, he no longer found himself at peace. His father had never asked him to disrobe, far from it. It was his own decision; it was his own mind which was demanding that he forsake the comfort he alone could enjoy, as enjoying it was like deserting his father and leaving him to cope alone with the pain and sorrow of the secular world. He had to show his gratitude now and look after his dad while the old man was still alive, not wait to go through the rituals and pray for his soul to rest in peace after he had gone.

What if he asked his dad to stop working and share the food he collected on his morning alms round? But his dad wouldn’t stand for it; he was afraid of what people would say.

The novice pondered for months, searching for the right answer. Finally, he made up his mind to disrobe, and no amount of argument could counter his determination.

He disrobed and went to live with his father in the hut.

He would help him at the school and when the work was over, go to the temple to wait on the abbot, massaging his legs or, maybe, making him some tea. His CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

13 world at that time revolved around his father and the temple. When he was done with the one, he would go back to the other. Fak never even thought of taking a trip to town like the other guys of his age, who liked to visit the prostitutes behind the marketplace – not because travelling to town was difficult then, but because his world was full and had no room for women; and in any case, he had never felt the need to taste of the feasts of love. He had vivid dreams about it once in a while, but when he woke, felt repulsed by the fishy smell and stickiness of the sperm and quickly went out in the dark to wash away the telltale stains. To Fak, these thoughts were something to be ashamed of.

During term vacations, he would do casual labour, chopping firewood, cutting grass or tending orchards, depending on who had hired him. Any money he earned he would give to his dad. It could be said that his behaviour at that time made him a prime example of what a young man ought to be in the eye of the community. The villagers were wont to reprimand their children by saying, ‘Why can’t you be like Fak? If you was half as good as he is I wouldn’t have to worry any more.’

When the time came for him to be conscripted, he went into town for the draft. Unfortunately, he drew a red chit and had to go, leaving his dad alone for two years. He did come to visit on weekends, but not every week. He had just been conscripted when the news spread that a road was going to be built through the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

14 province. It would run from Bangkok through yet another province and would pass right behind the temple.

Everyone in the village began to feel excited by the progress that was to come.

When the recruits were sorted out, Fak was sent to a unit stationed in the South, and he could no longer return home often. He would get to see his dad maybe every three or four months, but he never failed to write, and also sent his dad the money he received for sentry duty together with his monthly allowance. He never needed anything: board and lodging was enough for someone as easygoing as he was.

Fak had no way of knowing how his father spent the money during his visits to town. He had no way of knowing that the new road had taken his dad to the back of the market, where he had resumed some activities he had given up a long, long time ago. When he came to know about it later, he didn’t say a word, because that was his dad’s business and it brought him a happiness Fak himself was unable to provide.

After his discharge from the army and his return to the village, he couldn’t help wondering why there was a woman living in the hut. He was told the woman was living there as his father’s wife. She wasn’t bad looking, if a bit on the skinny side; she had a fair complexion and couldn’t be more than thirty. His father was past fifty, and Fak would often hear villagers remark, ‘Your dad’s got his lust for life back again.’ (Three years later, the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

15 terms ‘lust’ and ‘young wife’ would be used readily to explain his father’s death.)

From what he could observe of his father’s wife, Fak got the impression that she wasn’t quite all there. She was always collecting things like coconut shells, flowers, broken combs, old newspapers and the like, and hoarding them in the hut. Every now and then Fak would discreetly throw the whole lot out.

But she never made any trouble for anybody, never hurt anyone, except for making eyes or smiling at any male she happened to see, including the occasional young monk.

His dad had told him that he had met her at the bus terminal in town one evening. They had chatted about this and that until they had noticed it was getting late.

She had nowhere to go, so they had rented a room in a hotel. After they had slept together, she had asked whether she could live with him. His dad was lonely and felt sorry for her. She had told him she had run away from Bangkok and had no relatives. If he sent her away, she’d probably just wander about, and who knows what trouble she might end up in.

Many people complained to Fak that his father was only making trouble for himself, but Fak never thought so. He merely thought that his dad had brought him up and that he had the right to do whatever gave him happiness so long as it didn’t harm anyone. That was all Fak thought.

Two years later, a new building was added to the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

16 school. The education programme was extended. The number of students in the village increased, and children from surrounding villages came to sit through grades five to seven in this school as well. The road at the back of the temple was completed and regular minibuses went into town and on to Bangkok. Progress kept on coming. The latest rumour was that before long, electricity would be connected to the village. Some of the monks’ quarters were demolished and new ones were being built in the traditional Thai style. Now that there were convenient communications to the village, people from Bangkok had begun to come to the temple to make offerings and participate in its ceremonies.

The work at the school increased, and Fak had to help his father more than ever – but there was still only one salary. Teachers would ask him to buy this or do that for them and occasionally he had to help with odd jobs in their homes as well during the weekend. As Fak didn’t want his father to work hard, it wasn’t long before most of the work became his responsibility.

Towards the end of the following year, his father died.

It was the greatest loss Fak had experienced in his life.

Then, in the twelfth month of the same year, on the night of the temple fair mentioned at the beginning, Fak began to lose his reputation.

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part one THE ENTANGLEMENT

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1 Inside a dimly lit, rectangular room.

As the first window was being opened wide, paleyellow rays flooded in, revealing the shapes of desks arranged in rows. With the opening of the second window, the light increased, enhancing the various colours in the room. Written in white in the top corner of the rectangular, green blackboard that faced the room were the words: ‘Day – Month – Year –’ In the black groove at the bottom of the board, bits of chalk lay in white dust.

The light in the room intensified as the third window came ajar. The teacher’s table stood to the right of the blackboard, a chair neatly placed behind it. On the table were a khaki chalk box and a red glass vase, which was filled with dark-red gerberas∗. The flowers had begun to wilt and their petals drooped and leaned against one another in the middle of the vase. More light flooded the room, adding a reddish hue to the shadow of the vase that stretched across the table. In a back corner of the room silently stood a wastepaper basket, a broom and a dustpan, and above them the last window was about to be opened.

∗ Originally an African plant of the composite family, with basal rosettes of leaves and single flower heads with numerous long, narrow ray flowers in white, pink, orange, salmon or violet

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20 In came the sound of a violin, not a smooth melody, but a rising and falling whine, as if the player was practising for the first time. The sound came from the teachers’ quarters. In the stillness of the morning, the shriek of the violin drifted far.

Fak stepped out of the room after he had finished opening all of the windows and doors. This was the last of the sixteen rooms he had to look after every day as part of his job. There were ten classrooms, the headmaster’s room, two teachers’ rooms, a music room, an artsand-crafts room and a first-aid room. Each room had five windows and two doors, which had to be opened every morning and closed every evening. It was part of his routine, as set out in the school regulations.

He left the building and walked along the concrete path around it to the back, where seven water tanks stood in a row. He turned on the tap and filled a galvanised bucket. As the water neared the oval-shaped top, he turned off the tap, took the bucket and a mop and walked back to the main building. He went up the stairs and, hurriedly pushing the mop back and forth, set out to clean the entire upper floor and veranda. He changed the water before he began mopping the lower floor.

After he had finished, he went to the other building, where he only had to clean the top floor; the ground floor was a cemented area where students gathered on Friday evenings.

His floor cleaning done, Fak took the bucket and mop CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

21 back to their place beside the water tanks, then returned to the main building and went upstairs to the headmaster’s office. There, he opened the door of the glass showcase that stood behind the headmaster’s desk next to the school flag hanging on a base. Inside the showcase, silver trophies and shields, each representing a victory the school had achieved in various competitions, were on display. He took the national flag from the bottom shelf of the showcase, slung it over his shoulder and closed the glass door. He then went down and walked across the schoolyard to the flagpole, which stood on a circular cemented block in front of the school, and tied the flag to the cord at the foot of the pole.

Around the base, an outer ring of bricks enclosed small ixora∗ bushes with contrasting orange flowers and green leaves.

The morning was bright and sunny, but to Fak it was rather oppressive. The back of his shirt was soaked with sweat.

The students had started to arrive, alone or in groups, their off-white shirts appearing from every direction.

They carried their schoolbags awkwardly and some of them had metallic lunch boxes as well.

Old Monk Phon and Brother Daeng appeared from the coconut grove hugging their alms bowls and cut across ∗ Originally an African plant of the composite family, with basal rosettes of leaves and single flower heads with numerous long, narrow ray flowers in white, pink, orange, salmon or violet

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22 the schoolyard as they made their way back to the temple, a temple boy carrying a lunch box in their wake. Fak let go of the flag, which had yet to be fully attached to the cord, and, squatting down, placed his palms together and bowed to the monks. When they had walked past, he stood up and continued winding the double cord around the metallic peg at the bottom of the pole.

The big bell at the temple rang frantically for a while and ended on three separate sharp clangs. Like the radio, the chime announced the time – it was eight in the morning. The sun was rising higher in the sky. More students were arriving. Some teachers, who came from town by minibus, were already there, but those who stayed in the teachers’ quarters had not turned up yet.

Neither had the headmaster, whose house was close by.

If this were the rainy season, Fak would have to stand by the stairway beside the concrete footbath to ensure that the children washed their feet before taking their bags and lunch boxes into the classrooms. Some of them would carry their shoes all the way from home and put them on only once they reached the school. A new regulation stated that all students had to wear shoes, especially those in grades five to seven. During the monsoon the tracks to school that went through plantations were muddy, and lumps of mud would stick to the children’s feet. Occasionally, some of them slipped and fell and got themselves covered head to foot in mud and, when they reached the school, they had to scrub themselves comCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

23 pletely before being allowed inside. But this was the cold season, and the rule about feet washing was not strictly enforced.

A cacophony of flutes, drums and a xylophone started up, each player blowing away or beating as he felt like.

The seventh-graders who made up the school band were tuning their instruments in the music room in preparation for the morning parade. Having a band for the parade was the brainchild of one of the new teachers, who had some rudiments of music, and the idea had been adopted by the headmaster and all of the teachers.

It was a sign that this village school was as developed as the schools in town. After quite a long time had been spent practising, the students now had the flutes, drums and xylophone as accompaniment when they sang the national anthem and, when they walked to the classrooms, there was a marching tune to the beat of the drums – left-right, left-right... It was another sign of the advance of the school and of the village. Before long, a violin would be added to the band and this was why the music teacher practised morning and evening.

The sun was keeping time by rising higher and higher in the sky. Everything was getting increasingly hectic – the chatter and bustle of the children, almost three hundred of them, playing in the schoolyard and beside the school; the white of the shirts, the blue of the skirts, the khaki of the shorts, all mixing everywhere.

When the school bell rang its double note, the whites THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

24 and blues and khakis froze. Walking, running, the students went to assemble in front of the flagpole, the older children filing up more quickly than the younger ones, who were pushing and shoving, their rows all askew.

Their teachers had to come and help, cane in hand. The school band stood upfront, followed by the first-graders all the way to the seventh-graders. By the time the second bell rang, all of the rows were in fairly good order and only the little ones were still fidgeting about.

The accents of the national anthem The chanted morning prayers The beat of the drums The students filed into the school, one row at a time, until they had all disappeared inside. The teachers, walking and chatting in a group, were the last ones to go in. All that remained was the schoolyard, green, open and empty. Once again the school was quiet, as it had been in the early morning. The only difference was that now there were teachers and students inside.

Fak went upstairs to the headmaster’s office as he did every morning to receive his instructions for the day.

The headmaster was at his desk reading a newspaper.

He was about forty, round-faced and balding. A finely cropped moustache on his upper lip made him look suave and respectable. When he saw Fak, he covered the paper with both hands, folded it with one and laid it on the desk.

‘How are you today?’ the headmaster asked, in a way CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

25 that didn’t seem to require an answer, as when people greet each other with ‘Where have you been?’

‘Start digging the ground in front of the school, about a meter away from the concrete path. Make four plots of the same size, with an even space between them, running the whole length of the veranda. Break up the soil and get it ready for planting. I’ll bring you some coleus∗.

Nice plants will make the school look beautiful and should impress officials when they come from town for inspection.’ He paused for a while before asking, ‘Can you get it finished today?’ This time, the question needed an answer.

‘Yes, I think so, sir.’

‘Good. Try to speed it up.’ He smiled at Fak. ‘Oh, by the way, Master Preecha told me that this morning when he went to take a bath your woman pulled up her blouse and showed him her breasts. Come on; get a grip on her, will you. She’s your woman, isn’t she?’ he asked with a toothy grin. When Fak didn’t answer, he went on: ‘The teachers who are staying in the quarters are not from here. Don’t let anything happen that would harm the good reputation of our village.’ The headmaster seemed to have run out of things to say, so he added, ‘Well, you can go now. Get on with the work or you’ll never get it finished.’ He picked up the newspaper and started reading again.

Fak turned around and walked out of the room. As he ∗ A genus of tropical evergreen plants of the madder family, with showy flowers

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26 went along the veranda, past the classrooms in which the teachers stood in front of their classes, he felt as if every pair of eyes was staring at him, as though everybody already knew that Master Preecha had seen M’am’s breasts. (‘M’am’ was what Fak called his stepmother, Somsong, because he just didn’t know what else to call her. When his dad was still alive, Fak hardly ever spoke with her.

Since his dad’s death, Fak was forced to stay under the same roof with her and on occasion they had to talk to each other. He couldn’t call her ‘Mother’, as he had never had one and wouldn’t call anybody that anyway. He couldn’t possibly call her ‘Aunt’ either: she was about half his father’s age. Even ‘Sister’ wouldn’t do: they were not related, he had never had any relatives. Eventually, he settled for ‘Madam Somsong’ – it helped keep familiarity at bay. After a while, this was shortened to ‘M’am’, but to other people’s ears, ’M’am’ sounded like a closeness had begun to develop, as if Fak had changed the name of his father’s wife from ‘Somsong’ to ‘M’am’ so as not to feel awkward about his rule over the widow’s crotch.)

Fak unlocked the door to the storeroom, which was under the stairs, and slipped the bunch of keys into his trouser pocket. He took a hoe, a shovel and a ball of string, and went to the front of the school. When he had finished marking out the area with the string, he began to hoe.

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27 Work! Work was the only thing that allowed him to forget his worries. He tried to give himself to it wholeheartedly so that the passing time would be filled with the happiness that work brought to him, but at the least spell of inattention, his thoughts would grab the chance to emerge and, when this happened, his brain and body seemed to be completely estranged. His hands were busy turning up the soil, but in his head, he was thinking of M’am, which led him to think of his dad, the likei stage, his dad’s death, his dad’s body – then back to M’am. He thought he’d kick her out to rid himself of the responsibility. Then, as the hoe hit something hard, he became aware that he had once again allowed himself to be enslaved by his thoughts. They were like monkeys riding on his head, ready to tear him apart whenever he gave them a chance. When he came back to his senses, he put all his effort in digging through the area he had marked out.

The drum in the temple announced that it was lunchtime for the monks – eleven o’clock. He straightened and looked up at the sunlight over the yard in front of the school. In the middle of the expanse of green grass there was a pinkish white patch of bare earth where the children played so often that the trampled grass had almost completely died. Six or seven boys ran past him towards the temple. Every morning at the sound of the drum, these boys had to ask permission from their teachers to leave the classroom in order to arrange lunch for the monks. They were temple boys and it was their duty to THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

28 wait on the monks. As for Fak, he worked for the school and his duty was to wait on the teachers. He turned his gaze back to the black patch that he had been digging.

The mottled earth seemed to glisten in the sun. He stood there for a moment to let his eyes adjust, then picked up the hoe and shovel and took them back to the storeroom, leaving behind the string that marked out the plots so that he could continue with the work in the afternoon.

The cool water from the tanks behind the school helped to refresh him and wash off the sweat coating his body. Using both hands, he scooped some water from the tap, sank his face in it, and gently spread the water over his neck and head to cool himself. He turned off the tap and rubbed his wet hands over his arms as if to dry them. The cool breeze caressed his skin and he felt the coolness of the water permeate his flesh. By the time he had walked back to the front of the school, the droplets of water that had clung to his body had evaporated, leaving only the spots where the water had soaked through onto his khaki shirt.

He walked up the stairs and stopped in front of each of the teachers’ rooms to receive the lunch orders. The headmaster always had lunch at home and Miss Nipha brought her own; so, there were only seven teachers for whom Fak had to buy lunch – fried rice, fried noodles, noodles in gravy, and so on. These he ordered at a shop on the other side of the temple, which was also where the minibuses were stationed.

CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

29 He walked across the schoolyard then took a shortcut through the coconut plantation at the back of the temple.

The narrow track, lined on both sides with knee-high bushes, was seldom used. Most people took the road in front of the temple, but Fak went this way because the track passed his hut and it was quicker than taking the main road.

Fak stopped by his hut, thinking he’d ask M’am about this business of showing her breasts to Master Preecha that morning, but she wasn’t there, so he continued on his way. After a while, the path met the main road. He turned right and walked down the stretch of red earth till he came to the end of it. There, four or five small shops catered to the basic needs of the people in the village. He stopped at the noodle shop. In front of it stood a blue-and-white minibus waiting to take passengers into town. He took out the lunch orders and handed them over to Auntie Chuea, who was standing behind the stove, then went to sit at a table to the rear of the minibus. He looked around and saw that there were three people sitting on the benches at the back of it.

‘Are you going into town, Chit?’ he asked. Hearing his name called, Chit turned and nodded, then looked over to the table where the young driver was playing chess with Old Maen, whose hair was all white.

‘Are we leaving yet, Kliao? Why do we have to wait so darned long? You’ll get plenty of people on the way back. Don’t worry about not collecting enough fares.’

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30 The old man and woman sitting in the back nodded in agreement.

‘We’ll leave at twelve sharp. Just take it easy, okay?

Come and have an iced coffee or a soft drink,’ shouted the driver, who was younger than Chit, then returned to his chess game. Chit got down from the minibus, walked over to the table and sat down next to the driver, whispering to him threateningly: ‘If we don’t leave at noon, I’ll kick your ass off.’

‘Okay, okay! Here, come and help me with this game.

Look, he’s almost cornered me,’ said Young Kliao, turning Chit’s attention to the chessboard.

‘What d’ya mean almost cornered? I’ve got you all right. Watch this.’ Old Maen moved his piece into checkmate.

‘Oh no! Not again! I’ve had enough. Here, Chit, take my place.’ When he saw Chit shake his head, Kliao gathered up the pieces and put them back into the tin. In the shop, things quietened down for a while. Then, Young Kliao turned to Fak and asked jokingly: ‘How about going into town, Fak? I’ll wait for you.’

Fak shook his head. ‘I don’t see why I should.’

‘Oh, just to open your eyes a bit. They’ve got a teahouse∗ now, you know. You know what a teahouse is, don’t you?’ Young Kliao was trying to corner him like a chess player who sees an opening in his opponent’s game. ∗ Euphemism for brothel

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31 ‘No, I don’t,’ Fak answered honestly, not knowing what this young fellow was up to.

‘You mean, you don’t want to have some tea? Some nice hot tea? It gives you a good sweat.’

‘Oh, but I drink plenty of it.’ Fak immediately felt very much with it. He didn’t have to go to the market in town to have tea; he had been drinking it for ages, ever since he was a novice.

‘Oh yes? Then, what about your stepmother? Does she drink it too?’ Kliao asked with a smile. He turned and smiled at Chit as though he was making a bit of a clown out of Fak to keep the passengers entertained while they waited.

‘Of course. Why shouldn’t she?’ Fak raised his voice, feeling that he had the upper hand. How odd! Going all the way into town just to have some tea? There must be something wrong with these guys.

‘And at what time do you like to have tea together?’

‘Whenever we are free. There’s no set time. But I have some every night before I go to sleep. It soothes the throat.’

As soon as Fak had finished speaking, Kliao burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that his whole body shook.

Those who had been listening couldn’t help smiling discreetly at the double meaning of Kliao’s banter.

‘It soothes the throat! Yes, it does that, doesn’t it, now,’ Kliao said, still laughing.

‘Eh? Is this a joke? I don’t think it’s funny. It really does soothe the throat. You act as if you’d never had THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

32 any.’ Fak’s voice carried a tone of contempt for this young upstart.

‘So, you mean you have it with your stepmother several times a day?’

‘Sure. But why do you ask?’ Fak was beginning to feel that there must be another meaning to what they were talking about.

‘No reason. Just asking. You said you had tea with your stepmother and it soothed your throat. So I asked how often you had it. That’s all.’ Young Kliao seemed to have noticed the expression in Fak’s eyes.

From then on, Fak behaved as if he was listening, but he no longer heard a word of what Kliao was saying. He was thinking: ‘What’s so funny about having tea? Yesterday, he laughed at me when I said I had rice soup for lunch∗. He’s quite weird indeed. He’s much younger than me, yet acts as if he’s my equal. If I don’t speak with him, it isn’t good for me. As it is, nobody wants to speak to me anymore. But every time I speak to him, I end up being laughed at like some sort of clown. If I eat rice soup for lunch, he sees it as a joke; if I have tea before I go to sleep, he’s in stitches. Or maybe it’s got something to do with M’am?’ As the thought crossed his mind, anger registered on his face, but he tried to control ∗ Rice soup, a staple for the sick and the old, is also eaten after sexual gratification in a brothel or a massage parlour. Because of this, and possibly because of the consistency of the gruel, the expression is a euphemism for making love.

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33 himself. He sat silently, refusing to talk back, just staring outside leaving Kliao to laugh by himself.

When he heard Auntie Chuea calling him, he turned his attention back to the shop.

‘Ready, Fak.’ He hurried back. As he went by his hut, he stopped and peered in. M’am hadn’t returned. He opened the rice pot and saw there was as much rice in it as when he had left in the morning. He left the hut and sped towards the school. The students were out for the lunch break, the white of their shirts scattered all over the place. Groups of them cluttered around the food stalls beside the school.

‘Boy, am I starving! What took you so long?’

‘I hurried back as soon as it was ready, sir.’

‘Which one’s mine?’

‘This here’s mine.’

‘This one is yours: there’s no egg.’

‘Oh no! Why didn’t you ask for some extra chilli fish sauce?’

Each teacher was busy opening the packets and putting the food on a plate. Nobody paid any attention to Fak, who left the room and took the remaining packets of food to the teachers’ room in the other building.

‘Come on, hurry up.’ Master Marnit motioned to Fak when he saw him coming with the lunches.

‘Here you are, sir.’ Fak put the food on a table, together with the change.

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34 ‘Which one’s the fried noodles?’ Master Preecha asked Fak. ‘ They’re all mixed together. You’ll have to open them and see for yourself, sir.’

‘Here’s your fried noodles,’ Master Kitti said, handing over the package.

‘Good. Thanks a lot, Fak,’ Master Marnit said when he saw that all were served and beginning to eat.

Fak left the teachers’ room and returned to the hut.

M’am still wasn’t back and he had no idea where she had gone. He went to look for her around the school, but she wasn’t there; neither was she in the pavilion in front of the temple. He walked into the temple area and finally found her on the likei stage. She looked as though she was about to dance.

Fak shouted out angrily: ‘Hey, M’am, aren’t you hungry yet?’ Hearing his voice, Somsong turned around and, seeing him, grinned. She then turned back towards the stage and, covering her mouth, declaimed: ‘Our beloved husband hath come to fetch us.’

Fak couldn’t help but feel amused at such antics and his irritation subsided. ‘Let’s go.’ Docilely, she followed in his steps as he took the path behind the temple back to the hut. On the way, he didn’t say a word. Once inside, Fak immediately lit the fire and put the kettle on the stove. While the red flames lapped at the bottom of the blackened kettle, his ears caught the ringing of the school bell in the distance telling the students that lunchCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

35 time was over. He fanned the fire in the stove to make it blaze.

He poured some hot water over the rice plate and took a spoon to break up the lumps of rice. He cut up a salted egg, gave M’am one half and kept the other.

There was still half a fried salted fish left over from the morning.

‘Is it true that when Master Preecha went to have his shower this morning, you opened your blouse and showed him your breasts?’ Fak looked at her, his hand still holding the spoon in the air.

‘Where?’ she asked, turning her head aside.

‘Stop pretending you don’t know. It’s true, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve never done anything like that.’

‘Don’t lie to me.’ Fak scowled at her fiercely.

‘Only a little. Just this much,’ the widow Somsong said and started pulling her blouse up, revealing the white flesh of her breasts all the way to the brown outline of her nipples.

‘Hey!’ Fak grabbed her hands and pushed them down.

‘Don’t ever do that again, you hear. If you don’t do as I tell you, I’ll just kick you out.’ She looked crestfallen.

‘And another thing: how many times have I told you not to call me your man. Do it again and I’ll do as I just said right now. Is that understood?’ he asked firmly.

‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ she hastened to reply.

Fak put down his plate and spoon, drank some water from the scoop and said, ‘Wash up the dishes and clean THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

36 up the platform as well.’ Now full, he walked out of the hut, leaving her sitting there, nibbling at her food alone.

He hurried through the coconut plantation. As soon as he reached the schoolyard, he saw the headmaster standing by the patch dug that morning. Fak walked to him, thinking he’d ask him whether it was wide enough, but the headmaster spoke first.

‘How come you took so long over lunch?’

‘I’ve just finished, sir.’

‘And what else have you been up to?’

‘Up to what, sir?’

‘Hey, with your woman. I mean, it’s still kind of new for you two,’ the headmaster said, smiling at him goodnaturedly.

‘Oh no, headmaster, she isn’t my woman. I’ll be damned, I’ve never–’ Fak’s voice tensed up and as he became aware of it, he checked himself and added with an embarrassed smile: ‘Honestly, sir. I’ve never done anything like that.’

‘That sort of thing, you know, if you do it too often, it isn’t good for your health.’ The headmaster went on in this fashion for a while. ‘When you’re through this evening, don’t forget to water,’ he added, pointing towards the new patch, and then slowly walked to the back building.

Fak went to fetch the tools and resumed his work. The shade had shifted to the back of the school, leaving him to dig in the blazing afternoon sun. In next to no time, CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

37 his shirt was soaked through with sweat. He took it off and put it over the veranda rail.

Fak was quite short and of slight build. When he was a soldier and was ordered to line up, he was always at the end of the line. He didn’t have to shove and jostle to try to stand at the head of the line like the taller soldiers. But he seemed to have been stouter in those days.

Every time his sunburnt, sweaty arms lifted the hoe, his ribs stuck out in wavy patterns. Sweat ran down his whole body and oiled his dark skin, which had lost the glow it had when he was a novice. When they talked about him, people said, ‘He sure don’t know what’s good for him. If he’d been ordained and got on with his studies, he wouldn’t be in such a fix.’

Owing to Fak’s labour, the patch was lengthening and finally, the work was completed.

Slinging his shirt over his shoulder, he took the hoe and shovel back to their place behind the school. He wiped the clumps of earth that clung to them and wiped the sweat off his face and body. Feeling refreshed, he walked back, wound up the string and took it back to the storeroom under the stairs. Then he put his shirt on and went up the stairs to the headmaster’s office. The headmaster told him to take a rest and reminded him to water the patch in the evening. Fak acknowledged the order and left the room.

The work was finished now. Work – the only thing that could bring him any happiness.

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38 He went back to the hut again. The plates and bowls he had told M’am Somsong to wash were still unwashed on the platform. It was as though he hadn’t given her the order at all. M’am wasn’t in the hut. By now, she must be having a good time somewhere in the temple grounds.

He gathered up the dishes, washed them and mopped the platform, carrying out the very instructions he had given M’am at lunchtime.

When he had finished the work in the hut, he went back to the school and walked about, picking up bits of paper and banana leaf wrappings scattered around the yard.

The school bell rang, signalling that school was over for the day. The students spilled out of the classrooms into the schoolyard and began to line up once again.

This time the rows were not arranged according to classes as in the morning but according to the route the children would take to return home. The seventh-graders who lived farthest away were in charge of each row and were supposed to take the names of those who fell out of line or played around so that they would be punished the next day, but nobody’s name was ever reported because all the children knew one another and none of them wanted to see their friends get into trouble.

Once they had assembled in lines, the students stood waiting for those whose turn it was to clean up. To pass the time, the teachers on duty reminded them that they should all walk home together and when they arrived CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

39 pay respect to their parents, help with the housework, complete their homework, and so on.

When they were ready, each row headed out along its own route home. Then came the turn of the teachers, who had been standing around chatting and exchanging jokes, to take their leave and head for home.

The school was now deserted. All that could be seen was two light-blue buildings with white roofs standing aloof, all windows and doors wide open, the white curtains at the windows shivering in the wind, which also scattered about bits of paper along the path. There wasn’t a soul in sight, except for the school janitor, Fak, who was walking towards the empty ground floor of the back building.

Fak used to get M’am Somsong to help him out, but of late he had become weary of putting up with her obnoxious behaviour, as she kept pinching things from the teachers’ rooms or the classrooms, like bits of chalk, copybooks, paper, glasses, vases, etc. None of these things were of any use to her; she just liked to hoard them in the hut. Fak didn’t want to make a scene about this, so he did the work by himself; there wasn’t all that much to do anyway.

In time, all eighty windows and thirty-two doors were closed and silence returned to the two school buildings, marking the end of yet another day of Fak’s duties as janitor – but not quite.

He went back to the hut and found M’am Somsong THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

40 there this time. He told her to light the fire and prepare the rice while he went out to buy some cooked food at the minibus terminal. On holy days and during the Buddhist Lent, there was no need to cook because the monks were given so much food that some of it had to be thrown away, and Fak and M’am Somsong filled their bellies on the leftovers. During Lent, the villagers took turns to offer lunch to the monks every day, and always brought more than the monks could eat. But this wasn’t Lent, and people would give lots of food only on holy days. On ordinary days, they did give some as well, but not enough for there to be leftovers, so it was up to Fak to make sure he and M’am had enough to eat.

It was almost six o’clock by the time the two of them sat down to eat. After they had finished their dinner, Fak had M’am clean up and do the dishes, and he stayed there to make sure she did what she was told. As soon as it was done, he invited her to go for a walk in the schoolyard.

Some of the temple boys were playing football on the lawn in front of the school with other boys whose homes were nearby. Two of the teachers who slept at the school had come to join them. The black-and-white ball rolled about on the green grass. Whatever way it went, the pack of boys ran after it like filings drawn to a magnet.

When they caught up with it, they tried to kick it, sometimes did, and sometimes missed. The ball went ricocheting within the group and every time it managed to CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

41 escape, the boys would chase after it again. From time to time one of the teachers would get the ball and dribble it towards the goal posts. The boys would try to get it back from him, and when they couldn’t, would help one another tackle him by grabbing and pulling on his arms and shorts. Unable to run any further, the teacher would laugh good-naturedly.

Fak and the widow Somsong stood watching for a while then walked on. Together they watered the flowerbeds and trees around the school, including the patch dug that day, and when they had finished, Fak took the flag from the pole and returned it to the showcase in the headmaster’s office. The janitor’s work now completely over, he and M’am Somsong walked back to the hut.

Twilight was setting in over the whole area and again rose the whine of the violin – a low rasp alternating with a prolonged high-pitched shriek, the same as in the morning. In the opposite direction to the setting sun, the sky was turning dark blue, with strips of gold-fringed grey clouds drifting by. It was getting dark and the boys reluctantly began to separate and return home.

Fak carried a jerry can of water he had brought from the temple and emptied it into the earthenware jar behind the hut, for general use and for M’am Somsong’s shower – he took his own showers at the temple.

The bathing area at the temple, which was used by monks, temple boys and resident teachers alike, had been cemented over and had a row of large earthenware THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

42 jars filled with water drawn from a well within the monastery grounds. It was already dusk when Fak began to shower. The three young teachers appeared, carrying their water bowls and towels.

‘What’s up, Fak? Giving yourself a good scrub down there, aren’t you?’ Master Preecha teased Fak as he saw him soaping himself, one hand inside his loincloth. The teacher smiled as he dropped his own loincloth and stood in his underpants. He placed the cloth with his towel on the lid of a jar, then scooped up some water and poured it over himself.

‘This morning, your missus showed me her tits. Aren’t you jealous?’ Master Preecha was grinning. Fak smiled back and shook his head.

‘Don’t take offence, sir. She’s not all there.’ Fak put the soap back in its holder.

‘What’s not all there?’ Master Kitti joined in, speaking in jest.

‘What do you mean not all there? When I saw her this morning there was nothing missing. They were there all right. Quite obvious and perfect, actually.’ Master Preecha turned to Master Kitti.

‘Guess someone’s giving them a good squeeze, hey Fak?’ Master Kitti added. Fak didn’t answer, but gave a strangled laugh.

When the teachers saw that he didn’t want to banter with them, they got on with their bathing. Fak finished showering, turned away and left. Master Marnit, who CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

43 had kept quiet all along, said, ‘You shouldn’t pull his leg so much; he looks worried.’

‘Oh, come on, he’s used to it,’ Master Preecha’s voice answered.

‘Fak’s not angry; he knows we were only teasing. I suspect he’s jealous because you saw his woman’s tits,’ said Master Kitti, and he laughed as he poured water over himself to wash off the soap.

The three teachers had come at the start of the school year, two as replacements for teachers who had been transferred and the third to fill a new position which the school had been granted. They were all in their early twenties. When they arrived, Fak was sent to help them with whatever needed to be done – building shelves for their books and belongings, doing small carpentry jobs, going to buy the things they needed. Fak was always humble before them, even though he was much older than they were. Old Foo, his father, had told them, ‘If you need anything, ask him; if he does something wrong, tick him off.’ Sometimes, in the evening, Fak would drop by their quarters for a chat. Everything they knew about the goings-on in the village and people’s problems they had learned from him, and before long they had all become fairly close. They all trusted him to the extent that when they forgot something in their room, they gave him the key to go and fetch it.

When Old Foo died, they had come to help with the last rites. Some villagers had also come, but not many, THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

44 and it was from them that the teachers had learned what a good person Fak was. Old Foo used to be a good man too, and even though late in life he had yoked up with a girl young enough to be his daughter, he still had some good left in him.

After the arrangements for the body had been made, Fak didn’t spend as much time with the teachers as before, except on some rare occasions, and when, as the rumour had it, he took his stepmother as his wife, they had grown further apart. He no longer went to their quarters and only saw them either at school or when they went to take their baths in the evening.

In their eyes, the story about Fak and his stepmother was a personal matter; it was a mere offshoot, not the trunk of life. They had their own affairs to worry about, their work, their careers, their parents, etc. To them, the scandal of Fak and his stepmother was nothing more than an entertaining story that helped pass the time.

Fak was returning to his hut. The sky, now entirely dark, had a faint silvery glow. The coconut trees silhouetted against it swayed gently overhead. The electric generator at the temple puttered up and the monks’ quarters were awash with light. Fak followed the narrow, winding path, which had a stretch of sallow earth that was clearly visible. After a few moments he could see the dim shape of his hut. The lamp inside had not yet been lit. As he walked around to the back to wash his feet before stepping onto the platform, he CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

45 heard water splashing on the ground: M’am was taking her shower. She had her back turned and didn’t know that Fak was standing behind her. She untied her sarong, slid it down to waist level, tied it up again and started to soap the upper part of her body. Her white back glistened faintly in the dark. Fak coughed to attract her attention. She turned towards the noise, but instead of covering herself, she grinned toothily. Her large breasts, looking soft and smooth in the dim light, heaved as she went on soaping her bosom.

When she turned towards him, Fak was dumbfounded. There they shook, within arm’s reach, quite visible despite the darkness. He hurriedly lowered his glance towards the water jar and scooped some water. His hand was shaking from embarrassment and his heart was pounding in his chest. This was the first time in his life that he had seen a woman’s breasts. He quickly finished washing his feet and hurried back to the hut, forgetting to say anything to her. But then, when he thought about it, he realised that it was already dark and that, as the hut was at the back of the temple, nobody was likely to come this way. So, he might as well let her shower as she pleased.

A silver light flashed in the darkness and turned into a red glow as the match lit the wick of the kerosene lamp and the flame spread along the length of the wick. A whirl of grey smoke wafted up and disappeared.

Fak lit the stove to boil some water, then put some THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

46 coconut husks on the fire to make it smoke to drive the mosquitoes away. M’am walked back into the hut carrying a scoop of water. The light-grey smoke that hovered in the hut made it look as though she were floating through fog. She washed her feet before stepping onto the bamboo platform, and then went over to her sleeping area. The bamboo creaked and shook as she sat down in the dim corner. The smell of talcum powder blended in with the smell of the smoke. She let down her hair and began to brush it with long, leisurely strokes.

Her large shadow across the wall moved in time with each stroke. She was humming a tune, the same tune that she hummed every evening. Fak couldn’t figure out what song this was. He had never heard a tune like this before. All he knew was that she was contented.

He poured the boiling water over the tealeaves, replaced the lid on the pot and left it to brew. He then got up to prepare his bed and put up his mosquito net. He did this without thinking, quietly, without speaking to her.

He was still worried about having seen her breasts.

They had made him feel like a stranger to her, and he was embarrassed at having seen them. ‘What are they for? To squeeze? To fondle? To suck? Hey! Enough of that!’ He ticked himself off.

When he was done with the mosquito net, he poured himself some tea and sat sipping it in silence. After a short while, M’am Somsong walked over and eased herCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

47 self down beside him. The sweet smell of talcum powder filled his nostrils. She still wore her sarong, tied over her breasts, whose large base was bathed in the light of the lamp.

‘M’am Somsong, why don’t you put on a blouse?’

Fak’s voice betrayed an unusual inner turmoil.

‘I’m hot,’ she answered, turning to him.

Fak hastily stepped down from the platform, put out the fire in the stove and smothered the embers that had fallen on the ground. From the temple came the beats of a drum and a bell announcing that the monks had finished their evening chanting – it must have been about eight o’clock. Dogs started howling and whining in accompaniment. Fak believed that dogs could see the souls of the dead who had come to receive the merit that the monks dedicated to them in their chants – ghosts of the poor, ghosts of the hungry, ghosts bereft of any relatives. Fak was sure that his dad wouldn’t be among them, because on every holy day he poured lustral water as a way to dedicate to him his own merit.

Fak stepped back onto the platform and was about to enter his mosquito net for the night, but something in the hut seemed to be missing.

‘Hey, why haven’t you put up your net yet?’

‘I’m going to sleep with you.’ The widow Somsong smiled like a child, but to Fak, her expression looked most unusual.

‘No you’re not,’ he said firmly. ‘Put it up – now.’

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48 She got up and walked to her own sleeping corner. Fak watched her and it wasn’t until she was inside that he put out the lamp, went over to his own net and crawled in.

This was the end of one world – the world outside his mosquito net. But the world inside the net was just beginning. As he lay down on the mat, his bones creaked along with the platform. He reached up to the head of the mat, groping about for the torch, just to make sure again that it was there. Some nights, the dogs wouldn’t let up barking and when that happened he’d grab the torch and go and check around the school. It seemed that his duties as janitor never ended.

The moon shone through the openings that had been made in the thatched walls to allow the breeze to ventilate the hut, so there was a faint glow inside. It wasn’t as dark as when there was no moon. The shrill buzzes of the night insects became more distinct. Actually, the buzzing had been there all along, but he hadn’t heard it.

When he had put out the lamp and the whole hut had been plunged into darkness, the different sounds had become clearer and easy to identify. The platform shook as M’am Somsong turned in her sleep. Fak lay still, lost in his thoughts.

He was thinking about the earth patch he had dug that day. ‘The headmaster said he’d bring some coleus to plant. Where will he get them from? He’s got only a few bushes at home, but I don’t see what’s so nice about CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

49 them. Well, at least it’s better than planting flowers: I’d have to keep an eye on them all the time to make sure the children didn’t pick them. Such a bore. M’am likes flowers too, especially red hibiscus – she just can’t leave them alone. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She isn’t exactly mad: she never gets hysterical, but she can’t be trusted either. What was she thinking about when she went and showed her breasts to Master Preecha? And tonight she wanted to come and sleep with me. What’s wrong with her? Oh, I see! – No, it couldn’t be. Surely not that. Or maybe she wants it so bad it’s driving her crazy? Dad’s been gone for more than a month now.

They say it’s like a drug: once you’ve tried it, it’s hard to give it up. Ah, lust – that’s what it is. Is she going to go mad over it? What should I do if she does? Oh, dad, you’ve really unloaded your burden onto me. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have been ordained by now to have you share the merit. I wouldn’t have to put up with all these worries and torments as I do everyday. I used to have a good reputation, but now it’s all gone – I take my father’s wife as my own, they say, and that’s that. No one believes I haven’t slept with her. Dad, you know I haven’t, don’t you? Then why doesn’t anyone believe me? Even the headmaster won’t believe me. Worse, M’am goes and shoots her mouth off to Lamai. How could she say something like that? It’s damn embarrassing.’ Fak sighed deeply. ‘If I lived with any other woman, it’d be all right. If only she wasn’t my father’s THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

50 wife! What if I sent her away? Maybe I could fool her into going into town with me and then I’d sneak back alone. To prove my innocence, I’d resign from the janitor’s job and become a monk for the rest of my life. How about that? Hmm – it does sound like a good idea. But then everyone in the village would accuse you of kicking her out like an old hag once you’d slept with her, and you’d be even worse off than before. Well, suppose you did throw her out, and the people did believe you’d never slept with her and she spoke the way she did that day because she isn’t quite all there, then you’d be a decent person again. But how about M’am Somsong?

You should consider her too. After you’d got on the bus headed back home, she’d still be sitting in the shop waiting until evening for you to return. The shopkeeper would kick her out because he’d want to close the shop or just because she’d have been sitting there for too long.

She’d go out and look around for you in the mad crowd, pulling this man, grabbing that one, thinking it was you, getting pushed and shoved or even knocked down, who knows. She’d get scared, running around searching for you all over the place in vain. Exhausted and covered in sweat, she’d sit down in some dark corner panting like a dog in the sun. And where would she sleep at night?

Right there in the streets? She’d have no water to wash herself with, no clean clothes to change into. Whatever money you’d have given her wouldn’t last long; and just as well perhaps, because money could put her into CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

51 bigger trouble still. Imagine how filthy she’d become if she lived like that for a week or two. Her clothes would be dirty and stinking, her body covered with grime.

She’d get some skin disease and she’d keep scratching her sores till they oozed with blood and pus. Her hair would turn into a matted mess, her body foul and stinking would repulse whoever came near her. She’d survive on leftovers in restaurants but the owners would kick her out because her presence upset customers.

Where would she get her food then? By scavenging trashcans like a stray dog? Sleeping by the roadside and eating out of rubbish dumps! But she is a person, you know, not an animal. Taking care of her needs is no big deal for you: you’ve already got some food from the temple, haven’t you? Or is it that you still want to throw her out just so you can feel good? just so you can look after yourself and not give a damn for the trouble you make for anybody else?’ Fak turned the question of getting rid of her in his mind over and over again, and finally came to a decision. ‘I can’t do it. I don’t even know where she comes from. Whenever I ask her, she keeps repeating, ‘Bangkok, Khlong Sarn; Bangkok, Khlong Sarn.’ How come her relatives never come looking for her? Or doesn’t she have any family either?’

Fak sighed and turned over onto his side. The moonlight that shone across the platform was gradually receding.

‘Stop thinking, and try to sleep. It’s getting late. You’ve got to get up early tomorrow.’ He tried to relax his THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

52 breathing and kept repeating in his mind, ‘S-L-E-E-P – SL-E-E-P –’ He endeavoured to calm himself down and control his thoughts, but before long, they started drifting again.

‘The people here are all too eager to pass judgment on others. Noboby’s ever seen me doing anything with her, so why do they all believe it’s true? They used to be nice and friendly and only had praise for me, but now they’ve become full of spite and sarcasm, like the old me has died and someone new has been born instead, someone who’s downright bad. But I haven’t changed at all. What grounds do they have to base their judgments on? Just because a man and a woman live under the same roof, does it mean they are doing it together? Or is that what they’d do? Well, to hell with them. To hell with anybody who has anything to say. Since I haven’t done what they accuse me of, one day the truth will out – but when? When will that day come? The day I can escape from this hell? I can’t see any way out. Or will things turn out the way they say after all? Maybe I should do it just to make them happy. I’m already getting the suffering such a bad deed entails, but I haven’t yet tasted the bliss it’s supposed to bring.’

‘No, no, dad. It was just a thought,’ he mumbled softly, as though unconsciously, ashamed of his dirty thought.

He wasn’t sure if he really felt like it or not. ‘Why do you have to think in such a foul way? You can only think dirty. Why can’t you think of something good? Do you CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

53 reckon that’s right? You haven’t even done what they accuse you of, and yet you let yourself sink this low?

Suppose you really did it, wouldn’t you sink much, much lower than this? At least you know in your heart you’re not what others accuse you of being. You still have truth as a friend to comfort you, but if you bring yourself to do it, what will you be left with?’

Fak turned onto his back and laid his right hand across his forehead. M’am Somsong was snoring away in her mosquito net.

‘Why can’t I sleep? If only I could sleep, I wouldn’t have to think so much. S-L-E-E-P – S-L-E-E-P – oh, dad, help me: I can’t get to sleep. S-L-E-E-P –’ He started to lull himself to sleep once again. ‘If I go without sleep like this every night, I’ll end up going mad. When I was in the army, I never had trouble sleeping. Perhaps it was because I was exhausted. But then, I’m exhausted now too, so how come it’s so hard to get to sleep? Ah, because others make it so hard, that’s why. What if I went to live somewhere else? But where would you go?

Where have you ever been? Who do you know? What would you do for a living? Then how about sending her away? Again, what would she do? How would she live?

Why should you show any concern for her? She can fend for herself. To hell with her! No, no. You can’t think like this. If I worry so much, it’s all because of dad. Oh, I’d like so much to be a monk, to live the religious life. Oh, dad, why didn’t you think of me when you did this? If THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

54 you had, you wouldn’t have taken M’am Somsong as your wife.’

For a while, he lay there remembering his childhood and how he had slept in the mosquito net with his dad on the likei stage. He had had more warmth and happiness than he could say. He always went to sleep before his dad and always woke up after him. He could still remember how, sometimes, in the early hours, his dad would cover him with a blanket. He had slept with his dad in the same mosquito net all those years. It was a happiness he would never forget. After he had become a novice, he no longer shared the same net with him.

Memories of his childhood began flashing through his mind, fleeting scenes, disconnected events, some blurred or vague.

He knew that when this started to happen, he would soon be asleep. He noticed that when he tried to remember what he had been thinking about just a moment ago, he couldn’t recall anything. It was a sure sign that sleep was coming.

As he started to dose off, he felt his body become light and begin to float around above the platform. ‘It’s happening again! It’s coming again!’ There was nothing he could do. He felt as though his body was being thrust forward at great speed, then drawn back, plummeting downward. There was an unbearable flutter in his stomach. He tried to pray in the hope of dispelling it, but to no avail. He still felt as if he was struggling through CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

55 boundless space and there would be no end to it. He tried to move his arms to pull himself back, but they were so heavy and numb he couldn’t lift them. Not even his little finger would move. It was like his body had been trussed up and left to fall from on high. It was spinning down and down at tremendous speed. In his mind, he tried to struggle free, but his torment went on for what seemed like ages. He was nearly out of breath when he started with a gasp and was conscious again.

Desperate for air, Fak took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled and felt greatly relieved. But he was wideawake again, and once more he began the process of trying to find sleep. Various thoughts began to surface and swept him into their maelstrom and he lost all notion of time, but when he eventually fell asleep, the night was nearly over.

Another day had passed. Fak’s day. An exceedingly long day.

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56

2 The days passed. Fak continued to struggle in a web of suffering. Like a fish caught in a net, it seemed that the harder he tried to free himself, the more entangled he became. Search as he would, he could find no way out.

As time went by, he became thinner and thinner. His face was drawn, his complexion had lost its glow and even though he was far from old age, white patches had begun to appear in his hair.

Now came the hot season of the following year – During the school vacation, there was no work for Fak to do, apart from watering the plants and weeding the ground around them to make sure they didn’t die; so, he was free all day long. Two days after the school had closed, the headmaster came to see him and asked him to help extend the kitchen at the back of his house. The work lasted almost a week, but he received no payment for his labour, because the headmaster considered that, holidays or not, Fak belonged to the school. This was no big deal for Fak. The mere fact that the headmaster had given him something to do and had taken the trouble of talking and joking with him was all the gratification he needed. Considering the sweat and energy he had put into the work, what else could he have asked for in return, when even his close friends no longer bothered to speak to him or even greet him? But this was the headCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

57 master, someone respected by everyone in the village, and he had lowered himself to come and use his services. Fak thought that it was really the headmaster who had put him in his debt.

When that job was done, Fak was sent for to help at Miss Nipha’s house. Again, when the chicken coop was finished, he didn’t ask for anything in exchange for his labour. However, Miss Nipha gave him two blouses that she no longer used for Mrs Somsong. (One of them had a red floral motif; Somsong liked that one a lot and wore it often.)

From time to time, both parties would come to Fak and have him do odd jobs for them. Besides, there was always work weeding plantations. When he was free for the day, he’d hire himself wherever work of that kind was required. Since all the villagers had their own plantations, no one was available to clear the grass, and most owners would do the job themselves. If some of them hired Fak, perhaps it was because they wanted to take some rest or had something more important to do. (Most people in the area had coconut or sugar-palm plantations; a few grew jujube palm trees.)

Even though people no longer wanted to associate with Fak, a few were still willing to hire him, probably because there was no denying that, when they did, they got their money’s worth. When Fak did the weeding, he’d pull out all of the grass as though every blade were to be accounted for; he didn’t just cut it so that within a THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

58 few days it would grow up again. A weeding job done

by Fak would last a long time and be to the owner’s satisfaction.

The plantation owners would defend themselves to their peers by arguing that ‘I don’t fraternise with the likes of him; it’s casual labour, nothing more; once the job’s done and the money’s paid, we go our separate ways.’

One afternoon at the beginning of April– The fiery rays of the blazing sun shone down with such intensity that it seemed that the sun was less than a couple of meters overhead. The sun-baked foliage was still and quiet, even the birds were silent, and the only sound to be heard was that of folk songs belched out by the radio in the house of the plantation owner, Old Paen.

Fak and Somsong were in the plantation busily clearing grass below jujube palm trees. There was a path at the far end of the plantation, but people seldom walked that way. With such a head-splitting heat, it was unlikely anyone would venture outside, except on some really important errand or to go and buy a thermos-flaskful of ice at the minibus terminal.

Fak was busy loosening the soil with a spade, pulling out clumps of grass, shaking the earth loose and throwing the grass in a pile, when suddenly he heard muffled cries of anger and exasperation from the widow Somsong behind him. Turning round, he saw her fumCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

59 bling around taking off her sarong. For a moment, he stood there absolutely dumbfounded. The widow Somsong got up and started running, naked from the waist down, her sarong trailing behind her at her feet.

‘Oh, the heat! The heat! The heat!’ she screamed at the top of her voice.

‘Hey! M’am!’ Fak shouted, running after her. She turned and stared at him with a fierce look in her eyes, but he wasn’t deterred and flung himself at her. Her body, white from the waist down, fell crashing onto the soil.

He sat astride her waist, caught hold of her knees and forced them together with her forearms, with which she was trying to pummel him. She continued to kick and writhe on the ground. The tussle went on for quite a while before he managed to get the sarong back on her.

Nothing more would probably have happened had Old Paen and Old Sai not decided to go and see what the commotion in the plantation was all about. What they saw was this: Fak sitting astride the widow Somsong, in the middle of the plantation, trying to pull off her sarong.

‘Hey! What do you two think you’re doing?’ Old Paen shouted from a distance, shaking his cane in their direction. ‘Damn it! In my own plantation! Don’t you have any shame? Aren’t you afraid of the spirits? In broad daylight, too!’ He kept shouting as he walked straight at them. The widow Somsong was still panting beneath Fak. THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

60 ‘You’re crazy!’ Fak yelled at her.

Old Sai, who was carrying a large knife, was following her husband. They both stopped and glared disapprovingly. The widow Somsong looked up at them with sudden alarm before she quietened down. Fak slowly got off her body.

‘You filthy pigs! Whenever you get the urge, you just go and do it. You’ve got your own place. If you wanted it that bad, why didn’t you do it there before you came out here? How dare you come and do it in my plantation? If you’ve no respect for others, at least you should be afraid of offending the spirits.’

‘No, please! Listen to me first. She just went crazy. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I was trying to put her sarong back on. I wasn’t doing what you think I was.’

‘Shut up, Fak. You were only putting her sarong back on her after you’d finished. Get outa here, both of you!’ he shouted, waving his cane, pointing the way out of the plantation.

‘Please, listen to me –’ As much as he tried to tell the truth to Old Paen and Old Sai, the truth couldn’t shake what they had just seen with their own eyes. The more he tried to explain, the more it appeared that he was trying to cover up his guilt. Unable to make them change their minds, he walked crestfallen out of the plantation in the blazing afternoon sun.

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61 Two days later, Old Paen decided to have a meritmaking ceremony performed and invited monks to come and chant in his home, as a way to dispel the misfortune brought by Fak and the widow Somsong’s performance in the plantation.

When the monks had finished their lunch, they filed out of the house and went into the plantation, and their yellow robes could be seen moving about among the palms. After they had finished their own meal, the women gathered up the dishes and took them to the back of the house to wash them. Upstairs, the drinkers had got together and were having a great time. Among the laughter and merriment, the exchange went like this: ‘ Looks like he’s really getting into it, eh!’

‘I reckon that woman’s sex mad. Have you seen how she smiles at men?’

‘He’d never had it before, but when he tried it, he sure liked it.’

‘What a scumbag! If it were me I couldn’t do it. His own father’s wife!’

‘Yeah, but she isn’t his mother.’

‘Either way, I still wouldn’t do it. At least he ought to be afraid of his father’s spirit. The body hasn’t been cremated yet.’

‘You were really unlucky, Uncle Paen. Did you actually see the action?’

‘What d’ya mean see the action? I was ready to bash him on the head.’

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62 ‘That’d be a sin: you don’t hit lovers when they’re down – and hard at it.’

‘Who would’ve said when he was a novice he’d end up like this?’

‘That sorta thing you never can tell.’

‘I wonder if they’ve done it in anybody else’s plantation? Nobody’s caught ’m.’

‘That’s right – oh, my gosh! I used to hire him to work my land.’

‘Strange, eh? He’s got his own place: why would he want to go and do it in public like this?’

‘I guess he wanted a change. A change of – uh – a change of atmosphere. He must’ve got bored doing it at home everyday, so he decided to do it in the fields for a change.’

The group of drinkers talked and guffawed, and the drunker they got the more fun they had. They went on and on about Fak and the widow Somsong. The young girls who were cleaning the pots and pans in the kitchen blushed with embarrassment and made out that they hadn’t heard the saucy remarks that came drifting down. The older women who had children and husbands and knew all the tricks enjoyed what they heard and smiled knowingly to one another.

From that day nobody was willing to employ Fak again, because what had happened had done the rounds of the entire village; even the children knew about it. Fak was too embarrassed to go out and face anyone. He wouldn’t CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

63 even go to the shops at the minibus terminal unless it was absolutely necessary. His shadow no longer fell across anybody’s path. He felt that wherever he went everybody would stop what they were doing and stare at him as if they were looking at some weird creature from outer space.

He spent all this time of dire solitude trying to avoid thinking about the incident, but it seemed that the more he endeavoured to suppress his thoughts, the deeper they burrowed themselves into his mind and the more he thought about the incident day after day. His anxiety increased. He became obsessed with finding a way out through religious practice, which hopefully would still his thoughts. Every night before he went to sleep, he would sit and chant prayers for hours hoping to put his mind at rest. He recited every chant he had learned when he was a novice, but it didn’t help him to sleep soundly at all.

Though he tried the religious way for support, he still couldn’t extinguish the fire of suffering. He came to suspect that even if he got rid of M’am Somsong, shaved his head and was ordained, the villagers wouldn’t accept him as a monk. Furthermore, he wasn’t sure he’d enjoy the same happiness as when he was a novice. Indeed, it seemed impossible. There was only one way: go and live someplace else and start a new life where nobody would know him.

‘Oh! Am I really so deep in misery that I must give up THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

64 my own birthplace?’ He had thought about leaving dozens of times, but always had to give in to the truth: where would he start a new life? and how? He was completely at a loss. When would he be able to get M’am Somsong out of his life? Not that he hadn’t thought about it often. But what could he do against fate?

Yet, when had he ever done anything to deserve such suffering? Since the day he was born, he had never killed, not even a fish, never stolen a satang from anyone, never slept with anyone’s wife or daughter, never badmouthed or lied to anybody – not to mention alcohol: not only had he never touched the stuff, but he couldn’t even bear the sight of it. He had always conformed to the five precepts, so why should he have to suffer such retribution? Or was it bad deeds from some previous lifetime?

Now, as soon as his work was over, all happiness was gone.

When he found himself with no more jobs to do, he thought he’d change the roof of his hut to be ready for the coming rainy season. By the time the rains came, the school term would have begun and he wouldn’t have any time to do it. The roof, made of black, gnarled palms, had many holes. At first, he thought he’d patch them over with dried palms as a temporary protection against the rain, but since he had so much time in hand, he decided to change the whole roof and thus prolong the happiness that work brought him. With this in mind, he went to withdraw some money from the headmaster CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

65 in order to buy palms with which to cover the roof.

It was his own money he took from the headmaster, who was keeping it for him. It was his father’s retirement allowance, plus the money from his own salary that he had not spent at the end of each month and whatever he earned from doing odd jobs. Fak didn’t dare keep it himself in case it got lost. Because it was so easy to get into the hut, it wouldn’t be safe to keep it there. If he were to put it in the bank, he’d have to go into town every time he wanted to deposit or withdraw funds, which was inconvenient, and besides, he didn’t really know his way around town. He had only been there a few times, to sit for his exams as a novice and then when he was drafted, and that was a long time ago.

The only solution he could see was to leave his money with the headmaster, who was someone he respected.

This way, it was easy to make deposits or withdrawals.

Both he and the headmaster knew how much was left and he didn’t have to waste time going all the way into town.

Fak and M’am Somsong helped each other change the roof of the hut. He climbed up and sat on the roof and M’am passed up palm strips and bamboo strips as he called for them. From time to time, his mind drifted back to the days when he was still regarded by the villagers as a fine example of what a young man ought to be. In those days, whenever it was necessary to change a roof or build a house, he’d always go along to help. No one THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

66 talked of labour cost; the work was done as a matter of goodwill between the people in the village, and the owner of the house would provide meals at lunchtime and in the evening to those who had come to help. The young women would stand around waiting to send scoops of iced and slightly pink, scented water to the workers when they were hot or thirsty. Regardless of what part of the village the house was in, all of the villagers would come and lend a hand, as whoever did so would be sure to receive the same help in return. Fak had helped them all, Village Headman Chuay, Old Pleio and many others, no matter whether their roofs were made of corrugated-iron sheets, tiles or palm. But now that he was changing the roof of his own hut, there were only him and M’am Somsong to help each other.

Occasionally, two or three dogs from the temple would stand by and stretch their necks to look at them, and then saunter away.

Three days later the roof was finished. The next day was New Year’s Day. In the darkness before dawn, the clang of a bell rung with a slow, steady rhythm came drifting from the temple. When the first ring reached his ears, Fak rolled over. He hurriedly got out of bed, gathered up his mosquito net, folded his blanket, rolled up his mat and set his sleeping place in order. M’am Somsong drowsily asked from under her net where he was going. He CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

67 answered that he was going to help with the work at the temple and told her to wait for him in the hut and not go wandering about in the monastery grounds.

Outside the air was pleasantly cool. He quickly scooped up some water and washed his face, then went back inside and put on his newest set of clothes – a pair of khaki shorts and a white, short-sleeved shirt. His small stature made him look like an overgrown schoolboy as he hurried from the hut along the path behind the temple.

The faint glow of dawn made it fairly easy to see the path and after a while he reached the stairs of the monks’ quarters at the back of the temple. The quarters were alive with light powered by a generator. Normally, the generator would not be turned on in the early-morning hours, unless it was a day like today when a meritmaking ceremony was to be performed.

While the bell continued ringing, Fak walked on to the front of the storeroom, where the temple boys were helping one another carry mats, spittoons, crockery and alms bowls, which they left outside the room to be taken to the main pavilion. Fak lifted two mats over his shoulder and walked away along the concrete path that ran from the temple stairway, past the theology school and past the mandapa∗, to the pavilion. As he walked past the likei stage, thoughts of his dad flashed through ∗ (Sanskrit; mondop in Thai) A square-shaped structure composed of four arches supporting a pyramid-shaped roof and used to house Buddha images

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68 his mind – if his dad were still alive, he’d no doubt be carrying things too.

The light in the sky increased as the first yellow rays of sunshine appeared over the roof of the prayer hall.

When Fak reached the pavilion, he put down the mats and rolled them out from one end of the floor to the other. The temple boys who had followed him lay their mats out alongside his, arranging them so that the villagers could sit as they listened to the monks chanting.

Fak got close to watch Brother Jaem connect a loudspeaker to the amplifier. When he saw that the monk didn’t even bother to turn round and look at him, he left and went back the way he had come to pick up more things. Shapes and colours were brighter and sharper now; the curtain of darkness that was there earlier had entirely lifted. Soon a folk song – ‘Today’s New Year’s Day’ – was blaring out of the loudspeakers, and the deafening repartees of the male and female singers blended in with the continuing ringing of the bell.

Everything was ready, waiting for the time to begin.

The concrete floor inside the main pavilion was covered with mats arranged in equal rows. To the front was the platform where the monks would sit. It had been covered lengthwise with mats, on top of which was a row of square-shaped rugs, one rug per monk. Each rug had its own pretty design of animals or flowers. An eggshellcoloured spittoon had been placed next to each rug, and to the far right of where the monks would sit a large bronze CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

69 Buddha image sat in a glass showcase whose frame was intricately carved. In front of the image stretched a tall candleholder shaped like a boat with a swan head at each end, and a large incense holder with a dragon design on its flanks. The holder was half-filled with sand partly covered with ash from the burning sticks.

In the middle of the courtyard, to the right of the pavilion, was a stand, about waist high, two metres wide and twelve to fourteen metres long. It was painted white, with a red-and-yellow flame pattern at each corner. In the middle of the stand, a long row of alms bowls ran from one end to the other. The empty space on both sides was meant for the dishes and plates that would be set out to receive the food offerings from the villagers who would come to make merit. At one end of the stand was a small pedestal on which the alms bowl for the Buddha was placed.

The villagers had begun to arrive, separately or in small groups, and greeted and smiled at one another, their faces aglow with religious fervour. They had dressed themselves up to the nines with their newest clothes and, depending on their wealth and status, wore gold ornaments and jewellery, necklaces and earrings. They had brought out their most beautiful bowls and plates, which were kept especially for merit-making ceremonies. The silver or bronze rice bowls, polished until they sparkled, were filled with spotlessly white rice topped with jasmine petals to enhance its fragrance.

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70 When men of a certain age met, they formed into groups and talked about local affairs and politics, the price of palm sugar, coconuts and jujubes, the electricity about to reach the village, or the monks’ quarters under construction. As for the young men, some went up to talk with the monks who had been their friends before they were ordained, while others sat in animated circles in the rotunda beneath the sapodilla tree at the back of the main pavilion. The older women waited for the monks inside the pavilion. They sat around sharing their betel leaves and areca nuts and chatting away, comparing their necklaces and bracelets, asking to see one another’s bowls and plates, wanting to know where they were bought and how old they were, trading gossip about their children who were studying in Bangkok or their grandchildren who were so naughty but so cute ... The young women who didn’t want to leave their mothers sat behind them and listened; those who weren’t interested in the gossip of old women wandered out and about in groups, gathering flowers. When they met the young men, they reacted bashfully to their greetings and blushed. The most daring answered back and smiled and laughed suggestively at the boys’ banter, while gangs of little children ran about mischievously in the temple and around the vihara∗. ∗ (Sanskrit; wiharn in Thai) A square-shaped building with four arches and a pyramid-shaped roof housing a large Buddha image; a vihara differs from a mandapa in architectural style and size, a mandapa being usually smaller.

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71 People continued to arrive, adding to the bustle. The flower trays were full to the brim, a pall of smoke hung over the incense holder and the flames of the candles glowed along the length of their boat-shaped stand. The length of the candles dripping down the sides with wax gave an indication of when each person had arrived.

Fak sat huddled against the stairway of a small votive pavilion not far from the main pavilion. He did not dare to join any of the groups or talk with anyone, young men his age or older men alike. When people walked by, nobody bothered to greet him or even look at him, as if he just wasn’t there. If by chance eyes met, nobody was willing to talk to him, not even his old friend Bun-yuen, who had been drafted at the same time, had done his military service with him and had been discharged and had returned home on the same day. He called out, but Bun-yuen made out he didn’t see him or didn’t hear his call and turned to coo at his young wife, walking straight past Fak. ‘Forget it – maybe he didn’t see me,’ Fak thought without rancour.

The song played over the amplifier died down and the bell stopped ringing. The villagers moved into the main pavilion when they saw yellow robes coming out of the monks’ quarters. The monks filed in order of seniority, the abbot leading them. Their line moved its way into the pavilion and, as they stepped onto the platform, the villagers prostrated themselves. Old people who had their grandchildren with them reminded them that they THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

72 had to prostrate as well. The little children kneeling and bowing to the floor with palms joined above their heads were a lovely sight for the people sitting beside them.

After the monks sat down properly on the platform, they bowed together before the Buddha image to their right.

The abbot adjusted his position and his robes and tapped repeatedly with his finger on the microphone which had been set in front of him, and crackling sounds came over the loudspeakers. He then began to address the villagers, with the warm smiling face of someone who had known everybody for a long time. He talked about the virtues of making merit, about tradition, about being the heirs to Buddhism, to which nothing could compare. Then he went back to the construction of the monks’ quarters now underway, saying that it had been made possible thanks to the loyalty of the villagers, who had helped one another sustain the religion through their donations and their own sweat and labour. He went on to talk about the former followers who had gone on to important positions in Bangkok, had been rewarded for their labours and had not forgotten the temple, arranging seasonal and year-round robepresentation ceremonies to help raise money for the temple. He mentioned them by name in front of their parents and grandparents, who felt greatly elated. He added that the temple still needed to be developed.

Actually, it was a treasure which belonged to the vilCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

73 lagers themselves. Whenever there were religious ceremonies, they all used it together…

He spoke just a little longer, then nodded to the temple secretary to take the microphone.

The secretary took the microphone back to his place and told the villagers to prepare to take their vows. He then knelt, placed his palms together against his chest and began intoning the request for the vows.

When the villagers had taken the five vows, the monks began to chant. The resounding chant of the twenty-plus monks was familiar to everyone.

After a while, the villagers began to get up and go outside to place their food offerings in the bowls and dishes on the stand in a disorderly manner, then went back inside the pavilion and again sat, palms joined, listening to the chanting, while others got up and went outside in turn. If everyone had gone out at the same time, there would have been no room to stand in the courtyard.

Meat curries, chicken curries, tom yam∗, spicy and sweet-and-sour vegetable dishes, glutinous rice wrapped in banana leaves, jellies and other desserts, mangosteen, jujube and many other kinds of fruit, all passed from the villagers’ containers into the bowls and dishes provided by the monastery. When a tray was full, it was taken away and replaced. When the alms bowls over∗ A number of acidic curries made of meat, fish or shrimps boiled with slices of lemon grass and shreds of Kaffir lime leaves, and seasoned with pepper, fish sauce, lime and sometimes chilli

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74 flowed with rice, they were emptied into a large enamel basin and returned to their original position. Fak and the temple boys helped carry out these duties.

When all of the food had been gathered up, it was taken to the monastery to be prepared for eating in the refectory. The temple boys would keep an eye on it and make sure no dogs or cats ate it. The young men who had once been monks and had studied in this monastery also helped carry the various things. There was so much food that it seemed that the monks and temple boys would not finish it all even if they were to eat for three days and nights. However, the various curries would be put in separate pots and stored in the kitchen to be warmed up for the monks to eat later.

The villagers had now finished placing the food in the dishes and alms bowls and were inside the pavilion, listening to the chanting. Outside, in the courtyard where the food stand was, several dogs were roving around, fighting over bits of food that had fallen to the ground.

Some had climbed on the stand and were fighting over the rice that was scattered about. The growing rumpus of the dogs’ snarling and snapping drowned out the chanting of the monks. Although the noise annoyed the villagers, nobody bothered to get up and chase the dogs away.

Fak, who was sitting on the stairs of the nearby pavilion with his palms placed together and listening to the chanting, got up and rushed over to chase away the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

75 rowdy pack. He shouted at the dogs quite loudly, hoping that at least someone would feel grateful that he had made the sacrifice to get up while the monks were still chanting.

But then he thought: ‘It’s your duty anyway.’

After the monks had finished, they left the platform and walked back to their quarters to have their morning meal. The villagers began to disperse and return home the way they had come, carrying empty bowls and trays, smiling contentedly. They had been reassured that they would find peace and happiness in their next life.

The people who had come to make merit had now gone, leaving the pavilion behind for Fak and the temple boys to clean and get back in order. They put out the candles and incense sticks that were still burning, and it was quite some time before all the things that had been brought out earlier that morning were returned to their former places.

The temple boys then went back to the monastery and Fak was left to sweep the floor of the pavilion all by himself. The heat of the morning sun made him feel itchy all over from his profuse sweating. He swept up the spilt food, then went to the monks’ quarters.

The monks had finished their meal and the temple boys were now eating. Fak took some of the food left over by the monks and put it into his lunch box, then put some rice into a small tin tureen. He lifted the tureen and held it against his chest, picked up the lunch box and hastened back to the hut.

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76 On the way back, his face didn’t have the radiant expression of someone who had just made merit. To the contrary, it was dark and gloomy because of a thought that had come up: ‘You are just like one of those hungry ghosts who have to rely on the villagers’ merits to get by.’

He sat down for breakfast with M’am Somsong. She seemed to be eating more greedily than usual. She had never had to prepare such savoury dishes; they only got them from the monastery. She found everything delicious, helped herself again and again and ate a great deal.

The following day was the day of paying homage to the relics of the ancestors.

Fak came to help at the temple as well. Khai, the undertaker, was there to organise everything for the ceremony, as was his duty. Even though, deep down, Fak felt some repulsion for the undertaker, he was willing enough to work along with him, as he considered this to be community work, which he was doing for the community, not for the undertaker. They helped each other arrange a large altar in the funeral pavilion on which the villagers would place the urns containing the relics of their ancestors as they waited for the monks to perform the ceremony in the afternoon.

Those who were wealthy enough had small stupas∗ built in which to enshrine their ancestors’ relics. These ∗ Dome-shaped Buddhist shrines housing relics

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77 stupas were erected outside the perimeter of the prayer hall, beside and behind the vihara. Once a year on this day, the whole family would come to clean the stupas and the area around them and repaint the decorative images of the mythical beings that adorned the corners of the stupas to restore them to their former splendour.

The young ones would help carry buckets of water and wash the stupas while their parents told stories extolling the virtues of the ancestors.

Those who didn’t keep the relics in a stupa at the monastery kept them in an urn at home. On the day, they brought the urns to the temple to take part in the ceremony that was held there. As they reached the temple, they placed their urns on the altar that had been set up for that purpose, removed the lids, lit incense sticks and poured lustral water over the relics, which then gave out a clean, fresh smell reminiscent of the smell on the day the body of a dead person was anointed.

The villagers were dressed in black and white. Most of the women wore only black. This was the day to remember the souls of the relatives who now lived in the hereafter, to make merit and pour the water of dedication for them and to call to mind the whole line of ancestors, to whom each of the living owed much gratitude for being born and having roots.

There was only one day in the year on which to pay homage. Regardless of where they lived, all the members of a family would come together on that day, as THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

78 though there were some unwritten rule that although they were kept separated by the need to eke out a living, they must reunite once a year.

Fak, who was immersed in his duties at the pavilion, was trying to prevent himself from feeling angry with those who pretended not to see him. He kept telling himself to be patient and go on doing good so that he would be accepted into society once again. To take part in the ceremony, to be able to speak to someone was all he wanted. He was willing to do everything, no matter how exhausted he was. But every time he held out his hands to help someone place an urn on the altar, no one was willing to let him touch the ancestral relics. It was as though those hands held out in offering were soiled with filth and would sully the brass urns, which had been polished to a high gloss. Fak was forced to withdraw his hands and let them hang limply at his sides.

The relics showed that each person had roots, that each had forebears who had perpetuated the family line.

They were proof that that person was not lacking a family tree, was not lacking relatives like some people – and Fak was unable to hide his sorrow at not having relics to store away like everyone else.

When the monks finished blessing the relics, they left the pavilion under the blazing afternoon sun to perform the same ceremony at the stupas.

The widow Somsong, dressed in the red floral blouse CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

79 and an orange sarong, walked towards the mortuary area in the scorching heat. Her impassive face made it difficult to guess what she was feeling. The decorative red and orange of her clothes tried to mix in with the prevailing black and white, but there was no way the colours could blend. The villagers stared at her, but she seemed not the least bit perturbed by their stares. She simply strolled on, smiling gently, looking around her trying to find Fak. ‘Have you seen my man?’ ‘Have you seen my man?’ she kept asking idly to whomever she passed, but no one was willing to answer or even speak to her. Everyone tried to avoid her and gave her a wide berth. In whatever direction the red and orange moved, the black and white parted widely.

As for Fak, he was at the monks’ quarters. As soon as the ceremony around the mortuary was over, he had gathered up the implements and taken them, together with the money that the people had donated, to the quarters. He was now waiting for the monks to return after they had gone through the ritual at the stupas, and thus had no way of knowing that the widow Somsong was near the mortuary doing her stuff before the villagers. He didn’t worry about her, because he had ordered her to stay in the hut and since she rarely disobeyed his orders, he felt he could trust her.

The widow Somsong kept walking about questioning people, but nobody answered her. Some even tried to THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

80 shoo her away. She seemed to become anxious and restless as she chased after this or that group. Some people became annoyed, but didn’t dare to do anything to her, afraid perhaps of the blunt glare of her eyes, which showed that she feared no one.

A charitable voice called out: ‘He’s gone home.’

When she heard this, the widow Somsong turned and smiled to the caller. She walked a short distance away from the mortuary and suddenly gazed in the direction of the stupas that stood beside the vihara. A group of people were sitting with hands joined at chest level, each holding a sacred thread which had been wound round a stupa. Four monks, who were holding ceremonial fans and the sacred thread, stood chanting. The widow Somsong walked across to the group to have a closer look.

She stood there for a while, towering over the heads of the seated people, and suddenly burst out laughing.

Nobody had any idea of what it was that amused her.

The sudden cackle startled the monks, who briefly stopped chanting, then resumed their drone. Song, the youngest man in the group, got up and tried to drive the widow away in a hushed voice, but she wouldn’t leave and laughed again, this time louder, distracting everyone. The relatives urged Song to get rid of her, but she still wouldn’t leave. He tried to push her away, but she dug her heels in. Finally, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away, causing a bit of a commotion. The monks went on chanting as if nothing was happening.

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81 Song looked around and found a stick, grabbed it and hit her. She shook her smarting hand and ran away in a panic, but in a moment she had stopped and was staring at Song, who had not bothered to chase after her. Suddenly she pulled her orange sarong up to her waist and thrust her hairy mound towards the group. This was too much for Song. Not only was it a brazen insult to him and his relatives, but it was also a shameless show of disrespect for the relics of his ancestors and for the sacred objects. He ran straight for her and set about beating her with the stick until it shattered in his hand.

Shocked and scared, the widow Somsong, whose body was covered with welts, ran for dear life, stumbling and picking herself up time and again.

‘That bitch has gone totally crazy!’ Song’s relatives opined.

By the time the widow Somsong reached the hut, she was badly bruised. Sweat ran down her face and sheathed her body, her hair was all tangled, her sarong torn, and blood oozed from the grazes on her knees. Panting and gasping for breath, she went inside, looking from side to side for Fak, but he wasn’t there. She went out again and hobbled along to the line of coconut trees at the edge of the monastery grounds, where she stopped and remained rooted to the spot, not daring to go any further. She rubbed at the red grazes and cuts on her knees, craning her neck from time to time to look for Fak. Time passed, but Fak still didn’t appear. She squatTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

82 ted on her haunches on the ground, periodically springing up and down, looking alternately for Fak and at the welts and wounds that Song’s stick had left on her.

Fak hurried along, his head spinning with thoughts of M’am’s shenanigans, as told to him by the old monk Mee, one of the four who had stood there chanting at the time.

‘Song really saw red.’

‘Why did you let your woman out?’

‘Has she gone mad?’

‘If the young monks see anything like this, they won’t stay in the monastery for long.’

These were the comments that had set Fak’s head spinning, while his feet were propelled by the anger he felt – why was it that she always brought him bad tidings?

The widow Somsong sat listlessly at the foot of a coconut tree, dabbing at the blood seeping out of her knees.

As she wiped away the red blood with her orange sarong, she looked as scared as an animal in hiding cautiously licking its wounds. Parts of her body were covered with long, dark-red welts, some still oozing blood, others turning black and blue. Fak’s wrath subsided when he saw her. ‘How could they do this to her?’ he asked himself, and his anger turned to pity. ‘A weak person like her, who never hurt a fly – Song ought to know that M’am’s not all there. All she did was laugh.’

‘Where have you been?’ The widow Somsong smiled at him fondly. Her smile held no sign of pain or hint of CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

83 rebuke. She seemed to have already forgotten what had happened.

‘Let’s go back home,’ Fak said, leading the way. She got up and followed him, her face beaming with contentment at having found him.

Inside the hut, she sat on the bamboo platform while Fak applied a balm to her bruises, not saying a word about what had happened. Each time the balm came into contact with an abrasion, she felt it sting and tried to pull her leg away, but Fak held it firmly and went on applying the balm. This was the first time they were in prolonged physical contact, and warmth passed between them – one desolate, the other locked in loneliness. She seemed to be enjoying the contact with Fak. These were the first wounds she had been inflicted. She wasn’t the only one hurting: Fak, too, was feeling the pain.

The wounds that those people had inflicted were a burden the two of them would have to bear together.

‘I went looking for you,’ she said.

‘Why did you have to come after me? I know when and how to come back.’

‘But you were gone for so long.’

‘So? Don’t come after me ever again. When I tell you to stay here, you should stay here. If you don’t do as I say, they’ll come and beat you again. I’ll have to send you to live somewhere else, and that’s final.’

She looked upset and complained feebly: ‘Then, don’t stay away for so long.’

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84 Fak didn’t say anything, but looked at her bruises and went on applying the balm lightly. After a moment he asked: ‘Why did you have to pull your sarong up? Don’t you have any shame?’

‘He hit me.’

‘That’s because you pulled your sarong right in front of him. Don’t you ever expose yourself to people again, you hear.’ Fak thought of that afternoon in Old Paen’s plantation. ‘You remember that time, don’t you, when you ran away naked? After that, nobody would hire us anymore. Just because of you.’

‘I didn’t do it. I never did –’ she said angrily.

Fak replaced the lid on the jar of balm, which he put back in its usual place. For the rest of the afternoon and right into the evening, all kinds of thoughts spun through his mind, and he kept tossing and turning on his mat late into the night.

As he lay there trying to find sleep, he kept recalling events in his life. He tried to stop himself from thinking, but couldn’t, and as if this wasn’t enough, he worried about what had happened to M’am that afternoon. He couldn’t work out why, after everybody had rejected him, they had to go and hurt her as well. Wasn’t it enough to look down on him and treat him like dirt? Or maybe it was the right thing to do, something they would have to endure for the rest of their lives?

‘But she’s just a woman, and a mentally retarded one at that. She can’t fight, even to defend herself. They CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

85 shouldn’t have beaten her so hard. But if that’s the way it’s going to be, I’ll have to put up with it to the end.’

‘I’d really like to know, though: if I had a family, if I had a relics urn like the others, or if I had wealth and status like the headmaster or Kamnan∗ Yorm, would the villagers dare claim that I sleep with my father’s wife?

They’d probably look up to me as a good man, charitable enough to take care of his father’s widow even though she’s not a blood relative. I bet they’d all respect me for caring about other people’s welfare, and feel sorry for me for having to look after a woman who’s a bit unhinged instead of sending her away to wander about and get into trouble. But here I am, someone with no social standing. Nobody respects me. I’m a nonentity, so the villagers take it for granted I’ve taken my father’s wife.’

Her scratches and bruises were still vivid in his mind.

As he lay wistfully inside the mosquito net, he suddenly felt one side of the net being raised. He turned to look and saw M’am’s body trying to find its way into his net.

She lay herself down gently beside him.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Fak sat bolt upright.

He could see her white teeth as she grinned in the dark.

‘I want to sleep under your net.’

‘No you don’t! Get out of here! Get out!’ Fak spurned her without pausing to think. ∗ Then government-appointed, now elected sub-district chief; heads a small administrative area comprising several villages, each run by a village headman (phoo yai barn)

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86 ‘I’m scared.’

‘Scared of what? You sleep there every night.’ He spoke curtly. ‘We can’t sleep together. Now get out of here. Out!’ The widow Somsong reluctantly got from under his net and went back to her own.

Fak felt relieved to see that she was still obeying him. If she had stubbornly refused to go, what would he have done? ‘In any case, I can’t allow her to sleep with me,’ he thought. He wondered about her condition, which was getting increasingly abnormal – from smiling suggestively at men to exposing her breasts to Master Preecha, taking off her clothes in the jujube plantation, pulling up her sarong in front of Song, then her reaction at Fak’s touch as he had ministered to her wounds, and now in the middle of the night she wanted to come and sleep with him. He thought of various explanations. ‘She’s probably frightened because of what happened this afternoon – or maybe she actually wants you-know-what, so she comes and asks if she can sleep with me. But no matter what, I have no wish for what everybody says has already happened and I’ll see to it that it doesn’t happen.’

Before he could fall asleep, Fak tossed and turned on the mat grappling with his thoughts until the roosters at the temple began to crow.

The day of the relics ceremony had passed. The rumour mill, which had been grinding the same tales for so long, CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

87 gained new vigour as a fresh incident added flavour to the gossip. The story of the widow Somsong’s latest caper was told and retold in card-playing and drinking circles, suitably spiced up and embellished to make it really worth listening to. Some of the young guys took to hanging around at the minibus terminal, looking for a chance to chat with Fak. They would greet him in a friendly manner, hoping that he would tell them how proficient the widow Somsong was and what kind of special tricks she had. On the strength of the discussions held at Old Paen’s house, many among them held that the widow was a nymphomaniac – she wanted it badly and there was no stopping her. And when all of the stories from those who had seen her bush on the day of the relics ceremony were put together, the imagination of the young lads ran wild to the point that they could almost picture Fak in sexual congress with the well-endowed widow, both in private and in the open, in the hut and in the plantation, and whether it was day or night was a moot point. ‘If it were me, I wouldn’t stop either.’

‘Come on, tell me, Fak. I won’t tell anybody, I swear.

What’s she like? Good?’

To someone younger than himself, Fak wouldn’t answer. To a friend or acquaintance of his, he’d merely say: ‘I’ve never done it; not once.’ This answer disappointed all listeners. Nobody wanted an answer like that. Everybody had their own answer already. They just wanted Fak to fill in the details for them, to fire their THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

88 imagination and get them a bit more worked up before they went into town.

After they had tried every trick to get Fak to confide in them and failed, they went back one after the other to their old ways by refusing to associate with him again.

Some people went so far off the track as to believe that the widow Somsong was going nuts because she couldn’t keep up with Fak – he wanted it day and night, under the mosquito net as well as in the open.

Three days later, the headmaster came to see Fak at his hut. He had come to tell him to keep his eye on his woman and not let her bother the villagers so much, or else they’d send her to a mental asylum. He had been asked by the villagers to come and warn him. When he was through, he instructed Fak to cut the grass in the schoolyard, as next week the school would be holding a training course for the village scouts. ‘Open the classrooms, take out the desks, sweep the floors and wash them thoroughly. Look after the flowerbeds and make sure they are looking good. Trim the hedges as well.

Some high officials are coming from town to perform the opening ceremony.’ Finally he gave Fak the task of looking after the people who would participate in the training session. Fak asked if he could be included in the session as well. The headmaster answered that he’d have to consult the committee about it first.

The next day, while Fak was cutting the grass in the schoolyard, the headmaster came and stood watching CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

89 him. He spoke to the effect that as janitor, Fak already had enough to do, as his duty was to make himself useful and, most important, he had to watch after his woman and see to it she didn’t make a nuisance of herself and embarrass the guest speakers coming from town – maybe something could be arranged the next time around?

The day of the training session arrived, bringing to Fak a feeling of sadness because he could not join in the training, as well as the frenetic task of keeping an eye on M’am to make sure that she didn’t leave the hut and interfere with the activities of the village scouts. He had to run around looking after everything at the school, then rush back breathlessly to the hut to check whether M’am was still there. In the evening, as everybody was having a good time singing and dancing around a campfire, the echoes of revelry reached into the hut, calling M’am to come out and have a look at the glow in the distance and at the fun being had around the fire. Fak had to restrain her, even though he also wanted to go out and have a look. Although he felt utterly exhausted, he was satisfied with what he had done. At least he hadn’t had a minute to think, unlike the previous empty days.

Luckily, the event passed without incident. Over the entire three days, there was no sign of the widow Somsong going out and mixing with the group. The village had been spared the embarrassment of something untoward happening in the presence of outsiders. The headmaster complimented Fak on the way he had carTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

90 ried out his duties, and the talk about sending the widow to a mental asylum died down. The standing joke among the smart alecs was: ‘Have pity on Fak: he’d have nothing to do at night anymore.’

The shrill lament of a violin drifted by. The doleful tune not only said something about Master Preecha, the player, but signalled that the beginning of the school term had come, because the sound came from the teachers’ quarters, indicating that the teachers had returned to prepare themselves for the first day of the new school year.

Each passing day had brought changes with it. The seventh-graders had left and a new batch of children had taken their place. The monks’ quarters on one side had been completed and the central refectory separating the two rows of quarters was being demolished to give way to a new one. Some things changed so slowly that the process was barely noticeable, while some changes took place quickly, almost before anyone was aware of them. Change is a law of nature and no one can halt its course.

Fak himself came under the same law, but it appeared that his life was changing for the worse, in his body, in his mind and in his social standing. Many times he had rallied and asked to be taken back into society, only to be forced down and held at the bottom level of utmost suffering.

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91 On the morning of the first day of the new school year, Fak carried out his duties as janitor so well that he left no opening for criticism. It was as though he had spent all his time preparing for this day so that he could once again enjoy a sense of accomplishment.

The students began to arrive, one after another, smiling, happy to see their friends again. The children entering Grade One were brought to school by their mothers, who carried ixora flowers, incense and candles. Some of these children walked along crying and sobbing, a pitiful yet endearing sight. Others threw themselves on the ground in a tantrum, wriggling about fitfully, shedding torrents of tears. Their mothers tried to pacify them by promising to buy them candies. Whoever arrived first took her child to the headmaster and put the flower, incense and candle on a tray for the child to offer as a gesture of respect. When this was done, mother and child would go and sit under a tree by the edge of the schoolyard, and the mother would instruct her child to be eager to learn and not be naughty. Some of the children who listened understood; others didn’t. Some didn’t even listen; they just cried. Their mothers had to try and calm them down by telling them: ‘Look at the other kids, they aren’t crying; surely you can do better than that.’ The mothers who knew one another sat in groups, exchanging views about their children’s good and bad points.

The bell rang, signalling that it was time to enter the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

92 classrooms. The Grade-One teacher came and told the new students to line up. She walked around teasing those who were crying and playfully pinching the cheeks of the little girls. Now that the time had come for them to leave their mothers’ arms, some of the children who had previously been quiet began to scream. One set another going, those who were already crying redoubled their wails and soon the whole lot of them were weeping and yelling. The grownups laughed as they tried to pacify them. Finally, the teacher had to pretend to the children that their mothers would line up with them, but as soon as the line of children was formed, the mothers stepped aside and went to watch from a distance. The children could still see their mothers smiling at them reassuringly.

Just then the flutes, drums, xylophone and violin began to play the national anthem, startling one of the girls, who ran crying into her mother’s arms and buried her head in her sarong. If one could run away, why should the others stay? Pretty soon all of the firstgraders had deserted their rank and were seeking out their mummies. They had no idea how important the national anthem was, and the whole scene was at once confusing, irritating and hilarious for the teachers and students who witnessed it. For some of the students standing there, it was like watching a scene from their own past.

As for Fak, he saw the same scene every year and it CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

93 sometimes made him feel that he’d like to have a child of his own.

As time went by, everything began to fall into place and turn into a set routine. The mothers who had been bringing their children to school stopped doing so and allowed them to walk to school with older children from higher grades that lived nearby. The children who had cried and screamed now laughed merrily, happy that they had lots more friends to play with.

It wasn’t only the students who felt happy when the school reopened. Fak was glad – glad to be kept busy throughout the day. Work left him no time for thinking. It was the only thing that could bring any happiness to someone like him. Every time a particular job was finished, he felt that his life had some value and meaning. ‘This bed of coleus is the result of my own labour; this neatly cropped grass in the yard, I cut it myself; this bed of sunflowers, it was me who broke the soil, sowed the seeds and watered the shoots.’ Though no one else gave any importance to these things, Fak was proud of them. He was proud that he was the one who had done it all, the one who had brought about these changes, which had made the school more beautiful. He had shared some good times with his friends, but these bouts of enjoyment hadn’t lasted and had not instilled in him the pride he now felt looking at the lasting fruits of his own labour.

The opening of the school made the days pass quickly, but the nights remained as drawn out as ever.

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94 During a midday break towards the end of May, a group of students clustered round a food stall beside the school suddenly began to scatter in the sweltering heat like a swarm of bees out of a broken hive. A few hid behind the vendor, who stood at the ready, a carrying pole in her hands.

‘Mad dog!’ ‘Mad dog!’ the children shouted to warn their friends. Some of the students got frightened and ran to the protection of the school veranda. When they heard the commotion outside, the teachers came out of the staff rooms to investigate, just as the headmaster was coming back from his house.

‘What’s going on?’

‘A mad dog, sir.’

A skinny black dog, its body rigid, its tail hanging down, its mouth drooling frothy white spittle, stood still in the sun near the food stall. It stayed there for a moment, panting for breath, its thin ribs protruding, then suddenly started trotting erratically across the schoolyard, its stiff body coming to a standstill right below the veranda. Unbidden, all of the students who stood holding the rail of the veranda stepped back in alarm.

The headmaster, Master Preecha, Master Marnit and Master Kitti were consulting one another over the best course of action. A boy who had been among the first to spot the dog reported, wild-eyed with excitement: ‘I saw it right there eating some spilt food. Quite famished it was, too. Then it suddenly collapsed and started twitchCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

95 ing and rolling over, with froth coming out of its mouth.

As soon as it got up, it started barking at us, so we ran away.’

‘If it was eating, then it can’t be mad,’ Master Preecha declared. ‘Mad dogs don’t eat.’

‘I don’t think we can be so sure. Look at that froth coming out of its mouth and the way its tail is hanging down,’ the headmaster said as everybody stared at the black dog.

‘Don’t bet on it. Suppose it bites one of the kids. Then we’ll be in trouble,’ Master Marnit objected, turning to the headmaster.

‘I agree with you. If it really is mad and bites one of the students or another dog, there’ll be a big problem.

Prevention’s better than cure.’

‘You’d better arrange to have it dispatched, sir,’ Master Kitti added.

‘Where’s Fak?’ the headmaster asked the boy who was standing beside him.

‘I’ll go and fetch him, sir,’ the boy volunteered.

‘Go and look in his hut, but be careful,’ the headmaster told the boy. ‘Go around through the back,’ he added emphatically as the boy turned and started to run.

Less than three minutes later, the boy reappeared from within the coconut plantation with Fak hurrying along behind him. Watching the dog apprehensively, the boy stole up the stairs to the group of teachers who stood waiting on the ground-floor veranda.

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96 ‘The dog’s mad. Get rid of it,’ said the headmaster before Fak even had a chance to utter a word. ‘Make sure it doesn’t run away.’

‘Yessir.’

Fak took off his short-sleeved khaki shirt and put it over the veranda rail, ran to the storeroom, where he found the handle of a broken hoe that was just right for his purpose, and trotted back to the veranda. He stood for a moment in the shade of the building, out of the blazing midday sun.

The dog had its back to Fak as it turned to face the sundrenched schoolyard. It was still panting, spittle drooling to the ground, unaware that a man, keeping a firm grip on a piece of wood, was tiptoeing up behind him.

The teachers and students were watching in deathly silence, frozen as though a spell had turned them into stone, but their hearts were pounding no less than Fak’s.

The only difference was that they were mere spectators and didn’t have to take any risks, unlike Fak, who had to be careful of his every move. Not that he wasn’t afraid, but he had to do it because it was the headmaster’s order. Apart from being afraid, he also felt uneasy because it was the first time his hands had to kill an animal, the first time his hands had to terminate the life of a creature which had never done him any harm. He edged in stealthily, getting closer with every step.

The onlookers stood watching in silence, holding their breath in sheer excitement. Beat him! Beat him! Hit him!

CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

97 Now! There! Hit him there! Again! Again! Thus pounded the heart of nearly every spectator.

The body of the black dog flew up in the air with a yelp. As it thudded back to the ground, the dog turned its head and snarled at Fak, and, baring its white fangs, growled threateningly. Its hind legs bent and dug into the ground. With only the front legs to support itself, it didn’t have the strength to get up again. Yet it turned to escape, digging its front legs into the ground, scattering the dirt into a cloud of dust, and, dragging its backside, painfully moved towards the schoolyard ahead. Fak ran after it. The dog turned round and appeared to be snapping at the air, growling threateningly, then it crawled ahead some more. Fak ran in front of it to cut off its path. The dog turned and tried to escape another way.

‘Don’t let it come this way; make it go over that way,’ the headmaster shouted out from the veranda.

Fak chased the dog back to the middle of the schoolyard. Suddenly, the animal flung itself forward in an attempt to bite. Fak lashed at its head with all his might and the dog sprawled on the ground, writhing. Dark-red blood mixed with spittle poured from its mouth. Blood also dripped from its nostrils. After a moment, the dog stopped writhing and panted heavily, its whole body heaving. When Fak moved closer, it tried to raise itself, at the same time baring its bloodied fangs. Fak leapt back, afraid the animal might still want to bite him. He THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

98 had now reached the point where he had no choice. All he knew was that he had to kill it. Kill it! Kill it! This was the only thought going through his mind.

The dog, now weak, collapsed and lay limp on the ground. Fak stalked around it waiting for the right moment to strike. The students and teachers, who stood watching on the veranda, were now less tense, their faces relaxed and smiling.

Fak struck at the dog’s ribcage with the piece of wood.

The dog got up and bared its fangs in an attempt to fight back. The moment it stood up, Fak raised the piece of wood and thrust it down on the dog’s neck. The dog jerked, its eyes rolling upward. Fak hit him again with all his strength, this time on the head. The dog lay there breathing feebly, blood pouring from its eyes and muzzle. Its body jerked two or three times, then lay completely still on the ground.

Someone started clapping loudly, maybe one of the students or perhaps even a teacher. As if on cue, the group of onlookers who had been standing totally engrossed in what was going on began to applaud. The applause resounded throughout the school as though all had been greatly impressed by the performance that had just ended.

The lunch break that day had lasted longer than usual.

As soon as the dog had been killed, the teacher on duty rang the bell calling the students back to their classrooms, and Fak was left standing alone in the middle of the schoolyard. He walked listlessly over to the storeCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

99 room, grabbed a shovel, and then went to the back of the school. He stopped at a fair distance from the building and began to dig a hole. While he was digging, he felt hollow and empty – out of sorrow, joy or indifference, it was hard to say. Perhaps he was just excited. Whenever he relaxed, he felt empty inside.

After a while, the feeling passed and was replaced by sorrow. ‘It was only a dog, but it had a life like you; it loved life just like you do.’ ‘But it was a mad dog; it was dangerous, it was mad: it couldn’t have been allowed to live.’ He was trying to find reasons to protect himself from the retribution he knew this deed would bring about.

The headmaster came and stood watching in the shade at the back of the school. He told Fak to tie some rope round the dog and drag the body to the hole. ‘Don’t drag it along the concrete path, though, and be careful you don’t get soiled by its blood or spittle.’ Having received his instructions, Fak left to act upon them.

He lifted the dog’s head with the stick and coiled some rope round its neck, then dragged the body away, not daring to look back. All he was aware of was the weight of the body, which furrowed the ground as he pulled it along. He finally reached the grave he had dug, dropped the body in it, together with the rope and the hoe handle he had used to kill the animal, and then shovelled the earth back into the hole.

‘Please forgive me and don’t take revenge on me,’ he said to the body of the dog lying in the grave.

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100 When he had finished levelling the earth, he went back to the school building. His feeling of grief had still remained. He stopped to wash the shovel and his hands, legs and face, then went to get his shirt, which he had left on the veranda rail. He took the shovel back to the storeroom and went and sat by the stairway in the shade of the building.

His eyes stared blankly at the schoolyard where it had all happened. There was nothing there now but an empty expanse of sunshine. The other scene had gone. It had merely been an illusion. He wasn’t even sure whether the person who had just killed the dog was the same as the one who was now sitting here. ‘But it really did happen,’ he thought. ‘I killed it, I really did kill it – and I shouldn’t have.’ He sighed and absentmindedly shook his head. ‘It was mad – mad – it was a mad dog.’

He sat there with no idea of how much time was going by. Any teacher who walked by assumed that Fak was just resting. He didn’t think at all about the passage of time. It was as though time had stopped and no longer held any meaning for him.

The sun moved its way across to the stairs on which he was resting his legs. As though from some distant land, a bell rang out the end of the period.

‘Really, Fak, you were terrific,’ Miss Suda greeted him as she passed him on her way to another classroom. Fak started a little. When he looked up and saw it was Miss Suda, he got up.

‘Er – is there something I can do for you, Miss?’

CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

101 ‘No, nothing. I was just saying how wonderful you were.’ The young teacher smiled and walked on.

Throughout the afternoon, Fak felt confused and dejected, his mind spinning with thoughts of the dog that had been killed, but he carried on with his work until the end of the day.

In the evening, he walked with his water scoop to the monastery to take his shower. The three young teachers were already there, bathing. He put his water scoop on the lid of a water jar and changed into his loincloth.

‘I’m telling you it wasn’t mad,’ he heard Master Preecha saying. ‘Believe me: mad dogs definitely don’t eat.’

‘But it had all the signs of a mad dog,’ objected Master Kitti as he wrung the water out of his underpants.

‘Maybe there was something else wrong with it. Lots of dogs froth at the mouth. Our dog once had the same symptoms. It began throwing a fit, with froth at the mouth too, and went after other dogs and bit them. Dad had to shoot it. He sent its head to the Pasteur Institute for examination and it turned out it wasn’t mad at all.

Dad was real sorry. It was a good dog, too.’

‘Er – I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t mad, but we didn’t know that for sure. Suppose it was mad and bit someone, there’d be no end of trouble.’

‘Forget it. It’s already dead. What’s the good of arguing?’ interposed Master Marnit.

‘We weren’t arguing, just talking,’ Master Preecha said.

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102 Fak stood there listening, but didn’t offer any opinion.

He scooped up some water and poured it over himself.

As the water splashed on the ground, the three teachers turned and looked.

‘Well, well, here is our hero!’ Master Kitti joked, smiling at him. Fak smiled back. The three teachers exchanged a few more words before walking back to their quarters in the twilight glow.

Fak went on with his shower, immersed in thought about the black dog he had killed. ‘So, it wasn’t mad after all. Then if it wasn’t mad, it shouldn’t have died. Why did I think it was mad? Because the headmaster said it was.

But how did he know for sure that the dog was mad? He probably figured it out from the way it looked – the frothing at the mouth, the sagging tail ... If it had been a person, it’d be like it had been ordered to be executed without having done anything wrong. But it wasn’t a person. Stop thinking about it. Forget it. It was only a dog.’

Fak tried to prevent himself from worrying about having killed the animal. He tried to justify his action by reasoning that it was an insignificant life, a life that was of no use to anyone. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, and thinking about he did until late into the night, when he finally came to the conclusion that killing the dog had been wrong.

For a while, the killing of the dog that day showed that Fak was still of some use to society – at least, he had protected the schoolchildren from danger. But it wasn’t CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

103 long before the story of his good deed – the killing of the dog – was lost in his own sense of overwhelming wrong, like a pebble thrown into a large lake makes a few ripples for a while before the surface regains its calm.

The world outside his mosquito net offered nothing he couldn’t cope with, and the manner in which he carried out his duties could not be faulted. Even though he worked all day long until he was totally exhausted, he was still happy. But the world inside his mosquito net was more and more confused each night. There was always something to add to his worries, something to make him frightened or suspicious. Some nights he lay tossing and turning, troubled by compulsive thoughts, until the roosters at the temple began to crow, and all he could do was to store these thoughts away in his mind.

He was still pressed by the people around him to admit that he had taken his father’s wife as his own.

Actually, although everybody was already convinced that this was the case, Fak’s denials were like a thorn in people’s flesh, and they wanted him to confess so that the thorn be removed. Some tried to trick him by asking leading questions just so he would say ‘yes’. But he wouldn’t admit to anything. If he didn’t say no, he just remained impassive. It appeared that their efforts would never end so long as Fak refused to give in. Some people even openly set about looking for evidence.

Then came the day of the cremation of Kamnan Yorm’s father. A crowd of men, women and children THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

104 had gathered at the temple. Most women were dressed in black, though a few wore white blouses. The men wore white shirts and black trousers. Men or women, there was something else each of them wore: a villagescout scarf. Almost everybody was wearing one, even Granny Un, Grandma Orn and Grandpa Tow. There were people from almost every household and some of them had brought their children and grandchildren along as well. They had all come for the cremation of Kamnan Yorm’s father. The post of kamnan is important in any rural community, and the title of president of the village scouts that goes with it commands added respect.

Actually, the preparations had begun the day before with the cooking of enormous quantities of food – enough to feed the entire village and beyond. People had been busy merrily boiling rice in caldrons so huge that a fully grown person could have been immersed in one. There was plenty of booze as well – fierce local liquor for the elderly women who had come to prepare curries and sweets, and rice wine for Uncle Nei, who supervised the cooking of the rice. Every host was aware of what the old man liked, as he helped cook the rice for the temple almost every time there was a celebration.

Cooking rice in the enormous brass containers was no mean feat, and for this particular occasion required no fewer than five people. There were bottles of Thai whiskey to welcome the guests according to their social CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

105 status, and beer was kept on ice in a huge earthenware jar. The previous day had thus been a day of revelry for all.

That morning, it had not been necessary for the monks to go on their alms round, as the host had provided both breakfast and lunch for the entire monastery. In the afternoon, two monks who had been invited from Bangkok delivered two sermons in succession. There was a shimmering of red one-hundred-baht notes stuck round the edge of a large bowl placed near the two monks, who were engaged in a session of didactic catechism.

From dawn to dusk, the crowd never dwindled. A Mon gamelan∗ orchestra played soothing music. The police from the local station joined in to see that everything went smoothly. When some of the drinkers began to stagger, they would invite them to go and take a nap inside the temple and come back once they had sobered up a bit.

Fak was eager to pitch in and help with the work, but nobody was quite willing to let him do so. He was given only one task: ‘Just keep an eye on your woman and make sure she doesn’t come roaming around.’ That was all, and he wandered back home dejected.

The symbolic cremation ceremony was to take place at three in the afternoon. By then, all the high-ranking officials from town who had received an invitation had ar∗ A musical ensemble originally of Indonesia, consisting of wind, string and percussion instruments, such as flute, lute, gongs, drums, and most importantly a bamboo xylophone

THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

106 rived, wearing jackets, ties and black mourning armbands. The women wore laced or plain black dresses.

Some of them had long strands of pearls that hung down to their navels. They stood around chatting in small groups that did not mix.

Kamnan Yorm was dressed in the same manner as the officials from town, but as a special touch, he had tied a village-scout scarf round his neck. Thus attired, he walked about giving myriad instructions, chatting with the guests who had come from town, acknowledging greetings by raising his joined hands to his chest, and receiving envelopes containing money contributions from the villagers. From time to time, helpers would come up and report that one thing or another had run out. He would reach out into his breast pocket, dig out some money and hand it over.

The gamelan played on in soothing syncopation, and the time for the ceremony was drawing closer and closer.

A huge pyre stood prominently in the centre of the courtyard. Its shape was similar to the monument enshrining the footprint of the Buddha in Saraburi. For as long as this temple had been conducting such ceremonies, there had never been a pyre so huge or so elaborate. It had been decorated with folds cut out of banana boles. Brightly coloured cloth covered the four pillars supporting the roof, which was tiered, draped with white cloth and topped with a long, pointed spire. Each of the four sides of the pyre had a stairway, with wooden banisters carved in the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

107 shape of mythical serpents with raised heads and tails. The golden casket in the centre of the pyre was decorated with glowing flame-like patterns; in it lay the coffin that held the body of Kamnan Yorm’s father. On top of the casket was an arrangement of the bracts of giant white lilies – the biggest flowers in the centre, the smaller ones on either side. Their beautiful rows were interspersed with orchids and long, green twigs, and spotted leaves had been inserted to hide the central banana bole to which the flowers and twigs had been pinned. Below the casket, at each corner, a tablet supported a smaller flower arrangement similar to the one on top. Rows of wreaths lined the path round the pyre, the names of their donors engraved on black paper strips in shiny silver lettering.

The base of the pyre had been wrapped with a cloth painted to resemble a brick wall.

Strings of small running lights had been connected to the pyre and were turned on in the evening. The night before, the villagers had come to admire them. The lights ran round and round the pyre all the way to the top, where they projected the colours of the Thai flag.

These top lights also ran after one another, making it appear as though the flag was fluttering in the breeze. It was a spectacle worth seeing, and Fak had taken M’am along to have a look at it the previous evening. The rumour was that the kamnan had searched as far as Ratchaburi to find this set of lights and hadn’t given a thought to the expense.

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108 But now it was only three in the afternoon and the beauty of the pyre was different, a naked beauty deprived of the glow of the lights.

An announcement came over the loudspeakers inviting the officials who had come from town, from the highest-ranking to the lowest, to step one by one onto the central area of the pyre and make their offering of ceremonial cloth to the monks. The same announcement invited the monks to come and receive a piece of cloth, also by order of seniority. After what seemed a long time, the last monk stepped down from the pyre carrying his piece of cloth. All along, the gamelan orchestra had been playing mellow tunes.

After a shattering salvo of firecrackers, a woeful wail and whine came through the loudspeakers, a pityinspiring wave of what sounded like genuine grief, even though the people crying and lamenting were not related to the deceased. Meanwhile, one by one, according to rank, the officials placed dry sandalwood flowers beneath the coffin and then filed back, followed by a long line of villagers. Fak stood watching but forfeited his chance to lay a flower on the coffin, as he wasn’t brave enough to mix with them.

The ceremony went on in an atmosphere of sadness, sorrow and solace until around five o’clock, when the symbolic lighting of the pyre took place. The dry flowers underneath the casket were lit and the fire was promptly put out. Fragrant smoke billowed for a while, and then CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

109 the officials began to leave, exchanging thanks and goodbyes at the parking area.

Vendors came to stake their claim to particular spots, as that evening there would be open-air movies and a famous likei troupe was to perform for the villagers.

Busy setting up their stalls, the vendors showed no sign of sadness; to the contrary, they were happy with the opportunity to sell their wares.

That evening, as the monastery was swarming with people, Fak didn’t take his shower there. Instead, he showered at the back of the hut, where M’am Somsong usually bathed. Inside the hut, the widow was getting dressed, powdering her face and parting her hair in front of the mirror. She wore her red flower-patterned blouse and a shiny black sarong. When Fak had finished his shower, he took his water scoop and went back inside.

M’am Somsong, who was sitting on the bamboo platform and swinging her legs, turned and smiled at him.

‘I’m going to see the likei.’

‘Wait a minute, we’ll go together,’ Fak said to her while looking for a pair of trousers to change into.

‘Hurry up – I’ll go ahead.’ She prepared to get up and go.

‘There’s no need to hurry. We haven’t heard the overture yet.’ Fak shook his head to get the water out of his hair and used the loincloth to wipe his face and body, then went outside to hang the cloth to dry on the line.

‘Please hurry,’ M’am Somsong urged Fak when he came back in. It was as though her heart had run ahead THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

110 to the front of the likei stage since early evening waiting for her body to come and join it.

‘Not yet – not yet,’ Fak said, increasingly agitated. He didn’t want to go right now as the performance hadn’t started yet and he was afraid of the looks they would get when the villagers saw them walking together. At least, if the likei was performing or a movie showing, nobody would pay attention to them.

‘We’re going to be late.’ M’am Somsong’s voice trailed off. She added slowly: ‘I want to see the show. Don’t you want to see it too?’

‘Yes, of course I do, but you should wait for a while.’

Fak spoke in his usual bland voice. ‘Put up your mosquito net first. This way, you can go straight to sleep when we’re back.’

She seemed to agree with his idea or perhaps she was used to being ordered about: she got up and walked over to her sleeping area, spread out the mat and prepared the mosquito net. Fak was taking his time looking for a shirt. He walked about silently, deliberately letting time go by.

The coconut grove filled with the blast of a folk song coming from the area where the movie was to be shown.

Before long, the overture of the likei could be heard. Fak had just finished dressing by the time M’am Somsong had put up her mosquito net. The drum beating out the overture of the likei was also beating in her breast.

‘Aren’t we going yet?’ She turned and smiled invitingCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

111 ly, eager to leave and somewhat flustered.

‘Not yet. Wait. Let me put up my mosquito net first,’ Fak said. M’am Somsong’s face fell.

Fak tried to do everything as slowly as he could. M’am Somsong walked up to him, determined to help him put up the net, but he wouldn’t let her. He told her to get out of the way and just wait. She sat down in a huff, not at all happy, and watched him until he was through. When at last he invited her to go, she broke into a thrilled grin.

The likei announcer was calling out for spectators to gather and watch the performance. The movie had already begun. Movies were only shown at big celebrations. Tonight all of the villagers would have an opportunity to enjoy themselves thanks to the cremation of Kamnan Yorm’s father. In the days running up to the ceremony, the kamnan had repeatedly announced that he would look for movies to show his father, and ever since the whole village had talked of little else and eagerly waited to see them.

Fak led the widow Somsong round the school to the main road, which was the way the villagers went to the temple. The path inside the monastery compound was illuminated by the bright lights that shone from the stalls on both sides of it. These stalls sold noodle soup, coffee, Indian pancakes, Thai stir-fried noodles, fried mussels – the oil sizzled, thick smoke billowed, and the clickety-click of ladles against woks wooed customers.

Each of these temporary structures had a piece of cloth THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

112 on wooden poles as an awning and was lit by a hurricane lamp. Smaller, portable stalls provided tiny stools to sit on and sold grilled squid or a stew of ox innards. Others had sweets, comics or toys for the children. One sold small coils of toffee; the children got as many of these as the number they drew on a spinning wheel. Another sold comic books by having the children play a small pinball machine. If a player reached a certain number of points, he earned a comic book; if not, he was given a candy or two. These stalls were low on the ground and lit by gas lamps with tiny flames shielded by pieces of tinfoil. Sometimes, when the wind blew strongly, the lamps went out and had to be relit. The stalls selling toys were brightly lit by hurricane lamps; the brash-coloured toys shimmered and glistened, luring the children, who crowded around to ogle at them.

There were cap pistols and water pistols, dolls, mechanical monkeys beating drums, airplanes, etc, all arranged in groups ready to siphon money from the pockets of parents who happened to stroll by with their kids in tow. These big stalls had come from town. Those belonging to the villagers sold only small items and were nowhere near as big. Normally, the town vendors only came once a year, for the temple festival, which was held during the second lunar month. This was the first time they had been seen at a cremation.

Although the movie had already started, people were still milling around gawping at the stalls, and Fak felt CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

113 quite relieved that nobody was interested in him. At first, when he had walked into the monastery grounds, he had felt that all eyes had become one and were staring at him because M’am Somsong was pressing against him. Time and again, she would grab his arm or hand and he would discreetly pull away, convinced that the villagers would no doubt gossip about this later. But when he looked around, he saw that no one was paying any attention and came to the conclusion that he had been the victim of his own imagination. When he realised this, the festival became more fun for him.

He walked on past the stalls to the temple courtyard, where a foreign movie was showing on a huge screen.

The man doing the dubbing changed to the voice of a woman, so shrill and loud that it was painful to the ear.

Fak continued amid the throng along the path skirting the lawn, which was crowded with people craning to see the moving pictures being projected on the rectangular screen. Two rays of light came out of the projector in different directions: the first, a varicoloured cone, projected the images onto the screen, while the second, an off-white funnel, shone into the sky and dissolved itself into darkness. Some twenty metres behind the projector, the funeral pyre stood in its beautiful garb of coursing lights, and further to the rear, facing the pyre, was the likei stage. By now, the performance had started, and its loud echoes urged M’am Somsong to quicken her steps.

She grabbed Fak’s wrist as though she was about to run, THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

114 like a child urging another to come and play. He shook her hand off, still afraid of the looks from other people, even though the path there was unlit.

There were not as many people at the likei performance as Fak had thought there would be. They were mostly women and old folk, who sat right before the stage, chewing betel and gawking away. The pace of the likei was too sluggish to hold the attention of the young. They had all gone over to watch the movie, which had enough action to keep them interested and was full of things they had never seen before, such as beautiful vistas, modern buildings and stylish cars. The movie stars were dressed in the latest fashion and there were also scantily clad women always lying down or twisting themselves into contrived poses to better show their curves, which was a lot more exciting than watching the leading lady of the likei performance pursing her lips, crying her eyes out and warbling herself hoarse. The old folk didn’t feel like watching the movie, perhaps because they had watched likei ever since childhood and truly appreciated the artistic value of its singing and dancing – or maybe the action in the movie was too fast-paced for them to follow the story.

Fak and M’am Somsong found a place to sit in the last row. Normally, when there was only a likei, every seat was taken before the start of the show. No one paid any attention to Fak, except Auntie Jan, who was sitting beside him.

When Fak smiled to her and spoke a few words of greeting, she quickly turned away to concentrate on the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

115 performance. M’am Somsong sat staring at the stage, occasionally getting annoyed at the tall people sitting in front of her. She twisted her body left and right to get a better view. At one point, she scolded loudly the woman right in front of her. When the woman turned round and saw who it was, she turned back and sat steadfastly erect.

Fak had to look for another place for M’am Somsong to sit so that she could enjoy the show as she wished.

At ten o’clock the likei and the movie stopped. The announcer explained that the host had requested that the entertainment be interrupted for a while so that the cremation of the body of the host’s father could begin.

Everybody got up and walked from the areas in front of the likei stage and the movie screen and went over to the pyre, where the ceremony was about to start.

Firecrackers exploded in deafening bangs that shook the ground beneath people’s feet. Little children in their mothers’ arms started in fright and began to howl. The fireworks were ignited; Roman candles shot into the sky, where they released showers of sparks like spray from a fountain. Yet, the showers that came fluttering down around the pyre were expanding balls of fire that grew myriad twigs and sprigs of pink, green and silver. The profusion of colours dazzled all eyes.

The cremation at the pyre had begun and red flames flared up around the coffin. Firecrackers still exploded at regular intervals. Eager onlookers stood by covering their ears and watching in awe as Uncle Bai lit the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

116 rockets, which hissed and sizzled as they spun their way into the sky in a trail of blinding light. Up and up they went till they became mere dots that exploded with loud bangs and sent out sparks of green, red, purple and silver which seemed to challenge and shame the twinkle of the stars. But in no time these flowers of light had faded away forever and immediately in their wake came multicoloured searing flashes of light from gunpowder fireworks placed all around the pyre in clay dishes shaped as battleships or airplanes.

The villagers who had gathered around to watch the display gasped in amazement, admiring the handiwork of its creator and praising Kamnan Yorm for having gone out of his way to put together this wonderful visual treat. Children rushed about picking up the Roman candles that had fallen back to the ground but had completely gone out and then ran around with them, dripping sparks in their wake. As a child was picking a candle up, it burst in a deafening explosion. Startled, he dropped it and scampered away, already laughing and all the more excited.

The relatives of Kamnan Yorm’s father made their way up to the pyre to lay dry flowers as their contribution to the cremation. Those who had been crying during the afternoon ceremony cried anew; those who hadn’t cried then didn’t cry now. Kamnan Yorm stood by one stairway trying to comfort his mother, who had been crying throughout both ceremonies. His brothers and CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

117 sisters, who also stood by, soon helped lead her away.

The fireworks finally died down. The dry funeral flowers had long burnt. All that remained was the fire consuming the body in the middle of the pyre.

Those who had left their places in front of the likei stage or the movie screen hurried back to them. M’am Somsong wanted to go and sit in the front row, but Fak wouldn’t hear of it and insisted she went back to her previous seat. She was upset, but finally had to give in.

The likei picked up from where it had left off almost an hour ago. Fak’s eyes were on what was going on on stage, but his mind was full of memories of his father.

He was thinking about the days when they had lived here together, how he used to sit at the front of the stage and how his dad had forbidden him to do so. Where the heroine was now sitting, he had sat having meals with his dad; the floor the villain was now pacing, he had mopped time and again. On sultry nights, he would sleep in the open with his dad under their mosquito net.

He recalled how his father used to make him sleep against the wall so he wouldn’t fall off the dais. In the middle of the night, when his bladder was bursting, he would get up and walk to the edge of the stage and pee over the side with his eyes closed. He didn’t dare go downstairs because he was afraid. Fak sat remembering the good old days with his dad. His eyes and ears followed the performance, but his mind was engrossed in the past. When it dawned on him that his father was THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

118 dead, he felt a tingling sensation and a shiver coursed through his body. After a while he returned to normal and realised that he had been watching the likei without understanding anything of the story. All along, he hadn’t registered a thing, as though he had gone back and got lost in his childhood, leaving his body beside M’am Somsong.

When he returned to reality, he felt bored sitting there looking at his former dwelling. Nothing could be recalled from the times gone by; they were just momentary illusions. Even though he had once known happiness there, it didn’t help erase his present suffering. The latter couldn’t be offset by the former like a set of figures against another. Fak continued to sit there deep in thought for quite a while, and then decided to take M’am Somsong to see the movie, but she was reluctant to leave and wouldn’t get up. Fortunately a Thai movie was just beginning. Fak told her to wait there and he’d come back to fetch her in a little while, but she wouldn’t stay by herself, so she reluctantly got up and followed him, unhappy at leaving the likei behind. Yet soon after she had sat down in front of the screen, she forgot all about the likei and became completely engrossed in the movie. Every now and then she would laugh out loudly and at other times sigh deeply, sitting almost motionless, her eyes glued to the screen. When it came to the part where there was hugging and kissing, she snuggled up so close to Fak that he had to edge away. When the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

119 movie was over, Fak suggested that they go back to the hut. M’am was still impressed by what she had seen on the screen and she remained seated, waiting for the next movie to begin. Fak insisted that they had to go home because the following day was a Monday and he had to get up early. She finally understood and agreed to leave.

They walked along the path, which looked almost white in the moonlight. The sounds from the new movie echoed among the rows of coconut trees. The two of them strolled along casually, unaware that they were being followed at some distance by four men, but even if he had been aware of it, Fak would not have been afraid, because he had no possessions to call his own and the people in the village would never think of doing one another any harm.

Fak, with M’am Somsong right behind him, went inside the dark hut and stepped onto the bamboo platform to open the window above his sleeping area. The moonlight flooded in, allowing him to see well enough to light the oil lamp, whose brightness chased the moonlight out of the hut.

He went outside to wash his feet, scooped up some water and tiptoed back inside. M’am Somsong had already stepped onto the platform and was preparing to get inside her mosquito net. He told her to go and wash her feet first.

‘It was fun, wasn’t it?’

‘Sure.’

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120 ‘The fat one fell in a puddle and got mud all over his face. It was so funny.’

After she had washed her feet, Fak told her to get into her net, and blew out the lamp. Now that the light from the lamp was gone, the light from the moon returned.

Fak groped his way over to his net and as he ducked in, he heard a scraping noise beside the hut, but paid no attention, thinking it must be a dog. As he was lying there thinking idle thoughts, suddenly he felt the side of his net being raised and saw M’am Somsong trying to crawl in.

Fak sprang up in alarm. ‘Hey! You can’t do that. Go back to your place.’

‘Let me sleep with you.’

‘No way. I’ve told you already. Go.’ He felt her arms wrap themselves round him. ‘Go and sleep in your own net.’ He spoke angrily, pushing her away. She got out grumbling and crawled into her net.

Fak was wider-awake than ever. He was shocked that she had tried to put her arms round him. Her soft breasts had pressed against his arm. He simply couldn’t understand her. Sometimes she looked pitifully meek, but at other times she was no end of trouble. Why was she always trying to sleep with him? He couldn’t figure her out at all. All he could do was to ask himself why.

Fak lay worrying, still unaware that outside the hut, a head had just ducked down the window ledge.

Four young men walked away from the hut, heading CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

121 back in the moonlight towards the fair at the temple and chatting along the way.

‘Fak’s probably tired, but the widow wants it.’

‘How come they don’t sleep in the same net?’

‘They put up the other one to fool us.’

‘Maybe he knew we were peeping.’

‘Yes, so I reckon.’

‘But they put up their nets before they went out.’

‘Yeah! They put up two, but that doesn’t mean they can’t use only one, right?’

‘Then how come they didn’t get into it right now?’

‘He probably knew someone was watching.’

‘It’s because of you, you dummy – bumping into the wall like that.’

The four of them teased one another rowdily as they walked into the monastery compound and mixed with the crowd. Three of them were rather disappointed with their friend’s clumsiness; it was his fault they had failed to witness the real thing and lost the opportunity to let it be known they had actually caught the couple in the act.

Fak couldn’t sleep. He lay there listening to the distant sounds from the movie, thinking that lots of kids would be absent from school the next day. If movies were shown through to dawn, the children would probably sit there watching until the morning sunlight shone on the screen. But even if only a few students showed up, Fak still had to carry out his duties as usual. He still had to get up and open windows and doors and mop floors THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

122 and verandas as he did every day.

The moon sank lower in the sky. The dark palms of the coconut trees swayed gently in the breeze as though to caress the lunar disc, which was drawing closer to them.

Fak had fallen asleep and now lay snoring softly as he dreamt of bright, green, pink and silver Roman candles and of milling crowds, and everyone who passed by smiled at him. His friend Bun-yuen stood and talked to him for a long time, telling him that Sergeant Marn had been promoted to warrant officer. Many came and apologised for having misunderstood him. The widow Somsong, dressed in black with a long strand of pearls round her neck, walked along beside him, smiling radiantly. Then his dream changed and the crowd there had gathered for the cremation of his own father, whose body lay on a beautiful pyre. The headmaster brought him a jacket, saying he had had it made in town with some of the money Fak had deposited with him. Fak put it on, with the help of the headmaster, who then took a village-scout scarf and put it round Fak’s neck. Fak mingled with the people, feeling more self-confident than ever and relieved that all of his torments had been taken off his chest. Kamnan Yorm walked straight to him and told him that all of the villagers now understood about his stepmother and praised him for being so patient and caring. He stood talking for quite a while, then pulled a golden medal out of his pocket and pinned it on Fak’s right lapel. The villagers standing around him broke into CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

123 applause, and then the movement of the crowd took him to the likei stage. He had no idea where M’am had gone.

He stopped to watch the likei and saw his dad standing at the front of the stage singing, so he walked over and asked him if it was true he was dead. His dad answered that he wasn’t dead yet, that the body on the pyre was that of Kamnan Yorm’s father. He added that he himself had gone on a tour with the actors and was now the troupe leader. The heroine, who was singing and dancing, was none other than M’am herself. Fak then walked over to the pyre, where the lighting of more fireworks was in process. The headmaster asked him where he had been and added he had been looking for him to cremate his father’s body but couldn’t do so without his permission. Fak knew then that it was his dad who had died and that the people here had come to his dad’s cremation. He placed a sandalwood flower on his father’s casket. A weeping Somsong appeared out of nowhere, flung herself into his arms and hugged him. He pushed her away and walked over to watch the movie, whose story began to mix with his dream.

In his dream, crowds were everywhere, Roman candles burst into dazzling flowers of fire, all over the pyre beautiful lights ran and ran, the songs and dances of the likei were all glitter, the pictures moving on the screen had vivid colours – and all of this was taking place at the cremation of his own father.

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124

3 The effect the dream had on Fak lasted many days, and for many nights afterward he dreamed again and again that all of the villagers now understood the truth. On the nights that he dreamed, he was filled with a warmth and happiness that sated him to the point that he hardly wished to wake up ever again.

When he awoke and faced reality, however, he realised that his happiness was only a dream and that he could no longer deceive himself, even though he tried every way he knew to make the real world resemble his dream.

In the real world, no one was willing to believe him, but in the world of his dreams, everyone praised and admired him.

Each time he saw his dad in his dreams, he felt that his dad’s soul would not rest in peace so long as his body had not been cremated as tradition required. His dad’s soul kept visiting him in his dreams as though it was asking him, ‘Aren’t you going to let me be reborn like the others?’

Only Fak could answer this question. The widow Somsong had never made any mention of cremating the body. Maybe she had forgotten already that she once had a husband named Foo and that the man named Foo was the father of the person she was living with now.

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125 The rainy season had begun, and with the first drizzle came the pervasive smell of damp earth.

Within days, rounds of cheers resounded through the village, together with the beat of long drums, the blasts of a brass band and the soothing entreaties of the master of ceremonies: the time for ordinations had come.

Fak received no invitation card. Nobody came to ask for his help in pounding flour to make Thai vermicelli, cracking open and scraping coconuts or washing dishes.

Nobody came to invite him to attend the ordination celebrations. It was as though he didn’t live in the village at all. On some evenings, the comforting voice of the master of ceremonies came drifting by, making Fak sad that he would never be ordained as a monk in this lifetime.

Whenever an ordination ceremony took place on a Saturday or Sunday morning, he would go and stand outside the monastery fence and watch the procession go by as it went around the prayer hall, watch the men and women shuffling along to the rhythm of the long drums, look at the little girls dressed in colourful traditional Thai costumes, with pencilled-in eyebrows and painted lips, filing past, from the smallest tots to the tallest maids, all holding candles in cones made out of banana leaves. The young man about to be ordained was paraded on his friends’ shoulders and wore a white, thin cloth with golden hems over his white undergarments.

He held a lotus, a candle and incense sticks in his hands, THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

126 which he kept at chest level, palms joined. His father carried an alms bowl on his shoulder and held a ceremonial fan; his mother, the future monk’s set of three robes.

His brothers and sisters, old people and other relatives and friends and neighbours followed, carrying gifts to offer the monks who took part in the ceremony as well as basic implements for the new monk, such as kettle, teapot, water scoop, soap, pillow, blanket and so on. The procession, crowded with just about everybody in the village, stretched out until its head nearly met with its tail.

When the future monk knelt before one of the leafshaped boundary stones in front of the prayer hall and asked for forgiveness for all his wrongdoings, Fak also forgave him, giving up every misgiving about the past.

The young man then threw coins into the air, and when the people jostled to catch them, Fak didn’t join them, but remained standing outside the fence. He watched until the young man was carried into the prayer hall, thinking idly all the while how happy he’d be if he were the one being carried into the temple.

As the days went by, the rain became more regular and sometimes it rained for two or three days without letting up. The festive period of ordinations was coming to an end and the start of the Buddhist Lent was getting closer. An unending stream of people kept visiting the new monks and bringing food. But Fak no longer went to the monastery. He was afraid of the looks he would get.

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127 Once the merit-making alms-giving ceremony on the first day of Lent was over, the villagers took turns each day to bring lunch to the monks. They would do so for the entire Lent season and not a day would pass without these offerings, except holy days, when an alms-giving ceremony took place at the temple itself.

When the ceremony coincided with his days off, Fak would go to the temple to help wash the dishes, lay out the mats, empty the spittoons, carry things and do whatever else needed to be done. He carried out the work as though it was his duty, and whatever food was left over he took home for his and M’am Somsong’s dinner.

Nobody said anything to him about this, but among themselves people said: ‘These leftovers already brought us merit, so the devil might as well have ’m.’

Throughout Lent, the widow Somsong behaved exactly as if she was in jail. Fak kept a close eye on her and, fearful of possible repercussions if she didn’t behave herself, he lay down strict rules for her to follow: don’t walk in the monastery grounds; don’t bother people in the kitchen; don’t pull up your sarong or expose your breasts in front of anyone; don’t look or smile at monks.

The penalty for any breach was most severe: ‘I’ll kick you out for good.’ Even though it was only a threat, it had the desired effect and kept her under control.

During this time, she did nothing to add to Fak’s worries. Actually, this was not entirely true, because there were still occasions when she would try to crawl under THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

128 his mosquito net at night. Fak maintained his chastity as strictly as the newly ordained monks practised their discipline.

School time had moved on to midterm and there was nothing wanting in the way Fak carried out his duties.

The special alms gathering that marked the end of Lent went by and monastery time moved on to the day of presentation of robes to the monks. Soon after that, the new monks began to disrobe. The refectory was now complete and the last row of old quarters for monks was being demolished to make way for new ones. After the bustle of Lent, the temple was back to its usual peace and quiet. The restrictions placed on the widow Somsong were rescinded and everything returned to normal.

As things turned quiet at the temple, Fak had more time to think, and his father’s cremation was again on his mind. He decided that he would definitely cremate his father’s body before the end of the year, as tradition demanded. But who could he consult about this, apart from M’am Somsong, and what kind of ideas could she possibly come up with? As it turned out, though, she did have one suggestion to make, but for someone of Fak’s standing it was way beyond his means: she wanted to have a likei performance at the cremation. Apart from that, she had no opinion on the subject.

Fak had no relatives whose advice he could seek. He was alone, and moreover, resented by the villagers.

There was no one he could turn to, no place he could go.

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129 The idea of having to rely on someone else made him feel lonelier than ever. At first, he had thought that he’d be able to look after M’am without too much trouble. He had asked for just one thing: that nobody harmed her.

But now, he felt that being ostracised by all was a torture worse than any other.

Two days after the celebration of the abbot’s birthday, in November, Fak shyly revealed his intention to the headmaster.

‘Oh, good,’ the headmaster said. ‘It’s a good idea to cremate the body.’

‘Do I have to bring an invitation card to Kamnan Yorm also, sir?’

‘Oh ho! Sending out invitation cards as well, eh? You’d be better off making it a quiet affair. Just go and tell him, for form’s sake. Word of mouth is better.’

‘Yessir.’

‘Also check with the abbot which day the monks are available, so that it doesn’t clash with anybody else’s ceremony. If it does, just postpone it.’

‘Yessir.’

The abbot and the headmaster set the seventh of December, during the school vacation, as the date for the cremation.

As the day approached, Fak went to see Kamnan Yorm. On the way to his house, Fak felt his body becoming smaller, as though he was approaching a mountain. Many times he thought of turning back but didn’t THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

130 dare, because not to invite Kamnan Yorm would be tantamount to not showing respect. The closer he got to the kamnan’s house, the smaller he felt. When he finally reached the house, he stopped and stood outside the bamboo fence. Four or five dogs ran towards him and surrounded him, barking riotously. Kamnan Yorm’s grandson came out to see what was happening. When the little boy saw Fak standing behind the fence, he put on a fierce expression.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I want to see the kamnan,’ Fak told the boy, while keeping his eyes on the dogs, which were still barking all around him.

‘Hey! Get back here!’ a voice shouted. When they heard Kamnan Yorm’s voice, the dogs ran back under the house, their tails between their legs.

Fak raised his hands to his face and bowed to the kamnan, who was walking towards him. The kamnan acknowledged Fak’s greeting by raising his left hand, as though he were brushing a fly off his chin.

‘What’s the matter?’ the kamnan asked.

‘I’ve come to let you know, sir, that I’m going to cremate my father’s body on the seventh,’ Fak said most respectfully, even though his voice was shaking.

‘Oh, good.’

‘I also came to invite you to the cremation, sir.’ His voice continued to quiver.

‘On the seventh, eh?’ The kamnan made as though he CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

131 had just thought of something. ‘Hold on – hold on for a minute. Wait here for a moment.’ He turned and went back into the house and returned after a while.

‘I don’t think I can make it. I have to go to a meeting in town on the seventh.’

‘If you’re not free, then never mind, sir.’

‘Really, I’m not free.’ The kamnan patted Fak gently on the shoulder. Fak bowed to him respectfully, and then left.

He returned to his hut feeling he had just rid himself of a heavy burden, and he was pleased that he had mustered enough courage to go and invite the kamnan.

‘Well, even though he won’t be coming to the cremation, at least he patted me on the back. He’s shown himself warm and friendly like he used to. Just this much is good enough.’

That evening, he lay thinking of the warmth the hand of the kamnan had left on his shoulder. Then reality and dream began to merge. In his dream, the kamnan had pinned the golden medal on his chest, and in reality, the kamnan had patted him gently on the shoulder like a close friend. This feeling of warmth helped his restlessness subside a little before he fell asleep and couldn’t think about it any longer.

The following day, after he had had his breakfast, Fak left his hut and went to tell the headman and the other villagers whom he respected about the cremation. Most of the people had work to finish on the seventh. Some promised, ‘I’ll go if I’m free.’

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132 The last person he had to visit was the undertaker.

Walking along the path through the coconut plantation, he felt his confidence return, but couldn’t understand why. He wasn’t nervous or scared as he was when he went to see the others. He wasn’t sure what it was that made him feel like this, but then he remembered that he was going to see someone inferior to himself, and felt all puffed up.

Memories of his days as a novice came back to him. He had never thought he’d want to speak with Khai the undertaker, even though the man had never done him any wrong or said anything improper. During those days as a novice, none of the monks, novices or temple boys had been willing to eat the food the undertaker had placed in the alms bowls, regardless of whether it was boiled, curried or stir-fried. No one was willing to eat even an egg cooked by him. The temple boys would remember and point out what food the undertaker had offered that day, and when it was time for the monks to eat, the food he had offered was always set aside and no one ate it, not even Fak. The work of an undertaker was deemed to be extremely filthy, because he handled corpses and had the smell of the dead and even the stickiness of blood rubbing off on him. The man moved in and out of the mortuary, which was stuffy and humid and filled with rats and maggots. All this was utterly disgusting, and yet he lived in the thick of it – just to think about it was enough to turn your stomach. These CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

133 things had turned him into a dirty creature and the food he placed in the alms bowls just had to be soiled and full of germs. Besides, practically all the clothes he wore had once belonged to people he had cremated. This is why, no doubt, Fak regarded the undertaker as an inferior.

But it wasn’t only Fak; nobody liked to have anything to do with him, unless it was necessary (at a funeral) and there was no choice.

Khai’s home was a small, Thai-style house on stilts, with a roof and walls made of palm. On the beaten earth in front of the house stood a row of red-and-white water jars. The path leading to the house was lined with beds of red cockscombs∗ and purple globe amaranths∗∗. A black hen and her chicks were pecking at the soil around the cockscombs. A white dog was sleeping against a water jar, which had wet marks near its top. The dog pricked up its ears and started barking when it heard someone approaching. Khai the undertaker, who had been turning the soil round a bush of lemon grass next to a shack that jutted out from the house, dropped his work and walked over to the front of the house to see who was coming.

When he saw it was Fak, he called the dog by its name and clucked repeatedly. The dog wagged its tail and ran ∗ An ornamental plant of the amaranth family, with red or yellow flower heads somewhat like a rooster’s crest ∗∗ A plant of the amaranth family with colourful leaves and showy, tassel-like heads of flowers

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134 around the undertaker, without forgetting to look back and bark at Fak every so often.

‘Come on in, come.’ The undertaker smiled at Fak, then bent over to speak with the dog. ‘Hey – quiet, White. Tsk, tsk! Go over there and sleep,’ he said, pointing towards the water jars, as if the dog understood what he was saying. The dog walked slowly back to the jar and lay down, not barking anymore but keeping its eyes on Fak, who kept stealing glances back at it. Fak thought of the dogs he had seen at Kamnan Yorm’s house. As soon as the kamnan had yelled at them, they had run off with their tails between their legs. Khai the undertaker noticed Fak glancing at the dog as they walked along.

‘He won’t bite you so long as you don’t hit me.’ He chuckled.

‘He keeps staring at me.’

‘What brings you here?’ Khai asked as they sat down on the platform. ‘Hey, Porm, bring us a bowl of water, will you,’ he called to his grandson, who was inside the house. In next to no time, a small boy appeared and put a bowl of water on the platform.

‘Have some water to cool you down first.’

‘I’m going to cremate my father’s body, uncle. I came to let you know so you can do what’s necessary.’ Fak raised the bowl and took a drink.

‘Oh, good. Sure I’ll help. Old Foo and I go back a long time. When will it be?’

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135 ‘On the seventh.’

‘Oh. You’ve got everything organised?’

‘I think so.’

‘What do you mean you think so?’

‘There’s really nothing to do, uncle. I’ve invited the monks to chant and when it’s done, we’ll just cremate the body. I’m not going to provide them with breakfast or lunch.’

‘That’s good. For someone of your means, it’d be a waste of good money to make a big affair out of it. You know, talking about your father makes me feel sorry for him. It’s a pity he had to go so soon.’ The undertaker lowered his face as he rolled himself a cigarette.

‘Dad’s found his peace.’

‘Yep – that’s the right attitude.’ He struck a match and lit the cigarette.

‘Where’s Auntie Yip?’ ‘She went to the terminal to buy some food.’ Khai exhaled the smoke through his nostrils. ‘Why? Is there something you want from her?’

‘No, I was just asking. I thought maybe she didn’t want to see me so she hasn’t come down.’

‘What! What makes you think like that?’

‘I don’t know, uncle. Nobody wants to talk to me these days.’

‘Why?’ ‘Uncle, you ought to know.’

‘You mean about your missus? Don’t think too much of it. You look like you’re carrying a heavy load on your THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

136 shoulders; your face’s drawn, your hair’s turning white.

Never mind ’m. It’s no good to go thinking about it so much. Whatever you should let go of, let it go; whatever you should think about, think about it, but not too much. This kind of thing –’ ‘Ain’t my missus, uncle,’ Fak interposed.

‘Well, if it’s not about your missus, then what is it?’

‘Not that. It’s the same thing, but M’am Somsong is not my wife.’

‘What are you talking about?’ The frown of his eyebrows betrayed the undertaker’s puzzlement.

Fak looked at the hen, whose head jerked back and forth at each step, then said, without turning to face the undertaker, who was watching him: ‘M’am Somsong is not my wife. She’s my dad’s wife.’ He said it with a firm voice, his eyes still averted.

‘Oh, then it’s the other way round.’

‘If I tell you the truth, uncle, will you believe me?’

‘Well –’ He cleared his throat and threw the cigarette butt on the ground, then looked away. ‘Try me. What’s your story?’

‘I’ve never done anything with M’am Somsong, uncle.

Will you believe me?’

Fak turned and looked at him, but the undertaker was staring into the distance as if he was weighing the words he had just heard. He had deep-set eyes, the wrinkles of old age covered his burnished face, and his greying dark-blond hair emphasised his dirty and ugly appearCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

137 ance. He opened his dark, crinkled mouth very slightly and asked in a firm but sluggish voice: ‘Are you telling the truth?’ He still looked impassively at something in front of him.

‘Yes, I am, uncle. What I’m telling you is the truth,’ Fak answered with great firmness.

‘If you insist you’re telling the truth, then I believe you,’ the undertaker said softly, as if muttering to himself.

‘I’ve never done it, uncle. Since the day I was born, I’ve never done such a thing. Not once.’

Fak sat talking with the undertaker until almost evening, telling him his many problems and frustrations, revealing everything, leaving nothing hidden. Auntie Yip returned from the minibus terminal and invited him to join them for dinner, but he had to go back and eat with M’am Somsong.

That evening, he hardly felt any need to eat. The whole time he was boiling the rice, he was unaware of what he was doing and was going through the motions out of habit. His heart was elated because at last there was someone who believed him. So intense was the feeling that a glow of true happiness suffused his face and filled his eyes. Hope returned and watered his heart like a spell of rain in the dry season. It had been such a long, long time since he had felt happiness like this – not happiness which came from dreams in the middle of the night, but happiness that existed in the real world, the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

138 happiness he had been looking for all along. He had been searching for it for so long and then, unexpectedly, it had come to him through someone he had never even thought about, a lowly person he had looked down on.

He had been hoping to be believed by someone such as Kamnan Yorm or the headmaster or someone like Old Khian or someone like Old Paen or Headman Erp or even someone like Granny Ma. But no, it wasn’t to be.

None of these people had ever given him their trust. All they had done was add to his torment and frustration.

None of them had understood his suffering or tried to listen to the truth. Instead, that trust had come from the undertaker, a person he had once despised and sneered at! Just a few short words: ‘If you say it’s the truth, then I believe you.’

‘I believe you.’ ‘I believe you.’ He kept turning these words over in his mind as if they were still ringing in his ears. He would have liked to hear them with his every breath: ‘I believe you.’

He decided that he’d go and see the undertaker again the next day. Khai the undertaker had become a friend, a friend who had brought him happiness, a real friend in his time of need.

Fak ate, showered and went to bed the same as any other day. The words ‘I believe you’ echoed continuously in his head. As he lay there, he thought about everything he had told the undertaker. He didn’t hear the night insects, nor was he sure whether his eyes were open or closed. All he CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

139 was aware of was Uncle Khai’s words, which kept resounding in his ears: ‘I believe you.’ ‘I believe you.’ Finally, there was nothing in his mind except those words repeating themselves over and over and nothing to prevent them from floating about endlessly.

Then a question dawned on him: ‘Why did he believe you so easily?’ This was enough to bring the happiness he had felt all evening to an abrupt end. ‘Did he believe you? Is it really true he believed you? He’s having you on.’ The happiness he had felt all along began to evaporate when he questioned himself and tried to muster arguments against his own questions. ‘Why would he want to cheat me?’ ‘Because you gave him work to do, that’s why.’ ‘But I had to give it to him anyway.’

‘He’s worried you won’t pay him much, so he’s got to suck up to you.’ ‘No, it’s not true. He really believes me.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ ‘He told me so.’ ‘Since when did you know that what he says is what he means? This is the first time you’ve ever spoken with him. You saw his wife when she came back from the shops, didn’t you? You saw her when she looked at you?’ ‘But that’s his wife, not him.’ ‘Come on: they’re man and wife; they’ve been together for a long time, and they must see things the same way.’ ‘But she did invite me to stay for dinner.’ ‘Sure! If he’s going to get some money out of you, he’s got to take your side. Don’t you realise you’ve been had?’ ‘Not true. It can’t be. He believes me.’ ‘How come he believed you so easily, then? Nobody has ever THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

140 believed you, no matter how hard you’ve tried. So you think that, just because you said this one word, ‘truth,’ he believed you? That’s too easy. He’s a foxy old man, that one. He just wants to suck as much money out of you as he can. He isn’t being sincere with you at all.’

The happiness he had felt throughout the evening was disappearing fast. In his confusion, he tried to retain some of it, but the effort left him tired, and the more he thought about it, the more the words ‘I believe you’ faded away, until only one thought remained: ‘The crafty old cadger has tricked you.’ Deep down, he felt his despair return.

The following day, Fak didn’t go and chat with Khai the undertaker as he had planned, because he no longer believed the undertaker’s words. The man had believed him too easily, Fak had decided, and it seemed that in his heart a barrier had come up between him and the undertaker, the person who wanted to get a lot of money out of him.

That afternoon, Fak sat morosely on the bamboo platform outside his hut. He didn’t know what to do with his time. Nobody was willing to hire him to cut grass in the plantations; Lent had passed and only a few old monks remained in the becalmed monastery; school was closed and the temple boys had gone home. This made things worse, because the end of the school term had brought an end to his work, and when he had no work to do, it was as if he had no happiness. Gone were the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

141 teachers who used to send him to buy their lunches. All that remained was the school, which stood empty and silent. Gone was the boisterous bustle of the students.

What remained was the empty playground, and the whistle of the wind through the tops of the coconut trees and the calls of the birds flying about in the trees. He had no idea where M’am Somsong had wandered off to.

The only person who remained was him, sitting moodily on the bamboo platform.

He had almost had a friend, a friend with whom he could have whiled away the time in moments like this when he had nothing to do, but he had wised up in time.

If it hadn’t been for that, he would have gone to chat with the undertaker to pass the time of day while he waited for the cremation of his father’s body and the beginning of the new school term. But how could he go and face the undertaker again when he knew in his heart what the man wanted? He was unable to dissemble and couldn’t imagine himself laughing and joking as if he didn’t know what the other fellow was up to. So he had decided not to pay a visit to Khai the undertaker.

Just then, the undertaker appeared from the coconut grove and walked towards Fak’s hut. Fak nodded curtly to him. The undertaker probably didn’t notice the unusual expression on Fak’s face and greeted him in a smiling, friendly manner.

‘Nothing to do? How come?’ he said as he sat down on the platform beside Fak. THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

142 ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Fak said somewhat reluctantly.

‘Then look for something.’

‘What can I do?’ Fak began to feel upset because the undertaker was trying to interfere in his life, which was none of his business. ‘See – that sly old man’s trying to get friendly with you.’

‘Look for something to make you relax. Don’t allow yourself too much free time. The more time you have, the more you’ll think. Grow some plants. Do anything.

Find yourself some cats or dogs to look after, they’re great company. It’s better than sitting around sulking.’

He spoke as if he had faced the same hurdles Fak was now confronting.

‘Not at all. I’m not thinking about anything.’

‘Why would you want to lie to me?’

The widow Somsong came wandering back right then, so the two of them stopped talking and turned to look at her. She was carrying a bunch of red and green paper flowers, which she had probably found in the monastery grounds. When she saw Fak sitting in front of the hut, she gave him a beaming smile. She cast a curious glance at the undertaker, then lost interest. She offered the flowers to Fak, but he didn’t take them.

‘They are pretty, aren’t they?’ she said as she sat down beside Fak and shifted her behind to move even closer to him.

‘Why did you bring them here? They’re useless.’ Fak turned and looked at her as he edged away.

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143 ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked Khai, looking at him coldly.

‘You know him?’ Fak asked her, but she didn’t answer.

She just continued to stare at the undertaker.

‘Well – I’ve come to have a chat with Fak.’ Khai’s voice sounded kindly. ‘About your husband’s cremation, what else.’

‘There’ll be a likei, right?’

A smile spread across her face and her manner became friendlier.

‘Ask Fak, I’m only the undertaker.’ He smiled at the widow.

‘There will be one, right?’ she asked beseechingly.

‘Sure, sure. You’d better go inside, M’am, I have to talk.’

Apparently satisfied with Fak’s promise, the widow Somsong flitted back to the hut. As soon as her back was turned, the undertaker said: ‘Makes you feel sorry for her. She doesn’t seem to know what’s going on.’

‘That’s the way it is, uncle.’ Fak heaved a sigh.

‘Yeah, I understand. Too bad, really.’ Khai sighed softly as if he were the one who had to bear it all.

Fak glanced at the wrinkled face of the undertaker and thought: ‘Shut up, you old bum. I don’t believe anything you say.’

‘I’ve got no choice but to take care of her, and to hell with whoever wants to say anything different,’ Fak said softly, aware that he didn’t mean it.

‘Good. If you think like that, you’ll be okay.’

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144 Khai went on comforting Fak for a while, then got on to the business he had come to see him about. He needed some money to buy the firewood. Fak thought that he had been right about him all along. He told the undertaker that he didn’t have any money on him and that he’d have to get some from the headmaster. He’d bring it the next day and they would go and buy the firewood together. He felt sure that if he let the undertaker go and buy it by himself it would cost a lot more than it should. They chatted a while longer and then the undertaker left, after they had agreed that Fak would go and see him at his house the next morning after breakfast.

Late in the afternoon, Fak went to the headmaster’s house to withdraw some money for his father’s cremation. He told M’am to stay in the hut and not venture outside.

The headmaster’s house, which had been built only three years ago, was almost on the edge of the new road, unlike his former house, which was quite a distance away on the other side of the monastery. The headmaster must have heard about the new road before anybody else, and he had bought a plot of land right behind the monastery. At that time, land in the area had almost no value, as it was only forest, but as soon as word got out that the new road was going to run through it, the price of land near the plot he had bought went up by leaps and bounds.

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145 It was also the headmaster who had pushed for the speedy completion of the red-earth track between the monastery and the main road, so that the people in the village could travel to town more conveniently – and in terms of convenience, no house in the village was better located than his, as the minibuses that ran into town passed right by his door. Nobody was envious of the headmaster; people simply saw him as being farsighted and wise as became a senior educator.

The reddish track, which was rough and full of potholes, cut through a thick mass of green trees. The sun was beginning to set as Fak walked slowly along the track in the company of his own shadow.

He stopped at the wrought-iron gate, which was flush with the two-metre-high wall made of dark-grey concrete blocks that surrounded the property. He had helped build this fence. Fak looked through the gate towards the house and saw the headmaster reclining in a rocking chair on the porch, which was topped with a trellised archway of creepers. Fak didn’t dare call out, because he wasn’t sure whether the headmaster was asleep.

The design of the house was unlike the Thai style of most other dwellings in the village. People said that the headmaster had copied the design from Bangkok. He had kept an eye on the workers the whole time the house was being built. The construction had taken place during the summer vacation and Fak’s father had told him to go along and help. The house had taken shape THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

146 gradually and had amazed everyone in the village. The old people who had never seen a house like this took turns to have a look at it and stood in wonder, trying to guess what it would look like once finished. When it was, everyone referred to it as ‘the modern house’.

The headmaster got up from the rocking chair, retied the knot of his silk trousers and made to go inside.

‘Headmaster, sir,’ Fak called out.

The headmaster turned in the direction of the call and saw Fak standing there, holding on to the rail of the gate.

‘Mr. Fak is it? Come – come on in.’ He stepped down from the porch and walked along the stepping-stones across the Japanese lawn to the gate and opened the side door to let Fak in.

‘Well, well – good timing. I wanted to change the water in the fishpond. I was going to go and fetch you tomorrow. What brings you here?’

‘I’d like to get some money to buy things for my father’s cremation, sir.’

‘Oh, yes. I forgot to mention it that day. Never mind.

Never mind. We’ll talk about it later.’

The headmaster led him over to the edge of the wall where there was a small fishpond with water lilies floating on the surface. Two white herons made of plaster stood by the lilies, and a third stooped nearby, its yellow beak dipped in the water. In the middle of the pond was a small, hilly island, on which two small, well-groomed evergreen trees had been planted, with rings of biggish CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

147 pebbles around them. The island was festooned with bright green moss, and a small bridge, with handrails of thin metal chains hanging loosely from banisters, stretched the short distance between the edge of the pond and the island. Between the wall and the water, clumps of tall bamboo provided shade and gave a cool, refreshing feel to the whole area. It looked as though the headmaster had miniaturised an island and a pool and placed them in his yard. There was no better proof of the headmaster’s superior taste and anyone who came to visit could not help but be full of praise. The idea soon caught on and ponds began to appear in the homes of the well-to-do. There was even one behind the sleeping quarters of Bai, the assistant abbot.

Fak scooped some water from the pond and poured it over the bamboo, then grabbed a bucket and undertook to water the guava and dwarf coconut trees growing by the fence on another side of the house. The headmaster carefully lifted the pots of water lilies from the pond while Fak kept going back and forth, taking water from the pond and pouring it over the plants around the house, until almost all of the water had been drained and the bottom of the pond was visible. A lot of fish were flipping about in the little water that remained.

Some wriggled and squirmed by the rocks that had been placed on the concrete floor for them to hide behind.

‘Catch the fish and put them in the bucket first,’ the headmaster ordered.

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148 Fak cupped his hands and tried to force the fish to jump onto dry land. When he tried to grab them, some raised their fins and pricked his fingers; some of the bigger ones wriggled about forcefully, splashing water all over his face and chest; others went to hide under the rocks, so he slipped his hand and forearm in after them, not caring whether other creatures were lurking in there as well. He did this without thinking, as an order to be executed, but then he recalled the times when, under his commander’s orders, he had had to change the water in the lotus pond in front of the company barracks.

‘Take the rocks out first. If you move them around like that, they’ll crush your hands.’

The voice of the headmaster shook him out of the past and he realised how stupid he had been. ‘If I take the rocks out first, the fish will have nowhere to hide.’ He lifted out the rocks and set them by the edge of the pond, then caught the fish and dropped them into the bucket. The headmaster’s children, who had come over, were leaning over it, looking at the fish, which were twisting wildly about in the meagre amount of water, while a few lay still at the bottom, exhausted.

‘Here, take the brush and scrub the algae along the edge of the pond.’ The headmaster handed him a brasswire brush.

Fak took the brush and did as he was told, scrubbing as though he was cleaning a pond in his own home. He scrubbed until the headmaster was satisfied, then CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

149 scooped the rest of the water out of the pond and put the rocks back in their original positions. When this was done, he took rainwater from the jars by the house and began to refill the pond to its previous level. He then released the fish while the headmaster put the water lilies back. When they had finished, the headmaster stood back admiring the beauty of the pond.

‘Yeah, that’s the way it should look. After a while, it gets quite dirty,’ the headmaster told Fak, still gazing at the pond. A bamboo leaf plummeted down and floated on the clear water. Fak reached out and picked it up.

‘Come and have dinner,’ the headmaster’s wife called out as she walked over to them.

‘It looks beautiful now, doesn’t it?’ the headmaster told his wife, smiling proudly, pleased with the work just completed.

Fak stood staring at the fish, whose black backs could be seen swimming about in the water.

‘Come on, kids. Time for dinner.’ She started to lead her children away then turned and asked her husband: ‘How about you, dear? Are you ready to eat now?’

‘Not just yet. Let the kids eat first,’ the headmaster answered. When his wife had left, he turned to Fak. ‘How much do you want?’

‘Two thousand, sir.’

‘Two thousand! I don’t have that much with me now.

Wait until tomorrow. I’ll go and get it from the bank.’

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150 ‘I’ve arranged with the undertaker to go and buy some firewood tomorrow, sir.’

‘Then let’s do it this way: I’ll give you five hundred first and I’ll go get the rest tomorrow. You can come and get it in the evening. Oh, is there anything you want me to buy for you while I’m in town? Won’t you be needing sandalwood flowers, robes and the like?’

‘That’s very kind of you, sir. I was thinking of buying those things myself, but since you’re going into town, perhaps you can buy them for me. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble for you, sir?’

‘Come on, there’s no need to think like this. I’ve got to go into town anyway to withdraw money.’

‘I’ve hardly ever gone there at all, and I was worried the Chinamen at the marketplace would overcharge me.’

‘Indeed, I was worried about that too. How much money have you left with me now?’

‘Six thousand three hundred, sir.’

‘Oh, really? I can never remember. I’d better check the account again.’

The headmaster went into the house and returned with the account book in his hand.

‘You’re going to withdraw two thousand, that’ll leave four thousand three, right? All right, sign your name here. Are we agreed?’ He handed the book to Fak, who signed and returned it to him. The headmaster then gave him five one-hundred-baht banknotes.

‘Take the fifteen hundred to pay for the things you’ll CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

151 buy for me, sir,’ Fak said as he tucked the banknotes in his trouser pocket.

‘What do you want me to get?’

‘Four sets of robes, one hundred sandalwood flowers.

Huh – no, fifty should be enough, sir.’

‘Anything else? Offerings for the monks?’

‘No, there’s no need. I think I’ll offer them money, it’s easier. There’s nothing else I can think of. That’s a lot of trouble for you already, sir.’

His business settled, Fak walked back to his hut, his clothes still damp from the water that had splashed on him. The red-earth track was now dim because the sun had set. The light, which had been bright only a moment ago, had turned into an orange glow behind the darkening clouds that lined the horizon. Fak quickened his steps, worried because he hadn’t cooked the rice for dinner yet. He had set out thinking he’d just talk the matter over with the headmaster and head back home. He hadn’t reckoned with having to change the water in the pond as well. When he had been told to do it, he couldn’t refuse. He didn’t know how to turn the job down. But all things considered, the headmaster was a good man, helping him was no big deal and, after all, he was using him as well to buy things for him in town.

Fak hurried along. He felt concerned about M’am, who was alone in the hut. It was getting dark; she was probably hungry and may even have gone out looking for him. Maybe she had lit a fire in the hut to drive away THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

152 the mosquitoes and then forgotten about it. The only thoughts in his head then were of M’am and the hut, and the idea of some impending disaster made him hurry even more. He seemed to be racing against the orange glow, now fading behind the darkened clouds. He had to reach the hut before the sky turned pitch-black.

When he did reach it, he heard water splashing: M’am was taking her shower. There was no smoke in the hut, and he felt relieved.

The next morning, he went with the undertaker to buy firewood. In the afternoon, he took M’am Somsong to the shops at the minibus terminal to buy her a black sarong and to have one of her blouses dyed black. In the evening, he went to collect the things that the headmaster had bought for him and to take the money that was left over. Everything was now ready for the cremation of his father according to custom. There was nothing missing. The only thing to be done was to wait for the day of the cremation.

A funeral is nothing out of the ordinary for those who are not involved, but for those who are it is a sad occasion.

For sure, once born, everybody must die – such is the law of nature. Everyone knows this well and tries to take comfort from it when the time comes for one to be parted from one’s loved ones, but even though the truth is known, this knowledge cannot ease the sorrow. Past bonds remain to nurture grief. The looks, manners and voice of CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

153 the deceased are still present among the living every time he or she is remembered, and indeed the dead person still lives, deep in the hearts of his or her loved ones.

Fak’s dad was still living; he was still alive in Fak’s heart. Death had never separated them. Even though more than a year had elapsed, Fak merely felt that he had not met his father for more than a year.

Fak followed the undertaker along the narrow path lined with small bushes that led to the mortuary. The path went round the prayer hall, then past the stupas, before winding its way around the thick clumps of bamboo that grew between the prayer hall and the mortuary area. The bamboo heaved and creaked and rustled, and dead leaves covered the ground. Some stems bent over the weight of the foliage, which blocked out the sun and provided a cool shade. The closer they got to the mortuary, the more Fak thought about his dad. The undertaker walked in a silence broken only by the crunch of their footsteps and the occasional snap of a twig trodden underfoot.

The two pairs of feet came to a halt in front of the doorway to the mortuary, an old wooden building capped with a rusty corrugated-iron roof. The undertaker opened the door with a key and went inside, followed closely by Fak. Inside, the light was dim, the air dank. As the undertaker opened the window, the light increased, revealing cracks in the concrete floor with small plants growing out of them.

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154 ‘There it is, on that shelf over there. This one’s Old Muan, and this one Mrs Prarnee. The coffin over there is Uncle Tu’s, and that one –’ Fak didn’t try to follow the undertaker’s presentation.

He craned his neck to look at the coffin on the top shelf, which the undertaker had pointed out first. Written in red at the head of the coffin was the name ‘Foo’. Cobwebs hung all the way to the roof above the coffin. A big gecko stood still on the central beam, its colours matching the hues of the timber.

‘How do you want to do it, uncle?’

‘I’ll take care of it – just wait here and take the weight.’

The undertaker walked around to the wooden ladder at the back, climbed up, lifted the coffin and slowly pushed it down, while Fak stood in the front taking the weight.

‘That’s enough, uncle, or it’ll fall. You’d better come back here and help me.’

The undertaker went to the front and took the weight from Fak, who then walked around to the foot of the coffin, which was still resting on the shelf. He raised his arms and started to push at the coffin.

‘Be careful, uncle. Try to move it a little – a little more – again – that’s it, I’ve got it.’

When they had taken the coffin out of the mortuary, the undertaker went back inside to close the window. As he left, he closed the door and locked it.

One at the head, the other at the foot, the two men CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

155 carried the coffin back the way they had come. Fak’s body was sweating profusely and he felt itchy all over his back as though ants had got under his shirt, but he forced himself to continue. The undertaker, who was leading the way, walked on without a word of complaint. He seemed to have more strength than his age and physique suggested.

‘Let’s take a rest for a while, uncle.’

They carefully lowered the coffin to the ground. Fak took off his shirt and wiped his back with it, while the undertaker sat in the cool breeze beneath a clump of bamboo. After a moment, he nodded to Fak, who put his shirt back on and got up. They resumed their arduous progression and by the time they reached the funeral pavilion, they were both covered in sweat.

The widow Somsong, who was dressed in black (with the set of clothes that Fak had forced her to wear), got up when she saw the two men coming towards her carrying the coffin. She seemed to be curious to know what was in the box. Once they had placed it on the main table, she sauntered over, eager to find out what it was.

‘What’s that?’ she asked at once.

Tiredness, the effect of the heat and M’am Somsong’s attitude made Fak suddenly angry.

‘Your husband!’ he roared to her face. She was startled, but managed a poor smile.

‘Easy now!’ cautioned the undertaker, bringing Fak back to his senses.

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156 ‘So, where are the flowers I told you to put in the vase?’ Fak asked in a voice that was calmer but still harsh.

A drum beat loudly from the monks’ quarters, calling the monks to lunch. Fak sat on the large table by the set of altar tables, staring at his father’s coffin. A breeze was blowing in and it wasn’t long before his body and mind were cool and relaxed again. The undertaker was arranging the things on the table as was his job, while Somsong moodily put flowers into the vase, pulling one out, replacing it with another, fussily arranging them to her liking.

‘Take a break, uncle. When you’re feeling rested, we can do that together. It’s only just lunch time.’ He spoke with confidence as if he were giving orders. This was partly because he was the one who had hired the undertaker and partly because, deep inside, he felt superior to him.

Since the day the rumour that he was sleeping with his stepmother had begun, he had lost almost all of his selfconfidence. Every time he spoke with someone, his voice and manner became awkward and he felt as nervous as if he still stood at attention reporting to his commanding officer, and it was only when he spoke with the undertaker that his confidence returned.

The undertaker acted as though he hadn’t heard a word of what Fak had said and went on arranging the set of altar tables. When he was done, he went to sit near CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

157 Fak, and after he had rested for a while, turned to him and asked: ‘Have you got the lustral water?’

‘Yes.’ The undertaker went over and sat beside the coffin. He used a chisel to carefully chip off the line of pitch sealing the lid. The dry pitch broke into small pieces which fell on the floor. Fak went over to help him pull out the nails holding the lid in place. This kind of work required no particular skill and before long the lid had been removed.

A dry, musty smell wafted out as the undertaker removed the lid and placed it against the side of the coffin.

Fak knelt down, bent forward and looked at the body lying there.

The skin of the hands, which had been joined over the chest, was dry and flaking, like paper turned brittle and yellow with age. Between the joined palms were a stick of incense, the black stem of a lotus flower whose petals had long fallen off, and a yellow candle which had bent over and rested on the chest. The sacred thread tied round the wrists had turned a dark yellow, and the once off-white shroud was stained a rusty colour, with brown wriggly lines along the edges of the stains which looked like the country borderlines on the map of the world that hung in the headmaster’s office. Some insects which had been eating the cloth were fleeing the light and taking shelter under the body. The shroud wrapping the body left only the face exposed. The hair had remained unTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

158 changed; the eye sockets were empty and deep; the nose was a cavity framed by a triangle of bones; the jaw was agape, and six or seven teeth could be seen in the mouth, together with a few coins. Flakes of dried skin were scattered at the bottom of the coffin and what remained was stuck to the once white cloth.

The body lay peacefully in the coffin, indifferent to everything, including the fact that soon it would be burning on a pyre. It lay there more peaceably than a sleeping person, unaware that its son was gazing at it.

‘Dad,’ Fak called softly. Though he was with his father again, he felt strangely alone. That body had cuddled him when they slept together on the stage of the likei theatre and kept him warm when the nights were cold; that body had consoled him when he had been bullied by his friends, and wiped the tears from his eyes when he had cried; that body had given him so many things in his youth, and love and warmth at all times. Those things were still vivid in his memory. His ears could still hear his dad’s voice, his eyes still see his face and countenance. But what he was now looking at – this wasn’t his father. The loneliness in his heart turned to sorrow as tears welled up in his eyes. ‘Dad!’ With the back of his hand he wiped them away. There was no sobbing, only tears gliding down. He felt a little better for having let them out.

Khai the undertaker looked on. He had no idea what Fak was thinking, but he saw people crying like this CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

159 every time he removed the lid of a coffin. It was a rare occasion when people didn’t cry. He didn’t know for sure what mourners were thinking about – maybe it was sorrow they felt, and Fak was no different.

‘This is what we all come to. Take a good look. Death leaves nothing behind. He’s got no problems now. If anybody says anything, he doesn’t hear it. If you hit him, he doesn’t feel it. Your father’s in peace now. It’s only the living that have problems.’ The undertaker spoke slowly, in compelling tones.

Fak’s thoughts went along with the undertaker’s words and a strange peace came over him. He had felt such a peace once before, long ago, just before dawn the day he had disrobed, at the very moment when he had taken off his yellow robe and put on a pair of trousers, discarding his religious garb to dress again as a layman.

At that time, he was standing on the upper veranda outside the prayer hall. The view before him was lit up by the rising sun. The morning rays were so beautiful that he forgot who he was and where he was, but his heart was totally at peace and he wasn’t thinking of anything at all. And now, he was experiencing the same feeling once again, before the body of his father. Then in an instant it was gone. He was stunned for a while.

‘Yes, dad’s found peace.’ He softly repeated the undertaker’s words.

After she was bawled at, M’am Somsong had made herself scarce and gone to sit and poke about with the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

160 flowers, quietly putting them in and taking them out of the vase. She wasn’t the least bit interested in what the two men were doing.

The undertaker told Fak to sprinkle lustral water over the body. The refreshing smell filled Fak’s nostrils. He sprinkled the water along the entire length of the body stretched out in the coffin, then, placing his palms together in front of his forehead, bowed to his father.

‘Call her over too,’ the undertaker said when he saw that Fak had finished.

‘M’am! M’am! Come and anoint the body.’

The widow Somsong hurried over when she heard Fak’s voice. She stretched over and looked into the coffin, then pulled away screaming, her face pale with horror: ‘A ghost! A ghost!’ She swiftly took to her feet, but Fak grabbed her hand and shouted angrily: ‘Anoint the body! Do it!’ He thrust the bottle of lustral water into her hand and held it there, then made her sprinkle the water over the body. Somsong didn’t dare look and turned her face away, letting Fak guide her hand as the water was poured.

‘That’s it. It’s over. Get out now,’ Fak said to her. She still hadn’t recovered from the shock. She staggered back to her place and sat down with a dazed, empty stare, ignoring the flowers that lay beside her.

‘See? She’s far gone, uncle. What can I do? I don’t know what would happen to her if I sent her away.’

‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’ The undertaker took the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

161 bottle from Fak and poured what was left over the body, then he stood back and put the lid back on.

They helped each other lift the coffin onto the dais and cover it with a golden casket, the same as was used for other cremations and thus just as beautiful, but the tiered set of altar tables had been decorated with only a few flowers in a vase – just enough to follow tradition – and the whole scene wasn’t as splendid as the cremation Fak had dreamt of. Smoke drifted from the incense burning in the holder. The candles flickered in the silence.

‘Some people should be coming in the afternoon,’ Fak said to the undertaker.

‘There’s nothing to do now but wait for them,’ the undertaker answered, turning towards him.

‘I’ll go and buy something to eat, uncle. You just wait here.’ Fak walked out of the funeral pavilion and headed for the shops at the minibus terminal.

The undertaker watched Fak as he went from the shade of the pavilion into the sunshine. This was the only cremation he had ever attended in which the monks weren’t offered lunch, there was no refreshment for the people, no musicians, no relatives of the deceased to come and help. Even carrying the coffin: he had never seen a coffin carried by only two people. There wasn’t even a photograph in front of the coffin. It seemed that everything that should have been there was missing.

There were only the body, the undertaker and the monks who were to take part in the ceremony.

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162 The body lying in the golden casket on the dais had once had life, had once had flesh and blood. It had danced and pranced in this world and had had a role to play in the village. A blurred picture of the past came to the mind of Khai the undertaker. In that hazy picture, he could see a carpenter entering the abbot’s quarters with a child who was hardly more than one year old in his arms. Khai couldn’t remember what had brought him there. The carpenter had prostrated before the abbot – and Khai had thought that the carpenter had come to take his leave, now that the building of the bell tower and drum tower had been completed. All the workers had left, and the only one who had stayed behind was Foo, the carpenter. He had come to ask the abbot if he and his child could stay at the monastery. The abbot had given his permission, handed him a new pillow and mosquito net, and told him to go and stay at the likei theatre. Khai the undertaker couldn’t remember much of the conversation that had taken place.

His memory was too hazy. Yet there was one part that was still vivid in his mind. Even though more than twenty years had passed, the scene was still sharp. ‘We don’t know anything about his background. Can we trust him, reverend?’ Such was the question he had put to the abbot once Foo and his child had left. ‘People abandon their dogs and their cats here and we look after them. This is a person. He comes asking for our help. How could we turn him down?’ The undertaker had never forgotten the words of the abbot.

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163 He sat there thinking about the mysteries of life. We don’t know where we come from. From the moment we are born, we have to struggle to survive, and when we die, it’s all over. We never know where or when we will die, and we don’t know either where we go after we die.

We go through life like blind men who can’t see anything. The undertaker sat gazing at the coffin. Light-grey ash was falling from the stick of incense, which had burnt almost down to the stem. He got up, lit another stick and placed it in the holder.

The widow Somsong was still sitting on the low, large table that was normally used as a dais for the musicians.

She sat there, indifferent, her face expressing no sorrow, as if she had come to terms with the laws of nature.

Fak reached Auntie Chuea’s shop, where five people were sitting around, waiting for the minibus. Nobody looked at him; everybody seemed to have something to do: one was reading a newspaper, another was busy unwrapping a package of things to take into town, a third was rolling himself a cigarette, and the last two were chatting away, paying no attention to anybody. Fak went into the shop and ordered some fried rice from Auntie Chuea. Although he spoke loudly, no one seemed to hear him, no one turned towards him. Had he simply vanished?

He sat down to wait for his order without saying a word. The minibus hadn’t returned from town yet, so Kliao, the driver, wasn’t around to needle him about THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

164 M’am. He didn’t really feel like talking with him, because Kliao kept outsmarting him, yet sometimes he couldn’t help thinking about him and found himself wishing Kliao would come and tease him, even though he knew he’d be made into a laughing stock.

When the fried rice was ready, Fak paid for it and bought a bottle of rice wine and a pack of cigarettes for the undertaker. He told Auntie Chuea that the cremation would start at four o’clock and she should come. She answered that there was no one to look after the shop, what with her husband having gone into town to buy supplies and her being on her own there to fry noodles, serve rice, make coffee and sell sundry goods all by herself, so how could she find the time to go to the cremation of Fak’s father? She concluded by saying: ‘I really can’t go.’

Fak listened to her explanation, then wandered despondently back to the cremation hall.

The three of them sat together and ate their lunch of fried rice. Fak forced himself to eat. He didn’t feel hungry. He was beginning to worry about the people coming to the cremation. He wasn’t sure whether any of the people he had invited would remember to come. He had prepared fifty sandalwood flowers, but he wondered how many of these would be used. With thoughts like these he found it hard to swallow his rice.

M’am Somsong seemed to be enjoying her fried rice and soon polished it off, leaving only the greasy plastic CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

165 sheet on the newspaper wrapping. Her lips shone with oil and she kept her eyes on Fak’s fried rice, as if every grain had a meaning for her. Fak took his leftover rice, which was almost all of it, and passed it over to her. She smiled at him like a child who has just received the toy she has been yearning for and stuffed rice into her mouth until her cheeks bulged.

‘You should go and give the monks a reminder. Tell them to be here at four sharp. Oh, and fetch a pot of hot water too, so that there’s something to give the guests when they arrive,’ Khai the undertaker said when he saw that Fak had finished eating.

‘Is there anything else you need, uncle?’ Fak asked as he prepared to get up.

‘Oh yes, bring a tray also. We can put these cigarettes on it for the guests.’

‘I bought those for you.’

‘Keep ’m for the guests. I don’t like ready-made cigarettes. They just don’t taste right.’

Fak walked up to the monks’ quarters, which were very quiet. A dog was busy over some food thrown away near the place where the dishes were washed. A couple of bantam roosters with russet and shiny black feathers were pecking at some grains of rice near the dog. There were no temple boys around; they had probably run off to play somewhere. Most of the monks were taking a nap and the only one in sight was Old Phorn, who sat in front of his quarters, shaping an eleTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

166 phant tusk out of a piece of wood. The old monk looked up and asked: ‘What is it, Fak?’ ‘I just want to remind you to come down at four. Can you tell the other monks too?’

‘Muek, Jan and Daeng, right?’

‘And yourself. Don’t forget to count yourself.’

‘You must be joking. How could I forget?’ Old Phorn laughed softly. Fak went over to the storeroom and the old monk resumed his whittling.

When he had found everything the undertaker had asked for, Fak went back to the funeral pavilion. Nobody had arrived yet. Perhaps it was because it was too early for the cremation? Or could it be that nobody was free today? The headmaster had promised he would come, but he had yet to show up. Fak was beginning to feel really anxious.

‘Hasn’t anybody arrived yet?’ he asked the undertaker as he put the tea set down.

‘Haven’t seen anybody so far. I’m sure they won’t be long.’

As the time for the cremation drew near, Fak decided to go to the headmaster’s house. The eldest son told him: ‘Dad’s taken mum to the hospital. They’ve been gone since morning.’

Fak left the headmaster’s house feeling disappointed and utterly despondent. When he reached the funeral pavilion and saw there still was nobody there, his feeling of loneliness returned. Thinking about it, he sighed CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

167 deeply, then laughed derisively at himself. ‘Could it be after all that nobody wants to come? Nobody’s free today, right? The lot of them don’t even have half an hour to spare for me. For the cremation of the father of the kamnan, the entire village was free, free the whole day and night, but when it comes to my dad’s time, there isn’t a single person free. What a coincidence!’

Somsong got up and started to walk out of the hall, but couldn’t escape Fak’s attention.

‘Where are you going, M’am?’

‘Home.’

‘Why do you want to go home now?’

‘To change my clothes.’

‘You mustn’t change them. Wear what you’ve got on.’

Her erratic behaviour was beginning to fray his nerves.

She went back to her seat, but the moment Fak’s attention was distracted as he talked with the undertaker, she sneaked out of the funeral pavilion and went back to the hut.

The monks appeared, holding their ceremonial fans. It was now certain nobody would be coming to take part in the ceremony. Fak wondered whether any of the monks would have come either if it had been possible for them to turn down the invitation. This would be the first time they’d have to chant at a cremation as quiet as this, with no one to listen to their chanting but Fak and the undertaker. The occasion was utterly embarrassing, both for the monks and for the audience of two.

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168 Just as the chanting was starting to resound, the widow Somsong appeared, smiling broadly from a distance. She wore her favourite red floral blouse. Her smile showed that she had freed herself from the world of mourning and was relishing the freedom of the dazzling world of red flowers. Fak felt all the more perturbed when he saw what M’am was wearing. She walked cautiously over, sat down beside him and pressed her palms together in front of her chest. The chanting of the monks held a power over Fak which prevented him from doing what he wanted, and finally, before the chanting came to an end, he decided to forget about it and let things run their course.

When they had finished their chanting, the monks stood up and received the robes that were offered to them, and all but the eldest, Phorn, left.

The ornate casket was removed and the two men helped each other lift the coffin down from the dais. The undertaker half-opened the lid and tipped the sandalwood flowers in over the body, then wound sacred thread lengthwise round the coffin. This done, he invited the old monk to lead the procession carrying the coffin to the funeral pyre. Fak and the undertaker, tottering under the weight of the coffin, walked behind the monk, while the widow Somsong stayed close to Fak, smiling happily.

After the coffin had been taken to the pyre, the old monk returned to his quarters. The undertaker removed the lid CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

169 and placed it on the ground. Fak leaned over to have one last look at his father. All kinds of feelings welled up in him, forcing out the tears that had been held back for so long. He sobbed loudly, not bothering to wipe the tears away as they ran down his face. Through the watery veil, his father’s skull seemed to waver.

‘Dad,’ Fak called. ‘Nobody came to your cremation because they all hate me,’ he wailed as if he had taken leave of his senses. ‘Never mind, dad – I’m going to cremate you now,’ he muttered. ‘In my next life, let me be born as your son again, dad.’ He stared at the body, only now realising that he was really parting from his father forever. He bid farewell to the lifeless body that would be ashes in just a few minutes.

Khai the undertaker had moved aside and stood looking at Fak. He realised that Fak had to be left alone for a few minutes so that he could let it all out. If truth be told, he had never felt any sorrow as he performed his duty at other funerals. It was only a job that needed to be done. But this time, he found himself sharing Fak’s grief. What a darned pitiful cremation this was! He had never thought there could be a cremation such as this.

Even for poor, insignificant fellows, there were always people around, not as many as for big shots of course, but quite a few relatives and friends who came to help.

But this, the cremation of Old Foo – it was as though it wasn’t a person being cremated. ‘Poor Fak, I don’t know what I can do to help you.’

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170 The undertaker walked over to Fak and patted him gently on the shoulder.

‘There, there. Try to think about something else; it’ll make you feel better.’

He reached out and took the coins from the mouth of the body and gave them to Fak, who pocketed them then stepped back from the pyre. The undertaker took a bottle of kerosene and poured it over the firewood beneath the coffin, lit a match and threw it in. Flames leapt up with a whoosh. He stood there for a moment and when he was sure that the fire was well underway, he went back to the funeral pavilion, leaving Fak to watch by himself. The widow Somsong stood looking at the flames from a distance. After a while she pressed Fak to return to the hut.

With a calm voice, he told her to go back first. He was no longer angry with her, as he had been when he first saw her in the red blouse. She thus walked back on her own.

The undertaker returned, carrying the bottle of rice wine with a glass and the tea set on a tray. He told Fak to get away from the heat of the fire, which was now raging, and to come and sit with him in the shade of a large tamarind tree a short distance from the pyre. He lowered his weary back and sat for a while, then poured himself a drink. He gulped it down and began to roll himself a cigarette.

Fak put his hand in his trouser pocket, pulled out two one-hundred-baht notes and offered them to the undertaker.

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171 ‘What’s this for?’ asked the undertaker, looking dubiously at the money.

‘For your labour.’

‘You must be joking!’ he exclaimed as he pushed Fak’s hand away. He had long decided he wouldn’t take a satang from Fak as payment for the cremation and had forgotten about it, so he was genuinely surprised when Fak offered money to him.

‘Keep it for yourself.’

‘Take it, uncle. It belongs to you.’ Fak tried to stuff the bills into the undertaker’s hand.

‘In that case, let me use it to make merit. You can’t turn down an offering, can you?’

Fak couldn’t find a good argument against Uncle Khai, so he put the money back into his pocket. ‘Did I do something wrong again?’ He wanted to confess to the undertaker how he had thought of him, but didn’t because he was too ashamed to express his true feelings.

The undertaker poured rice wine into the glass.

‘Try some, it’ll make you feel better,’ he said and passed the glass to Fak. Fak took it, raised it and drank.

The smell was repulsive and the taste made it hard to swallow, so he forced himself to gulp it down. He wondered what kind of satanic demon made him do it, or was it because he was feeling so bad inside?

With a wry face, he gave the empty glass back to Uncle Khai. The undertaker poured some tea, now tepid, and passed the cup over to Fak. Fak took the cup and swalTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

172 lowed the tea in one draft. It helped ease the burning in his throat.

‘It really clears the throat,’ Uncle Khai said as he poured himself another drink. He gulped it down, then spat on the ground. Some of the mucous stuck to his mouth and he wiped it with the back of his hand.

Fak’s face felt numb and taut, and his head seemed to be swelling. The undertaker poured another glass of rice wine for him, but this time a smaller one.

‘Have another one. It’ll make you feel better soon. Try not to think too much.’

Fak obediently took the glass. He really felt he’d like to forget everything. He raised the glass, took a swig and with a shudder asked for some tea. He sipped it until the cup was empty, drank the rest of the wine and asked for more tea. The second glass of wine didn’t seem to smell as foul.

Uncle Khai got up and walked over to the pyre. With a stick, he poked at the fire, which was dying down, and rearranged the pieces of unburned wood.

As Fak watched the undertaker stoking the fire, he could hear drums beginning to pound in his head. His courage and confidence seemed to be coming back, little by little, and he thought he’d speak to Uncle Khai when he returned. He now felt like confiding in him.

A while later, the undertaker came back and sat down.

‘There’s no need to keep a lot of relics,’ he said.

‘No, please, uncle, let me have a lot. I’ve never had any CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

173 relics before. Since the day I was born, I’ve had none. Let me have something like everyone else. I want to keep them for the day of homage to the ancestors, so I don’t have to lose face before those people anymore. Give me a stack of them, uncle.’

‘Do you really want them or are you kidding?’

‘I really want them, uncle.’ Fak poured himself another drink and drank it up. His courage and confidence were definitely increasing. He pondered for a while and then decided to speak out.

‘Uncle – I –’ He looked deep in thought, raised his finger and scratched the tip of his nose, then went on: ‘I misunderstood you, uncle. I beg your pardon. Please forgive me.’ He placed his palms together and bowed to the undertaker, who looked nonplussed.

‘What’s all this about?’

‘I really misunderstood you. I thought you said you believed what I told you about M’am Somsong because you wanted to lead me on so that you could get lots of money from me today.’

‘Is that what you thought?’ The undertaker looked Fak in the eye.

‘That’s what I thought,’ Fak confessed unhappily.

‘What made you think I was like that?’

‘How come you believed me so easily? No matter how hard I try to convince the others, nobody believes me.

That’s what made me doubt you believed me. Why did you?’

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174 ‘I asked if you were telling the truth and you said yes, so I believed you. Why did I believe you so easily? Well, what would you stand to gain by lying to me? If someone like me went and told the others, do you think I could change their minds? Who would be willing to listen to the likes of me? You and me, we aren’t so different from each other, really.’ The undertaker spoke in earnest, his eyes on the cigarette he was rolling.

Fak stared at Uncle Khai. The barrier between them had collapsed when he realised that Uncle Khai wasn’t after his money as he had thought, and he now believed him wholeheartedly.

‘Do you think it’s fun to be an undertaker?’ Khai poured himself some rice wine and drank it, did the same with a cup of tea, then puffed at his cigarette.

‘Think about it. Have you ever seen anyone sit and eat with me when there’s a festival at the temple? No, I always eat alone. Nobody wants to eat with me. They’re afraid of getting infected. Put yourself in my shoes and you’ll know how I feel when everybody’s eating and chatting away happily and I’m sitting there all by myself eating in silence. When kids see me, they run away because they’re scared of the undertaker. Their mums and dads have told ’m the undertaker lives with ghosts.

If I try to touch ’m, they start wailing.’

As Fak sat there listening, he thought of the way he used to feel about the undertaker, the very person with whom he was now chatting. He too used to treat him like that. He CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

175 poured himself another drink – that stuff was pretty good; it really did help you forget all your worries and definitely made for more lively conversation. He felt his face becoming tight, so he reached up and stroked it.

‘Let me ask you a question, Fak.’ The undertaker’s eyes were dead serious again. ‘If there’s no undertaker, what would the people in the village do when somebody dies?’

Fak gave out a throaty laugh and shook his head but didn’t answer.

‘When they need me, they come and talk to me nicely.

Yeah, they talk real nice and polite when they need the undertaker. ‘Uncle, have you eaten yet?’ ‘Uncle, is there anything you need?’ ‘Do you want some more of this, uncle?’ But once the ceremony’s over, they won’t even look at me, not even when we pass each other. Why do you think it is that my own kids have gone to work in Bangkok? Because their dad’s an undertaker, a fellow who’s got to earn his living working with ghosts. How low can you get? My own kids told me to quit. They said they’d look after me themselves. The reason I don’t stop is because there’s no one else to take my place. I’m afraid the dead won’t be cremated, that they won’t have a chance to be reborn. So I have to do it. But do you think anybody shows me some sympathy?’ He poured himself another drink and guzzled it, as if he was pleased to have let it all out. Fak wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see tears in Uncle Khai’s eyes.

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176 ‘Let’s talk about something else, uncle.’ Fak thought he shouldn’t pry the wound that was in Uncle Khai’s heart open.

‘I’m not drunk, don’t worry. It’d take more than this.

But I just want you to know and I’ll tell you just this once. If you still want to associate with me, remember what I say, but if you think you don’t want to have anything to do with me anymore, then once the cremation’s over we go our separate ways. I don’t mind. I know how to live with myself.’

‘Really, uncle, why do you have to talk like that? Nobody wants to associate with me either. I’m so lucky to have you for a friend.’ Fak spoke softly. He looked around and poured himself another drink.

‘Even you, Fak,’ the undertaker went on. ‘You know what you used to think of me. Have you ever come to talk to me like a friend or a neighbour? If you hadn’t decided to cremate your father’s body, you’d probably never have come to see me. Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying this because I’m angry with you. I just want you to listen. If all the people in the village were lined up according to their status, I’m sure I’d be at the end of the line because I’m really inferior – just an undertaker. But right now – you and me are birds of a feather and it’s a toss up who’d be at the end of the line.

When you were a novice, you were at the head of it, and you had no idea how the people at the other end felt.’

The undertaker looked at the alcohol he was pouring.

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177 When he put the bottle down, there was only a little left at the bottom. He picked up his glass and drank.

‘I understand, uncle. I understand very well,’ Fak sympathised. He felt his head beginning to spin and his ears to buzz.

Uncle Khai sat in silence for a while, but it seemed that he still had something on his mind and so he went on, speaking calmly, his voice no longer as tense as it had been.

‘That’s why I told you I believe you – because nobody listens to those of us who stand at the end of the line.

Another thing: I’ve known you since you were a kid. I think I know you well enough to believe you’d never do anything like that with your father’s wife. I sympathise with you. I know what it’s like for someone who has sunk this low. If I’d been one more person that didn’t believe you, think how you would have felt. And in any case, even if you lied to me, I’d still believe you.’ He spoke the last words with a slightly resentful tone. He propped himself up and, staggering a little, walked over to look at the flames, which were beginning to die down.

He took some water he had left at the side of the pyre and threw it on the fire.

‘You sure you want a lot?’ he asked loudly.

‘Certain, uncle,’ Fak shouted back. After a while, Khai returned.

‘Go get a cardboard box from some shop. An old carton for whiskey bottles will do. I’ll fill it up for you.

Don’t come complaining to me if it’s too heavy,’ he said THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

178 and laughed. His current mood seemed to show that he had forgotten everything he had been talking about a moment ago.

Fak laughed along with him. He had no idea where the sorrow and loneliness that had been with him earlier had gone.

The yellow rays of sunset spread in all directions.

Although he didn’t walk quite straight along the path, Fak was still aware of what he was doing. Three or four steps ahead, one to the side. He was thinking about all his worries, which now seemed so trivial.

At Auntie Chuea’s shop, a few people were sitting at two of the tables, drinking coffee. Auntie Chuea’s husband had returned from town and sat behind the cigarette display.

‘Give me a bottle of rice wine,’ Fak said to him.

‘So you’ve started drinking, have you?’ Auntie Chuea asked. Everyone in the shop turned to look.

‘It’s a good way to forget problems,’ he replied, unaware of just how loud his voice was. ‘Can I have an empty box?’

‘What do you want that for?’ the husband asked as he handed him the bottle of rice wine. Fak took out money from his pocket and paid for the bottle.

‘To put my father’s bones in,’ he said loudly. The whole shop was dead quiet for a while. Auntie Chuea’s husband went to the corner where the empty boxes were stacked.

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179 ‘That one’ll do,’ Fak said, pointing to a carton for whiskey flasks. The husband picked it up and handed it to him. Before he left the shop, Fak turned to Auntie Chuea, his face full of emotion, and said: ‘Auntie, you’re really mean. You’re so close, yet you couldn’t come to my father’s cremation.’ He was no longer embarrassed.

He spoke as though he were talking to the undertaker.

‘I told you I wasn’t free,’ Auntie Chuea said.

‘Yeah, sure – nobody was free. In the whole village there wasn’t a single person free. Everybody had work to do.’ He spoke loud and clear, then gave out a broken laugh as he walked out of the store clutching the bottle and box.

‘You’re drunk,’ came Auntie Chuea’s voice from behind.

He turned around, his eyes blazing.

‘That’s my own business!’

He walked back to the pyre. There was only smouldering charcoal left. The undertaker was separating the bones from the embers with a stick while pouring water over the fire, which sizzled and let out a pall of white smoke.

‘Here you are, uncle.’ Fak held out the bottle of rice wine.

‘Good, wait for me there. I’ll be over in a minute.’

Fak went to sit down at the foot of the tamarind tree.

He poured the dregs from the old bottle and drank up – ‘Wow. This stuff really makes you feel good.’

‘Come on, uncle,’ he called out.

‘Yeah, yeah – hold on a second.’

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180 After a moment, the undertaker came over and sat down. ‘Let the bones cool down for a while and you can have them.’ Fak passed him the bottle. Uncle Khai banged the base of the bottle on the ground next to the trunk of the tamarind tree. The stopper loosened a bit.

He put the neck of the bottle in his mouth, clenched his teeth over it and pulled. Out came the white plastic stopper, stuck to his teeth. He filled in the glass, put the stopper back on and leaned the bottle against the tree.

He picked up the glass and drank.

‘Where’s Mrs. Somsong? She’s been gone a long time.’

He rolled himself a cigarette.

‘She’s gone home. Forget about her.’ Fak filled the glass and drank it up. ‘She’s only trouble.’ He put the empty glass down.

‘When I see her I feel sorry for you. It’s a darned cremation and she goes and wears bright red!’ Khai laughed, unable to restrain himself.

‘It’s her favourite blouse.’ Fak laughed as well as he could see the funny side of it.

‘What are you going to do with her?’ Uncle Khai asked, puffing at his cigarette.

‘What can I do? I’ve got to keep looking after her until one of us dies. She’s my dad’s wife. How can I send her away? How about taking her with you and looking after her, uncle?’ Fak laughed and helped himself again to the rice wine.

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181 raise ’m. But I don’t want to put lice in my head. She’s better off with you. Every time I see her, I feel sorry for her. After all, she’s a person like you and me.’

‘If dad hadn’t gotten himself a wife, I’d be ordained by now. If I got ordained, well, uncle –’ Fak noticed that the undertaker was looking fixedly at the pyre, so he patted him on the knee to get his attention. ‘As I was saying, uncle, if I got ordained, I’m sure I could learn the Pathimokha∗ by heart within a single Lent. I might even go to Bangkok to further my religious education and when I’d passed the third grade, I’d come back and stay in our temple again. Why, I’m not afraid. Just let me get ordained. The only reason I haven’t gotten ordained yet is because of dad. If I got ordained, the Pathimokha’d be a sure thing and I –’ Fak was letting loose a torrent of words. All the things he wanted to talk about were bunched in his mind, ready to flow out.

The undertaker noticed that Fak was beginning to slur his words and repeat himself, so he warned him when Fak poured him another glass of wine.

‘Enough. I’ve had enough, and so have you. You don’t need any more. Just enough to make you feel good is okay, but too much isn’t good for you, believe me.’ He jammed the bottle shut with the stopper. Fak lifted the glass and drank it himself. ∗ (Sanskrit; Patimoak in Thai) The code of discipline for Buddhist monks, consisting of 227 rules. The code is recited collectively at least twice a month.

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182 ‘What do you mean ‘enough’? There’s plenty left and I’ve got more money.’ He patted his trouser pocket.

‘Have some more, uncle, you don’t have to worry we’ll run out. I’ll pay for it.’ He made a grab for the bottle in Uncle Khai’s hand. ‘Givitta me!’

Uncle Khai got up, meaning to go and pour some water over the bones burning in the pyre. Fak was still intent on getting the bottle from him, so he let go of it.

Fak had a hard time getting the stopper out of the bottle but it finally came off and he filled up the glass and gulped it down and then repeated the process. ‘Stick that into ya,’ he told himself.

The widow Somsong walked dejectedly towards Fak, who was by now quite drunk.

‘I’m hungry,’ she said to Fak, who was sitting against the trunk of the tamarind tree. He shook his head from side to side and looked up at her drowsily.

‘That’s your problem. I ain’t hungry. If you are hungry, that’s your business,’ Fak answered, then went back to pouring himself yet another drink, spilling a lot in the process. She sat down beside him and her arm brushed against his. Fak forcefully pushed her away.

‘Don’t sit close to me. I hate you!’ he shouted. She was startled by his unusual reaction.

‘I’m hungry,’ she whined, to emphasise her point.

‘I told you already it’s your own problem. It’s your business, not mine. I’m not hungry.’ Fak’s voice was getting louder. Right then, Uncle Khai returned.

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183 ‘I’m hungry,’ the widow Somsong said again. Fak sprang to his feet, took a few staggering steps and then went back to the same place. Seeing that Fak was in no good condition to deal with her, Uncle Khai interposed himself and pulled him away.

‘Give her some money to go and buy herself something to eat. That’ll solve the problem.’

‘No, I won’t. I hate her. Let her starve to death.’ Fak spoke with angry spite. Uncle Khai took a ten-baht note from his own shirt pocket and gave it to her.

‘Go get yourself something to eat at Chuea’s shop.’

The widow Somsong stood up, took the money and quickly walked away in the direction of the shops.

‘That’s right – go – get outa here – go anywhere you like – just go!’ Fak shouted after her.

Khai heaved a sigh when he realised how drunk Fak was and thought: ‘I shouldn’t have encouraged him to drink.’

‘Honestly, if I got ordained, I’d pass the theology exam for sure. You believe me, don’t you?’ Fak sat down unsteadily, filled the glass yet again and drank.

He kept rambling about being ordained and then out of the blue placed his palms together and started chanting in Pali.

‘Pha hung sa hatsa –’ he chanted at the top of his voice.

Khai the undertaker took the box and went to get the relics ready, leaving Fak to chant by himself at the foot of the tamarind tree in the day’s last rays of light.

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184 The undertaker put all the bones in the carton and took it back to Fak, who was still chanting at the top of his voice.

‘Hey, Fak, is this enough?’

Fak stopped chanting and looked up. ‘Yeah, okay, good, uncle. Sit down and have a drink.’ Fak poured some rice wine into the glass, but when he extended his arm to pick up the glass, his hand missed, the glass toppled over and the wine spilt all over the ground, releasing its sickening smell.

‘Shucks – ’nother – I’ll pour you another ’n.’ Fak moved towards the drink, but Uncle Khai quickly put the stopper back onto the bottle.

‘Enough, you’ve had enough. The cremation’s over.’

He picked up the tea set and returned it to the funeral pavilion, where he tidied up and put everything back as it had been before the cremation. He thought he’d check again in the morning. When he had finished, he walked back to where Fak was sitting.

Fak had stopped chanting and now sat with the box of relics on his lap, mumbling and shouting the same things over and over, sobbing all the time.

‘Dad, you shouldn’t have gone and got yourself a wife – dad, I’ve never slept with your wife. I really didn’t – I wannabe ordained – it’s because of that damn woman I can’t get ordained – she – dad, they hate me. Nobody came to your cremation because they all hate me – but never mind, dad, the cremation is over now – they hate CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

185 me – all of them – they all hate me – oh, I want so much to be ordained – ‘ Uncle Khai stopped at a distance to let Fak cry by himself. As he stood looking at him, pity welled up in his heart.

Night was falling on the village once again, gradually wrapping it in a shroud of darkness.

Fak moaned and wailed about all that had built up in him and he kept talking to the bones, imploring his dad over and over to help disentangle him from his web of suffering. He had been moaning for a while when his throat jerked and he threw up all over the carton of relics on his lap. What came out was only liquid. A strand of saliva stained the front of his shirt. Uncle Khai came over to help him by taking the box from his lap and rubbing his back.

‘I told you several times you’d had enough, but you wouldn’t listen. See?’ he grumbled softly. Fak calmed down and turned to talk to him, his face full of tears.

‘My dad’s dead. He’s gone –’ ‘Hey – he’s found peace. Come on. Let’s go home and sleep.’ He helped him up.

‘Nobody came, no one at all – remember that.’ Fak lurched to his feet with Uncle Khai’s help and the two of them stumbled along, careening wildly, supporting each other as they passed through the back of the monastery.

Fak was still wailing, sometimes chanting at the top of his voice.

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186 ‘Keep it down. You should be ashamed. There are monks in there.’

‘Ashamed? Ashamed of what?’ Fak asked drunkenly.

Hearing the ruckus going on outside, a few temple boys came running out to see what was up. What they saw in the fading light of dusk was the undertaker and the school janitor lurching and staggering around. The undertaker was holding a box to his side with his left arm and had his right arm wrapped round the waist of the janitor. As for the janitor, he had his left arm round the undertaker’s shoulders and carried a bottle of liquor in his right hand. It was difficult to tell at first glance which of the two was drunk, but they figured out that the janitor was drunker than the undertaker because the janitor was talking non-stop at the top of his voice.

Uncle Khai led Fak to the hut. He helped him onto the bamboo platform. The widow Somsong was watching out for them. Fak lay sprawled on the platform and in no time was sound asleep. Uncle Khai told the widow Somsong to put up the mosquito net for Fak, then left the hut. On the way back home, he cursed himself again – ‘I shouldn’t have encouraged him to drink.’

Fak was dead to the world. He had never fallen asleep so easily. He didn’t have to lie there grappling with his thoughts as he did every night. He didn’t have to face the giddiness of free fall that knotted his stomach every time he was about to fall asleep. He didn’t have to fight restlessness and will himself to S-L-E-E-P as he did night CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

187 after night, and he didn’t have to struggle in the web of suffering that caught him every evening.

Fak was dead to the world. It had been a year since he had been able to sleep as easily as he slept that night.

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part two THE LIBERATION

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4 Morning again– The rays of the sun illuminated everything everywhere impartially. They flooded into the king’s palace, but that didn’t mean they refused to shine over the roof of a beggar’s shack.

Inside Fak’s hut, sunbeams seeped through the cracks in the walls, stretched out on the bamboo platform and managed to needle through the mosquito net.

Fak was still peacefully asleep. He lay curled up on his side, his face turned outward, his hands cupped between his knees. Saliva stretched from his slightly opened mouth to the yellow pillow, forming a round, damp patch on it. The white shirt he had been wearing since the day before was crumpled and stained. His khaki trousers had risen up his legs when he had bent his knees and the dull-yellow blanket had fled the scene and ended up against his feet.

The sunlight didn’t reach Fak’s body. It was broken by the central bar of the window frame, which left his body in the shade, as though the shade had whispered to the morning sun: ‘Leave him be. Let him sleep peacefully.

Don’t disturb him.’

In the area bathed by the sun, inside the same mosqueto net, was the almost naked body of the widow Somsong lying on her back behind Fak. Her mussed-up THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

192 shiny black hair was spread over the pillow. Her white breasts were flattened outward and their brown nipples could be seen to rise and fall as she breathed. Her sarong was bunched up below her breasts in a tangle of orange folds. Her left hand rested loosely on her stomach, her right hand beside her. Her legs were wide apart and the strip of orange sarong was the only garment covering her stark white body.

Fak’s brain began to wake. He was confused and tried to work out where he was. He opened his eyes and, still lying on his side, looked past the mosquito net at the inside of the hut. He didn’t want to get up just yet. His head was throbbing. His eyes rested on the stove placed on the ground by the palm wall, but in his mind he was trying to recall the events of the day before. He slowly closed his eyes again. His memory seemed to have stopped at the time he had asked for a box at Auntie Chuea’s shop. He couldn’t remember what had happened after that. He felt exhausted and hungry, and his head ached. He tried to recall what had happened the previous evening and suddenly remembered his father’s relics. He couldn’t recall whether he had brought the box back or left it at the pyre. He sat up with a start and looked around for the box, but when he did so, he was even more startled by what he saw. M’am Somsong was an alarming sight, her black bush fully exposed in the centre of her body. Fak quickly turned away, his heart pounding, got out from under the net, off the bamboo CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

193 platform and stood on the floor with his back to her.

Without turning round, he screamed at the top of his voice: ‘M’am! M’am!’

The widow woke up with a start, shaken by the tone of Fak’s voice, and leapt out of the net as fast as Fak had, almost losing her sarong in the process. She must have realised she had done something wrong.

‘I didn’t sleep there!’ she cried, adjusting the sarong round her chest as she moved away from the mosquito net.

‘I saw you there! You got some nerve denying it!’ His voice was angry. He was tired, weak and giddy with hunger. He felt incensed at having seen something he had absolutely no wish to see. What a harrowing way of starting the day!

‘I put up the net by myself, you know,’ she mumbled, as though she felt slighted that Fak hadn’t noticed the good deed she had done.

Fak wasn’t in any mood to pursue the argument. He was too tired to try and find the right words that would make her understand. He wanted to go back to sleep for a short while. He forced himself to find some water to drink. As he gulped it down, he saw the box on the platform and felt relieved. He stepped onto the platform, took down the net, rolled it and placed it at the head of his sleeping area, then eased himself down onto the mat, where he soon fell asleep again.

The beat of the drum announcing lunchtime for the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

194 monks drifted over from the monastery and woke him from his long sleep, but his grogginess was far from gone. He went out of the hut and took a shower where M’am Somsong usually bathed. The water splashing over his body and on his head helped ease his dizziness and made him feel more energetic. He put on some clean clothes, then took his father’s bones and lay them in the sun to dry. As he held the carton against his chest, sadness welled up in his heart, but not as overwhelmingly as the day before – the day the body of his father had been consumed by fire.

He figured that the monks should have finished their lunch by then, so he sneaked over to the monastery and brought back some food for himself and M’am Somsong, but he wasn’t able to eat much. His throat was parched and his tongue had no sense of taste. All he wanted was cool water. He spent the whole day busy with the water scoop.

For most of that day, even though his body still craved for liquid, a new feeling kept interfering, gratifying a part of his inner self. Many times his eyes fell on the bottle of rice wine, which stood on the bamboo platform.

The amber-coloured bottle had yellow and red ears of paddy outlined on its label. There was still some liquor at the bottom. He marvelled at the extraordinary power held in that bottle. The liquid in it had enabled him to fall asleep easily and helped him forget about all of his problems. It had boosted his confidence no end. His fear CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

195 had abated and then vanished as he drank. It was as if he had stumbled on an eternal truth: the liquid in that bottle could turn serious concerns into trifles and change the buzz of the villagers’ gossip into the whisper of the passing breeze. The eyes that looked at the bottle now were like the eyes of a friend looking at a friend and no longer the eyes of an enemy who used to hate the stuff.

He thought of the five precepts by which he had lived until now and asked himself of what use they had ever been to him. Those five precepts had never helped free him from grief and suffering, but a mere bottle of rice wine had broken the chains that bound him to grief and had torn apart the net of suffering that enmeshed his life and mind. It had led him to move about freely, without paying the slightest attention to the world of others, and live in a private world of his own. And this is why Fak looked at the bottle of rice wine with eyes that said, ‘You truly are my friend.’

Although when he thought like this he felt a bit sorry, he couldn’t explain what it was he was feeling sorry about or where that feeling came from. Maybe it was goodness, by now weak and forlorn, that was calling him back, or else the belated realisation that goodness was about to desert him.

He had long followed the straight and narrow path of virtue and never given a thought to how far it would take him, never wondered where it would end. All he knew was that the path he had been following was THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

196 strewn with obstacles and had brought him endless trouble.

But now, he had chanced onto a new path. From what he could see, this new path would lead him away from the shackles that bound him. It was filled with fun and it was beckoning. The old path stretching out behind him had failed to lead him to a peaceful life; he was tired of it and so chose instead a path he could travel down at a leisurely pace, keeping happiness within sight and within reach.

‘Alas, Fak! You are about to choose the wrong way.’ A sharp, plaintive whisper came from the very bottom of his soul, but before it could die down, another voice was shouting out. ‘Don’t listen to him. When has he ever helped you? Has he ever helped you sleep peacefully?

He just fills your head with all sorts of rubbish night after night and keeps striking you when you’re down.’

This was the very voice that made people who, like him, had lost their way follow obediently, like men lost in the jungle who at dusk see some light ahead and have no choice but to rush towards it, without wondering whether they will end up in a lair of thieves or in the peaceful retreat of a community of ascetics.

That evening, after he had taken the relics back inside, Fak set about drinking what was left of the rice wine. At first, he found it hard to swallow but the next gulps changed to a sweet taste that was pleasant enough and it wasn’t long before the wine was all gone. He walked CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

197 over to Auntie Chuea’s shop to buy another bottle. The people sitting in the shop couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw him, and when he had gone asked: ‘What’s he got to celebrate?’

As he sat in the hut drinking, he felt like the lord and master, and he bombarded M’am Somsong with instructions as he ordered her to prepare the dinner. When the alcohol began to go to his head, he felt the need of a friend to chat with, someone he could share his feelings with. But who, except Khai the undertaker, would care to be his friend in a moment of loneliness such as this?

He was about to start walking, but the thought struck him that he shouldn’t go and disturb him; he’d better sit here and drink alone. So he sat drinking and watching M’am from the moment she lit the stove to boil the rice until the time she put the fire out. All the while, his need for a friend to talk with grew with his drunken stupor, and finally the alcohol made him change his mind about paying a visit to the undertaker.

‘Stay here and don’t go anywhere,’ he said to M’am as he got down from the platform.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

‘None of your concern.’

He left the hut, cradling the bottle in his arms, and staggered towards Uncle Khai’s house – At about 8 pm he left the undertaker’s house, stumbling and crawling along on his own. All the way home, the barks of dogs answering one another intermittently THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

198 matched his sobs and cries. He managed to find his way back to the hut and to hoist himself onto the bamboo platform. M’am Somsong, who still hadn’t gone to sleep, came over to have a look at him. He drunkenly pushed her away, muttering: ‘Go away – get outa here – I’m going to get ordained – I wannabe a monk –’ He began to chant prayers loudly, but eventually his voice died down and he was asleep.

The light of the lamp flickered in the dim interior. Fak lay stretched out on the platform, legs sprawled and mouth open, dead to the world. His snoring was the only indication that he was alive. Next to him, the widow Somsong sat hugging her knees and staring at him.

She rested her chin on her left arm, which was folded over her right arm. Her black hair flowed down to her waist and covered the expanse of flesh left exposed above the fold of her black sarong, which was tied under her arms. The light caught one side of her and left the other in a dark shadow which blended with the colour of the sarong. Her stillness made her look lifeless like a statue. The shrill drill of the crickets surrounded Fak’s steady, endless snores.

The central glow of the lamp lit the outlines of the two bodies, leaving the surrounding walls in darkness.

M’am remained motionless, except for her eyes, which slowly surveyed the body next to her as though they were searching for something. The light of the lamp danced on her eyes and at times lit a strange gleam in CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

199 her pupils, but it was hard to figure out what she was thinking about.

Slowly her hand reached out and gently caressed Fak’s body, as if she were afraid he might wake up. She began to hum a tune, which mixed with the din of the night insects outside and Fak’s snoring. The humming, soft and gentle like a lullaby, went on intermittently and stopped as she lay herself down beside him. She hugged him with her left arm and buried her face against his flank. As he didn’t stir or try to push her away, she lay back and stayed still for a long time.

Finally she rose and put up Fak’s mosquito net and when she saw that he still didn’t move, she put out the lamp and crawled under the net with him.

There were no more endless, restless nights for Fak. They had gone with his father’s body, which was now no more than a few bones. The life that had once sunk to the lowest depths was beginning to spring anew, like a dying tree brought back to life.

But Fak wasn’t aware that he was the one depriving the tree of water – that he was hastening the death of the trees and plants in real life, and that they had already begun to wilt and wither. He had forgotten to water the flowerbeds at school for two days running, even though it was his responsibility as the janitor.

The following day, the three teachers who boarded at school returned to make preparations for the opening of THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

200 the final term. When they saw that the plants around the school had almost died, they told Fak to go and water them. During the last three days, he had almost forgotten that he was the janitor. He had been entirely taken up with his drinking and the new path he was travelling. The three teachers agreed that the ten-day vacation had indeed produced a quick change in Mr. Fak. They had never thought someone like Fak would ever drink or ignore his duties, which he had always carried out most conscientiously. The three of them kept wondering what it was that made him change so quickly.

The first day of the last term arrived.

Fak did his job as usual, but the freshness that he used to feel in the morning had gone and was replaced by a constant grogginess. He seemed to have much more work to do, even though his duties had not increased.

Sometimes, as he was opening the windows in the morning, he would yawn widely and wish he could go back to sleep for a while longer to refresh the inner man.

On some days, he would sneak back to his hut in the afternoon for a short nap. Work which he thought should be done in one day would take him two to three days to complete.

The news of the change that had taken place in him spread throughout the village, triggering intense gossiping and speculation. ‘He’s upset because nobody went to his father’s cremation,’ someone said. ‘On the contrary: CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

201 he’s relieved,’ someone else countered. ‘Now he can go all the way with the widow. He doesn’t have to worry anymore about his father’s ghost.’ Some said they had seen him drunk, chanting and weeping as he staggered along. ‘If you ask me, he’s gone mad,’ someone said, putting it down to karma. ‘Look at him,’ another added.

‘He used to be good and now he’s turning into an old soak, a total disgrace.’

Nobody dared tease Fak any longer, not even Young Kliao, who used to enjoy playing cat and mouse with him. On some days when he was sitting in the store waiting for Auntie Chuea to prepare the teachers’ lunches, he would order some rice wine and drink it by himself – and take whatever was left back to his hut.

While Fak sat there drinking, Kliao would pretend to clean his minibus in order to steer clear of him.

Fak spent nearly half of his salary buying rice wine to drown his sorrows. He relied on the monastery for food more than ever, but little of it reached his stomach these days. He was fed up with rice and water and on some days drank himself to sleep, skipping dinner. His stomach simply became a place to store booze. His pillow and mosquito net, which he used to wash regularly, were now filthy and stank. The back of his shirt was stained with salt licks from his sweating, and its collar was black and grimy, yet he still wore it without feeling any discomfort.

But if a day went by without booze, then the discomfort made him squirm. He would desperately look for THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

202 something to drink, and the amount he drank increased as days went by. Since his father’s cremation, he hadn’t stopped. His appearance had become darker and gloomier, and his neck and ears were thick with grime.

Some days he took a shower, some days he didn’t, yet he drank himself to sleep every evening. In the morning, he would wake up late and have to rush to get the windows and doors at the school open in time, and this made it difficult to find time for a shower. The teachers noticed a smell of alcohol on his breath whenever he spoke, which was even stronger than his foul body odour.

Fak was still able to carry out his duties until the end of term, however, despite a few shortcomings such as forgetting to take the flag down in the evening, which was to his advantage actually, since it meant he didn’t have to waste time putting it up again the next morning.

There were occasions when he would be scolded for his drinking habit by the headmaster, every time he went to his house to deposit some money. Told to slow down and space out his binges, he would only smile and not say anything. Had it been anyone other than the headmaster, he would probably have told him to mind his own business.

The flow of liquor had completely washed away the fortress of fear in his life, leaving no ruins behind. He was no longer afraid of anyone and no longer cared about the looks people gave him. He no longer gave a damn about what people said about him and the widow CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

203 Somsong, so much so that during the latest annual fair, held at the beginning of the year, he had taken her there well before dark and hadn’t been afraid of the stares.

There were times when, having sobered up, he would sit and consider all that had happened. The goodness still left in him would surface and tell him that he had turned into a bad, worthless person, that he had become a contemptible lush, and when he tried to think about his good points, they seemed to drift further and further away from him. The more he brooded over this, the more alarmed he felt. Fear would grip him again and his worries return – worries about what the people around him were saying. He began to feel ashamed of his behaviour and didn’t dare go out, even to buy something at the minibus terminal. In moments like these, goodness wrought havoc with his mind, but as soon as he grabbed his bottle, these thoughts began to slip away as though they were mere illusions, so that, before long, he kept himself in a drunken stupor all day long. He lived in his own world and no longer allowed himself to slip back into the real one. In that world of his, he was above everyone else, on top of all of his problems, and floated gently way above the ground.

Yet it wasn’t the same as before. When he had been ostracised, he had lived in his own world as well, but that world was filled with loneliness, anxiety and suffering, because it was still rooted to the ground. Now, not only did he have his booze, but he also had a friend to THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

204 talk with. Almost every evening, Fak would go and visit Khai the undertaker. With the passage of time, their relationship became closer and more trusting. They would talk and joke and banter with each other like close relatives. There was no way suffering could reach him so long as he wore his armour of intoxication.

During the vacation at the end of the school year, he had even more time. He didn’t have to worry about his work or about when he should get up in the morning.

During that interval, his drinking increased steadily.

Work – work, which he used to believe gave him real happiness, was no longer important. What brought him happiness now was the clear spirit in that bottle. He cradled it and wouldn’t part from it.

Then New Year’s Day came round again.

A bell clanged and clanged, striking at slow and steady intervals, shattering the quiet before dawn. The ringing drifted into the solitude of the coconut groves and reverberated throughout the village, waking the people, prompting them to get up, boil their rice, cook their curries and prepare everything for the merit-making ceremony of the day. This sound was the symbol of the faith the people had in their religion and their temple. The ringing of the bell didn’t force or even entreat those who heard it to leave the comfort of their beds. The sound itself didn’t have that much power; those who heard it gave it that power themselves.

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205 Fak tried to struggle out of bed when he heard the bell.

His mind wanted to sit up but his arms and legs refused to obey. He was so drowsy that he couldn’t muster the energy to open his eyelids. He was unable to stir his body fully awake. His mind pleaded with itself to wait until the bell had stopped ringing and then he’d get up and go to the temple. With this promise to himself, he went back to sleep – and slept through cockcrow and still slept while the stars disappeared from the sky, but it was a sleep in which he was aware of everything that was going on. Waking and sleep were equally matched.

One moment he was half-conscious, the next he was dosing. This went on until the bell chimed, then marked a pause before starting on the second ringing. His ears heard the bell clearly and he tried to pull himself up again, but it was as though a gigantic hand was forcing him down on the mat, forcing him down further and further, and finally his body sank into the earth and he was unable to get up. He thought he’d sleep for just a moment longer – just one more moment and then he’d get up. On the strength of this new promise to himself, he sank into sleep like someone who has lost all energy.

Silver and golden rays began to shine softly over the horizon; gangs of crows screeched and flapped their black wings, swirling round the monastery compound; the temple dogs began sniffing around the area set for the alms bowls; the temple boys were busy setting the basins on the altar; and bats were flying back to their THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

206 hiding place under the roof of the prayer hall, their nightlife having come to an end. A folk song started up, ‘Today’s New Year’s Day’, an old song broadcast to remind those who heard it of the special day.

Fak was still sleeping under his mosquito net. It was the same Fak who had woken up in the darkness before dawn on New Year’s Day the year before, and who had gone to do his share of the work in the temple, preparing the main pavilion, helping carry and roll out the mats and arranging the seating for the monks. It was the same Fak who had shooed away the dogs while the monks were chanting. But on New Year’s Day this year, Fak was still snoring away under his mosquito net.

Some villagers had begun to arrive at the temple, all nattily dressed in colourful outfits, carrying trays of food and sets of incense, candle and flower, and holding their children by the hand or their grandchildren in one arm.

They came to convert the offerings they were bringing into the merit they would take back home.

Fak opened his eyes and stared at the top of the mosquito net when he heard the chanting of the monks drifting from the temple. He sat up with a start, angry at himself for not having woken up in time to go and help.

He really should have gone to the temple when he first heard the bell ringing. He quickly got up, folded his mosquito net and looked around for M’am Somsong, but she wasn’t there. Grabbing the water scoop, he went outside to wash his face. As he splashed water over his CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

207 head, goodness came and put to him the following questions: ‘Will you dare go there now? How will the others feel about you being so late? Just imagine the hundreds of faces staring at you: what will they think?

That you’ve been spending so much time in bed with the widow Somsong that you can’t get up in the morning?

Or perhaps that you’re no longer interested in religion and have come just so you can help yourself to the food offerings? Why do you want to go there anyway?’

He began to wonder whether he should go to the temple at all. The prospect of facing so many people made him nervous. Fear began to overwhelm him and he felt like changing his mind and going back to sleep.

But another part of him still wanted to join in the activities at the temple. Why shouldn’t he? Meritmaking festivals only took place once in a long while.

Why shouldn’t he go and take part as well?

He went back into the hut, put down the water scoop, lifted the bottle of rice wine into the light and took a swig. With what he had drunk the day before, this quick intake was enough to restore his drunken confidence. It was as easy as calling a tame dog.

His face glowing with contentment, he left the hut and headed for the main pavilion, confident about the situation he was about to confront.

The people in the main pavilion were taking turns to go outside and put food in the alms bowls while the monks were chanting. The temple boys had begun to THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

208 empty the bowls that were already full into the large enamel basins they had set for that purpose.

The widow Somsong was listening to the chanting. She sat in the last row, palms joined in front of her. She had sat herself in the front row even before the monks had come to the pavilion, but had been sent to the back because the people were afraid she might get up and expose herself while the monks chanted. They hadn’t dared drive her away altogether lest there be a repeat of what had happened to Song on the day of homage to the ancestors the year before. The temple secretary had deftly solved the problem by saying that women had to sit at the back. All the other rows were already occupied or reserved – this one’s for Uncle, Granny’s sitting here, no, no, not there, it’s for that woman over there – so she had to keep on moving back until she found a seat in the last row. Even then, the people sitting on either side of her kept their eye on her all the time, and turned and looked at her every time she adjusted her position, as if ready to pounce should anything untoward happen.

It was just as Fak had anticipated. The moment he appeared walking along the concrete path towards the pavilion, a great many eyes turned and stared. While their palms remained respectfully joined, some people leaned to whisper to their neighbours; their ears listened to the chanting but their mouths were busy with the question, ‘What’s he doing here?’

The skinny, worn-out body trussed up in a creased offCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

209 white shirt and dirty khaki trousers moved closer. White streaks ran through his hair, which was as stiff and unkempt as weeds in a derelict plantation. The form that was approaching was devoid of any aura. It was just a good-for-nothing drunk and the only one in the whole village who drank to such an extent.

Fak wasn’t interested in anybody’s stare. He walked straight to the stand where the alms bowls had been placed, staggering a little, but not enough to be conspicuous. The widow Somsong saw him and, to the alarm of the people around her, sprang up while the monks were still chanting. She walked out of the pavilion and made for the stand where he was standing. She was grinning as if she hadn’t seen him in years. Fak glared at her and asked her reproachfully: ‘Why did you come here?’ The people who were putting food offerings into the alms bowls turned and stared. Upon hearing Fak’s question to the widow, they turned back again.

She pulled a long face. Her heart filled with fear and it showed.

‘Get out of here. Go back home. Now!’ he drove her away, his breath reeking of alcohol. People around them turned and stared, as did many who were in the pavilion.

M’am Somsong walked away but kept turning back to look at Fak, and when she saw that he was no longer paying attention to her, she stopped and stood beneath an Indian almond tree, watching from a distance.

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210 Fak helped lift the trays of food off the stand. Every time he moved back to it, the people putting food into the alms bowls would be taken aback by his foul body odour and the offensive smell of alcohol that filled the air around him. Some young women stepped back, screwing up their noses, as the stench ruined the delicate perfumes they had sprinkled themselves with. But Fak wasn’t interested in anybody’s reaction. He went on with his work single-mindedly as he always did. It could be even ventured that he did it better than the previous year, because this year he had recovered the selfconfidence that had deserted him then.

The monks had finished their chanting and they began to step down from the raised platform and return to their quarters. The villagers soon dispersed and went back home. Fak and the temple boys helped one another gather up the food and clean the whole place. When they had finished, he walked over to the monastery. As he began to sober up, he felt his self-confidence ebb.

The monks had finished their breakfast.

Fak was putting some food into his lunch box to take back to the hut for himself and M’am Somsong when a temple boy came up to him and said, ‘The abbot wants to see you after you’ve had your meal.’

Fak took a pot of rice and the lunch box back to his hut. He was worried and wondered why the abbot had asked to see him. What did he want? Had someone gone to him to complain about his drinking? Or was he going CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

211 to tell him to go and live somewhere else? These and many other questions revolved in his mind even while he was eating. Finally the positive thought occurred to him that the abbot must have some odd job for him to do. This made him feel better. He took a shower to freshen up. This time, he wouldn’t have to depend on booze to boost his own confidence because he had never thought the abbot would treat him the way the others did. Besides, the abbot might criticise him if he smelled alcohol on his breath.

But as he was about to leave the hut, anxiety overcame him once again. He thought that a couple of quick shots might help. He looked at the bottle from the corner of his eye for a while, then grabbed it by the neck and took a swig. ‘Just enough to make me feel good,’ he told himself.

The abbot sat on a maroon rectangular carpet with black and white lines drawing what was probably the picture of a white horse. His large frame overlapped the picture as he leaned back against a yellow cushion propped up against the front wall of his dormitory. To his left was a set of altar tables. A statue of the Buddha in a glass case stood on the tallest one in the middle. On the tables immediately below, set on either side, were the Buddha’s chief disciples, Moggalana and Sariputra.

The third level of tables bore a pair of fake, eggshelltinted elephant tusks; their tapering ends curved inward, almost touching. Further down there was a series THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

212 of smaller tables bearing groups of candlesticks in holders elaborately decorated with conic collars of golden, green, yellow or red paper folded over tall glasses. The candles burnt brightly. In the centre, in front of the votive tablet on which worshippers press their palms when they crouch and bow, stood a brass incense holder with three ember-tipped sticks smoking away. A rectangular mat, brown with white stripes, was spread in front of the tablet. To its right was a stand for the ceremonial fans, and a glass showcase on the opposite wall held another fan, which symbolised a high ecclesiastical rank and stood on a pedestal. There wasn’t a speck of dust or scrap of paper on the highly polished floor of the dormitory.

The abbot usually poured himself a cup of tea after his morning meal when the chanting session was over, then sat in front of his quarters to meet the villagers who came to visit him. They came to invite him to attend this or that ceremony or to seek advice, ask for amulets or for the most propitious date for a particular event. The abbot never turned anybody down, except that when he felt someone was asking for too much, he’d make a point of issuing a mild rebuke. To all the people in the village, he was the crucible of faith. Some of them, when they saw that their children or grandchildren were going astray and couldn’t be controlled, would bring them to him so that he would instruct them in the proper way of behaving.

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213 Fak reached the dormitory and went inside. He prostrated himself three times before the abbot, then sat down on the floor with his legs respectfully folded to one side. He was afraid that if he went closer the abbot would be able to smell the alcohol on his breath. Fak placed his palms together at chest level and asked, ‘Is there something I can do for you, Reverend?’

‘No, nothing. Come a bit closer, will you.’ The abbot said no more, so Fak moved closer, making sure he stayed downwind.

‘How are you these days? Why is it you keep yourself so far from the temple?’ The abbot spoke just loud enough to be heard. His question was simple enough, yet Fak was at a loss to come up with an answer. The question made him feel uneasy. He raised his hands and lowered his eyes.

‘Hmm – er – I – I’m embarrassed.’ He felt relieved that he had answered the question.

‘Yes – I see –’ The abbot nodded, took another sip of his tea, then put the cup down. ‘But then, when you get drunk and start chanting at the top of your voice or start crying and moaning like a lunatic, you’re not embarrassed. Yet, when you come to see me, you’re embarrassed. Right? Right?’

Fak shuddered as the truth of what the abbot said hit home.

‘I’m depressed,’ he confessed, his face sullen.

‘And this alcohol, does it help?’ the abbot asked slowly.

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214 Fak wanted to answer there and then, ‘Yes, it does,’ but didn’t dare, so he remained silent.

‘You were ordained for a long time. Don’t you realise it’s evil?’

‘I do.’ In his heart he wanted to say, ‘You put yourself in my shoes and see how it feels.’ He was thinking this when the abbot continued. ‘Alcohol can never help anybody get rid of his problems. They may go away while you’re drunk, but as soon as you sober up, they’re there again.

Problems have got to be solved at the root, not just pushed away for a while. Liquor is the fount of wrack and ruin.

When you drink it, it changes your personality. A good man will become obscene and stagger about without any sense of shame. Drink can made your body do all kinds of things. You’ll crawl on all fours like a dog or behave like a lout and won’t even know what you’re doing. The next day, once you’ve sobered up, that’s when you regret everything you’ve done. You’ll think, ‘What did I do yesterday?’ and when people come and tell you, you feel ashamed. When you’re ashamed, you don’t know what to do, so you turn to the bottle again, because drunkenness helps you lose your shame. Alcohol changes people.

Sometimes even the best of friends are at each other’s throats when they’re drunk. They might even shoot each other and when they wake up and find themselves in jail, they cry and moan and are sorry because they realise it’s only alcohol that made them do wrong. I’ve never heard of a drunk doing any good – or maybe I’m not in a position CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

215 to know, because I’ve never taken liquor.’ Having said this, the abbot laughed genially. ‘Does it taste good?’

‘No, sir.’

‘How strange. It doesn’t even taste good, it brings only bad results, you waste your money buying it, yet you still go on drinking it everyday. Don’t you think that’s strange, Fak?’ ‘Yessir.’

‘I’ve been watching you for a long time. I thought you’d know what’s good and what’s bad, so I let you go on without saying anything. I thought that before long you’d stop by yourself, but you’re getting worse by the day. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?

Have you seen how much you’ve aged? You look like a fifty-year-old. Alcohol is no good, believe me. If it were good, the Lord wouldn’t have prohibited it –’ The abbot stopped speaking when he saw Uncle Mee and Auntie Sai coming up the stairs of his quarters with their son, Sak. The three of them prostrated themselves before the abbot, who smiled at them affectionately.

‘What is it, brethren?’

‘We’d like you to figure out the propitious day to start building a house for our son. But please finish what you’re doing first,’ Uncle Mee said to the abbot without turning to look at Fak. The abbot continued to speak with Fak. ‘I want to ask something of you: stop drinking. Can you do that?’

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216 ‘Yes, I can, sir,’ Fak replied softly.

‘Oh, good. Today’s New Year’s Day for all of us Thai people. Take your vows and put yourself back on the path of religion, you’ll find yourself feeling better. Make a new start and don’t think about the past. Now – pass me that fan.’

Fak crawled over and reached for the ceremonial fan on the stand beside the group of tables. His intoxication was beginning to wear off and he felt nervous in the presence of newcomers. He didn’t even dare glance at the three people sitting beside him. He crawled back and passed the fan to the abbot, his hand shaking.

‘Have you forgotten the chant to request the vows?’

‘No, sir.’

His voice quavering, Fak started to race through the words. He wanted to finish as quickly as possible and felt uneasy because of the three pairs of eyes watching him. The abbot recited the vows, which Fak repeated, and when it was over passed him the fan to return to its stand.

‘All right, you can go now. And make sure you don’t break your vows as easily as the string of a kite,’ he instructed as Fak prostrated himself before him.

As he left the dormitory, he heard the abbot saying, ‘I called him over to caution him a little. He’s like a son to me, you know’.

Fak went back to his hut, the abbot’s words still ringing in his ears. His heart was filled with faith in the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

217 five vows he had just taken, the very vows that used to be the foundation on which he had lived his life. He had broken the first when he had killed the dog in front of the school, and since then had never renewed his vows.

Later on, he had betrayed another when he drank liquor at his father’s cremation and kept betraying it by drinking steadily. There were still three vows he had never broken: he had never stolen anything, never slept with anyone’s wife or daughter and never lied or cheated anybody.

This was New Year’s Day, a day on which to begin a new life. He had renewed his vows and now thought of the abbot’s words about starting a new life and forgetting the past. ‘Alright, I’m going to try and make a new start.’

He took the bottle of wine, which was still half-full, walked out of the hut with it and poured the liquid onto the ground until none of it was left. The smell made his mouth water and he swallowed his saliva with difficulty. Then he hurled the empty bottle into the grove of coconut trees behind the hut. ‘Well, that’s it. It’s over.’

He walked slowly back and sat down on the bamboo platform in front of the hut. Right then, he felt as though he were dreaming, dreaming that he was being reborn.

Everything around him seemed to have acquired a new vitality. Even the smallest leaf swaying in the breeze seemed to be alive. The gentle breeze brushed against him as if to give him strength and courage for his new THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

218 life. Peace filled his heart until he wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming or not.

On a holiday such as this, what was the best thing to do? ‘Work – do some work,’ a voice whispered.

Fak went inside the hut, which was dirty and untidy. It seemed to be asking, ‘So, you’re back, eh?’ and his subconscious answered, ‘Yes, I’m back’.

Fak took his mosquito net and blanket outside and washed them together with all of his clothes. While he was sitting behind the hut doing his washing, M’am Somsong returned. She was bringing back an empty can of condensed milk and a tin of ‘Ovaltine’ which some monk had thrown away. She stopped and looked at Fak as if she had never seen him before. Fak told her to get rid of her precious trash and bring her net and blanket to be washed as well, and to scrub the soot off the pot.

When this was done, the two of them helped each other clean the inside of the hut. There was so much work to be done that Fak wondered how he had managed to live there without feeling distressed.

Fak took the box containing his father’s relics from the shelf where he had placed it and cleaned it, dusting away the cobwebs around it. Tomorrow was the day for paying homage to the ancestors. He had made up his mind that he would take his father’s relics and participate in the ceremony so that his father’s soul could find peace and happiness.

Some time after three in the afternoon everything was CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

219 done. He thought he should go and have his hair cut and tidied up so that tomorrow he’d be a new person, both physically and mentally.

He pictured himself walking towards the mortuary the next day with his father’s relics. Everyone would be amazed by his sudden transformation. He’d have turned himself into a new person in just one day.

Fak left his hut for the barber’s at the minibus terminal, but at the thought of having to face the people there, his shame and fear came back, so suddenly that he was at a loss what to do. The thought had startled him so much that his legs turned to jelly and his hands began to tremble. All he could do was stagger over to the bamboo platform in front of the hut and plop himself down.

Did he really have to face all those people? It had been a long time since he had faced them when he wasn’t drunk. He was panic-stricken at the prospect. His thoughts turned immediately to the bottle and he felt weak and shaky all over.

‘No – I mustn’t touch it!’

‘Absolutely not. I’ve given it up.’

But his courage had run away into the deepest recess of his soul; neither coaxing nor threat could get it back, and it looked like the crevice into which it had escaped was now buried under thick layers of fear. All he could do was comfort himself by thinking, ‘Let’s wait till it’s dark, then I’ll go’.

He lay listlessly in the hut until evening, and as time THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

220 went on felt increasingly morose and fidgety. His problems and suffering kept piling up, like eggs stored in a new nest by an army of ants, which kept coming and going in unbroken, endless lines. If his torments could be seen, they’d fill the hut, spill out of the door and perhaps even run over the entire village – When M’am Somsong lit the fire to cook dinner, he felt annoyed. Her way of lighting the match, and just about everything else about her, irritated him and, out of the blue, he started to shout at her and made as if he was going to hit her. He got up, sat down again, got up again and paced the hut back and forth.

The closer it got to evening, the more he wanted a drink, as this was the time when he would usually begin to drink in earnest. His hands shook and he felt weak. It seemed that the problem he had had during the afternoon of not wanting to see all those people was no longer what bothered him. His problem now was that he wanted a drink more than anything else.

‘It’s quite simple, actually: just send M’am to buy some wine for you.’

But what about the promise he had made to the abbot that morning?

He was confused. He couldn’t decide which he should choose, of his craving for liquor or his promise to the abbot. One moment he’d swing one way, the next he’d switch back to the other. The struggle going on within him since the afternoon was getting fiercer by the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

221 minute. There was indeed no room for compromise between the two sides. He had to make up his mind as to which path he’d take and which he’d leave behind.

M’am Somsong called him for dinner. She sounded like she was mocking him. He couldn’t eat. He was nauseated and felt like throwing up. His stomach was full of wind and every time it rumbled, he retched, but nothing came out except thick strands of saliva. His ears were ringing; his eyes watered.

‘And she’s still got the guts to keep on eating! Can’t she see I’m not well? Look at the way she’s stuffing herself, slopping her food all over the place like a pig. She doesn’t give a damn about me.’ Fak cursed M’am in his mind.

Evening came.

Even though it was hard going, Fak managed to control his craving. He struggled with his restlessness to reach the ultimate objective of total sobriety. The only moral support he had was the solemn promise he had made to the abbot. He wasn’t altogether certain that if he had given his word to anyone else, he’d have been able to hold out this long; maybe he’d have given in well before evening. The poison his body craved was so evil it corroded his body and soul without respite, leaving only his willpower to struggle against it.

His body was extremely weak, but strangely enough he didn’t feel hungry, or if he did, he just couldn’t swallow anything. He thought he should force himself to eat to recover some strength to fight against his craving.

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222 So he sat on the bamboo platform in the cocoon of light from the lamp, trying to eat, but with every handful he took his hand would shake and the food fell off the spoon.

He was like a child learning to eat by himself for the first time. The distance between the plate and his mouth seemed extremely vast, and to shorten it he bent over the plate, his mouth almost touching it, yet his hand still shook. The more he tried to stop it from shaking, the more it seemed to shake, and if his hand wasn’t shaking, his lips were. Half of every spoonful he put into his mouth was spilt and, worse still, the food was absolutely tasteless. ‘What’s wrong with my tongue?’

After eating less than half of what was on his plate, he had to give up, and before the food had a chance to reach his stomach, it all came back up and he was sick – he threw up the whole lot, rice, curry, everything, all over the platform.

He clumsily turned and groped for the water scoop, walked outside shaking all over, rinsed his mouth and went back in. He tried to tell M’am Somsong to take the dishes away and clean up the mess, but he had lost all his energy, his tongue was stiff and wouldn’t move, and the sounds that came out of his mouth were incomprehensible. M’am sat motionless, staring at the vomit. Perhaps she was startled by what she had seen and too confused to do anything, or perhaps she was wondering why Fak hadn’t yet laid down to sleep for her to cuddle as she did every evening, or perhaps she was waiting for CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

223 him to fall asleep so that she could put up his mosquito net.

Fak shouted at her: ‘Clean everything up!’ He pointed at the dishes on the platform and then at where she should put them. Jumping with fright, she sprang into action, took the dishes away and cleaned up the vomit in obvious alarm.

Fak sat on the platform, watching her, his eyes bloodshot, his face flushed. From time to time, he felt like throwing up again. He took deep breaths, trying to control the air that kept coming up, afraid it might push whatever food he still held back out, but he was unable to do so. Fortunately for him, there was nothing left in his stomach, and all that came out was loud burps.

He felt disgusted with himself for having to go through such an ordeal. He wanted to tell M’am to go and buy him some rice wine and get the problem over with once and for all.

A bell rang as it did every evening once the monks had finished chanting their prayers, yet the sound startled him. He felt giddy inside and sweat poured out of his body, making his hands clammy. He had never been so easily scared before.

The struggle between good and evil that was raging a battle in his body was full of cunning and trickery. He thought of the vow he had made to the abbot. Whatever happened, he had to keep it. ‘I mustn’t break it – at any cost.’

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224 He began to put up his mosquito net, thinking that if he slept he wouldn’t have to endure the physical torture.

When she saw him getting his net ready, M’am Somsong began to put hers up too. Fak turned off the lamp and the two of them got under their nets almost at the same time.

Fak lay wide-awake inside his mosquito net and was soon tossing and turning restlessly. Suddenly, he felt that he was going to be sick again. He got up, sat on the side of the platform and vomited. His stomach was a knot of spasms. It had suffered hundreds of contractions, but nothing was coming out except burps and lumps of phlegm mixed with saliva. His stomach ached and a searing pain shot up his chest. When his nausea had passed he lay back down again. Tears welled up in his eyes and his whole body streamed with sweat. He began to feel hot and itched all over as if ants were biting him. At first there were just a couple of them on his back, but then there were others on his arms, on his legs, on his stomach, climbing and crawling all over his body. Fak got up and slapped himself furiously. ‘They must be moving their nest by my net.’

‘Help! Ants! There are ants biting me!’ He slapped and scratched himself savagely, his voice filling the hut.

M’am Somsong peeked out of her net, not daring to go near Fak’s. All she could see was his net shaking and swelling as it was being bumped by a shoulder, an elbow, a knee.

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225 Fak reached for the torch at the head of his bed. When he found it, he switched it on and looked for ants inside his net, but couldn’t see any. Not one. He lay down again, haunted by the ants that he was convinced were there. Even though he hadn’t seen any, he still felt itchy all over. He lay there panting and gasping, weak with exhaustion. The more exhausted he felt, the more rumbling went on in his stomach. He could feel wind building up and he had to sit up and let it out in loud burps.

The hair on his arms bristled and there was a buzzing sound in his ears as if the wind was coming out of there as well. His whole body shook. It was a long time before his retching eased off and he could lie down again.

‘Ow! – Dad – help me!’ he moaned, calling for the last resort in his heart, a resort that didn’t exist any longer.

‘Help me! I’m hopeless now!’ he kept calling, wishing his dad would come and help him.

In his heart, at times he also called for the Enlightened One in heaven, imploring him to come down and pull him away from this hell. But it seemed his plea hardly reached the top of his mosquito net. He thus had to lie in torment throughout the wretched night.

Late into the night – The crickets kept up their gritting racket. At times the wind made the coconut palms grate and creak. From afar came the whine of a violin, poignantly sharp and shrill and cold, then raucous like a last sigh. The sound grew increasingly loud as if the player was walking THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

226 towards the hut, getting closer and closer until it seemed to be right in front of it.

‘Master Preecha – teacher, sir, help me, please. I’m desperate –’ Fak called out weakly, thinking that Master Preecha had come to see him.

When he realised it was vacation time and the teachers had gone back home, a shiver ran down his spine. He was scared by the music and couldn’t work out where it came from.

The violin didn’t stop playing, but its sound grew softer and softer as though Master Preecha was walking away from the hut.

Fak was terrified. The violin was still screeching in his ears. Since all of the teachers had gone home, who was playing in the dead of night? Could it be a ghost? The thought made his hair stand on end. As the whine went on, he slapped his hands to his ears a few times. The sound of the violin stopped, but his heart went on pounding.

He felt nauseous again and tried to vomit, but nothing came out except some bitter, sour liquid. He opened his mosquito net, poked his face out and spat on the ground beyond the platform. Sticky saliva dribbled down his chin and he wiped it with the net. The foul, bitter taste remained. He crawled out of the net and rinsed his mouth to try to get rid of the taste.

He was lucky in a way, because during this time his head had no room for thoughts of his past sufferings.

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227 His aching body wouldn’t let him think of the past. He had to fight his craving with all his might, and if he were to think of the old torments as well, there’s no saying in what kind of shape he’d have been in.

Time passed unceasingly as it must, but Fak felt as though it had come to a standstill ever since his craving for a drink had started.

His body was so weak by now that he could hardly move. His heart quaked alarmingly and a cramp seized his right leg, which soon refused to move. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and stretched his leg out to allow it to relax, but it didn’t do any good. He slowly crept out of the net, stood up and leaned against the wall, afraid that he would collapse. The cramp gradually eased. His body began to sway as if he was going to fall, so he sat down again and slowly crawled back into his mosquito net. He lay down, exhausted both physically and mentally.

‘Make sure you don’t break your vows as easily as the string of a kite.’

He didn’t know how much longer he could endure such torture. The string with which the abbot had bound him was beginning to break thread by thread until only the thinnest one was left.

Before dawn he heard dogs howling around his hut.

‘Could it be because they’ve seen my soul leave my body?’ One of the dogs, which was alternately barking and growling, sounded very much like the black dog he THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

228 had beaten to death. Had it come back to even the score?

Fak was terrified. The barking, growling and howling was all around the hut. He put his hands over his ears again but the sounds didn’t go away as he had hoped they would. They merely seemed to come from further away, and when he removed his hands, they were back, as near and loud as before.

Fak couldn’t sleep at all that night. He fought his craving for alcohol until dawn. It was the longest night of his life, but there would be no more nights like this if he could help it. It was a night of torture which left him completely wrecked.

The battle was over.

In the early morning he told M’am to go and buy a bottle of liquor. He was willing to accept defeat – but, from that day on, he was no longer willing to ever go into battle again.

Morning again – the morning of the day for paying homage to the ancestors.

In the afternoon, the villagers began to head for the temple under the blazing sun, carrying the urns containing the relics of their ancestors. The brass urns had been polished to a high gloss and they sparkled and flashed in the sun. The people placed the urns on a platform set up for this purpose. Before long, the platform was full of urns waiting for the monks to come and chant the verses special to the occasion. The lids of the urns were CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

229 removed so that lustral water could be poured over the relics, and a burning incense stick was placed inside each urn. All the urns were together in no particular order and when the people finished pouring lustral water over the relics of their own urns, they poured the remaining water over the neighbouring urns, as if all of them were closely related. These bones were the only things left of the deceased, who were once dear to the people left behind, and everybody went about the rite in the same way children and grandchildren would pour water over the hands of older relatives and village elders during the New Year festival. The atmosphere was one of collective recollection of all the good points of those who had died, and a few hushed conversations underlined the quiet and composed mood of the moment.

After Fak had got himself suitably drunk, he had gone back to sleep and only woken up again when the sun was right above the roof of his hut. As his stomach was growling for food, he got himself something to eat, then took a shower and told M’am to get dressed to go to the funeral pavilion with him. He didn’t forget to have another swig to keep him company as well.

The two of them walked side by side along the white concrete path in blazing sunlight, the widow Somsong dressed in black, Fak wearing a white shirt and khaki trousers. He was carrying a ‘Maekhong’ whiskey carton, and staggering a bit as he walked.

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230 the people gathered inside saw Fak and the widow Somsong approaching. ‘The man’s drunk again!’ they said, as they saw how Fak was walking.

Many villagers were perplexed at the sight of the pair of them bringing in a carton of whiskey. Few knew what was in it, and one of them of course was Uncle Khai.

Fak went inside the pavilion, not in the least bit perturbed by the suspicious stares. To the contrary, he felt proud that he now had relics like everyone else. He walked straight over to the platform, the widow dogging his steps. He moved some of the urns to make enough room to put down the cardboard box containing the relics of his father so as to let it share in the dignity of the occasion.

Nobody said anything. The villagers went on chatting among themselves without paying attention to what he was doing, but who could say what was going on in their heads? Even within a group chatting together, nobody knew what the others were thinking, though everyone kept shooting glances at Fak. When Fak had put the carton down, he lit a stick of incense and stuck it in the carton, then looked around.

He spotted Khai the undertaker on his own in a corner of the pavilion and walked over to him, the widow Somsong still in his wake. He didn’t look back: he had left his father’s relics on the platform in an equal position with the relics of the others.

There were more than a hundred urns on the platform.

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231 Some were made of brass, some of silver, others of white ceramic. Some had been elaborately engraved; others were of smooth, plain metal. Sacred thread had been wound around the platform and connected to the dais where the monks were to sit. Incense smoke billowed up and from time to time a stronger breeze would make it writhe and drift out of the pavilion. Many people stared at the platform and more than one person must have been wanting to get up and put the carton of booze out of sight, as there was no way it could fit in with the urns, from whichever angle you looked. It wasn’t just a matter of aesthetics: the carton was worthless when compared to the precious metallic urns; even the bones inside were no match to other people’s relics when weighed in terms of human worth. That battered old carton was a real eyesore.

However, Uncle Khai and Fak, in the course of their chat together, had this to say about the cardboard box: ‘Where did you buy that urn?’

‘Over there – in Bangkok, no less. Hey, I really had a hard time selecting it.’

‘Hmm – you’ve got pretty good taste. The design is most unusual.’ Khai made as though he was admiring the carton on the platform.

‘I had it specially made, you see. That’s the only way I could get what I wanted.’ Fak was really enjoying himself, thanks to the liquor, and his voice was rather loud.

‘Was it expensive? I might buy one for myself to keep my old bones in.’

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232 ‘Seven thousand plus.’

‘Wow, that’s not cheap. I’m not sure I can afford that much.’

The two of them sat there, chatting and joking with each other. Uncle Khai had never felt embarrassed talking with Fak. On the contrary, he enjoyed the frankness of their exchanges and found them more fun than having to speak to people who didn’t want to talk to him. But there was something about Fak that bothered him: his drinking. On many occasions he had tried to caution him. Whenever Fak went over to his place to drink and he felt Fak had had enough, he’d stop him and invite him to join him for dinner. He’d warn him about drinking too much: he should have just enough to feel good, work up an appetite and have a sound sleep, instead of drinking himself silly.

But Fak wouldn’t listen. Sometimes he’d answer back: ‘Then why did you make me drink in the first place?’ This question always made Uncle Khai regret he had been the one who had introduced him to the bottle.

While he was chatting with Uncle Khai, Fak wasn’t aware that a group of people was gossiping about him.

‘I saw it with my own eyes. Yesterday he promised the abbot he’d stop drinking. Now look at the scum. He hasn’t wasted any time.’ Uncle Mee spoke loud enough for everybody in the group to hear.

When the monks entered the pavilion, the groups broke up and each villager returned to his place. The gossip had to be put aside for the moment. It was like a CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

233 class of rowdy students who slip back into silence the moment someone shouts, ‘The teacher’s coming!’

The monks began to chant the verses of homage to the ancestors and the ritual went on step by step without anything untoward happening that would have differed from custom.

The villagers dispersed and went back home, rehashing the latest scandal about Fak. ‘He’s lost all respect for the abbot now.’

The gossip continued: ‘The abbot himself told him to stop drinking for his own good.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But he won’t listen to him, even though he knows the abbot is the most respected person of all of us.’

‘Yeah – right.’

‘He’s deliberately made a fool out of the abbot. He tricked him just to get himself off the hook.’

‘That’s right.’

‘After all the abbot’s done for him. He’s given him rice and a roof and looked after him since he was a boy.’

‘Yeah – that’s right.’

‘He’s got no regard for the help he got. Do you think he’d show some respect and gratitude?’

‘Yeah – right.’

‘Just imagine. The abbot’s a monk and he still dares to fool him. What do you think he’d do to us? He’d cheat us all blind. It’s a good thing nobody wants to have no truck with him.’

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234 ‘Ah – yeah – well – that’s right.’

What happened that day, then, made it appear that Fak had deliberately trampled on the respect the villagers had for the abbot, and the hatred they felt for Fak grew, in the manner of dark clouds gathering overhead, waiting for the right time to turn into a downpour.

Fak carried the carton of relics back to his hut, feeling fully gratified. This was the first time he had been able to take part in the ceremony. This was the first time his father’s relics had had a chance to listen to the chanting of the monks. Even M’am Somsong hadn’t given him any trouble.

Evening came and it was time for his booze. He sat drinking to his heart’s content as always, and as soon as he began to feel drunk, he vowed that he was going to give it up.

On the following day and then again on the days after that, he didn’t stop, though. He carried on as usual, along the line of ‘when in want, tank up; when tight, forswear’.

When he was drunk, he mumbled to himself that, whatever it took, he was going to stop, but as soon as the need for a drink arose, he had to have one. Finally, he forswore all of his good intentions instead. Shame would stab at his heart on occasion, when he happened to be sober.

The abbot knew what was going on with Fak, but never called him for a talking-to as he had before. Instead, CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

235 he took him as an example in his sermons on the evils of drink. Fak was perfect to illustrate the teachings of the Lord Buddha, which the abbot summed up as follows: ‘Each person has his own karma. The Lord said that we can point the path of goodness only for those who have eyes to see, but as for the blind – even if we led them all along the way, they wouldn’t see anything.’

The days passed, leaving no trace behind to show which way time was going and in which district its journey would end. Time comes and goes and never turns back.

What it leaves for us to acknowledge is change. It comes by and brings with it new things to replace the old things it slowly takes away.

The reopening of the school marked the beginning of a new school year.

‘School’s opened!’

‘School’s opened!’

The children ran about shouting merrily to one another. Their voices conveyed the happiness that filled their little hearts, and their eyes sparkled with excitement.

‘Yeah – school’s opened,’ Fak said to himself, feeling utterly bored. Every time he thought of it he felt exhausted. He had lost all enthusiasm. He had lost his craving for work. The tedious repetition of the duties he had performed for so long now bored him stiff. He didn’t know how long he had been feeling like this, but THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

236 he was happy that he did, if only to tell himself, ‘I’ve had it up to here with all this’.

Once, this same Fak would have been happy that a new term started, because he would have had work to do, but now he wasn’t at all pleased at such a prospect.

Indeed, he felt sorry that the vacation had passed so quickly. As long as the school was on vacation, his only duty was to water the plants once a day and nobody really knew if he actually did so or not. He could stay in bed all morning and only get up in time for lunch and nobody could say anything.

But he should have realised that the headmaster’s eyes had been on him right from the start of the new term – and even before then! If he had thought about it, he would have noticed that the headmaster had not once called him to help with the work in his house since he had started drinking. Neither had Miss Nipha.

But Fak’s behaviour at school was still tolerable. He was still able to carry out his duties, maybe not to the fullest, but he could still be admonished.

And then, past the ordination period, a new Lent began.

At the start of the rainy season, the dark, big clouds that had long bided their time finally burst open and unleashed fierce storms upon the earth.

Early one Friday morning at the beginning of August – The rain had been pouring since before dawn but had begun to let up and was now not much more than a CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

237 drizzle. Toads, bullfrogs, tree frogs and land frogs were croaking in loud concert. A soft wind blew ceaselessly.

The leaves and blades of grass were washed a vivid green once again. As they swayed in the wind, with drops of water clinging to them, they looked as fresh as people stepping out of their showers. The ground was soggy and water gathered in the hollows. Small puddles dotted the yard in front of the school. The two school buildings stood silent in the misty rain. With all their windows and doors still closed, they seemed to be sleeping peacefully in the coolness of the early morning.

The drizzle went on unabated and the entire sky was pearly grey. The sun seemed too lazy to try and force its rays through the curtain of mist.

The schoolchildren began to arrive, but there were fewer of them than would have come on a normal day.

They walked barefoot across the squishy ground, their heads covered with transparent plastic bags which had holes cut out for their eyes and noses. Some wore black plastic raincoats, and as they walked half crouched, the hems trailed in the mud. A few kids had no protection at all and sprinted all hunched up from one coconut tree to the next. By the time they reached the school they were soaked to the skin. White droplets of rain misted their hair and they shivered with the least breath of air.

As they arrived to the school, the children assembled in groups on the veranda, taking shelter from the rain.

The rooms had yet to be opened. The wind was freezing THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

238 and the cold forced the kids to look for a way to open the doors and take refuge inside. Some of them set about picking the lock of one door with a piece of wire, with which they tried to lift the inner latch. It was something children of their age could achieve, and when they managed to lift the lower latch, their friends cheered, but no matter how they tried, the door still wouldn’t open, because they couldn’t reach the upper latch.

More students had arrived, but the doors were still locked. They tried several ways to solve the problem, until one of them suggested: ‘How ’bout getting Fak the Drunkard to come and open ’m for us.’

Everybody agreed it was the best thing to do at this juncture, and three boys made of seemingly gang leader stuff volunteered to go after Fak the Drunkard, perhaps because they each wanted to make history by boasting that ‘If the school opened today, it was truly thanks to me’.

The three boys rushed out in the drizzle, cutting across the soggy yard, not giving a thought to the mud splattering their shirts and shorts. When their little feet trod into puddles, water splashed up all around them. They looked as though they were having a race to see who was going to reach Fak the Drunkard’s hut first. The heady prospect of being a hero urged them on and prêtty soon they had reached the home of Fak the Drunkard.

‘Fak the Drunkard’ had become the children’s name for the school janitor. None of them had the same CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

239 respect for him as they had for the other adults. This was probably because he drank all day and his body was dirty and smelly and his breath reeked of alcohol.

Moreover, he had taken his own mother for his wife.

These children were too young to understand the difference between a stepmother and a real mother, as no one in the village had a stepmother, so among themselves they took it for granted that Fak the Drunkard had married his own mother. To top it all off, he was a cheat: he had tricked the abbot already– The picture the children had of Fak was that of a perfectly despicable person. Some of them had heard the adults talk and repeated what they remembered with suitable exaggeration, and those who were really daring called him ‘that damn Fak’ like the grownups did privately.

The three of them reached the hut almost at the same time and stood panting for breath before one of them opened the door and stepped inside. They saw that a mosquito net was still set on the bamboo platform.

‘Fak the Drunkard, go open the school,’ one of them shouted.

The moment the shouting stopped, the mosquito net was flung open and the figure that appeared struck the boys dumbfounded.

M’am Somsong struggled out of the net, so terrified she forgot to put on her sarong before rushing out. She ran across to her sleeping place, grabbed a blanket to cover herself with and lay down without paying the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

240 slightest attention to the three pairs of dazed eyes gawking at her.

These boys had never seen the naked body of a woman before. Adults had always been careful to cover themselves up before them. Even when a brother or sister was being born, the children would be taken someplace else. They were no doubt curious about these things, but the grownups had always told them it was something dirty and shameful, and this belief had imprinted itself in their minds.

When they saw the sight they had never dreamt they’d see, they were shocked and figured something dirty and shameful must definitely be going on inside the mosquito net of ‘that damn Fak’.

‘Fak the Drunkard has his missus take her clothes off!’ one of the boys exclaimed after he had recovered from the shock.

Fak still hadn’t woken up. He was still sleeping, snuggly wrapped in his warm blanket. It was so nice to sleep in cool weather such as this, and he had no idea of what had happened.

‘Fak the Drunkard, come on, go open the school,’ each of the children shouted, and one of them added for good measure, ‘Fak the Drunkard has his missus take her clothes off’.

They repeated their shouts two or three times before a side of the mosquito net was raised and the sleepy face of Fak peered out.

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241 Fak felt annoyed at being woken up when he wanted to sleep on – it was too early, the sun hadn’t even come out yet, so why did these damn kids have to come and make such an irritating racket like this?

He got out of the mosquito net and tried to drive the kids out of his hut.

‘Get outa here. Go away, let people sleep, damn you – go!’ As he staggered from the bamboo platform, feeling deprived of sleep, his annoyance grew.

When they saw him staggering up, the three boys felt like having some fun at his expense.

‘Fak the Drunkard, go open the school. It’s time for us to go in,’ one of them shouted. Fak glared at him fuming.

‘I know. Don’t tell me my job, okay?’ As he got closer, they took a few steps back and stood near the door, as though they were trying to bait him. If Fak attempted to grab them, they could always run away.

‘Fak the Drunkard has his missus take her clothes off,’ one of them shouted, at the same time making a face and shaking his hips from side to side.

‘Fak the Drunkard has his missus take her clothes off.’

The other two joined in, taunting him as if they were challenging him to come and catch them.

This was a most infuriating morning for Fak. He was incensed. The children still shouted from the door: ‘Fak the Drunkard has his missus take her clothes off.’

While this was going on, the widow Somsong, the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

242 missus whom the kids said took her clothes off, pretended to be asleep on her mat – without a mosquito net.

‘Fak the Drunkard – has his missus – take her clothes off.’ This time the three of them shouted together as though they were cheering a team of their classmates on sports day.

Fak flew into a rage and lost his self-control. He was furious because he had been woken up so early and because these youngsters were calling him ‘that damn Fak’ and ‘Fak the Drunkard’ to boot. This, combined with his annoyance and tiredness, blinded him to any thought other than lunging at the kids, grabbing any one of them little bastards and beating the living daylights out of him.

But he was too slow. The three boys rushed out of the hut, then, turning round, poked their tongues out and made wry faces at him as they shouted: ‘Fak the Drunkard – has his missus – take her clothes off.’

Fak couldn’t hope to be as fast as the kids, who were standing not so far away, taunting him, so he looked around for something to throw at them. He found a small coconut which had fallen onto the ground and picked it up. It fit perfectly in his hand, and he hurled it in the direction of the kids.

Nobody could say whether it was Fak’s skill as a marksman, or whether it was his bad luck or the boys’ bad luck, but the coconut flew through the air forcefully and landed right on the forehead of one of the kids with CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

243 a resounding plonk, which instantly put an end to the taunting. The unlucky boy let out a yell and rubbed his forehead. Tears flew out of his eyes as he shouted: ‘You sonofabitch! I’ll tell me dad.’

The boy’s shouting brought Fak back to his senses. He dropped another coconut he already had in his hand. He felt alarmed at what had happened and started to worry about repercussions.

He dressed and went to the school, where he realised he was indeed as late as the boys had claimed. A crowd of students had massed on the veranda. Some of the teachers were there as well and stood watching him.

Fak hastened to unlock the doors. Master Preecha had the students help one another open the doors and windows of all the rooms. Fak thus managed to finish his work in time, just before the headmaster arrived.

When Fak was through, Master Preecha asked him why he had done what he had to the boy. Fak recounted the whole story to the teacher, who told him that all the students at school already knew what had happened. As for the boy who had been hit, he had gone back home.

Master Preecha told Fak he had better come up with a good excuse for himself in case the boy made a complaint to the headmaster or his parents took action against him. As Fak listened, his heart filled with fear and he tried frantically to think of an excuse.

It was still drizzling, as if the rain had overtaken the whole village. Nobody could tell when it would stop – it THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

244 might be tomorrow, the day after tomorrow or even next month or next year; or else, it might stop within the next hour. There was no sun. There was no sunshine. There were no shadows. There was only a greyish whiteness covering everything. The position of the sun could not be guessed at. Only the school clock could help people figure out where the sun should be.

Fak sneaked back to his hut, drank rice wine for a while, then returned to the school. The grogginess in his head matched the dull atmosphere around him. There was nothing for him to do at the school, because the yard was soaked through and it was still drizzling. He merely wandered about on the veranda. When he felt like a drink, he went back to the hut, took a swig and returned to the school to wait until it was time to go and buy lunch for the teachers. At times, his mind went through all that had happened earlier and tried to find excuses for what he had done.

‘Those boys called me ‘that damn Fak’, sir.’

‘They just walked into my place and started to shout, sir.’

‘I didn’t mean to hit him, sir.’

‘I guess I was a bit too angry, sir.’

‘I’m willing to apologise to the boy, sir.’

‘I etc., sir.’

Lunchtime passed and nothing happened. The headmaster didn’t summon him to his office. None of the teachers mentioned what had happened in the morning.

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245 As the afternoon wore on, Fak’s fear gradually receded and intoxication took its place. The morning’s events began to take a different light and a new excuse occurred to him: ‘The little brats accused me of having my missus take her clothes off.’

During the lunch break, Thiang and his wife had brought their injured boy to the school, and once they had left, all the teachers had been called for a midday meeting.

After the meeting, the lot of them had begun to act strangely towards Fak. When they saw or passed him, they either looked away or lowered their heads and ignored him. Nobody would say anything to him, not even the three young teachers, who were fond of exchanging pleasantries with him. They seemed to have something on their minds, and each of them was trying to keep his thoughts concealed by wearing a poker face.

Fak had a pretty fair idea that the meeting concerned him and he was convinced it couldn’t be anything good.

He remembered the look in Thiang’s eyes when they had passed each other as Fak was walking back to school and Thiang was returning home with his wife and son. Their eyes had locked. There had been something hidden deeply in Thiang’s eyes, like a cool glint of mockery. Fak, who was loaded by then, had stared back unafraid. ‘Your damn kid had the cheek to be rude to me,’ he had thought then.

But now none of the teachers were willing to tell him what the headmaster had said about him. So, he had to wait, wait for the moment which was sure to come.

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246 The rain continued its sprinkling. In the grey sky, a blurry white spot was inching away over the back of the school. The school bell rang out the end of the day’s lessons. The students came out of their classrooms and headed for home. There was no evening assembly as there normally would be on Fridays and the students didn’t have to line up before they went home as they did on other days.

After almost all of the students had left, Fak began to close the windows in one of the rooms. Master Marnit came up to him and said: ‘The headmaster would like to see you.’ Fak stopped what he was doing and went upstairs to the headmaster’s office. While he was walking up the stairs he felt uneasy about the words ‘would like to see you’. They sounded strange. Usually, he’d be told, ‘Hey, Fak, the headmaster’s calling you!’ ‘The headmaster would like to see you’ sounded like something important, and probably had to do with the business over Thiang’s son. At first, he had thought the story was over because the headmaster hadn’t said anything all day. Now his fear began to return. ‘Maybe he’s called me in to give me a warning,’ he thought to comfort himself.

The headmaster sat at his desk inside his office, going through some of his teachers’ reports. On the desk a few books had been roughly piled up and there was a penholder to the right, next to an ashtray. The headmaster looked up when he heard a knock at the door. ‘Come in.’

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247 When he saw it was Fak, he dropped his gaze and went on with his work.

Fak pushed through the swing door and stepped inside. The door squealed as it swung shut. Fak stood at the corner of the room, his eyes fixed on the headmaster, waiting for him to speak, but the headmaster carried on with the work on his desk as if he was alone in the room.

Fak had never seen him behave like this before. Usually, whenever work was involved, the headmaster would rattle out his instructions right away and as soon as he was done, Fak would leave the room to act on them. He had never had to stand like a puppet for so long as he did now.

As time passed, Fak became increasingly agitated. He wanted to know for sure what it was all about.

He stood motionless in the stifling silence, feeling uneasy. The room seemed to be closing in on him. He swept his eyes round it, not knowing what to do. Occasionally, he looked down at the wooden floor in front of his feet. Uneasiness kept creeping up inside him. When he looked up at the portraits of the prime minister and of the minister of education that hung like twins over the window behind the desk on which the headmaster was working, he felt like they were watching him as if they were about to tear him to pieces, and he had to look away because they scared him. He had seen them countless times before when he had come in to clean the room, but right now he couldn’t bear to look at them.

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248 As time passed, growing unease overwhelmed him and finally burst out.

‘Headmaster, sir – what did you want me to see me about?’ His voice was shaking. The headmaster looked up at him.

‘Hold on. Let me finish my work first.’ He looked back down and went on with what he was doing.

Fak had noticed the expression on the headmaster’s face when he had looked up at him. He had never seen him wear an expression like this before. It was like the looks he got from the other people. ‘No! No way! The headmaster would never look at me like that. He’s a good man. He didn’t look at me that way.’ He blamed it on his eyesight, telling himself that sometimes it would get blurred for want of a drink or perhaps it was because the light in the room was dim and had distorted the expression on the headmaster’s face.

The headmaster finally looked up, put his gold-capped pen in his breast pocket, closed the report book, which he moved to one side of the desk, and lit up a cigarette.

As he exhaled the smoke, he looked over and stared at Fak. Fak then realised that he had correctly interpreted the expression on the headmaster’s face the first time around. He felt upset that the headmaster would look at him with contempt. He couldn’t smile. How could he smile at someone who was looking down on him? Instead, he felt sorry that he hadn’t gone back to the hut CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

249 and got a drink before coming. If he had done so, he wouldn’t be afraid of the eyes that were staring at him.

He lowered his eyes.

‘We’ve had a meeting and we want you to resign,’ the headmaster said slowly, looking at the cigarette he was tapping against the brim of the ashtray.

Fak couldn’t believe his ears. ‘I have to resign?’

‘Why, sir? What’s wrong?’ He moved closer as if to make sure he would hear correctly.

‘Your behaviour, what else? Do you want me to go into details?’ The headmaster stared at him angrily.

‘Is it about my drinking, sir?’ Fak asked wearily.

‘That’s one of the reasons.’

‘But I – I can still do my work, sir.’

‘Ha, work!’ the headmaster said testily. He brought the cigarette to his lips, took a puff and went on. ‘I don’t see you doing much work these days, but I do see you sneaking off to have a drink. Don’t think for a minute you can fool someone like me. I’m more educated than you are and I’ve been supervising people for years. If I don’t know what my subordinates are doing, then I’m pretty useless.’ He took another puff then played with the ashes in the ashtray. Grey smoke sluggishly twirled into the air.

‘Do you want to listen to any more reasons?’

Fak stood motionless, with a hangdog look.

‘I’ll tell you. Drinking when you’re on duty, that’s one thing wrong. I turned a blind eye because I thought you THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

250 only did it occasionally, but you took advantage of it to have your way. Think about it. What would I say if some officials turned up to inspect the school and saw you wandering about drunk? I’d be the one at fault for neglecting my duties. Would you be able to help me then, if the officials found fault with me?’ The headmaster looked at him as though he wanted to coerce him into giving an answer.

But Fak still stood there, face down, concentrating on his toes, and kept silent.

‘The villagers keep complaining to me about your behaviour. They’re afraid their children will take you as an example. And then there’s this business with Thiang’s son. What was it you threw at him? You’re lucky you just hit his forehead. If you’d hit him in the eyes and blinded him, what would you be saying now?’ As he asked the question, the headmaster stubbed out his cigarette and stared at Fak. Fak kept his face down and remained silent.

‘Speak! Why don’t you say something? When you’re drunk, I’ve heard you shouting your head off at the terminal. So, why can’t you speak now?’ Seeing that Fak still wouldn’t talk, the headmaster continued. ‘I’ve been watching you for a long time. I thought you’d stop drinking because when the abbot asked you to you promised you would. I was glad you were going to give it up and I wouldn’t have to worry about you any longer. But no, you didn’t stop. You know, you’re doing CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

251 this to yourself. Nobody’s making you drink. Everybody’s being patient with you. It’s your own fault. It’s true, isn’t it?’

‘It’s my own fault?’ Fak looked up and answered back, as though he couldn’t believe what the headmaster was saying.

‘Indeed. Who else? Look at the way you guzzle that stuff every day. Does someone hold you and force you to drink? Of course not, you’re the one doing the drinking. If this isn’t your own fault, then whose fault is it? And you still have the nerve to ask.’ The headmaster took another cigarette and lit it, with a stern expression on his face.

‘When the people in the village accuse me of sleeping with my stepmother even though I’ve never done anything like that, whose fault is it, then?’ Fak asked, feeling slighted, his face looking strained.

‘That’s none of my business and I’m not interested. You can do whatever you want. You can sleep with your stepmother, you can sleep with whoever you want, that’s your business. But when it comes to work, that’s my responsibility. You’re going too far. You’re treating me as some kind of a pushover.’ The headmaster took a puff and blew out the smoke. The tension on his face seemed to recede as if he had blown it away with the smoke.

Fak shifted his weight to his right leg. He felt sore from standing motionless for so long, especially at a time like this when he had to stand and listen to someone berating him.

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252 ‘I don’t know what to do to help you.’ The headmaster’s voice was softer. ‘Everyone at the meeting agreed that your behaviour wasn’t acceptable and that you should resign, because if we dismissed you, it’d look bad on your record. I was the one who suggested you should resign, so that if later on you give up drinking and we need a janitor, you can always come back and work here again.’ The headmaster looked at Fak as though he were expecting to hear the words ‘Thank you, sir’ come out of his mouth.

‘Er – you can go on working until the end of the month. That way, you’ll get a full salary to keep you going for another month. Write out your letter of resignation. One more thing: I want to tell you that none of this has anything to do with Thiang. There’s no need to blame him or get angry at him. It’s the collective decision of the teachers. If you hadn’t behaved the way you did, nobody would have asked you to leave. If anyone is to be blamed, it’s you. As for me, I’ll tell you frankly that I have nothing against you. It’s only a matter of duty – nothing personal.’ The headmaster drew on his cigarette and looked at Fak. The two of them remained silent.

Right then, Fak was emotionally torn between two halves. One half wanted to ask the headmaster to forgive him and let him keep on working; if he had to prostrate himself at the headmaster’s feet in exchange for being allowed to go back to work, then he was willing. But the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

253 other half – his own dignity – wouldn’t let him. ‘I’m not wrong. I won’t beg. Heck, it won’t kill me.’ And the second half reasoned with the first: ‘No matter how much you plead with him, he won’t give in. Believe me.’

‘Do you have anything more to say?’ the headmaster asked.

Fak remained motionless. He said exactly nothing, neither plea nor excuse.

‘If you’ve got nothing to say, then go and finish your work.’

Fak turned round and walked out of the room.

The headmaster stared after him and took a last puff on his cigarette, exhaled a long column of smoke, then squashed the stub out.

Work was over.

Fak wandered back to his hut in a daze. The atmosphere around him was bleak and would probably remain so until dark. The sky seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of water to pour down and although it had stopped drizzling, it was still as overcast as ever.

As Fak, a man of slender build, wandered across the yard, his steps left an impression in the soggy soil. The trail of footprints he left behind wended its way back to the school and recorded every step he had taken since he had departed from the two buildings, leaving them to stand loftily in the silence.

The breeze blew gently and carried with it the shrill THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

254 cry of a violin. Even though the melody was quite lively, to Fak it sounded melancholy, in tune with everything around him and the heavy feelings in his heart.

By the time he got back to the hut, M’am Somsong was already inside. He told her to light the fire and cook the rice, while he seized the bottle of rice wine and took a swig from it. He sat drinking what was left of the wine, then went to the minibus terminal to buy some more. On the way back, he stopped by the monastery to get some food for M’am Somsong and then, cradling the bottle in his arm, walked over to Uncle Khai’s.

As he reached the house, White, tail wagging, ran up to meet him and rubbed itself against his legs. ‘Don’t come playing up to me, I ain’t worth it,’ he said to the dog, then laughed and staggered to the bamboo platform beside the shack.

‘Uncle! Uncle! Come on out and help me celebrate!’ he called out.

‘It seems rain and thunder won’t even stop you, eh, Fak!’ Auntie Yip shouted back disapprovingly, but Uncle Khai was smiling when he came out of the house.

This house was Fak’s world of happiness. He never laughed and joked with anyone like he did when he was here. This was the only place where he could talk freely.

The conversations that went on here had a ring of respect to them that was found among kindred spirits, in sharp contrast to the derision of the people at the terminal, who viewed him as a mere laughing stock.

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255 ‘Why don’t you ease up a bit, Fak? You’re going to kill yourself, you know,’ Uncle Khai said to Fak as he walked over and sat down on the platform. ‘And I don’t want to handle your body.’

‘Why not?’ asked Fak, turning his head.

‘Because I’d have to do it for free, that’s why. Who’d pay me?’ Khai the undertaker laughed and Fak laughed with him.

‘Don’t worry about the cost. You take care of my body, spare no expenses and when we meet again, I’ll pay you back in full. I wouldn’t cheat you.’ As soon as he said that, Fak laughed again.

Uncle Khai walked over to the jars to get some water and Fak went to wash his feet at the tub at the bottom of the stairs. The two of them returned to the platform almost at the same time.

Every time Fak chatted with Uncle Khai, there was always something to make them laugh. Since the death of his father, the people at Uncle Khai’s house were the only ones who ever saw Fak laugh. He usually stayed there until late at night. On some nights, Uncle Khai and Auntie Yip had to help each other to get him to leave.

They feared he’d have trouble finding his way back at such a late hour, and they worried also that he’d sleep in and not wake up in time to open the school in the morning. Fak would always make a fuss before he consented to leave. He simply didn’t want to leave the house that was so full of fun for him.

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256 Fak uncorked the bottle and poured some liquor into a glass. He raised the glass with a shaking hand and gulped its contents in one go, then put the glass down, made a wry face and belched.

‘Come on, uncle, help me celebrate.’ He moved the bottle and glass over to where Uncle Khai was sitting.

‘What are you celebrating tonight? Every time you come here you’ve got something to celebrate.’ Uncle Khai poured himself some rice wine and drank it.

‘I’m celebrating because I got fired.’

‘What! You must be joking!’

‘It’s true, uncle.’

Everything was quiet for a while. Then Fak broke the silence.

‘Who cares.’

‘How did it happen?’

‘They say my behaviour isn’t acceptable – I drink,’ Fak left it at that and changed the subject. He didn’t tell Uncle Khai about hitting Thiang’s son on the head.

‘So what are you going to do now?’ the undertaker asked as he stretched his arms to take a bowl of spicy fish soup from his wife’s hands. The aroma filled his nostrils.

‘Become an undertaker,’ Fak said with a straight face.

‘Great. You certainly can – I’ll teach you. It won’t be long before I’m dead and you can take over from me even before then. All my children are working, they can look after me. The only question is: is that what you CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

257 really want?’ Having said this, he turned to the soup and took a sip.

‘I really don’t know yet, uncle. Maybe I will, too.’

The golden rays of the setting sun turned the sky aglow in the west – a last brief flare at the end of a long dull day. The glow seemed more intense than on any other day and gave yellow undertones to everything the rays caught. Even Fak’s face, which alcohol should have turned ruddy, was now an eerie pale yellow.

‘I’ve still got more than five thousand left with the headmaster. What do you think I should do with it, uncle?’ Fak asked, pouring himself another glass. The level of the wine was just below the neck of the bottle.

‘I don’t know. I’ve never had enough to invest or go into partnership with anybody,’ the undertaker said candidly.

‘There you are. Me neither,’ Fak said wearily, thinking of the life he had led of late.

The two of them went on drinking and chatting. When it became dark, Uncle Khai called his grandson to come and light the blowtorch for them. When the bottle was empty, he went inside and came back with another.

Their conversation touched on nothing important; it was just good fun, going whichever way the alcohol took them. When the alcohol had taken him far away from the world of reality, Fak began to tell Uncle Khai how he had thrown a coconut at Thiang’s son and hit him on the head. He had been unwilling to say anything earlier, but THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

258 as soon as he was in his cups, he wanted to let the whole story out so badly that he finally had to.

When he saw that the level in the second bottle had gone down considerably, Uncle Khai stopped drinking, but Fak wasn’t ready to quit, so he sat drinking alone, with Uncle Khai to keep him company.

‘Let’s eat. It’s getting late,’ Auntie Yip called out from the house.

‘Come and eat,’ Uncle Khai urged as he got up.

‘Go ahead. We’ve been eating all of our lives. Aren’t you bored yet?’ Fak asked drunkenly.

‘Hey, what kind of crazy talk is that?’ He laughed as he grabbed Fak’s hand and tried to pull him up. ‘Come on. Come on!’ But like every other time, Fak wouldn’t budge and Uncle Khai had to give in.

‘All right, I’ll go and have a bite now, then I’ll come back and we can keep on talking.’ He went inside, leaving Fak in the company of the bottle, the blowtorch and what was left of the fish soup – fish bones and red onions.

It was some time before Uncle Khai returned. Fak sat there dejectedly. The light of the torch shone on his face and tears could be seen running down his cheeks. He was sobbing quietly, the tears coursing down the deep furrows of his face and dripping onto the platform.

Uncle Khai couldn’t understand why Fak had to cry almost every time. All he knew was that Fak was drunk.

He walked over to the platform, sat down and rolled himself a cigarette.

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259 ‘Uncle, I wannabe ordained,’ Fak said through his tears.

‘Yeah – I know,’ he said, his hands busy with the cigarette. He also knew that before long Fak would start chanting, which meant he was completely drunk. Uncle Khai lit the cigarette, which flared up as he drew on it.

‘Enough – you’ve had enough now,’ he remonstrated when he saw Fak reaching for the glass.

‘I’m going to get myself ordained,’ Fak kept repeating mournfully. Before he could refill the glass, Uncle Khai snatched it from him.

‘That’s enough. You’re drunk. Go home and sleep.’

‘Not yet. I’m not drunk yet. I can do with some more.’

He tried to snatch the glass back and when he saw he couldn’t do it, he grabbed the bottle and started drinking from it. Uncle Khai had to pull the bottle out of Fak’s mouth, and the liquor spilt over Fak’s chin and chest.

As soon as he got the bottle back, Uncle Khai took it into the house, together with the glass. He returned to take the soup bowl back to the kitchen, then cleaned the bamboo platform.

‘I got fired,’ Fak said, goggle-eyed, his head nodding.

‘That brat – he – he provoked me – I’m goin’ – going to be a monk – I wannabe ordained –’ Uncle Khai let him mumble to himself for a while.

When he heard the drum and the bell from the monastery, he told Fak to go back home. He helped him up, supported him all the way to the track in front of the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

260 house. He stood watching him stagger into the darkness, then turned and went back inside, and before long heard chanting receding into the distance.

Fak stumbled along, chanting at the top of his voice.

Even though he staggered quite a bit, he never once strayed from the track. No matter how drunk he was, he always managed to find his way back to the hut. When he woke up in the morning, he often wondered how he had got back. Sometimes he seemed to walk backward, but still managed to stay on the track.

The crickets stopped chirping when they heard the footsteps and the chanting.

The sky above was dark grey. Lightning flashed infrequently. Every time the sky lit up, swift streaks of silver slithered in the glow like tears in the cloth of the night. The stars had gone out of sight, leaving not even a trace of their twinkle behind. The only lights were those of swarms of fireflies in the dark masses of the trees on either side of the track. Their flicker seemed to stand in for the twinkle of the stars, or was it that tonight the stars had come down to earth to flutter about? The coconut palms arched down over the whole length of the track like hundreds of gigantic black fish bones lined up higgledy-piggledy. They shook in the gentle breeze as though emerging from deep slumber, and the shadows of the small trees along the path swayed along with them, giving more life to the picture.

The wind blew softly and it began to drizzle again. The CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

261 droplets falling on Fak’s skin brought him a pleasant feeling of freshness – Bash! Thud! Bash! Fak felt a pain in his eye, in his stomach, on his mouth. Bash! Thud! In his ribs. Thump! Bang!

On his sternum, his ears. Bash! Smash! Thump! Thud! His whole body was aching. Bash! – right on his chin.

It seemed that an uppercut had sent his face flying.

The only stars shining tonight were right around him then. He tried to raise his arm to grab at them and lost consciousness.

In the middle of the night, the rain pelted down and the wind howled, bringing the trees alive as they swayed in the storm.

Fak lay motionless on the track, his body soaked.

Finally, the rain extended a helping fist and pummelled him awake. He tried to recall what had happened, then slowly pulled himself up. His head was spinning and the only thing he could think of was that he had to get home.

Every step he took on the soggy track was a mighty effort. It looked as though the storm was deliberately pushing him over and tripping him into the mud time and again. Every time he fell, he forced himself to pull back up and stagger on, relying on the lightning to show him the way. At times, the ground seemed to pull his leg and make him slip and slide along. The rumble of the thunder and the sizzle of the rain sounded like peals of laughter brought about by the funny scene that was going on.

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262 Fak felt terribly weak. Many times he thought he wouldn’t make it, and had to force himself to forge on.

He had to go back. Even though at times he had to crawl on all fours like a dog, he was able to pull his aching body forward, and even though his progress was as painfully slow as the drill of a worm, he finally managed to get home.

The lamp inside the hut was still on, but M’am Somsong was already asleep inside Fak’s net, snoring softly.

He pushed the door open and went inside. He was soaked through, plastered in smudges and clots of black mud. Even the water dripping from his hair all over his smeared face carried mud. A long cut over his left eyebrow was lined with dried blood. The cut had been washed clean by the rainwater, but a trickle of red ran down one end of the eyebrow. His cheeks were black and blue and so swollen they threatened to burst open, and blood stained his nostrils. His swollen lips had split and made him moan in pain. Four front teeth were missing from his mouth, leaving a dark-red gap inside.

He forced himself to stagger over to the bamboo platform and eventually managed to hoist himself onto it.

Water dripping from his body left a trail from the door to the platform. He lay down, too exhausted to call M’am Somsong and get her out of his place, too spent to find the energy to open the mosquito net and crawl in.

He lay at the foot of the net, out of range of the light.

The rain was still pelting down with frightening intenCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

263 sity. It was as if a monsoon downpour or a tempest was on, brought about by all those dark clouds that had been building up for so long.

That night, Fak fell asleep easily. He didn’t have to lie torturing himself over his many problems. He slept well in the soothing din of the unremitting rain.

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264

5 The rainy season – the cool, refreshing time when plants begin to sprout and dirt is washed away – wasn’t over yet.

The days and the nights kept coming and going, irrespective of the season.

The days and the nights took turns to visit and nurture Fak. They applied their balm to help reduce the swelling on his face and attend to the bruises in his mind. The passing days and nights also helped cauterise his wound, leaving a long scar on his left eyebrow. The days and the nights continued to visit him, but they were unable to bring back the four teeth that were missing from his mouth, just as they were unable to prevent his hand from reaching out for the bottle and raising it to his lips.

So the passing days and nights would find him drunk during all of his waking hours.

The beating Fak had received that night had not only hurt him physically but also left its marks on his mind.

He was seething with hatred and vengefulness, and tried to work out ways of getting back at those who had hurt him. He could remember quite well that two of his three assailants were Thiang and Song. He had to find a way to pay them back for the hurt he was feeling. He wanted to go to their homes and punch them in the face.

He wanted to take a knife and stab them to death. He CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

265 wanted to force them to beg for their lives. On some nights, he dreamt that he was sitting on top of Thiang’s chest and pummelling him in the face, and when he woke up he had the elated feeling that he had actually done what he had dreamt.

As time passed, however, his thirst for revenge began to recede and little by little disappeared altogether. This was perhaps because violence wasn’t in his nature – he was someone who liked peace, he actually had an aversion to fighting and wasn’t cruel enough to kill. He quietly gave up any idea of revenge. He had thought of reporting the assault to the police but was afraid the relatives of the two men would come after him and there would be no end to the matter. When his desire for revenge finally left him, he told himself, ‘Forget it’.

Sometimes, he even blamed himself – ‘You had no business throwing that coconut at his son to begin with’.

But that part of his mind was shattered forever, like delicate, clear crystal crushed under a hammer. He had lost it for good, and even if he could piece it back together, it would never be the same as before, or else it would be a long, long time before he could nurse it back to normal.

Fear now controlled him. He didn’t dare to leave his hut at night and no longer went over to see Uncle Khai, except in broad daylight during the weekend. Every time he heard steps behind him, fear made him turn round and check what was there; sometimes there was THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

266 nothing. If a sudden gust of wind shook the trees as he walked along, his heart would jump in fright. Unable to do anything, he would stand frozen on the spot and sweat profusely. His nerves were in such a state that he was sometimes unable to figure out whether what he was thinking was part of a dream or had actually happened. He became afraid of the dark and scared of loud noises that sounded the same as the night he had been attacked, and as soon as dusk fell he would reach for the bottle and drink himself to sleep.

The news that Fak had been given a beating spread throughout the village in no time. The gossip was on everybody’s lips and it didn’t look like it would end quickly. No one ever mentioned the name of the owner of the iron fist that had knocked Fak’s teeth out, and no one was eager to find out exactly who it was who had beaten him up. Everyone had his idea of what had happened that night.

One group talked about it as if they held Fak’s fate in their hands. Even though these people had not personally taken part in the beating, just having a chance of thinking and talking about other people in a negative way was enough to make them happy.

‘Serves him right.’

‘Why on earth should we feel sorry for scum like him?’

But there was another group of people who didn’t really bother with the affairs of others and didn’t care very much for what was happening around them. They CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

267 lived their own lives the way they knew how, went about their jobs and discharged their duties, and weren’t interested one way or another in what had happened to Fak. Whenever someone talked about it, they listened impassively and offered no opinion, and neither did they show any pity or compassion for Fak. So long as whatever happened didn’t involve them, it was all the same to them. This group of people had only one thought on their minds: ‘It’s none of my business.’

There was still another group of people who professed concern for their fellow man and felt sorry for whoever was badly treated or taken advantage of. Some secretly felt sorry that Fak had been beaten up, even though they still thought he had taken his stepmother as his wife, since they treated these issues as separate. None, however, dared do anything to help him. They were afraid that they, in turn, would become the focus of other people’s stares and snide comments. So they kept their pity to themselves and just thought that the assailants shouldn’t have gone as far as they did.

From that group of people, Khai the undertaker was the only one willing to lower himself to go and tangibly help Fak. Some evenings he would stop by and look after him as a father would his son.

‘Wow! They really went this far with you, eh?’

These were the first words he uttered when he saw Fak the following day. Fak merely smiled wearily, revealing the gap in his front teeth. Maybe it was because THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

268 his mouth was hurting so much that he didn’t want to speak, maybe he had nothing to say that his wry smile couldn’t express.

What had happened that night made him more taciturn than ever before to the point that he practically turned into a mute.

The widow Somsong had a pretty fair idea of what had happened to him. The bruising and swelling of the wounds she saw were familiar to her and she was able to guess what they meant. So, she didn’t try to shirk the orders Fak gave her, such as cooking rice or going to buy liquor, and she did try not to get too close to him – except that, late at night, after he had drunk himself to sleep, she would put up his mosquito net and wait, watching him. If he didn’t wake up and forcibly drive her away, she would crawl in under his net.

Fak continued to perform his duties as janitor until the end of August. When he received his last salary, he decided to keep it all instead of leaving part of it with the headmaster as he had always done. He figured that since he no longer had any income to save, he’d only be withdrawing money from the headmaster. He’d now have to use his money more sparingly and cut out all unnecessary expenses. By unnecessary expenses he meant those related to his three daily meals, because he could usually get all three from the monastery – or at least two, which would be good enough for him. He didn’t eat much on his own anyway, but M’am Somsong CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

269 was another matter; she did enjoy her food and had to have plenty of it.

By the middle of September, people no longer talked much about Fak. Instead, everybody was talking about the electricity that was being connected to the village. If nothing else, it helped reduce the gossip about Fak and his stepmother.

The villagers were keen to help the workmen install the concrete poles in place in order to get the work finished quickly. They had waited for this for a long time and were willing to sacrifice both energy and money for the sake of future comfort and the modernisation of the village.

Some of them dreamed of owning a television set, a refrigerator, a fan. They would no longer have the bother of lighting the lamp at night only to get a narrow circle of poor light. Soon they would have long fluorescent tubes to light up the whole house with, and in the middle of the night, when they had to go to the toilet, they wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of lighting the lamp and carrying it outside; all they would have to do would be simply flick a switch and the entire house would light up and flush the darkness out of the toilet in a flash. In order to iron their clothes, they would no longer have to put burning charcoal inside the heavy steel iron as they now did; nor would they have to cut banana leaves to clean the iron with and put up with the annoying THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

270 hissing sound they made any more. There would be no more lifting of the heavy iron which left them pouring with sweat by the time a single shirt was pressed. With the latest type of iron, all they would have to do would be to plug it in and wait for it to heat up. Besides, it would be as light as kapok and just as easy to handle.

The people also told one another that to cook food, they would no longer have to sit in front of the fire for an hour or so, worrying that the rice would be soggy or burnt, and would instead be able to move on to other tasks without wasting time. With the new electric rice cooker, all they would have to do would be plug it in, set the timer and leave it, and when the rice was ready, the cooker would switch itself off automatically – no need to watch over it. When the weather was so stuffy that not a single leaf moved, they would switch the fan on and get those leaves to shake until they would be blown away, no less. With a refrigerator, they would be able to make their own ice and have cool water to quench their thirst whenever they felt like it; they would be able to store vegetables and meat to keep them fresh; there would be no more frying of chopped meat in salt and storing it in pots only to have it lose its flavour as had been the case up to now.

Finally, the talk and luminous dreams of the entire village became a reality when the electricity was connected and the whole village blazed!

Fak wasn’t excited about the electricity being conCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

271 nected. He didn’t envy other people’s dreams. He spent almost all of his waking hours with the bottle and now that his work responsibilities were over, his days were completely free. No, he didn’t use his spare time helping digging holes and erecting lampposts, nor did he go into town to look at electrical appliances as some people did.

And he didn’t get excited and ask to join the onlookers when people carrying electric fans, rice cookers or other goods stepped out of Kliao’s minibus, which had just returned from town. Most items would be unpacked and displayed at Auntie Chuea’s shop, where excited crowds would gather to have a look, and the news of who had bought what would spread around fast. Occasionally the van of the electrical appliance shop in town would deliver refrigerators or television sets and install antennas. People would gather round and watch with interest, and a procession would follow the van each time an appliance was delivered to someone’s home. In the case of a television set, the bystanders would stay until the picture appeared on the screen and one and everyone would then offer their considered opinions – ‘It isn’t as clear as the headmaster’s.’ ‘But the set is more beautiful than the one the kamnan bought.’ And so on.

Fak wasn’t interested in any of this and never joined with the crowds. He was just secretly happy that the people no longer paid as much attention to him as they had in the past.

He still used his same tin oil lamp with its circle of THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

272 poor light inside his hut and was still content with his battered rice pot and shabby earthen stove. The gentle breeze was still enough to keep him cool, the rainwater in the jar by his hut still enough to quench his thirst and he was quite happy to continue living like this. He was too lazy to want much and couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. There was nothing in his life worthy of building hopes on and the only thing that got him moving these days was the need to buy more rice wine.

He no longer bothered to take care of himself and let his body grow filthy. He never glanced in a mirror to see what he looked like. He reeked, and the dirt and grime got thicker by the day. He paid no attention to what was happening to his body and so didn’t notice that his skin was turning yellow and his eyeballs were streaked with dark-yellow lines.

He only knew that if he didn’t have a drink the moment he woke up, he wouldn’t have the energy to go through the day. Even lifting the scoop to wash his face was too much of an effort. His hands would shake and he would feel irritated and perturbed, unwilling to tackle anything but the bottle of rice wine. With each gulp he took to start the day, he would feel his strength gradually return.

He only knew that he found it difficult to chew his food these days. He noticed that his ankles had begun to swell but he thought it must be because he was walking too much and soon the problem would take care of itself.

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273 As for the widow Somsong, her behaviour was beyond reproach. Her life with Fak was undemanding. She kept carrying on in the only way she knew, contented no doubt that the treasure she hoarded in the hut had much increased by now and kept growing by the day. Broken plates, chipped dishes, cracked glasses, coconut shells, paper flowers, empty soft-drink cans and much more – she stored them all in the hut without having to worry that Fak would throw them out as he had before. Not only did her riches grow, but she had all the time in the world to happily examine them with an expert eye, the way an antiques collector enjoys the priceless items he has bought.

On some days, when Fak didn’t feel like going out to get something to eat, M’am would go all by herself to the monks’ quarters and get food from the temple boys.

She would return with a little or a lot, depending on how much the boys would share with her. Her nights were no longer restless as they had been when she couldn’t lie beside Fak and cuddle him into the small hours. Even though she never had any new clothes, she was happy to wear her old ones. Some of them were so ragged that they exposed her pale skin here and there but she wasn’t concerned about the stares she got. She still took her bath, brushed her hair and hummed her song in the evening.

Though they shared the same hut, they lived in different worlds that grew further apart with every passing day.

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274 Fak’s life revolved around his bottle. When he was drunk, he would just wander about aimlessly. He would go to the terminal, to Uncle Khai’s, and return before dusk. On some days, he slept right through.

As for the widow Somsong, after she had her breakfast she would go out on her treasure hunt, sometimes leaving the hut before Fak had woken up. She would seek treasure anywhere her fancy took her. Sometimes she would stand and watch the electric poles being connected and pick up bits of electric wire. When she had gathered enough bits and pieces, she would return to the hut. Nobody paid attention to her. She kept herself busy all day long. When she got bored of walking, she would relax by singing and dancing on the foreground of the likei stage. When she got hungry, she would walk back to the hut and find herself something to eat, and once she was full, she would go out again.

At night, she would wait for Fak to drink himself to sleep. Just before he finally dosed off, she would always hear him mumble, ‘Hey, you – go away – go – I hate you – go away – I’m going to be ordained – I wannabe ordained – because of you – go – go’. Every night was the same. On some nights there was prolonged chanting as well. As soon as he had fallen asleep next to his bottle, M’am would set up his mosquito net and crawl in to sleep beside him. In the morning, she would get out quickly before he woke up.

It is possible that she didn’t understand what he meant CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

275 by his rejection of her, and that’s why she didn’t want to leave him, or perhaps she thought he spoke like that because he was drunk, so she didn’t take offence, or maybe it was simply that she had nowhere to go, her life had taken her to this dead end, to this village, and she was destined to stay – who knows what she thought?

The rain had not fallen for many days, as season and nature imperatively dictated. It had left quietly, almost unnoticed.

The new dormitories for the monks had been finished and only a few odd jobs remained for the workmen to do over the next couple of days. The committee of laymen supervising temple activities held a meeting and decided to celebrate the completion of the new quarters and Kathin, the annual ceremony of presentation of robes to the monks, on the same day.

Six days after the end of Lent, the Kathin party arrived from Bangkok. The monastery grounds filled with parked coaches, minibuses and cars. Crowds of trendy young people from Bangkok and their elders strolled around.

The villagers joined in the merit-making ceremony, adding to the bustle, but it wasn’t difficult to distinguish between the local people and the urban visitors.

Everybody joined in and helped one another enjoy the occasion. Once the religious service was over and the committee had counted the money offered, a representative from the bank in town came and took it for safeTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

276 keeping. Later in the afternoon, the party from Bangkok began to leave. Some of the fellows were more than a little drunk and this led to singing, dancing and the beating of long drums and cymbals. Having received their merit, they all returned home with beaming and sometimes flushed faces.

That evening, a movie was shown at the monastery, to celebrate both the completion of the dormitories and the offering of robes and to give the villagers a chance to relax and enjoy themselves after a full day’s exertion. But this time the people were not as excited as they used to be on similar occasions in the past and some said, ‘It’s more comfortable to watch television at home’.

That day, Fak enjoyed himself as much as the next man. He wandered drunkenly about the monastery grounds, mixing freely with the crowd. From time to time, he stole glances at the youngsters who sat on the steps of the coaches beating the long drums, and finally went across to cadge drinks from them. When they were drunk enough to dare, some of the young guys bowed to him and invited him to dance, and he strutted his stuff valiantly, even though he had never danced before. He had a great time all day singing and dancing, not caring an iota about the stares he was getting or how ridiculous they made him out to be.

As for the widow Somsong, she also had wandered from place to place. She was wearing her orange sarong and favourite red blouse with flower patterns, which was CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

277 now much faded and ripped in places at the back.

Nobody could work out what kind of jolly mood had prompted her to stick a red hibiscus behind her left ear.

She drifted along with the women and when it was time for lunch, she went and had a look at what was going on in the kitchen. Embarrassed by her presence, the women from the village tried to shoo her away, but the city girls insisted that the poor woman be given something to eat, so no one dared say anything. The widow Somsong basked in their attention. After the meal was over, the city girls went about touching up their makeup, and she sat watching them, transfixed by the bright red of their lipsticks.

She pointed to one and said, ‘Gimme one’. Before the horrified eyes of the village women, who were abashed by the widow’s behaviour, one of the girls who had finished painting her lips handed her tube of lipstick over.

‘I say, miss – don’t give it to her. The woman’s crazy.’

‘Who cares? I’ve got plenty.’ The city girl’s shiny red mouth parted in a smile.

As soon as she got the tube of lipstick, the widow Somsong took herself off and rushed back to the hut as though she were afraid its owner would change her mind and want it back. Once in the hut, she stayed there and wouldn’t go outside.

That night, neither Fak nor M’am Somsong went out to watch the movie. Fak was afraid of going out in the dark. As for M’am, she was still worried the owner of the tube of lipstick would come and claim it back.

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278 The monks’ new quarters were magnificent. Built in neoclassical Thai style, they were two stories high; the refectory, which had a prayer hall on the upper floor, separated their two rows. At night, the whole monastery blazed with electric lights.

More and more television antennas were going up on the roofs of the well heeled. As to those for whom television was still a dream, they went to watch at their neighbours’ for the time being.

With accrued familiarity, modern conveniences were soon taken for granted, in contrast to the days when electricity was newly installed in the village.

Some of the people who went to the temple once again rekindled their interest in Fak’s affairs. They were curious to find out how things would turn out.

Some wanted to drive him out of the village altogether, because his presence was really of no use to anyone and he was a bad example to the children, but the problem was that Fak lived on monastery grounds and the abbot wasn’t giving the word.

At the same time as there was a renewed interest in Fak, his abnormal physical condition became increasingly obvious. His skin turned even more yellow as though he powdered himself with turmeric, and black-and-blue bruises and contusions appeared on various parts of his body. His ankles were so swollen they seemed about to burst, and although his body was gaunt and wasted, his belly bulged, making him look like a pregnant woman.

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279 The veins on his paunch stood out quite clearly and, to cap it all, his breasts had begun to bag and were as big as a pubescent girl’s. From their observations, some drew the conclusion that, with his budding breasts and big belly, he was definitely pregnant and it wouldn’t be long before he gave birth. Others added that it was the widow Somsong who had made him pregnant and that his body had changed into that of a woman because he had taken his father’s wife as his own.

‘Karma, that’s what it is. Karma’s working right before our very eyes.’

Way back, Fak had been set as an example in the village of what a young man ought to be, and parents would urge their children to model their behaviour on him. Now, he was being once again set as an example to prove that those performing bad deeds need not wait until they died to suffer retribution in hell; punishment was readily available in this life.

‘You want an example? Look at that scum Fak here.’

It wouldn’t be altogether correct to say that he was of absolutely no use to the village, because whenever children threw tantrums or wouldn’t be pacified, their flustered mothers would threaten them with, ‘If you don’t stop now, I’m going to get Fak to take you away’. As soon as this was said, the wailing kids would shut up.

Some naughty boys also made the most of Fak’s unfortunate appearance by taunting him and making him chase them. There was no way Fak’s weak, sluggish THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

280 body could catch up with them, as they kept calling out, ‘Fak the drunkard – has his missus – take her clothes off!’ ‘Fak the drunkard – has his missus – take her clothes off!’ The boys would clap their hands in time, stick out their tongues and make horrible faces as Fak walked past. Once he became angry and tried to catch them, they would scamper away. Day in, day out, it was great fun for them.

Uncle Khai kept trying to make him stop drinking, but it was too late. Fak could no longer stop and wouldn’t entertain the idea of doing so. Uncle Khai would tell him to go into town and have the doctor give him a checkup, but Fak would only say, ‘I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me’.

And Fak remained fine, as he understood it, until the beginning of November. Even though the cold season was there, he hadn’t a worry in the world, because in this village, the season wasn’t as cold as its name implied – the weather just turned pleasantly cool.

But then, trouble, as he understood it, came visiting.

It came one evening, after he had checked his pocket to see how much money he had left and realised that there was just enough to buy only one more bottle of rice wine. He began to worry, but not much, because there was still the money left with the headmaster. The only hassle was that he had to walk over to the headmaster’s to get it.

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281 He trod painfully ahead, one swollen foot at a time. One step forward, a lurch to the side and the next step back in line – his staggering made the distance, which was already quite long, even longer, but Fak managed to stay on the red-earth track. He tried to move along as fast as he could so that his body could catch up with his mind, which was already waiting at the gate in front of the headmaster’s house, but his feet felt as though they had rocks tied to them. He was exhausted, and dizziness compelled him to sit down and rest by the edge of the track time and again.

The more tired he felt the more the amount of money he was going to withdraw increased in his mind. When he had set out from his hut, he had thought he’d take out only three hundred baht. He was afraid that if he withdrew a lot he’d be tempted to spend more than he had to and it would be gone too quickly. But somewhere along the way he decided it would be better if he took one thousand, so that he wouldn’t have to make the trip too often.

At last, he found himself leaning against a gatepost in front of the headmaster’s house. He felt like squatting down and resting for a while but reckoned it wouldn’t look good if the headmaster saw him sitting there, so he forced himself to stand. His eyes strayed upward and saw on top of the gatepost a nice quaint lantern made in the shape of a small Chinese pavilion, with a bevelled black roof capping panels of green frosted THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

282 glass. On the frame above the side door was a button with the word ‘Press’ written in very small letters below it. Both of these contraptions were new and unfamiliar to him. He hesitated for a moment, intrigued by the word ‘Press’.

He looked into the compound through the wroughtiron gate. There was no one on the lawn. At the back of the house stood a giant television antenna which the headmaster had had fastened to the roof with cables.

Fak peered into the living room and saw the headmaster’s children and wife sitting in front of the television, which to him looked like a creamy white rectangle.

They all sat mesmerised gazing at the screen. Fak figured the headmaster must be home, because it was Saturday and if he had gone into town, he’d have returned by now.

He stood there for a moment and when nobody came out, he decided to ‘Press’. When the tip of his finger touched the button, he heard a loud chime arising from the house. It was so melodious he kept his finger on the button so that he could hear the chime again and again.

The headmaster’s wife came out of the house. When she looked towards the gate and saw it was Fak, she balked, turned round and walked back inside, calling her husband and telling him to go open the gate himself. She didn’t want to have to face a filthy, stinking drunkard like Fak. She hated people who drank as much as she hated other people’s excrement. What’s CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

283 more, Fak had a frighteningly ugly physique and, as she was now pregnant, she was afraid that if she looked at him too long her baby would be born ugly.

Fak remained standing in front of the gate and didn’t have a chance to enter the compound of the house, a house he had helped build, just as he didn’t have a chance to go and admire the small pond he had helped clean, or take a drink from the rainwater in the earthen jars he had helped install. He remained standing and waiting although he felt dog-tired. He didn’t dare squat down on the ground in front of the gate and just stood there, restless, increasingly anxious, and still there was no sign of the headmaster coming out.

After what seemed an age, the headmaster walked out, wearing red silk trousers and a white round-necked shirt. His neatly combed hair was still wet and there were traces of talcum powder on his neck. He strolled over to the gate and made no effort to hurry. His face was expressionless. It neither smiled nor frowned nor showed any emotion whatsoever.

He stopped at the gate, but didn’t open it to invite Fak in.

‘What is it you want, Mr. Fak?’ His voice sounded like a stranger’s and the look on his face was no different from the one he had worn on the day Fak had been fired. Fak recalled that day instantly.

He had forgotten the headmaster had looked at him like that and it was only now he remembered.

‘I er, I’d like to er, to withdraw some money – ah, five THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

284 hundred, sir.’ Fak trembled. The headmaster’s stare and tone so upset him that, without realising it, he had halved the amount of money he originally intended to withdraw.

‘What money?’ The headmaster frowned as if he was trying to recall some past occasion. ‘What money are you talking about?’ the headmaster asked again, uncertainly.

Fak felt his heart skip a beat at being asked this question. He thought that perhaps the headmaster had forgotten because he had so much to do, so he tried to remind him by saying, ‘Er – the money – ah – the money I gave you to look after, sir.’

‘What! I’ve never kept any money of yours. Are you sure you’re remembering correctly? You’re drinking so much, maybe you’re imagining things.’ A look of suspicion flitted across the headmaster’s face.

‘The money I left with you, sir,’ Fak said quickly. He didn’t know what to think. He couldn’t figure out what the headmaster was driving at – ‘Perhaps he’s trying to test my mettle’. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he smiled at the headmaster to let him know he could see through him.

‘You know, the money I gave you to look after, sir,’ he said, still smiling.

‘And when was that?’ asked the headmaster, who looked baffled and wasn’t smiling back.

‘I left it with you every month, sir. The last time was in July, sir.’

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285 ‘What! Who did you give it to?’ The headmaster looked amazed and spoke as though he couldn’t believe his ears.

By now Fak had enough of the headmaster’s charade.

He thought it was time to give it up and get the matter over with quickly.

‘Oh, sir, please stop pulling my leg.’ His voice trailed away.

‘I’m not pulling your leg. Why would I want to waste my time pulling your leg?’ The look on the headmaster’s face was as stern as his tone of voice.

‘I signed my name every month, sir.’

‘You signed what?’ The headmaster spoke as if he wanted Fak to repeat what he had just said.

‘I signed my name every time I left the money with you. You were the one who made me. Don’t you remember that?’ Fak said, his voice quaking as if he was about to cry.

‘Where did you sign? Eh, but I never asked you to sign anything anywhere –’ The headmaster raised his hand and scratched his neck.

‘Oh but you did, sir. I signed my name in that red book with a hard cover. You keep it in your house, sir.’

Fak was beginning to sound impatient. The headmaster stared at him as though he was listening intently to every single word he had to say.

‘Er – is that so?’

‘It is, sir.’

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286 ‘In that case, wait here and I’ll go and check inside to make sure,’ the headmaster said and walked away.

Fak felt relieved and sighed deeply without being conscious of it. The headmaster had been pulling his leg after all. He sat down on the ground in front of the gate and made himself comfortable.

The headmaster was gone for quite a long time. While a hopeful Fak sat waiting for his money, evening began to settle in.

When he saw the headmaster coming back out of his house, Fak stood up. He began to feel agitated again, because the headmaster was coming back with nothing in his hands – no red book.

‘It’s not there – I couldn’t find any book like the one you’re talking about. Are you sure you left it with me?

Think carefully. Come on now, you’re drunk, so you’d better go home and sleep. And don’t come around here playing games with me again, I don’t have time to waste.’ The headmaster spoke calmly but firmly and gave no indication that he might be teasing.

Fak’s heart shrank and he felt weak at the knees. He had almost lost any hope of getting his money back, but another side of him thought, ‘It can’t be true. No way. It’s just not possible that the headmaster would cheat me’.

‘Oh, headmaster, sir, stop joking. Give me the money.

I’ve got to go back,’ Fak said with a beseeching voice.

‘Why should I want to joke with you? You’re wasting my time.’ The headmaster’s face looked solemn.

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287 Fak thought something had definitely gone wrong.

The headmaster must have decided to cheat him out of his money.

‘You wouldn’t want to cheat me now, would you, sir?’

Fak asked somewhat earnestly.

‘Hey – watch what you’re saying, Mr. Fak. Why would you want to say things like that? I’ve already told you I’ve never looked after any money of yours. I’m being patient with you only because I can see you’re drunk.

Well, if you haven’t got any other business, then you’d better leave, and don’t come around here bothering me with silly jokes like this in future. I don’t like it and you’d better remember that.’ The headmaster spoke in terse tones. Anger flashed in his eyes, as if he resented Fak’s slanderous accusations, which might tarnish his impeccable record.

He turned and walked back inside his house. He didn’t want to waste any more time listening to Fak. Fak stood dumbfounded – so dumbfounded he didn’t know any more where he was standing, whether it was all a dream or whether it was really happening. One question kept spinning round and round in his head.

‘Is this for real?’ he mumbled to himself incredulously.

He had no idea what he should do next. He was so spent he couldn’t go on standing any longer and plopped himself down on the ground, feeling hopeless. He felt so bad about losing his money that he wanted to cry out, ‘The headmaster’s cheated me!’

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288 ‘Would someone like the headmaster really cheat?

How can that be?’

Fak stretched out his legs and leant back against the gate, letting his arms hang limply by his sides. He had a confused look on his face and was still in two minds about the reality of what had happened.

He thought of the loss he had just incurred. He had never ever thought anything like this would ever happen and hadn’t in any way prepared himself for it. He had come out, his face and heart brimming with the hope he’d take his money back home and use it to buy rice wine. He had reckoned the five thousand plus would keep him in drink for many months to come.

Even though it would be a hassle to go and withdraw it, Fak had put all of his hope in that money.

His trip to the headmaster’s house had thus been filled with hope, but when he found his hope shattered, he was introduced to a double experience – the annihilation of hope and the absolute disappointment that went with it.

He sat for a long time, confused, not knowing what to do. The sunlight was fading with every passing moment. Before long it would be dark, but he still couldn’t decide what to do.

His mind was still obsessed by the matter of the money. Even though that money was in someone else’s possession, Fak just knew he’d get it back somehow. His heart was set on that money and he wasn’t going to let go of it – ‘It belongs to me. It’s my money.’

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289 His mood changed and desperation over his loss turned into a desire for revenge. He stood up and ‘pressed’ the button, leaving his finger on it, even though nobody came out.

‘Come on, you cheat! Come on out!’ Fak shouted.

The headmaster, followed by his wife and children, who looked alarmed, came out to see what was up.

‘Mr. Fak, you’re drunk. Go home and sleep. Don’t come here shouting and disturbing me,’ the headmaster said loudly.

‘What about my money?’ Fak shouted, no longer bothering to show any respect.

‘Go away now. If you don’t, I’ll get the police to come and take you away.’

‘Where’s my money? Give it back to me!’

‘I don’t have it. There’s nothing of yours in my house.

Get out of here before I get angry.’

‘Where’s the money I gave you to look after, you thief?

You’re trying to cheat me, aren’t you?’ Fak asked loudly.

‘Very well then – if you want to exchange your honour for my money, go ahead. I’ll let the whole village know you’ve cheated me out of my money, you thieving bastard!’ Fak pointed his finger at the headmaster.

‘You creep, we’re going to see about that.’

The headmaster headed straight for the gate, but by the time he opened it and stepped out, Fak had scampered away.

When he was far enough away from the headmaster’s house, Fak stopped and stood there gasping for air. He THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

290 had lost everything. He was completely broke. The only thing that remained now was his need for revenge. He was angry at himself for being so naive and angry at the headmaster for cheating him so blatantly, and his anger made him determined to destroy the man’s name and reputation by letting everyone know that ‘That prick of a headmaster is a fuckin’ cheat’.

Twilight bathed the red-ochre path, which was lined on both sides by dark-green trees, and along the road, looking like a pregnant woman, was the figure of Fak dejectedly plodding his way back. Occasionally, he would sit himself down by the roadside and when he felt rested would slowly prop himself up and resume his unsteady progress until he finally reached the minibus terminal.

He stopped in at Auntie Chuea’s shop, took out the money left in his pocket and bought a bottle of rice wine, which was to be the last his money would buy. He sat down at a table inside the shop and, when he got over his tiredness, poured himself a drink. His hand was shaking so much that the liquor spilled over the glass.

With both hands he tried to lift the glass, but he couldn’t control their shaking. Sheer craving made him finally raise the glass to his lips. The wine poured down his throat and within seconds set all the nerves in his body tingling. It took just a moment for his body to absorb the alcohol and chase away his worries. One glass of rice wine was enough to make him feel mellow.

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291 A group of children were inside the shop watching television together with two or three adults. Nobody paid attention to him. They were all totally engrossed in the black-and-white pictures flickering on the rectangular screen.

People who came into the shop to buy something would give Fak a wide berth as soon as they saw him sitting on his own with his eyes wide open, drinking and mumbling to himself. They were suspicious of this drunkard, who was likely to go wild if you so much as met his gaze. No one in the village was afraid of Fak, but people couldn’t be bothered wasting their time quarrelling with him.

‘He cheated me. It’s my money. I’ll tell everybody,’ Fak thought as he refilled his glass, poured the liquor down his throat and wiped the drooling corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘I was wrong to trust him. A heartless, two-faced sonofabitch, that’s what he is. It wasn’t enough for him to fire me: he had to cheat me as well. He’s more despicable than me. The only thing bad about me is that I drink, but I’ve never cheated anybody. But he’s cheated me – not just outa my own money but outa dad’s as well. He’s got everything, he’s filthy rich as it is, and yet he comes and cheats someone like me. I did everything for him, he used me in every way and never gave me anything in return. And I was stupid enough to respect him. Damn the bastard – it’s true I’m being cheated, isn’t it?’

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292 Fak couldn’t think of anything else and when his drunkenness reached a certain level, everything that had been bottled up inside him burst out. He suddenly stood up, wild-eyed.

‘I’ve been cheated. That bastard of a headmaster has cheated me outa my money.’ His shouting resounded throughout the shop.

The children who were watching television jumped in fright. Some of them darted out of the shop. All eyes turned and stared at Fak. He stood unsteadily by the table, holding on to the bottle, which tilted to and fro.

‘Let me tell you, that damn headmaster’s a cheat.

Don’t trust him. That bastard of a headmaster’s cheated me outa the money I left with him,’ Fak told the group staring at him. He was trying hard to let out everything that his brain could come up with through the grind of his slurred speech.

‘He’s more despicable than a dog. He’s tricked me outa my dad’s pension. He’s cheated me outa my own money. That sonofabitch of a headmaster, he’s evil–’ Fak’s eyes were roving around wildly.

Seeing the state he was in, Auntie Chuea decided to intervene. She was afraid things in the shop might get broken, so she told him to go back home as it was getting late, but Fak wasn’t willing to leave.

‘The headmaster cheated me outa my money. I’m broke now,’ he said as if he were about to cry.

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293 tomorrow.’ She pushed him gently in the back until he was out of the shop.

The children returned to their places and went on watching television. The adults got together and began talking and shaking their heads at Fak’s behaviour.

Fak, still clutching his bottle, walked back to his hut, shouting all along the way: ‘That bastard of a headmaster has cheated me outa my money. The fucker’s a cheat.’

It was dusk by the time he reached his hut. He thought he’d go over and tell Uncle Khai what had happened but didn’t dare. Then he thought he’d go and tell the three teachers in their quarters, but then realised it was Saturday and they had gone home.

M’am Somsong was taking a shower outside the hut, so he went and told her, but she didn’t say anything.

Feeling quite irritated, he went inside the hut, where he sat drinking for a while, then lay down on the bamboo platform. He was busy cursing the headmaster and all of his ancestors, and was hardly aware of what he was saying when drunkenness sent him off to sleep.

M’am Somsong came back inside the hut and lit the tin lamp. The glow fell on Fak’s dark and yellow body stretched out on the platform. His torso was naked; all he wore was a pair of dirty khaki shorts tied under the stupendous bulge of his bloated belly. He was snoring in raspy grunts.

M’am took no notice of Fak’s sleeping body. She went THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

294 to sit before the mirror and brushed her hair, humming softly. When she had finished, she turned and looked around as if she was afraid someone might be spying on her to find out where she had been keeping her precious treasure for the past few days. Every night before she went to sleep, she would find it in the dark and stroke it gently to make sure that it was still there. This evening, she felt perfectly secure, so she took the tube of lipstick out of its hiding place and carefully set out to paint her mouth red. A red smear soon spread beyond the outline of her lips and when she looked at her handiwork in the mirror, her mouth seemed to be caked in blood.

She examined herself in the mirror until she felt pleased with herself, returned the lipstick to its hiding place, then got up and put up Fak’s mosquito net. After she had put out the lamp, she crawled beneath Fak’s net and lay down beside him as she did every night.

That night, Fak wasn’t sleeping as soundly as usual.

He dreamt almost all night and his dreams were confused and disjointed. The only thing he would eventually remember was that his dad came to him and said he was really sorry Fak had to put up with so much for his sake. His dad told him that from now on everything would be all right. He added that he had buried some money beneath the bamboo platform and Fak should dig it up and keep it for his own use. Fak started digging right away and while he was at it, a big monkey came up and began to hug and grapple with him until he CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

295 could hardly breathe. He had to fight it off many times before it eventually went away. He kept on digging and grew quite exhausted. After removing much earth, he found a tin buried deep in the ground. He prized it open and saw it was crammed with red, one-hundred-baht notes. He would distinctly remember later that he took a wad and stuffed it into his trouser pocket before burying the tin and filling up the hole again. He decided he’d use this money to keep himself in drink in days to come.

When he woke up the sun had already reached his mosquito net. He thought of the wad he had stuffed into his trouser pocket and reached for it with joyful anticipation. When his fingers found nothing in there, he knew it had all been a dream. But everything in his dream had been so vivid that he could have sworn it had really happened. He felt sorry about that wad of money. Somehow, the regret that he felt over the loss seemed familiar to him. After thinking about it for a moment, he remembered that the headmaster had cheated him out of his money, though that too had seemed to be part of his dream. He asked himself whether it had really happened but it was such a dim recollection he decided it must have only been one of the many dreams he had had that night. And when he had argued with himself that a person like the headmaster, whom he knew to be such a good man, could not possibly cheat him, he was certain it had only been a dream. As he lay thinking of how his dad’s face had appeared to him in THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

296 his dream, he thought that his dad was probably worried he had lost his job and had tried to help him find some money. In his mind, he told his dad not to worry about him – he still had the money he had left with the headmaster.

Fak lifted the mosquito net and crawled out, feeling exhausted. When he moved into the sunlight, he felt even weaker, like beeswax under heat. His body was so weak that he had no desire to do anything. His stomach was full of wind and made him belch so much that he felt he was going to be sick, and when the nausea increased he did vomit, but nothing came out except some foul-tasting liquid which he forced back down as soon as it reached his tongue. With shaking hands he reached for the bottle, which stood against the wall at the head of his sleeping place, grabbed it and took a swig. The alcohol swiftly coursed through his body and with it his energy returned, as did his cheerfulness and the exhilarating feeling of inebriation.

As he was folding his mosquito net, he noticed red smudges all over his body. At first he thought it must be blood from the mosquitoes he had squashed in his sleep, but when he wiped his hand over the red spots, something greasy came off and when he raised his hand to smell it, it gave out a strange yet pleasant smell. He had never smelled anything like it before. He was puzzled as to how it had got there, but when he couldn’t come up with an explanation, he forgot about it.

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297 After he had put away his net he went over to the monastery to get something to eat. M’am Somsong had already left the hut and he wasn’t sure where she might have gone. He thought that she’d come back when she got hungry and help herself.

The temple boys had finished eating and were washing the dishes. Fak clumsily opened his lunch box and put some leftover food into it. While he was doing this, the old monk Phorn happened to walk by and stopped to ask him: ‘You must’ve had one too many yesterday, going about cursing the headmaster like that.’ The old monk stood towering over Fak. Fak looked up at the monk. ‘Me? Cursing the headmaster?’ he wondered.

‘How much did he cheat you out of?’ the monk asked with a smile, as though it were a bit of a joke.

Fak suddenly thought, ‘So, it wasn’t a dream. If I had dreamt it all, how would he know?’ The thought gave him a start. He asked excitedly, ‘How do you know this?’

‘From the people in the village, of course. It seems you’re always looking for trouble. In future when you are drunk, go home and sleep it off. Don’t go around abusing people. Lucky for you you picked on the headmaster. With anybody else, you’d find yourself in trouble, you know.’

The old monk went on lecturing Fak for a while. He also urged him to take plenty of food and eat instead of just drinking.

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298 Fak barely heard a word of what the monk was saying; in fact, he was hardly aware of what he was doing.

Memories of what had happened the previous evening began to come back to him. ‘I was cheated out of my money. It wasn’t a dream at all.’

Regret, sorrow and resentment smouldered and revolved in his mind to the point that he paid no attention to what was going on around him, including the lecture from the monk.

Seeing that Fak remained still and didn’t say a word to defend himself, the old monk assumed that Fak was aware of his wrongdoing, so he walked away.

Fak took his lunch box and left the monastery. On the way back, he did nothing but think about the loss of his money and the more he thought about it, the more resentful he felt against the headmaster.

He ate hardly anything these days as it was, but this morning he had practically no desire to eat. His mind only dwelled on the loss of his money and thought about nothing else. He forced himself to eat but after a few mouthfuls he felt full. It wasn’t his dissatisfaction with having been cheated that took his appetite away, but his worry made it impossible for him to swallow any more. He drank some water, put the leftover food away and sat there to let the little he had eaten settle.

‘Too bad today’s Sunday, otherwise I’d go and demand my money back from him in front of the school and make him lose face before the students and the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

299 teachers as well. I’d like to see his face then. How would he react when I reveal the truth? I’d pull off that mask he’s wearing for everyone to see that bastard’s real face.

I’d like to drag him down and make him stand at the end of the line with me. I’d make him suffer the way I do. If the people in the village knew him for the cheating bastard he really is, who would want to be friends with him? He’d be ostracised; he’d have to live alone like me.’

Fak thought that, as he had lost everything, there was nothing more he could lose. Over all the time that had gone by, he had only known losses. Whatever he decided to do, and whatever came out of what he did, he couldn’t fall any lower than he already had. He had sunk as low as he could go. He was already at the very end of the line, and even if he suffered from the consequences of his decision this time, he would still be standing at the end of the line, but if he was able to drag the headmaster down to his own level, it would cost him nothing and it would be worth his while in terms of personal satisfaction.

When his food had settled, he turned to look for some booze. As he sat drinking, he tried to figure out ways of getting back at the headmaster, and it looked as though losing his money was no longer as important as getting the headmaster to stand at the end of the line with him.

In no time, the rice wine left over from the day before was finished. He lifted the last glassful and knocked it back in one gulp. He felt drunk enough to walk over to THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

300 the undertaker’s house and he didn’t stop cursing the headmaster until he got there.

Uncle Khai had seen Fak’s health deteriorating day by day and had often tried to get him to stop drinking, but his efforts had been in vain. Finally, he had had to stop drinking in front of him, thinking that if Fak didn’t have a friend to drink with, he might ease up a bit. Every time Fak invited him to have a drink he refused, and these days he no longer kept any liquor within sight in his house. When Fak was drunk, he would visit him almost every day, except on those days when the undertaker had to go to the temple to attend to a funeral. Of course there were occasions when he felt a little fed up with Fak, but his feelings of pity prevailed, so he always found time to sit and chat with him whenever Fak was in a mood to talk. Some days he would leave him to sleep on the platform outside. When evening drew close, he would wake him up and Fak would stagger back to his hut.

‘I’ve been cheated by that fuckin’ headmaster – he cheated me outa my money – the bastard tricked me,’ Fak blurted as soon as he saw Uncle Khai. ‘The lot – he’s cheated me outa the whole lot – the whole lot –’ He lurched over to the platform and flopped down hard on it. ‘He just stole me blind.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Uncle Khai was looking for ticks in White’s coat. When Fak sat down, Uncle Khai gently patted White, who jumped down from the platform.

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301 ‘That damn headmaster – he’s cheated me outa my money, the money I gave him to look after – he’s a cheat!’

‘Hey! Don’t speak so loudly. It wouldn’t be any good if people heard you speak like that.’

‘Why should I be quiet? The bastard’s really cheated me,’ Fak said resentfully.

‘Why would he want to cheat you? He’s plenty rich as it is. Are you sure you didn’t withdraw your money to buy yourself some booze? Or maybe you spent it on something else. Think carefully.’

‘Hey, uncle, you don’t believe me, do you?’ Fak shook his index finger unsteadily before Uncle Khai’s face.

‘Five thousand two hundred – five thousand two – I haven’t taken out a single satang. How come you don’t believe me, uncle?’ Fak’s voice weakened as if he felt slighted and hurt. ‘I had four thousand three left over after dad’s cremation, and I’ve kept adding to it regularly. I’ve never taken any from him – only leaving more with him – leaving more with that bastard, and he’s cheated me outa the whole lot – you still don’t believe me, hey, uncle?’

‘It’s not that – I was just trying to check if you hadn’t already taken your money out.’

‘Why would I want to do that?’ Fak shot back. ‘I’ve only just gone through my last pay – so I went to withdraw some money, and then he turns round and cheats me.

Don’t you go trusting him, uncle. You can’t trust someTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

302 one like him – that fuckin’ prick of a headmaster!’ Fak said in a loud voice.

‘Keep it down. So what are you going to do?’ Uncle Khai said, lowering his voice.

‘What can I do? I’ll go and curse his mother everyday.’

Fak spoke as loudly as before.

‘So you left your money with him. Have you got any evidence to prove this?’ Uncle Khai asked softly, as though he was going to help Fak find a way to get his money back.

‘I signed my name every time –’ Fak stopped speaking, struck by a sudden thought. ‘But – hey – damn him! The bastard said he doesn’t have the book. The book I signed every month when I left my money with him – he says he hasn’t got it. He says there’s no such book –’ His voice trailed off.

‘Does anyone know you left your money with him?’

‘Only me and him. I trusted the bastard. I never thought he’d do this to me.’

‘If that’s the case, I’m afraid you can kiss your money goodbye – go and see Kamnan Yorm all the same: maybe he can do something for you. I’d really like to help you, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do.’

Uncle Khai sighed and shook his head.

‘Kamnan Yorm – right. I’ll go and report him to the kamnan.’ Fak smiled and nodded. ‘I must go to his house. Let’s go. Uncle, you come too and help me talk with him – about that fuckin’ headmaster.’ Fak pulled CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

303 himself up and grabbed Uncle Khai’s hand, trying to get him to stand up as well.

‘Go ahead. You go by yourself. Talk to him politely; be careful what you say. Tell him the truth as it is, and whatever you do, don’t badmouth the headmaster.’

Khai the undertaker, his voice full of concern, tried to give Fak some friendly advice. He thought it would be useless for him to go along, because, as an outsider who had nothing to do with the matter, he was worried the kamnan would say something like, ‘Tell me, undertaker, what business is this of yours?’ All he could do was sit and watch as Fak’s pathetic figure staggered away from the house. In his mind, he wished him good luck and hoped the kamnan would believe him.

Fak left the undertaker’s house and went tottering towards Kamnan Yorm’s. Along the way he met Bunyuen, who was coming towards him, walking fast and looking elsewhere.

‘Hey! Bun-yuen!’ Fak called out. His old friend looked up.

‘You know what? That damn headmaster’s cheated me outa my money – the money I gave him to look after for me. The fuckin’ bastard’s cheated me outa the whole lot.

Don’t go trustin’ him, you hear. Be sure you don’t trust that fuckin’ headmaster.’

Fak stood there ranting and raving, reeking of alcohol.

Bun-yuen just snorted, then hurried away without a word. Fak turned and shouted after him, ‘The headmasTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

304 ter’s a bloody cheat. Don’t go trusting him. I’m warning you’.

Whether or not he registered Fak’s warning, Bun-yuen paced on, head bent, without bothering to look back.

Fak mumbled a few words, then turned back and went on his way. Whenever he met somebody, children or adults, he would tell them: ‘That headmaster of yours – he’s a lyin’ cheat. He’s cheated me outa my money.’

He hitched his wrecked body along all the way to the fence of Kamnan Yorm’s house. Four or five barking dogs instantly surrounded him, some snapping at his calves. The kamnan and his wife walked out onto the veranda and looked at what was happening.

‘What is it you want now, Fak?’ the kamnan shouted out.

‘The headmaster’s cheated me outa my money,’ Fak complained, shooting a brief glance upward, hardly daring to take his eyes off the dogs around him.

Kamnan Yorm stepped down the stairs while his wife went back inside. He walked over to the yard where Fak was standing and shooed away the dogs, whose barking was so loud it drowned out anything that was said.

When the dogs had calmed down, he asked: ‘What was it you said just now?’

‘I said the headmaster’s cheated me outa my money.’

Fak tried to speak without showing that he was drunk, but he couldn’t quite suppress the slur in his speech.

‘The headmaster – took my money – he’s cheated me CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

305 outa the money I gave him to look after for me. He’s tricked me outa the whole lot – the whole lot, sir. Please ask him to give it back to me, kamnan. You’re my last hope, kamnan. Please help me get it back,’ he told the kamnan, choosing his words with great care.

Kamnan Yorm looked at the figure of Fak before him.

Fak’s body wasn’t quite upright, but swaying all over the place. Sometimes it tottered and seemed about to fall and there was the stench of alcohol all over the yard as if someone had broken a bottle of rice wine.

‘You’re stinkin’ drunk,’ the kamnan said disapprovingly.

‘Kamnan, please help me. I beseech you. He really cheated me. I gave him five thousand two to look after for me. I left it with him. Kamnan, help me get it back, please. I implore you.’ Fak raised his hands, palms joined, above his head. He wasn’t giving up trying, even though his legs occasionally swayed a little as he stood talking.

‘You’d better be careful. If you carry on heaping abuse like this on the headmaster, you’ll find yourself in jail,’ the kamnan warned him, a look of annoyance on his face. ‘He can sue you for defamation of character and before you know it, you’ll be sleeping in the slammer.

You’re drunk; go back home – go!’

‘He cheated me. Honestly, kamnan – he cheated me,’ said Fak, his voice quavering.

The kamnan’s patience reached its limit and he asked THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

306 angrily: ‘Have you got any evidence? If you have, I’ll take care of everything.’

Fak stood motionless.

‘Get out of here. Go back home,’ the kamnan shouted when he saw that Fak wouldn’t say anything. ‘If I ever hear you talking sodden rubbish like this again, I’ll make sure you spend a couple of nights in the lockup.

Maybe it’ll help clean that foul mouth of yours,’ the exasperated kamnan lashed out at Fak, who had turned his back and was slowly walking away, totally hopeless now.

By the time Fak returned to his hut, it was afternoon.

As soon as he got inside, he grabbed the bottle, but he had to restrain his hand, as the bottle was as good as empty. Unable to stop his craving, he put his mouth to its neck, tipped it up, and the last drops of alcohol trickled down onto his tongue. Even the taste of a couple of drops was better than nothing.

He banged the empty bottle down on the platform. He was feeling irritated again and began to crave a drink.

He reached into his pocket, turned it inside out, but all he could find was six salueng∗ – one and a half baht. He went through every nook and cranny of the hut where he thought there could be some money, but found none, not even one satang. He rummaged through the treasures M’am had hoarded in the corners of the platform, throwing them all over the place, but there was no ∗ A salueng is a quarter of a baht coin

CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

307 money. Money – money was what he wanted now. He thought again of the five thousand plus. It was his money. He should be able to use it to buy himself liquor.

‘I’ll go and demand it back from him!’

He left the hut driven by the lure of the money he had left with the headmaster and pushed by his craving for a drink. He went through the back of the monastery to the minibus terminal, stopped in at Auntie Chuea’s shop and bought himself six salueng’s worth of rice wine.

Auntie Chuea’s husband poured him a glass. With shaking hands, he raised it to his mouth and slurped the wine down as though it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

‘That damn headmaster’s a cheat. He’s cheated me outa my money,’ he shouted out to everyone in the shop. ‘I’m going to go and demand it back – that fuckin’ headmaster!’

He staggered out of the shop into the sweltering afternoon sunlight and took the red-earth road, heading with determination towards his destination.

Once his back was turned, the people sitting in the shop began airing their views about the headmaster cheating that damn Fak out of his money.

Beneath the blazing sun, sweat dripping from his body, Fak staggered on. Even though he wended his way like a crab, his legs carried his pitiful figure to the iron gate in front of the headmaster’s house.

He put his finger on the button marked ‘Press’ and listened to the ‘ding-dong, ding-dong’ from inside. The THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

308 more he heard the chime, the more his resentment increased. He thought, ‘He’s got this with my money’.

The headmaster’s wife came out and when she saw it was the last person in the world she wanted to see, she quickly turned and went back inside. After a moment the ‘ding-dong’ stopped, even though his finger was still on the button. He felt like smashing the thing to pieces.

‘Hey, you, sonofabitch – you cheating bastard of a headmaster!’ he shouted at the top of his voice from outside the fence. ‘Bring me my money. Bring my money back to me!’

But nothing happened. Nobody brought any money out to Fak. Nobody came out. Fak still kept shouting his demands for his money over and over again.

The afternoon sun sent down its rays as though it were concentrating all its heat on Fak alone. Sweat continued to pour out of his body. It wasn’t long before it became so hot that he felt his skin was being baked. As his skin began to ache, his voice went hoarse and dry. His seething anger turned to frenzy but there was no way he could let his feelings out and tears began to stream down instead.

‘Gimme my money back.’ He demanded the return of his money like a small child whose toy has been taken away by a big bully. ‘Bring my money back to me.’

When he could no longer stand the heat, he turned round and headed back home, tears streaming down his face, with the burning rays of the sun as his witness.

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309 As soon as he reached the hut, he went for water to slake his thirst and for something to eat to allay his hunger. Once he had eaten, he didn’t feel as desperate for a drink. All the while, he was brooding over the fact that he had never slept with M’am Somsong and, even though it was the truth, nobody was willing to believe him. And now nobody was willing to believe he had been cheated out of his money by the headmaster, even though that, too, was the truth. But when it came to something that wasn’t true, why were people willing to believe it? He couldn’t understand why things had to be like this. When he couldn’t find an answer to his question, he turned to look for some alcohol, hoping it would drive all of his thoughts out of his mind and send him floating in a world of intoxication, but he remembered that he had no more rice wine and no more money to buy any and he began to feel irritable and annoyed at himself again. He mumbled sarcastically to himself, ‘That’s it – the truth. You’ve run out of booze and that’s the truth, and somebody’s gotta believe it for once’.

The widow Somsong returned to the hut and went inside. When she saw Fak sitting there, she gave him a warm grin, but the moment she noticed her treasure scattered all over the bamboo platform her expression changed. The upturned lips of her gaudy red mouth dropped and pouted as if she was about to cry.

Fak wondered what it was that was staining her mouth, but he didn’t say anything except, ‘M’am, do THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

310 you have any money?’ hoping that maybe she had stashed away some change left over from the money he had given her to buy things.

‘What money?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Money to buy things with.’

She shook her head, not really interested in Fak’s question. Instead, she walked straight to her treasure, which Fak had thrown all over the platform. She looked alarmed, as if she was afraid Fak might throw her precious possessions out of the hut again.

As Fak sat watching her gather her rubbish, he asked himself resentfully how it was she was able to remain so happy and never seemed to suffer like the rest of us. He found her behaviour offensive. Everything she had been hoarding now cluttered up the hut, turning it into a dirty, messy eyesore.

‘Get it outa here! The whole lot! Throw everything away!’ he shouted as he started throwing the rubbish out of the hut.

M’am turned pale and almost burst out crying when she saw Fak throw her jewels and ingots out of the hut.

She rushed out and set about picking up everything that Fak had thrown away.

When the last item had been thrown out, Fak squatted down on the platform, exhausted and gasping for breath. In his mind, he kept asking himself, ‘What the heck should I do now?’

The widow Somsong went on retrieving her precious CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

311 possessions, which were scattered far and near, depending on the force with which Fak had thrown them. She gathered them and hid them in the back of the hut. She got them all back, but some plates and glasses had been broken, and she did her best to piece them together again as she sat on the bamboo platform in front of the hut. The moment she heard Fak walk out, she hid what she was doing, but once he had disappeared into the coconut grove, she began to carry everything back inside.

Fak had made up his mind to go and ask a favour from Uncle Khai, even though part of him was reluctant to do so, but the part that was under the control of his craving for alcohol compelled him to walk on. He wasn’t sure whether he should ask outright or merely ‘borrow’. If he were to ask, would it be appropriate to ask for money only to buy liquor with? His sense of shame asked him: ‘Aren’t you feeling embarrassed at all?’ If he were to borrow, where would he find the money to pay back his debt? If he didn’t pay back, it would be the same as cheating; he’d be a bloody cheat like the headmaster. But his craving for a drink urged him on: ‘Do whatever you want so long as you get me some booze.’

Finally, he asked Uncle Khai to lend him fifteen baht, saying that when a funeral came up he’d help with the work as a way to repay the money. Uncle Khai didn’t say anything, even though he was aware that Fak was going to use the money to buy himself liquor. He thought it was better than leaving him to crave to death.

THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

312 At a little before four o’clock, Fak sat down for a drink in Auntie Chuea’s shop, filling his glass carefully and taking each sip as though it were his last. The alcohol brought him back to life, like a fish thrown back into water. The world, which had been gloomy and irritating, became a lively and pleasant place worth living in once again.

Fak addressed everyone in the shop, telling the whole truth of how the headmaster had cheated him out of his money. The drunker he got the more annoying he became to the people around him and the more Auntie Chuea worried that things might get broken, so she finally drove him out of the shop. His bottle nestled under his armpit, Fak went away, looking like a dog kicked out of the way by an unkind passer-by.

Once his back was turned, Auntie Chuea said: ‘I really don’t want to sell it to him, but he’s getting on my nerves and I can’t stand it.’

‘I wonder if he’s gone mad or what?’ Old Maen observed.

‘His nerves are playing up,’ Auntie Chuea’s husband said and laughed. ‘The way he’s going about the headmaster stealing his money – what’s he going to come up with next?’ He went on laughing heartily.

‘If you ask me, he’s angry because he got fired, so he’s trying to get back at the headmaster,’ Auntie Chuea told her husband.

‘You’re right – how could someone like the headmasCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

313 ter cheat anybody? He’s as good as the monks,’ Auntie Lamyai contributed.

‘Serves him right. The way he behaves, who would want to listen to him?’ Aunt Samorn chipped in.

‘His money’s probably run out so he’s trying to trick the headmaster,’ Auntie Lamyai surmised, then reasoned: ‘How could anybody like him have five thousand baht?’

‘Don’t believe him. You saw how he lied to the abbot.

He’d say anything to us. The scum’ll say anything.

That’s what he’s good at. With that mouth he’s got, he’ll say the first thing that comes to his mind,’ Old Maen said.

‘That’s right. I feel sorry for the headmaster. What if somebody didn’t know the truth and believed him? The headmaster’s reputation would be ruined.’

‘No way – who’d believe him? You think too much,’ Auntie Chuea chided her husband.

‘The headmaster’s such a nice man, so patient and quiet. He gets insulted and yet he doesn’t want to make an issue out of it. If it were me, old as I am, I’d get blood out of his skull with my very hands,’ Old Maen said on behalf of the headmaster.

As time went on more people came and joined the conversation. Whoever dropped in to buy something would ask, ‘What are you talking about?’

‘What else is there to talk about – the scumbag. Who else?’

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314 The new questioners then joined in. Everybody was thoroughly fed up with Fak’s behaviour and even more so since this business with the headmaster. The villagers simply couldn’t tolerate that Fak had defamed their dear headmaster.

They agreed that the next day they’d ask the kamnan to take care of the matter and, if possible, speak with the abbot about driving Fak out of the village, to be rid of him once and for all.

Fak wasn’t aware of what people were saying behind his back. He hadn’t the faintest idea of the trouble that was brewing. He still wandered about shouting at the top of his voice, ‘That damn headmaster’s a cheat. He’s tricked me outa my money’.

Evening came. Fak returned to his hut, still cradling his bottle as though it were an appendix to his body.

The whine of the violin came drifting in.

Fak put the bottle on the platform and headed off in the direction of the sound. It wasn’t because the music was so rapturous that he had to listen to it at close quarters. Not at all: he staggered towards it in the hope of telling the person playing the violin: ‘That fuckin’ headmaster’s cheated me outa my money.’

‘Hey, Fak! Why do you have to say things like that about the headmaster?’ Master Preecha asked slowly, holding the violin at his side.

‘But it’s true. He really did cheat me. I gave him my money to look after and he’s cheated me outa the whole lot.’

CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

315 ‘Stop it, Fak. You can’t talk about him like that,’ Master Marnit protested.

‘He really did cheat me, believe me. Please believe me, sir,’ Fak implored as if he badly needed to find at least one person who would believe him.

‘Stop it now, Fak. It’s no good to talk like that, you know.’ Master Marnit tried to calm him down, talking gently.

‘But he’s cheated me. He took the whole lot. Five thousand two hundred. That prick of a headmaster’s a fuckin’ cheat,’ Fak said, looking as if he was about to cry.

Master Preecha walked over to him, put his arm around his shoulders and said, ‘Go home now. You’re drunk, so you’d better go back and sleep it off. Don’t go around shouting like that. It won’t do you any good, believe me.’

Tears streamed down Fak’s face. He let them out unashamedly. None of the three teachers had any way of understanding the feelings concealed behind his tears.

Still crying, Fak went down the staircase of the teachers’ quarters and cut across the school lawn. The eyes of the three teachers followed him until he disappeared into the coconut grove.

The following morning – Monday morning.

The two school buildings standing silently gradually emerged from their slumber. Doors and windows and doors opened one by one like eyelids flicking open for a THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

316 gaze at the day just begun. The doors being opened seemed to be yawning the buildings’ drowsiness away after two full days of sleep. They gaped wide, ready to swallow students and teachers into the very depths of the buildings’ bellies.

Students began to appear from all over the coconut grove, heading for school. The bright saffron robes of two monks fluttered across the green yard in the direction of the temple. Everything went on as it did every day and as it had in the past – the accents of the national anthem, the chanting of the morning prayer, the beat of the drums setting the stroke of the march – Row after row, the students disappeared into the buildings. The teachers chatting among themselves were the last ones to go in. They left behind the empty green schoolyard. Once again, the two buildings became as silent as they had been earlier, with the difference that the silence now shielded the activities of the students inside.

Fak lay staring at the dirty top of his mosquito net. The rays of the sun had receded to the head of his sleeping mat. This was the only time of day when his brain was still willing to think, just after he had woken up. He was trying to work out how he had managed to find his way back to the hut the previous evening. It was as if he had drifted in with the breeze, but then he couldn’t remember anything. He lay thinking of the days gone by, all the way back to his distant past, and compared his earlier CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

317 days with the present. A question arose in his mind: ‘Is this what’s called the extremes of human experience? All the torment and suffering I’ve been through – is that what’s meant by extreme? But what did I ever do to anybody to deserve this karma?’

Fak laughed to himself as a sarcastic thought came to him – ‘You’ve taken your stepmother as your wife: that’s what!’

Instead of blaming fate, he began to think of the wrongs of others. It was the others who had made him sink so low and who had made him change. He knew very well how lonely and desolate it felt to be forced to live alone. He very much wanted to be part of society, but why was it that people just wouldn’t even try to understand him and instead kept him at arm’s length, forcing him to remain alone? Why was it that everything he did turned out so bad, when somebody as bad as the headmaster had everybody on his side? Having thought this far, he flew into a fury against the headmaster. He wanted to shout out to the One above, ‘Why don’t you punish the headmaster for a change? Why am I the only one at the receiving end?’

There was a clatter of metal bowls as M’am Somsong opened the lunch box. Fak turned and looked at her through the mosquito net, then raised one side of it up and crawled out. He grabbed the bottle by its neck, checked the level against the light and took a swig. He belched as he put the bottle down, and spat on the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

318 ground. He went outside, washed his face, then came back and folded his mosquito net before sitting down to eat with M’am Somsong.

The two of them had been living together in their own worlds for two years now and it was difficult to say who was looking after whom.

When the widow Somsong had finished eating, she left the hut and went in search of more treasure.

Fak sat and waited for the heaviness in his stomach to subside before he set out to increase his degree of intoxication. It wasn’t long before he poured the elixir of life into his throat and felt his confidence return. He thought he had nothing more to lose. His life was bereft of everything now. There was only one thing he wanted to do: make the headmaster stand at the end of the line with him.

The rice wine left over from the day before ran out and by then he was ready to do exactly what he had a mind to do– The students were quietly learning their lessons inside the classrooms when shouts erupted from the front lawn, drawing closer and louder as Fak staggered his way towards the school.

‘The fuckin’ headmaster!’

‘The headmaster’s a fuckin’ cheat!’

‘The fuckin’ headmaster’s cheated me outa my money!’

The shouting resounded throughout the buildings, CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

319 penetrating every room. The teachers stopped speaking in mid-sentence and the students listened intently at the shouts coming from outside and no longer paid any attention to the blackboard.

‘The headmaster’s cheated me outa my money, the money I left with him. He’s a bloody cheat. Don’t trust him. Don’t believe anything he says. He’s a two-faced liar. He’s a cheat.’

The shouting continued unabated. Fak was determined to let everyone hear. The noise compelled the headmaster to come out of his office and forced him to stand on the upstairs veranda.

‘Mr. Fak, there are students trying to study here. Go make a nuisance of yourself somewhere else,’ the headmaster shouted from above.

When Fak saw the headmaster standing there, he pointed at him, totally unafraid.

‘Hey, you fucker, you’ve swindled me outa my money! You cheatin’ bastard!’

The headmaster stormed back into his room, quickly scribbled a note and gave it to the new janitor to take to the police station.

Fak remained standing there, demanding his money and calling the headmaster names.

Distracted by the ranting of the drunkard outside, the students were unable to concentrate on their lessons.

The teachers momentarily gave up teaching but took the opportunity to warn the boys that when they grew up THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

320 they shouldn’t drink liquor, because it ruined the lives of so many people. Take Mr. Fak as an example: he used to be a good man, but as soon as he started drinking he made a nuisance of himself; lately he has become an alcoholic and turned into an unwanted burden for society, a despicable outcast. Furthermore, liquor ruins your health. Take a look at Mr. Fak and you can see for yourselves– It had been more than half an hour since the classes had come to a standstill, but Fak was refusing to give in and kept up his barrage of abuse: ‘Come on out. Why are you hiding? Are you too scared to come out and face me, you cheating bastard?’

Fak would probably have gone on like this for a long time had Sergeant Horm and Officer Norm not appeared with the school janitor.

The two policemen helped each other put handcuffs on Fak. He tried to struggle but his strength wasn’t up to his will and the handcuffs were easily clicked shut around his wrists. He was dragged off to the police station despite his protests. Along the way, he continued to struggle and to curse the headmaster.

‘That cheating bastard – cheated me outa my money.’

The noise drifted off into the distance and got lost among the rows of coconut trees, and the school returned to normal.

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321 ‘Fak’s been arrested!’

‘The scumbag’s got himself arrested!’

The word quickly spread and before noon had reached the ears of everyone in the village. Everybody was delighted. The plan to approach Kamnan Yorm to have Fak driven out of the village was dropped when it became known that the headmaster had filed a complaint of defamation of character against him. Most of the people thought it would serve the bastard right, and they predicted he’d have to spend a long time behind bars, if his craving didn’t kill him first, that was.

Everybody went about analysing the latest events and the consensus was that there was no way the headmaster could have cheated Fak out of his money. How could it be? The headmaster held a prestigious position. He was a highly reputable person with an impeccable record. Besides, he was the highest teacher in the village, honoured and respected by all. Why would he risk his reputation over such a piddling amount of money?

Quite the opposite of that damn Fak, who strictly owned nothing, had to depend on the temple for his food and a place to live and didn’t seem to own anything of value.

He was the one who was greedy: he had taken his father’s wife as his own and, even worse, he drank like a fish. Should someone like that be believed? Pah! It was a good thing he got himself arrested.

Fak wasn’t willing to go with Sergeant Horm quietly and was pushed and dragged and jostled all the way to THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

322 the police station. All along the way, people rushed out of their houses and stared. It wasn’t often there was such a public scene. Hardly anybody ever got arrested in this village, and because it was ‘that damn Fak,’ it was all the more exciting. Some people who had nothing to do followed the party. They were eager to see the whole event, and the closer they got to the police station, the more people gathered, as if this was a travelling show passing by.

Fak looked at the people standing on both sides of the road with beseeching eyes, silently imploring the crowd to take pity on him, but every pair of eyes that looked back at him was filled with hatred and scorn. Some were spiteful, others jubilant, and a few even laughed out loud when the procession passed, as though the two policemen had captured some bizarre animal so funnylooking that it deserved to be displayed to the public.

Fak continued to be pushed and dragged and shoved until they reached the police station. He was dragged up the stairs and led to the cell. Once the handcuffs had been removed, he was shoved inside and given a chance to sit quietly and compose himself. The villagers who had come along waited at the foot of the stairs. When they were certain that ‘that damn Fak’ was behind bars, they left to resume whatever they had been doing. Those who had nothing better to do gathered around and went on exchanging views about the spectacle.

At the sound of the key turning in the lock of the cell CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

323 door, Fak felt his heart sink. His feeling of intoxication had long passed. He had been scared and bewildered all the way to the station, and when he heard the key turning in the lock, he could restrain himself no longer and pissed himself.

‘They’ve arrested me. How come they’ve arrested me?

Can’t get out now – why for heaven’s sake did they arrest me? Why didn’t they arrest the headmaster? That bastard has cheated me so why didn’t they arrest him? – I’m in jail –’ He sat there thinking in despair and bafflement.

‘Let me outa here – let me outa here so I can go home,’ Fak pleaded in a hoarse and shaking voice as Sergeant Horm walked away from the cell.

‘You fool. How can you go home? You’re going to stay here for at least three months till you learn how to behave yourself,’ Sergeant Horm said sternly. He looked disapprovingly at Fak, then walked away, his boots clumping heavily on the wooden floor.

‘Three months – three months. I have to stay in jail for three months. I’m gonna die – I’m gonna die for sure.

And who will look after M’am Somsong? That bastard of a headmaster – if I can get out, how can I get back at the fuckin’ cheat? I know: he goes home alone in the evening; I’ll stab him while he’s walking home. I’ll stab him in the stomach first and when he doubles over, I’ll stab him again and again and again until he’s dead.

Then I’ll chop off his head and throw it in his front yard.

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324 I’ll call that bitch of his to have a look – You’d only get yourself arrested again. I’m under arrest! Yes, I’ve been arrested – that’s the truth. I’m behind bars. Gotta get out of here – This lock’s darn strong. Oh, shit! No way.

You’re wasting your energy. All because of the damn headmaster. How come? You cheated me, then how come you didn’t get arrested? Cheating me wasn’t enough, so you got me arrested as well. How come nobody believes he’s a cheatin’ sod, an evil bastard?

And then the cops come and arrest me. Oooh – oooh – oooh –’ Fak moaned desperately to himself.

‘Let me outa here, sir. What I say is true. I didn’t defame the headmaster. He really did cheat me. Let me outa here. Please, sir. I won’t say anything anymore about him cheating me. Just let me outa here,’ Fak mumbled incoherently to Captain Somchai, who had walked over and stood in front of the cell.

Captain Somchai laughed quietly, no doubt amused by what Fak had said about not saying anything against the headmaster. He slowly nodded at Fak and walked away.

‘Let – me – out.’ Tears poured down Fak’s cheeks and dripped onto the floor of the cell.

He had earlier thought he had nothing more to lose, but he seemed to have forgotten that freedom was still in his possession. And now even this had been taken away from him, taken away without his knowledge, through a trick which the law couldn’t put right.

All of his past worries and anxieties rushed back to CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

325 him, making his head almost split with aching. His thoughts spun round and round, upsetting his peace of mind and refusing to give him a minute’s respite. As time passed, he thought more and more and at times his thoughts ordered him to stand, ordered him to sit down, ordered him to walk around in his cell, ordered him to rattle the bars, ordered him to cry and laugh mockingly at himself like a madman – His mind at that point was like a boat full of holes.

Hardly had one hole been plugged to prevent the water from flooding in than another hole started to leak. As soon as that one was plugged, the water would find yet another hole to flow through. The flow would be stopped there only to have other holes leak. All kinds of thoughts kept flooding in, and his loss of freedom and feeling of oppression kept closing in on him, as if the little boat was to be smashed to pieces and its wreckage swept away in their swift current.

He wanted to still his thoughts but had no control over them, just as he had no control over his own behaviour, which was under the same power.

Then his mind turned to alcohol. If only he had some wine, he’d drink himself asleep. He wouldn’t have to put up with this torment or sit there thinking, lie there thinking, stand there thinking, as he did now.

‘A drink – a drink – I need a drink.’

The thought of liquor sapped his strength, which had previously enabled him to walk around and shake and THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

326 rattle the bars. His legs shook, his hands slid down the iron bars and his body slowly sank to the floor. Wind wreaked havoc in his stomach, his face was flushed, his eyes were bloodshot and his vision blurred.

By the time evening came, Fak’s hope of regaining his freedom dimmed and died as the last rays of twilight vanished, the sun bowed out and darkness prevailed.

The neon tube in the cell was switched on, and this was the first night Fak found himself beneath its fluorescent glow. He should have been glad of such a new experience but somehow didn’t quite relish it. He would only twitch and twist noisily in the confines of the cell, filled with a craving for alcohol that seemed to have taken precedence over his thirst for freedom.

As for the widow Somsong, she had sat waiting for Fak until late in the evening. When he didn’t come back, she began to get restless and paced about inside the hut in fits and starts. Finally, she left the hut and set about finding him, wandering in a state of confusion in the fast diminishing light, asking everyone she met: ‘Have you seen my man?’

‘Have you seen my man?’

She made her way all over the place, asking everyone the same question. The jubilant answer she received was, ‘Over there. He’s at the police station over there.

He’s in jail’.

She rushed off in the direction pointed out to her, through a succession of dark stretches and patches of CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

327 light in front of the houses that had electricity. She hurried along breathlessly, practically running. At times, she would trip in the dark and fall and graze her knees and elbows, but still she quickened her steps to go and find Fak. When she appeared at the police station, the policemen on duty exchanged knowing smiles and nodded in her direction, as if to say, ‘See? Here she comes’.

She climbed up the stairs and asked Officer Wee: ‘Have you seen my man?’

‘There he is – twitching in the cage over there.’ Officer Wee pointed at the cell.

Somsong headed straight for it, paying no attention to the policemen, not bothering to ask their permission or to smile at them.

From the look on her face, she was frightened by what she saw. Yet did she understand what was going on?

Could she understand why Fak had been arrested and what he had done wrong?

She grabbed the bars of the cell, reached inside and pulled at Fak’s stretched-out leg.

‘Hey, Fak!’ Started out of his wits, Fak turned, shot her an upward glance, then lay back down writhing and moaning. The sound of his retching echoed throughout the police station, but nobody paid any attention or came to look after him – just as if he was some captured animal kept locked up for the hell of it.

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328 M’am Somsong called Fak over and over, but he was in no mood to answer, as he was desperately fighting his terrible craving for a drink. So she sat herself by the cell bars and stayed still, not getting up, not going anywhere, as if she had been locked up with Fak, like a true friend who refuses to leave the side of a companion fallen on hard times.

On that first day in jail, no one had come to visit Fak, not even Uncle Khai, who understood his circumstances and had always been a friend to him. Khai the undertaker felt deeply sorry for Fak but kept his pity to himself. He was in no position to help him, not even to go and pay him a visit, because if he did, it would be like walking on his own into the path of a storm, with only danger looming ahead. So, the widow Somsong was the only person who came to visit Fak, because she lived in her own world and thus didn’t fear the savage storm that was brewing.

A little after seven o’clock, a large posse of villagers led by the headmaster and Kamnan Yorm came to visit Fak. The letter which the headmaster had given the school janitor to take to the police station earlier in the day could be summed up as follows: Captain Somchai should send two of his men to arrest Fak in order to teach him a lesson because every time he got drunk he made a nuisance of himself and disturbed the public peace. The headmaster could not tolerate Fak distracting the students from their CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

329 lessons. He didn’t intend to file a complaint against Fak for accusing him of stealing his money. It wasn’t even necessary to record the case in the register, but could Captain Somchai keep Fak in jail until he came to give him a talking-to in the evening?

The villagers crowded into the police station behind the headmaster, who stopped and talked with Captain Somchai for a while before walking over to the cell in which Fak lay tossing and turning. The widow Somsong sat outside of the cell, to one side.

‘So, how’s it going?’ The headmaster smiled at him, compassionate concern in his voice.

Fak hoisted himself erect and, grabbing hold of the bars, glared at him.

‘You don’t have to come and gloat – you cheatin’ bastard!’

‘I haven’t come to gloat, Mr. Fak. I’ve just come to warn you not to shout in front of the school the next time you’re drunk. The children are trying to study and you disturb their concentration. These children are like our own, you know –’ The headmaster spoke loudly enough for the villagers and police who had crowded around to hear.

Fak was in no condition to answer. His craving for a drink was getting fiercer with every passing moment.

He collapsed onto the floor and lay there squirming.

‘Hey, you scum, listen! If you don’t show some respect to the headmaster you’re going to have to spend the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

330 night in here,’ Sergeant Horm shouted at him. The widow Somsong, startled, glared at the sergeant.

Fak thought, ‘‘You’re going to have to spend the night in here’?’ He figured out what the words implied and began to see the light of freedom breaking into the cell.

So, he tried to control his inner turmoil and forced himself to sit still, face down, hands tightly clasped, ready to listen.

‘I’m not angry with you for accusing me of cheating you, but I’m concerned about the children. I’m worried that they won’t be able to study properly. If I was angry with you I’d already have filed a complaint against you for defamation of character and have you arrested. If you don’t believe me, ask Captain Somchai if a charge like that isn’t enough to put someone in jail.’ The headmaster spoke loudly. He turned towards Captain Somchai, who stood behind him. Captain Somchai nodded.

The eyes of all the villagers were focused on the headmaster as he stood forgiving Fak. To them, the scene was like the picture of the Buddha’s life that hung in the monastery, especially the one of the Lord preaching to Angulimana. Some of the people turned and whispered to one another, commenting on the headmaster’s goodness, praising his kindness and comparing him to a monk. He bore no grudge against Fak, even though Fak had tried to ruin his reputation.

‘If you don’t have any money, you can always come and ask me. I haven’t got a heart of stone. You and I CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

331 used to work together. You should know you can always talk to me, you can ask me anything, so long as you do it nicely, and not like you’ve been doing. But it doesn’t matter, I’m always willing to forgive. I know you did it only because you were drunk, Mr. Fak. Yet, there’s something I must ask: when you’re drunk, don’t go around making a nuisance of yourself and disturbing everybody in the village. Bear in mind the peace and happiness of the community. Stop making trouble, will you. It isn’t good –’ Before the headmaster had a chance to finish speaking, Kamnan Yorm butted in.

‘Will you promise that from now on, whenever you’re drunk, you’ll stay inside your hut and not go anywhere?’ The kamnan was pressing Fak for an answer.

Fak was in no position to refuse to make this binding promise. He nodded in assent.

‘Speak! Speak up, so everybody can hear. If you make a disturbance again, we’ll lock you up for sure.’ The kamnan wasn’t happy with Fak’s mere nod.

‘I – promise – I won’t be drunk outside the hut again.’

As soon as Fak had finished speaking, a buzz went through the crowd. Some people grumbled between their teeth that his promise wasn’t to be trusted – the way he had lied to the abbot was enough to show he’d swear to anything. Others suggested that the headmaster should press charges against him now and get the matter over once and for all to avoid trouble later on.

‘I don’t want to add to Mr. Fak’s trouble or do anyTHE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

332 thing wrong by him, because whenever I look at him these days, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Let there be no more misunderstandings between us, Fak. You’ve only got yourself to blame. If you hadn’t started drinking yourself senseless, you wouldn’t find yourself without a job and locked up like this. From now on, try to ease off a bit on your drinking, will you. Look at the condition your body’s in: you don’t have human shape any more–’ ‘He’s pregnant, sir,’ a voice interjected. Laughter broke out and everyone smiled at the good timing of the jibe.

The headmaster continued to talk with Fak for a while and concluded: ‘Well, from now on, try to be a good person and behave yourself. You haven’t eaten anything all day, now, have you? I don’t know if the temple boys have kept something for you. Here is some money; go and buy yourself something to eat, but don’t spend it on alcohol, okay?’

The headmaster reached into his pocket and took out a twenty-baht note, but Fak would not accept it.

‘Don’t trouble yourself, headmaster. He’s just being arrogant,’ the kamnan said as he glared at Fak. The headmaster nodded to Captain Somchai to release Fak. Captain Somchai ordered Sergeant Horm to unlock the cell door to let Fak out. Sergeant Horm walked over to the cell and turned the key in the lock. The crowd of onlookers watched in disappointment as though they were witnessing the escape of a snared bird from under their very noses.

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333 ‘Would you believe it? He hasn’t said a word of thanks to the headmaster yet. The ungrateful cur,’ someone protested.

Sergeant Horm stopped turning the key, took it out of the lock and playfully tossed it in his hand, making Fak sweat – his freedom hung on that key.

‘Why don’t you go down on your knees and pay respect to the headmaster? Thank him for not pressing charges against you,’ Sergeant Horm said to Fak in a loud voice, as if to make sure everybody heard him.

But Fak remained motionless and stared at Sergeant Horm, begging for mercy. The look in his eyes pleaded: ‘Don’t make me do that, please.’ But Sergeant Horm wasn’t able to read the message in Fak’s eyes or perhaps he just didn’t want to.

‘If you don’t prostrate yourself before the headmaster, I won’t let you out.’ Sergeant Horm was still tossing the key in his hand.

‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. Apologise to the headmaster,’ the kamnan ordered Fak. ‘That won’t be necessary, sir, so long as he’s aware of what he’s done,’ the headmaster objected.

‘Not yet. If you don’t do it, you don’t get out.’

Sergeant Horm went on threatening, taking no heed of the headmaster’s objection. He was determined to make Fak prostrate himself, because the public watching his performance demanded it.

‘Come on, headmaster, after all he’s done to you, the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

334 least he can do is to go down on his knees. If he won’t do it, we shouldn’t let him out,’ Sergeant Horm said to the headmaster.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ the villagers muttered in agreement with the sergeant.

‘Do you want to get out or don’t you?’ Sergeant Horm issued an ultimatum as he put the key back into his trouser pocket.

The headmaster stood still, not saying a word, as though he were thinking, ‘Well, if that’s what you all want, so be it, I won’t object’.

Fak forced himself to raise his hands, bow quickly and prostrate himself on the cell floor.

‘No way, that’s not good enough. That’s how the Chinks bow to their gods, you ungrateful cur. Do it properly, slowly and gracefully, and say ‘I apologise for what’s happened, headmaster, sir’,’ Sergeant Horm firmly ordered Fak. The widow Somsong looked up and glared at him, her glittering eyes betraying the rage she was feeling.

Fak slowly raised his hands before his face, palms joined, bowed his head and, not daring to look at anyone, said: ‘I – apologise – headmaster, sir.’ (‘Fuck you, you sonofabitch.’)

Having said the words of apology, he lowered his head to the floor. Finally satisfied, Sergeant Horm turned the key in the lock, opened the door and let Fak out while Captain Somchai warned him not to go and make a nuisance of himself again.

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335 Fak was finally out of the cell. With the widow Somsong right behind him, he pushed his way through the crowd, walked down the stairs of the police station and disappeared into the dark like a wild animal just released from a trap – a badly injured animal, covered all over with large deep scars and wounds.

The headmaster and the kamnan stood talking with the police officers, and some of the villagers joined in.

The headmaster thanked Captain Somchai for his kindly assistance in handling Mr. Fak, who had been made to reflect upon his behaviour and possibly would now come to his senses, so that hopefully he wouldn’t go around disturbing the villagers any more. Captain Somchai said it was really he who should thank the headmaster because it was actually his duty as a policeman to see to the welfare and happiness of the people and the headmaster deserved to be thanked for giving him a hand. Someone asked the headmaster why he hadn’t pressed charges against Fak, because the provincial court would certainly send him to jail in town. That way, they’d all be rid of him for good. Everybody was ready to testify in favour of the headmaster, because it was true that that damn Fak had defamed him. The headmaster answered that he didn’t want to prosecute because he was afraid of the bad karma that would follow and besides, he felt sorry for the man. They had long known each other and used to get along well enough together. The headmaster added: ‘He drinks too THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

336 much; maybe it’s had an effect on his brain. I won’t take offence. It was best to let him go. If he hasn’t learned his lesson, we can always see about it later.’ Some complained that the headmaster had let a good opportunity go by, but since he was the injured party and refused to make an issue of it, all they could do was remain silent.

The headmaster talked for a while to the policemen about how generous he had been with Fak in the past, then took his leave. Captain Somchai, Sergeant Horm, Officer Wee and two or three other policemen accompanied the headmaster and the kamnan to the foot of the stairs, followed by the crowd of villagers, who began to disperse and disappear into the hazy darkness surrounding the pool of light of the police station. The policemen standing beside Captain Somchai heard him say quietly to himself: ‘It’s hard to find a good man like him these days.’

Fak staggered along like a wounded animal struggling to find its way back to its den. However much his heart wanted to hurry, his body would only move forward at a painfully slow pace.

He was like an old, wounded animal deprived of fangs and claws, unable to harm anyone, exerting itself only to flee to safety. The fresh cuts he had suffered today were dripping blood. His numerous old wounds, once scarred over, had been scraped raw again, making him ache all over, and blood oozed and clotted over the cuts.

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337 Fak’s weariness at times forced him to stop walking.

He would prop himself with one hand against the trunk of a coconut tree, bend over and retch, but how could anything come out, since he had only had a few spoonfuls of rice that morning and nothing since then? What did come out was sticky saliva and bile. Retching made his eyes water and sent searing cramps to his stomach.

He had been retching all day and now his stomach ached all over. His ears buzzed and his head spun and his vision was blurred by the tears in his eyes. His legs shook so much that he had to sit down and rest.

The darkness that surrounded him played tricks on him with noises similar to those he had heard on the night of the beating. He was startled time and again as he plodded on. Sometimes, when he passed a house where the lights were on, dogs would rush out snapping and barking to chase him away. The owners of the dogs did nothing to stop them, and M’am Somsong had to carefully fend off the mutts and prevent them from sinking their teeth into either of them.

The distance seemed greater than his weakened body would ever be able to cover, yet he inched his way forward obstinately, at times holding on to M’am’s neck for support. His repulsion for her had gone. There was a time when he would swiftly brush her hand away if she so much as tried to take his, because he was afraid of the looks he’d get, but now he was the one who put his arm round her neck and he didn’t care if anyone saw it.

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338 He thought of his father. How he wished his dad would come and help him right now, walk with him to keep him company. He was afraid, afraid of everything – afraid of the dark silhouettes of the trees by the wayside that swayed in front of him, afraid his legs would give in before they got him to the hut, afraid M’am Somsong would hurry on back to the hut and leave him behind – ‘Dad – help me – please,’ he mumbled.

‘It’s okay, I’m here with you now.’ It seemed to Fak the voice came from within and he felt a surge of energy, but so faint that after a few steps his pace was as slow as ever.

His craving for drink, which had come to him in the afternoon, had stayed with him throughout the evening and into the night and refused to leave him alone, denying him the opportunity to be free from its stranglehold. It was no different from a giant python firmly coiled round a puppy, tightening its grip, refusing to let go, gradually crushing its bones, then swallowing it slowly, little by little, until there was nothing left.

His head was spinning in a turmoil of thought, but one thought dominated all others – ‘Where can I find some money to buy booze?’ He brooded fitfully about it and finally decided to ask Uncle Khai, but the path leading to his house was in a different direction. He’d have to go to his own hut first, then pass the school before he could head for Uncle Khai’s. He wasn’t sure he would be able CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

339 to find his way in the dark, but he had no choice, he couldn’t do without a drink. No matter how arduous and tortuous it would be to get there, he was determined to struggle as much as he had to in order to get that drink.

Finally, the interminable path emerged out of the line of coconut trees in front of the school. From a distance came the sound of a violin. Fak turned and saw that the lights in the teachers’ quarters were still on. He gave up his idea of going to Uncle Khai’s house and told M’am Somsong to help him make his way to the teachers’ quarters, over there where the lights were shining.

The whine of the violin mixed with the night serenade of the crickets. It was a melancholy tune, which suggested the bitterness of separation. Master Preecha was engrossed in the music he was playing.

‘Master, sir –’ The music stopped. Master Preecha lowered the violin from his left shoulder and peered down from the veranda in the direction of the call and saw the outline of two people standing in the shadows beyond the reach of the quarters’ lights.

‘Is that you, Fak? Come closer. What is it?’

The lamp on the veranda had a round shade and sent a circle of soft light onto the ground below. The figures of Fak and the widow Somsong slowly moved into the pool of dim light. From the veranda the two bodies looked small and stunted against the dark background. The lower parts THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

340 of the bodies were nondescript dark masses; only the upturned faces could be seen clearly, wearing distraught expressions calling for compassion. The yellowish glow of the lamp enhanced the sickly pallor of Fak’s face, cast the shadow of his nose across his sunken cheeks and turned his eye sockets into deep wells of darkness. His body trembled as though he were shivering with cold.

The widow Somsong stood beside him. Her face was downcast and she poked absentmindedly at the ground with her bare foot. The racket of the crickets was everywhere. Fak still stood stock-still as if he were trying to come to a decision.

‘What is it, Fak?’ asked Master Preecha, who was still standing on the upper veranda of the teachers’ quarters.

The mouth on the jaundiced face opened up slightly.

‘Can I – can you give me fifteen baht?’

‘Er – okay –’ Master Preecha disappeared into his room. A moment later, he returned accompanied by Master Kitti and Master Marnit. The three of them went over to where Fak and the widow Somsong were standing.

‘Make that twenty. Don’t use it all at once.’ Master Preecha pressed the money into Fak’s hand. Fak received the money and made to raise his hands in a gesture of thanks but the teacher stopped him.

‘So they let you out, eh?’ Master Marnit asked.

‘Yessir.’

‘In future don’t badmouth him again, okay?’ Master CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

341 Marnit patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t take any action against you.’

‘Are you going to celebrate?’ Master Kitti joked. Fak didn’t answer.

‘If you can stop, fine, but if you can’t, try to ease off a bit,’ Master Kitti warned.

Fak attempted to place his palms together before his forehead and bow to take his leave, but the three teachers wouldn’t let him.

He thanked Master Preecha and said in a weird voice which seemed to come from the very bottom of his heart: ‘Master, sir – that fucker really did cheat me. Don’t trust him, sir. Remember my words.’ He turned and slowly walked away. The two figures grimly moved out of the cocoon of light and disappeared into the darkness.

The three teachers went back upstairs, Master Marnit and Master Kitti to their rooms, while Master Preecha remained on the veranda staring at the two dim figures hobbling away across the pitch-black lawn in front of the school, picked up his violin and resumed playing his separation lament where he had left it.

Fak and the widow Somsong made it back to the hut.

He told her to go and buy him a bottle. He asked her if she had eaten yet and told her to buy something to eat if she hadn’t. She said she had already eaten early in the evening. She took the money, walked out of the hut and disappeared into the dark, like a faithful servant ready to go through thick and thin to carry her master’s orders.

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342 Fak fumbled around in the dark for some matches, groping about clumsily until he found the box. He struck a match so he could see the small tin lamp, but his hand was shaking so much that everything he saw was flickering. By the time he spotted the lamp, the match had gone out, so he had to feel for the lamp in the dark.

When he had found it he struck another match, but because his hand was shaking so much, try as he may he couldn’t light the wick. The match burnt down to his fingers and he had to drop it. He lit yet another one and with utmost concentration stilled his hand long enough to get the wick going. The glow from the lamp spread throughout the hut as far as it could. Fak was too spent to even go outside and wash his feet, so he decided to dispense with it and climbed onto the bamboo platform.

He was too weak to even light a fire with coconut husks to repel the mosquitoes. He didn’t want to do anything.

All he wanted was a drink.

Silence now kept him company and the flickering orange glow of the lamp watched over him.

His thoughts and his craving for alcohol continued to torment his body and mind and gave him no respite.

They showed no mercy at all, as though they thrived on harming him.

He felt like M’am Somsong had left to buy liquor a year ago. She seemed to have been gone for such a long time and he was still waiting – waiting for her. No, actually not. He wasn’t waiting for her.

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343 Wind in his stomach churned in wave after wave, as if his distended paunch was a damn airbag. Each time his stomach heaved and burps reached his throat, he leaned over and retched, and what came out was sticky mucus and saliva. His chest and stomach were aching so much that it hurt just to press them with his finger. He had tried the whole day to control himself but had been unable to. Where would he get the power to control himself if not in the only thing he was craving – liquor?

He retched again, but this time his saliva had a briny, brackish taste. He thought something must be wrong, so he wiped the saliva from his mouth to have a closer look at it by the lamp. As he held his palm in the light, he saw that there was blood – red blood mixed with clear strands of saliva.

He assumed the blood had come from his gums where he had lost his teeth, so he spat on the ground and began to suck next to his molars to draw more blood and have another look to make sure. He pressed his tongue a_gainst the remaining teeth and sucked loudly, then spat into his hand, but there was no red as he had expected. He moved closer to the lamp to have a better look, but couldn’t see any trace of blood, so he wiped his hand on his trousers.

His stomach heaved and he retched again. The saliva had the same foul taste as before. He spat some on his palm and had a close look by the lamp. It was blood – red blood mixed with saliva. He became scared.

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344 In the eerie silence, the sudden din of the temple’s drum and bell made him jump in fright. At the first ring of the bell, the dogs at the monastery started to howl.

Fak raised his hands, palms joined, and turned in the direction of the temple. He thought of the monks. When they had finished their chanting, they beat the drum and rang the bell to let all sentient beings share in the merit of their action of devotion. And tonight, Fak asked in his heart to be included in the sharing of the merit.

A scene in the prayer hall during his days as a novice came back to him: that of a large Buddha image with a peaceful expression on his face. Smoke billowed from the incense sticks in the burner before him and the candlelight shining from below made the face of the image glow. Sometimes, when he was chanting, he would sneak a look at it and feel that the Lord was discreetly smiling at him.

The drum and bell went on resounding and the dogs continued to howl. He thought of the dog he had beaten to death that day and of the retribution he had brought on himself. He had committed three bad deeds during his lifetime: he had killed the dog, he had lied to the abbot and he drank. When he died, he would probably go to hell because of these wrongs. But wasn’t what others had done to him much worse than what he had done? If so, he would no doubt meet many people he knew in hell – and he would be waiting for them.

Fak couldn’t explain why he had to think about all this CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

345 on such a night, even though his mind was far from peaceful. Or was it because of the fright he got at the sight of the blood?

While these thoughts were going on in his mind, his nausea did not subside and he was retching more painfully than ever.

The drum and bell stopped; the dogs, accordingly, fell silent.

His mind turned once again to M’am Somsong. Why was she gone so long? Had they refused to sell her the liquor? Or had she fallen into the irrigation ditch and broken her leg? Maybe she had been beaten up? Or perhaps she had forgotten? Or she had stopped to have something to eat? Or – The more he worried, the more frantic he became. He thought he should go and look for her, but didn’t dare.

He was afraid of everything – afraid he wouldn’t be able to make it to the terminal, afraid of the looks he’d get from the people – looks from the victors, staring mockingly at a loser like him. Yes, indeed, he had been a loser all along. He wondered why, if it really was a competition with winners and losers, he had to fight alone, when the other side had so many contestants helping one another batter him to pieces until he had been thoroughly defeated.

‘No. I haven’t been defeated. It’s the whole lot of you who are the losers. I haven’t slept with my stepmother, but it was all of you who did,’ Fak muttered.

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346 His whole body began to shake and his vision blurred.

He tried to lie down, but the moment his back touched the platform, wind raged in his stomach, preventing him from lying comfortably and forcing him to sit up and go on retching.

Time passed exceedingly slowly in crushingly painful torment.

The widow Somsong appeared at the door of the hut, a bottle of rice wine in her hand. Behind her was darkness, and in that darkness could Fak notice what she had brought along with her? Even M’am wasn’t aware of what had been following her from the moment she had left the shop at the terminal, carrying the bottle of liquor.

It had followed her in the darkness all the way and now stood in the darkness, waiting. It had come with giant wings ready to fly Fak to freedom, away from the people around him.

M’am put the bottle down in front of Fak, looked around for her bath wraparound and went out to take a shower.

Fak reached for the bottle with shaking hands. His eyes glistened like those of a near comatose patient visited by a wizard known to work miracles.

His shaking hands struggled to remove the stopper and when they finally succeeded, he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long, long swig, then put the bottle down and groaned. His daylong craving apparently still unsatisfied, he picked up the bottle again and greedily CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

347 guzzled more wine as if he was afraid it would disappear before he got drunk.

After he had put the bottle down for the fifth time, nausea struck and quickly spread throughout his body and, unable to control it, he vomited. Before the alcohol could exert its power over his nervous system, it was forced to come back out through his mouth, and this time it brought blood as well. As he threw up again and again, out came blood every single time. The hut was filled with the stench of alcohol and blood.

Fak threw up many more times and each time darkred blood came out as well, to the point that his weary body was unable to sit up any longer, and he fell on his back on the platform, and as he did so his feet kicked the bottle over. He could hear the wine gurgling out of its mouth, but didn’t have the strength to get up and pick up the bottle. He was so spent he couldn’t even sit up to have a look.

He lay there hardly breathing, retching from time to time, his mouth smeared with blood.

Her shower over, the widow Somsong came back inside and, scared witless by what she saw, rushed straight over to her sleeping area and started putting up her mosquito net. She didn’t bother to sit in front of the mirror and comb her hair or wait for Fak to drink himself to sleep and crawl beneath his net as she did every night.

Fak called out to her. She merely turned and stared at him. Out of his last conscious thoughts, he told her THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

348 feebly: ‘M’am – go – go away – don’t stay here – go away.’

M’am was used to hearing Fak order her to leave. She said nothing, went on putting up her mosquito net and when she had finished crawled inside and lay down to sleep.

Fak lay there panting lightly, his body shivering a little.

‘It’s c-c-c-o-l-d –’ The sound came out weakly. Who was he addressing himself to? He was no longer a child. If he were, he’d be sleeping with his dad in the open theatre and his dad would find a blanket to wrap around him and reach out and cuddle him. He’d be warm in his dad’s embrace and the cold would go away. But now he was a grownup and he lied there alone. Who then would fetch a blanket to wrap around him now and take away the cold?

He threw up again. A thread of blood ran from the corners of his mouth, along his jaws and neck, and more blood oozed from his nostrils.

His body shook more and more violently and soon went into convulsions that made the whole platform shake. His legs kicked out and his arms flailed at the air as though he was fighting with the shadow of death, which was about to enshroud him.

The convulsions stopped. He lied motionless, still breathing lightly. Peace had almost come over him.

Death’s wings wrapped themselves around him tightCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

349 ly and Death’s beak ever so slowly pecked at Fak’s senses, and when the last fine thread was being pulled out, Fak’s body jerked in violent spasms and his eyes opened wide as if they had seen something absolutely terrifying in the air.

Fak was dead.

The person called Fak was dead.

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350

6 Fak was dead.

Fak was dead, so he had no opportunity to witness the dawning of the new day or see the sun shining into his hut. He couldn’t hear the merry warbling of the birds or the clear clanging call of the temple bell. He didn’t know that on that morning at the beginning of the new cold season the weather was pleasantly cool; and that morning no longer carried the sweet fragrance of fermented liquor for him.

Inside the hut at that time of day his body lay, alone and peaceful, motionless, undisturbed by the black ants swarming in his eye sockets.

Fak was dead, so he didn’t know that later that morning Uncle Khai came to visit him to try to cheer him up and help him forget his troubles. Uncle Khai, very worried about his welfare, came as an understanding friend ready to support his companion at the end of the line, and when he entered the hut he knew – it was too late.

Too late to try to free Fak’s mind from worries about the swindled money. Too late to chat together. Too late to exchange even a single word. All the things he had meant to say on his way over were instantly replaced by grieving loneliness.

Uncle Khai stood rooted to the entrance of the hut, dumbfounded. He had never thought death would come CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

351 to Fak so quickly and he just didn’t want to believe what he saw.

‘Fak,’ he called out softly like someone mumbling in his sleep. ‘Hey, Fak, I’ve come to see you,’ he said as he walked over to the bamboo platform. Even though he knew that Fak was dead, he still wanted him to be aware of what he had to say.

He went to sit beside the body, reached out and brushed away the ants swarming over its eyes, and closed the eyelids.

‘Sleep, son. Sleep – sleep peacefully,’ he mumbled, tears welling up in his eyes. ‘Sleep now, son, sleep –’ Scenes of the past flitted across his mind, pictures of Fak when he was still living, still laughing, still crying, still chanting at the top of his voice, teasing him, still trading jokes with him.

The widow Somsong appeared at the door of the hut, a lunch box in her right hand. She looked at him with unfriendly eyes and walked straight over to where he was sitting.

‘I’ve come to see Fak,’ he said softly to her.

She didn’t say anything, but sat down on the platform beside Fak’s body. Uncle Khai stepped down and went to stand a couple of paces away.

She opened the lunch box and arranged the bowls in front of her without paying attention to Uncle Khai, who stood watching her.

‘Hey! Hey! Food’s ready,’ she called out to Fak to make him get up.

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352 When she saw that Fak wasn’t moving, she reached over and shook him by the arm.

‘Hey! Come and eat. Come on, let’s eat. Get up and eat with me.’ She kept shaking his arm as she called out, but Fak just lay there quietly.

Fak was dead, so he didn’t know that M’am Somsong was trying to wake him up to have breakfast with her.

Uncle Khai looked on, full of compassion for her, seeing the way she was concerned Fak might go hungry.

She went on pulling at Fak’s arm impatiently.

‘Fak’s dead,’ he said softly to the widow.

She turned to look at him with the same unfriendly expression, then turned back to pull at Fak’s arm.

Uncle Khai decided to leave the hut. He couldn’t think what the best thing to do was. He wouldn’t be able to arrange everything all by himself. It would be above his station, and a challenge to public opinion, which could only bring negative results. He didn’t dare go ahead with funeral arrangements for Fak on his own; he didn’t have the courage to face the storm alone, and so he started looking for a way out.

He had to find someone who could make the arrangements, which he would then carry out. What he needed was someone to take the brunt of the storm for him.

He thought of the abbot, but realised immediately that that would be aiming too high – no need to disturb the abbot for Fak’s body.

How about Kamnan Yorm? He wasn’t sure the kamCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

353 nan would accept, because Fak and Kamnan Yorm had never had much in common and lately the kamnan had taken to disliking Fak, so it would be difficult.

The headmaster, then? There was a chance of success there, he thought, given that the headmaster had always used Fak and Fak used to be his subordinate, but the trouble was that Fak had publicly abused him. All the same, he would give it a try, he decided. Then, the bright side of the plan struck him: ‘My poor Fak. At least, this way you’ll get some of your money back – if he agrees.’

Khai the undertaker reckoned that, if the headmaster agreed to sponsor the funeral, everything would be fine and Fak’s body would be cremated according to tradition.

So, he cut across the yard, heading for the school entrance.

The new janitor came over and asked him what he wanted. Uncle Khai told him that Fak had died and asked to be taken to see the headmaster. The janitor led him upstairs to the headmaster’s office.

The undertaker raised his hands to his chin and bowed to the headmaster. The headmaster returned the greeting and smiled warmly.

‘What brings you here?’ His white teeth sparkled under his well-cropped moustache.

‘Fak’s dead, sir.’

‘What! Are you sure?’ The headmaster was stunned for a moment. ‘How can it be? We just met–’ THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

354 ‘Yes, sir, he’s dead.’

The headmaster’s face saddened. Sorrow was written all over it.

‘Only yesterday we had a chat together and – er – what’s the cause, do you know?’

‘No idea. I just saw blood all over the place. Looked like he’d been vomiting.’

‘It’s such a pity, really.’ The headmaster sighed and shook his head.

‘I’ve come to ask what’s the best thing to do. He’s got no relatives. He used to work for you so I thought I’d ask your advice,’ Uncle Khai said with a sad voice.

The headmaster stood up and thought for a moment, then said: ‘Let’s do it this way: I’ll sponsor the cremation, but – er – store the body for a while first.’

‘Whatever you say, sir. I’m easy, so long as he gets cremated,’ Uncle Khai answered in a courteous tone.

‘It wouldn’t do to do it right now because in a few days it’s the abbot’s birthday. Let’s wait until the celebrations are over. To have a cremation so close to his birthday wouldn’t look good.’

‘Sure. Up to you, sir.’

The headmaster asked a few questions about the body then gave detailed instructions – no lustral water; no chanting ceremony; enshroud the body and store it away in the mortuary; the exact date of the cremation would be determined some time after the birthday celebration. This settled, he asked the undertaker and the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

355 janitor to accompany him to Fak’s hut. As they were walking down the stairs, they came across Master Marnit. The headmaster informed him of Fak’s death and asked him if he was free for the period and as he was, told him to come along with them to Fak’s hut.

On the way, the four of them talked about Fak. Master Marnit said that Fak had gone to the teachers’ quarters the night before and asked Master Preecha for some money to buy himself liquor. Despite all the things they talked about, no one asked the headmaster if it was true Fak had been cheated out of his money or if he just made the story up. No mention was made of the matter, though they went on chatting until they reached the hut.

The widow Somsong was sitting in front of the mirror, putting on lipstick, getting ready to go out in search of treasure. She let Fak sleep peacefully on the bamboo platform. Beside his body was some food on a tray; the rice in the lunch box had been partly eaten.

When she saw the four men appear at the door, she swiftly slipped the tube of lipstick back in its hiding place, then turned and glared at them wild-eyed.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

Nobody answered her. All eyes were on the body of Fak lying face up on the platform.

Uncle Khai told the headmaster that he’d go home and get the key to the mortuary, and he left the other three to keep the body company inside the hut.

After a while he returned with a shroud and asked the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

356 janitor to go with him and help carry a coffin back from the mortuary.

They left the headmaster and Master Marnit to keep Fak and the widow Somsong company. She sat on the bamboo platform, keeping guard. Her fierce glare was full of suspicion, as if she was ready to protect Fak should anyone try to drag him off to jail again.

Soon the undertaker and the janitor returned, carrying a coffin – an old one, which had already been used and kept in the mortuary. They entered the hut and placed the coffin beside Fak’s body.

The moment Uncle Khai touched Fak’s body to wrap it in the shroud, the widow Somsong threw herself at him like a tigress protecting her cub. She bit and kicked, so Khai was unable to go near Fak’s body and had to back away.

She glared wildly at the four of them as though she wanted to tear them apart. She didn’t say anything, yet made it abundantly clear that she was ready to attack anybody who tried to touch Fak. ‘Fak’s dead,’ Uncle Khai said cautiously as he made another attempt to move closer to the body. ‘He’s dead.

We only want to take his body to the mortuary,’ he said slowly, cautious in his every move. But as soon as he got close to the body, she jumped in his way, ready to pounce, and he had to step back again.

‘If we let her go on like this, we’ll never get it over with today,’ the undertaker said, turning to the headmaster.

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357 ‘She doesn’t understand anything at all. Just grab her and tie her up,’ the headmaster ordered, turning to Master Marnit and the janitor.

Together they grabbed M’am Somsong to pin her down, but it was no easy feat. She kicked and bit and lashed out at them repeatedly until they were forced to let go of her. The headmaster had no choice but to jump into the fray and help by holding her face down to the platform while her hands were being tied behind her back. Her feet, however, were still loose and kept kicking so furiously that her sarong got ripped apart, but finally they were tied up as well. When this was done, she was left to fight on on her own.

While the struggle was going on, the undertaker was hurrying through his job, hardly stopping to think of Fak, but keeping an eye on the widow all the time.

And the widow was still full of fighting spirit. She rolled over onto her back and, with an effort, slowly dragged herself forward, hoping to spring herself at the undertaker, but the janitor saw what she was up to and grabbed her from behind.

When she saw she couldn’t move any more, she spat – as luck had it, straight into the face of the headmaster, who could do nothing to protect himself.

The sticky gob of spit caught the headmaster on his receding forehead. He quickly pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the spittle away before it dribbled into his eyebrows. He thought he could smell the stench on his THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

358 face. It was the first time in his entire life somebody had dared to spit on him. The mark M’am Somsong’s spittle left on the headmaster’s face impressed itself onto his memory.

Fak was dead.

Fak was dead, so he didn’t know that the honourable headmaster, admired and respected by all in the village, the same honourable headmaster who had cheated him of his money, had been spat on in the face by M’am Somsong.

The headmaster shook with rage and was about to thrash her but checked himself on time when he realised that he wasn’t alone. The others, too, were doing their best to protect themselves from her spit.

‘Gag her!’ he ordered the school janitor. ‘Wait – you look after things. I’m going to wash my face,’ he said to Master Marnit as he rushed out of the hut.

He went back to the school and found some water to wash his face with. Out of habit, he pulled out his handkerchief to dry himself with, and then realised he had already used it to wipe away the widow’s spit, so he stuffed it back into his trouser pocket. (Later, he threw the handkerchief away after he had used it a couple of times, because every time he saw it, it reminded him of the widow’s spit on his forehead. Although he threw the handkerchief away, he couldn’t get rid of the memory.)

Inside the hut, pandemonium still reigned. Even though M’am Somsong had been gagged and bound, CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

359 her shrill, muffled cries were deafening and she still kicked and writhed just as much as before. The janitor and Master Marnit had to help each other hold her down so that she wouldn’t interfere with the undertaker’s job. This was the first time in Uncle Khai’s career that he had had to enshroud a corpse in the midst of such a commotion.

Both Master Marnit and the janitor were looking out to see if the headmaster was returning. They could have done with his help. The undertaker had almost finished his work, but the headmaster still wasn’t back. The teacher and the janitor must have misunderstood when the headmaster had said, ‘I’m going to wash my face’.

They had both assumed that once the headmaster had finished washing his face he’d come back and help them, but actually, the headmaster had never said he would return.

Fak was dead, so he had no way of knowing that his body had been laid in the coffin and that Uncle Khai was closing the lid.

Fak was dead, so he didn’t know how hard the widow Somsong struggled to try to protect him and how fiercely she fought to prevent the undertaker from placing his body in the coffin; and he didn’t see how serious and strained the faces of Master Marnit and the janitor looked and how much they were sweating as they held her down on the platform.

The school bell rang out the midday break, and not THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

360 long after the ringing had stopped, Master Preecha and Master Kitti arrived at the hut. By then, the lid had been placed on the coffin, which was being carried towards the door. Uncle Khai asked if they would like to have one last look at Fak, but they both agreed that, no matter how many looks they gave him, it wouldn’t help bring him back to life, so they turned down the offer. Besides, they knew it wouldn’t have been a pretty sight. Fak’s face, his behaviour and the words he had spoken the night before came back again to Master Preecha’s mind.

The five men helped one another carry the coffin out of the hut, leaving the widow Somsong to shriek muffled shouts and writhe by herself. As they walked out of the hut, none of them turned to look at her, so no one saw the furious, distraught look in her eyes.

People who saw them carrying the coffin stopped to ask who was lying in it. When they were told it was Fak, they showed no further interest and walked away.

This was the second body from the village that would be going through an unusual funeral. The funeral of Old Foo had differed from the others in that there hadn’t been a single person to attend the cremation, but at least, right after his death, some people had come to listen to the evening chanting and pour lustral water as custom and tradition required. For Fak, however, there would be no evening chanting, there would be no ritual of any kind – the body was merely placed in a coffin to be kept in the mortuary until cremation time, like the body of a CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

361 destitute deprived of relatives awaiting the next mass cremation.

After they had reached their destination and placed the coffin in the mortuary, the three young teachers went to have lunch at the minibus terminal. Before they left, they told the janitor to go back to the hut and release the widow Somsong. They invited Uncle Khai to go and eat with them, but he declined, so they went off on their own.

Uncle Khai walked back home with his sorrow, unable to control his feelings even though he knew that death was a natural occurrence, that it was the lot of the living, and that everyone, rich or poor, must die. In his line of work he had had to deal with many dead bodies and usually went about his job without feeling anything much, but now he felt depressed that for all the fuss that is made over life, this is what it comes to in the end.

While Fak was alive, he had loved him like his own son; he had talked and joked with him like a friend. His understanding of death helped restrain his sense of loss to some extent, but if he was unable to get over the sorrow he felt, it was because he couldn’t help reproaching himself, ‘It’s because of you that he had to die’.

All the way home, he went on thinking about the fact that he had introduced Fak to drink. He had committed an enormous sin and from now on he would be reminded of it every time he thought of Fak, and it would follow him for a long time, perhaps even until he was laid to rest.

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362 M’am Somsong was still alone in the hut, struggling like mad to get rid of her ties and be free. Her body was drenched with sweat and her hair dishevelled. She had tried every way she could to free herself. Many times she had managed to stand up and take a step, but each time she had fallen down, because her feet were tightly bound together. She had pulled at the cord binding her hands, but only succeeded in cutting her wrists. Still she tried, oblivious to the pain. She grunted through the cloth that gagged her mouth, trying to call out for help.

Her cries attracted the attention of a few students.

They were dying to know what was going on and came to stand wild-eyed at the door of the hut. Yet none of them dared to go and help her. They knew it was a matter for the grownups and they shouldn’t interfere, and the wild look in the widow’s eyes terrified them, so they dared not even step inside to get a closer look.

The janitor arrived, pushed his way through the group of children and told them to go away as he was going to set her free, but they were eager to see what would happen and they didn’t budge. The janitor walked to the platform where the widow Somsong was lying so that he could untie her, but she was afraid he was going to hurt her and wouldn’t let him come near. Finally, he managed to grab her and force her over onto her stomach, and quickly took the cord off her wrists. As he was doing this, he shouted to the children to go away and as soon as the cord was undone, he jumped off the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

363 platform. The children scampered in all directions, as though a wild beast was about to be let loose.

Once her hands were free, Somsong snatched the cloth out of her mouth and untied the cord binding her ankles. With all the bonds removed, she found freedom once again. But she didn’t pounce on anyone as the kids had feared. She walked out of the hut determined to find her beloved Fak, wondering no doubt where they had locked him up this time.

Before the afternoon had set in, the news of Fak’s death had spread throughout the village. All the vicious rumours were dug up once again to feed the endless gossip, and it seemed that learning of Fak’s death didn’t trigger any sense of loss, sadness or sorrow; instead, it brought delight to quite a few people.

Fak was dead, so he didn’t know what people were saying about him, just as he didn’t know that the person who had cheated him out of his money was being praised anew, nor did he know that his body was being used to gain even more popularity by the person he hated most.

Every time Fak’s evil doings were discussed, there were words of praise for the headmaster. Everybody commended him for being a good man who bore no grudge against anyone. Even though that damn Fak had publicly insulted and slandered him, the headmaster had never got angry or lost his temper. And even now that the bastard had died, the headmaster was kind THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

364 enough to sponsor his cremation. If he hadn’t agreed to take care of it, the body would have rotted away in the mortuary without a chance to be reborn.

Did Fak know that his soul was indebted to the headmaster?

In the midst of all the gossip, the widow Somsong, undaunted, continued her tireless search for her man.

She kept wandering about, face dirty, hair dishevelled and, because she had been gagged, chin and cheeks smeared with bright red lipstick. Her sarong, which had been torn in the struggle, was in tatters. She roamed about aimlessly, her fierce eyes on the lookout. The way she went about searching for Fak this time differed from the way she hunted for treasure. In her daily search for treasure, she would stroll along leisurely, carefree, smiling away, sometimes humming with quiet contentment, but today she rushed around wildly, panting for breath, asking everyone she came across, ‘Have you seen my man?’

‘Have you seen my man?’

In her anxiety, she was like a pet dog running around looking for its master, getting increasingly exhausted as time passed by.

‘Over there, he’s at the mortuary over there!’

‘Over there. He’s gone to stay with your late husband over there.’

But it seemed that she wasn’t convinced. She walked all over the grounds around the mortuary but couldn’t CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

365 find him, so she left and searched elsewhere, asking everybody she met, ‘Have you seen my man?’ All answers were the same: ‘He’s at the mortuary.’ She roamed about everywhere. She even went to the police station, walked up to have a look inside the cell, searched all over, fearing no one, but Fak wasn’t there. She even went to ask the monks in their quarters and the teachers at the school, creating a commotion everywhere, annoying everybody. Many times she went back to the mortuary and called out, ‘Fak! Fak! Hey, Fak!’ Time and again she returned to the hut, probably hoping to find him inside drinking away, only to find it empty – the only trace of him was the dried blood that stained the platform.

When evening came she returned to the hut, had something to eat, and then resumed her search, going wherever her feet would take her.

The sun slipped out of sight below the horizon and the birds returned to their nests. Lights began to be switched on in the houses to drive out the darkness. Time moved on and on and so did the widow Somsong, who continued her single-minded search for Fak late into the night, even as the lights in the houses began to be switched off one after the other and the people inside, now sleepy, turned in for a night of peaceful rest under their mosquito nets in their cosy bedrooms.

Fak was dead.

Fak was dead, so he didn’t know that M’am Somsong, THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

366 his stepmother, was still tramping about looking for him, wandering alone in the moonlight that bathed the village. When her strength began to desert her, she lay down to sleep by the side of the track, wrapped in moonlight and dew.

It was just as Fak had anticipated at one time: if he wasn’t around, she’d be left to fend for herself. Who would care to look after her? No one but him, who could understand her to some extent, feel sorry for her and look after her and protect her, even though she wasn’t related to him by blood. He felt for her as a fellow human being.

He worried about the hardships she may have to face. He was afraid that she would have to sleep by the wayside and eat out of trashcans, that she would get filthy or turn hysterical, that people would harm her– But Fak was dead.

Fak was dead, so he was unable to watch over her as she lay curled up and shivering by the side of the track in the moonlight.

Dawn came. As the sunshine came calling upon the village, she woke up and walked wearily back to the hut.

Her body was filthy and her arms, legs and face were covered with little red spots, where mosquitoes and gnats had bitten her after exhaustion had forced her to lie down and sleep. They had sucked blood out of her body until they were swollen, leaving tiny bites on her skin.

Along the way, she again asked whomever she came across, ‘Have you seen my man?’

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367 ‘Over there! He’s at the mortuary over there.’

She went back to the hut, then over to the monastery to get something to eat. Once she was full, she resumed her search.

No one could understand why she was so deeply attached to Fak or why she kept on looking for him even though he was dead. The only explanation people could come up with was, ‘She’s gone mad’ or else ‘She’s mancrazy.’ Everyone thought that if she were left to roam about like this she’d become a danger to decent folk and who knows, she might even harm the children, which would be a big problem for everyone. If she went on like this, she’d distract the villagers from their work and disturb the whole community. Worse still, if she fancied exposing herself in the presence of monks, imagine the scandal it would cause.

In late morning, some villagers went to consult Kamnan Yorm. If Fak had been alive, he would have been delighted with the decision the villagers came to after some discussion: ‘It’s better to have her committed to Khlong Sarn.’∗ This decision pleased everybody and all agreed that she should be sent away for ‘treatment’, but nobody was willing to take the responsibility of looking after her, or even of welcoming her back in the village, after she had recovered. Who would be foolhardy enough to do that? ∗ The area of Bangkok where the Somdej Chao Phraya psychiatric hospital is located

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368 Who would be compassionate enough to waste rice on her when she was no one’s relative? So, what their decision really meant was, ‘Let’s dump her someplace else’.

The widow Somsong went on searching for Fak. Everywhere she went she would ask the same question, but she didn’t harm anybody as everybody feared. She kept roaming about in the mortuary, calling out ‘Fak! Fak! Hey, Fak!’ not knowing that this very day she’d be going on a journey and never return to the village again.

Her destiny would not end here, but the path of her life would wind on and on and nobody could say what her final destination would be.

When everything was ready, the journey of the widow Somsong started at eleven that morning, just as the monks were squatting down for lunch.

Several strong young men stealthily entered the mortuary area. Somsong was frightened by the way these young men were creeping up on her. They moved slowly, carefully trying to force her into a corner, getting closer and closer. She began to run, tumbling and tripping over clumps of grass and small bushes. The group of youths ran after her and formed a circle around her that got smaller and smaller.

‘Don’t be afraid, we’re gonna take you to see Fak.’ ‘Let’s go. I’ll take you there.’

As the young men got closer, she could hear these words coming out of their slightly parted mouths. Somehow, she sensed danger and, with a savage glint in her CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

369 eyes, glared suspiciously at those men who were trying to touch her.

She rushed forward in an attempt to break through the circle, but was forced to stop when one of the young men managed to grab hold of her, and then all of the others pounced on her and pinned her down. No matter how hard she struggled, she was unable to break free from their hold. She fought back so fiercely that she all but exhausted the five or six young men, who were all treated to blobs of spit. Luckily for her, they didn’t use their fists, or her spittle would have taken another colour altogether.

Fak was dead.

Fak was dead, so he was unable to come and help her.

She was still struggling as they bound her and stuffed her into the back of Kliao’s minibus, much to the enjoyment of those who stood watching at the terminal. She was trussed up like a pig as she lay on the floor of the minibus. A few youngsters looking for a good time in Bangkok came along for the ride. The man responsible for the safe transfer of the widow Somsong was Sergeant Horm, who was dressed in full regalia and sat proudly by the driver, Kliao.

So it was that, once everything was ready, the widow Somsong was forced to leave the village. If Fak were to come back to life and could see her now and someone were to ask him, ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You kept saying you wished you could be rid of her. Isn’t THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

370 this what you wanted?’ it isn’t clear what his answer would have been.

The blue-and-white minibus backed its way out of the terminal onto the ochre dirt road, which was lined on both sides with lush green trees. As it trundled away, its rear could be seen bouncing on the bumpy road.

The villagers who had stood round watching began to talk about all that had happened and the immorality of fooling around with your father’s wife. Their verdict was that karma had caught up with these two. They observed that that damn Fak had had a terrible ending and that bitch Somsong had gone totally berserk. Karma: that’s what it was! Karma working right before their eyes– As soon as the minibus went out of sight, the people began to disperse and go back home, feeling relieved.

From now on, there would be no more scandals in this village, no more bad examples, no more disgusting goings-on. From now on, this village would again be clean as a whistle. That indecent couple had finally been got rid of and the immoral carnal affair was over.

That evening, after Kliao’s minibus had returned to the village, there was a titbit to add to the gossip about the widow Somsong: the crazy bitch had escaped from the mental hospital several years before. The doctors had no trouble remembering her, because every time she got upset or angry she liked to flash her bush for everyone to see.

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371 The festival celebrating the abbot’s birthday was held two days later.

In the morning, a throng of people came to the temple to make merit by offering food to the monks. Everyone was dressed up and had glowing smiles as they relaxed with their friends in the monastery grounds.

Fak was dead, so he wasn’t present during this year’s birthday celebration.

The widow Somsong was no longer in the village, so she wasn’t present during this year’s birthday celebration either.

In the evening, the temple committee added up the money donated by the villagers, checked the temple’s bank account and figured out how much money was available. After some deliberation, it was suggested that, as the village was now highly developed, it would be fitting for the temple to build a new type of crematorium, with a furnace instead of a pyre. Villagers would no longer have to put up with an eyesore every time a body was cremated. The change would be part of the process of modernisation, which would raise the status of the temple and bring it to the level of the temples in town.

The new construction would match the beauty of the monks’ new quarters. All the members of the committee agreed with this forward-looking proposal, which was the brainchild of the headmaster.

That night the villagers were treated to various forms of entertainment, just like every year. They crowded on THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

372 the lawn and sat up straight to follow the exciting colour movie being projected on the screen, and every time the hero rescued the leading lady from the grasp of some villain, there was thunderous applause – quite the opposite to the likei stage, which was dark, silent and empty like a deserted house.

A few days after the birthday celebrations, work began on the crematorium, next to the funeral pavilion.

Time went by and the days turned into months – one month – two months – three months – Uncle Khai waited anxiously for the headmaster to make the arrangements for Fak’s cremation. He wanted the body to be cremated so that Fak’s soul could be reborn and he could feel relieved, because being in no position to do anything about the cremation made him feel as though Fak’s body was lying in his own heart and constantly reproaching him.

The memory of Fak sitting, sleeping or crying on the bamboo platform beside the shack could not be erased from his mind and every time he sat down there to have a drink, he would pour a glass for Fak as well. Sometimes, when he was well and truly drunk, he would mumble to Fak: ‘I’ll come after you for the cremation fee. Don’t think you can get out of it.’ He would mumble and then chuckle, but there was loneliness concealed in his laughter.

Fak was dead.

Fak was dead, so he didn’t come and share a drink and a joke with Uncle Khai.

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373 Finally, Uncle Khai could no longer bear the headmaster’s silence. The man seemed to have forgotten the promise he had made. So, one evening, the undertaker went over to the headmaster’s house to remind him of it.

The headmaster saw that he had to let him in on his plans and he told him to wait until the new crematorium was ready and then the cremation would be arranged.

Uncle Khai went on waiting. The work seemed to be taking forever, but for all his impatience, there was nothing he could do about it.

People still talked about Fak and the widow Somsong.

It’s only natural for the deeds of the dead to be turned into legends. Unfortunately, the legend that followed Fak was filled with evil and made people want to curse him and damn him to hell. They agreed he deserved to be consumed in torment in the deepest hell for the bad karma he had made.

Six months later, the crematorium was completed.

The headmaster made arrangements for the cremation of Fak’s body, keeping the promise he had made to the undertaker.

At three o’clock one afternoon, Uncle Khai and the school janitor helped each other carry the coffin to the pedestal of the new crematorium. Villagers had begun to arrive.

Nobody asked for the lid to be removed for a last look at the deceased, and nobody wept. People formed themselves into groups and chatted merrily to while away the time.

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374 The place filled up rapidly. Some people came dressed casually as they would at home. Some wore baggy Chinese pants, a chequered strip of cloth tied round the waist and nothing on their chests. Some wore brightcoloured shirts with floral patterns. Everybody dressed as they pleased. Nobody wore black, nobody wore a white shirt and black sarong, nobody wore a village scout scarf or a mourning band, and nobody had actually come here for Fak’s cremation.

The news had spread by word of mouth among the villagers that the new furnace was going to be tested publicly that evening. Everybody was eager to see how it worked and curiosity was what had brought people along. They were excited at the prospect of seeing something new, just as they had been when the first television set had arrived in the village.

Fak was dead.

Fak was dead, so he didn’t know that his cremation had drawn a crowd, maybe not as large as for the cremation of Kamnan Yorm’s father, but nearly everyone in the village had turned up. Had he known, he would no doubt have felt proud that his cremation was the first in the village at which people had the right to dress as they pleased.

Fak was dead.

Fak was dead, so he didn’t know that his body was to be used to demonstrate the cremation process, as the final step of the construction work the contractor had to CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

375 submit to the temple committee. Had he known, he would no doubt have been delighted.

The headmaster walked around with a smiling face as he chatted with Kamnan Yorm and the members of the committee while they followed the foreman and listened to his suggestions and explanations, which went something like this: This is where the curtain should be placed, and when the time for the actual cremation comes, it can be drawn just like a curtain in the cinema.

Electric fans should be attached to the ceiling, one here, one there and another over there; revolving ones are better. You can set fluorescent lights into the ceiling; use square-shaped ones, they are more beautiful. Place a sofa here for the senior guests, and over there rows of chairs for the other guests, and in the middle, between the two flights of stairs, a draped swag would definitely add to the overall effect– The committee members followed, listening to the suggestions and trying to visualise the whole scene, and never were there more beautiful crematoria than blazed in their imaginations.

At four o’clock, four monks left their quarters to go and perform the cremation rites for Mr. Fak as instructed by the headmaster. When they reached the crematorium, they stepped onto their dais, chanted a few prayers and received the ceremonial robes, performing the minimum service in record time.

The coffin was lifted from the pedestal and placed on a THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

376 mobile platform big and long enough for a large-sized person to lie on comfortably. The compartment underneath was filled with charcoal.

Uncle Khai removed the lid from the coffin and looked at the body stretched out inside, and thought, ‘You’re all right now, son’.

‘Put the body over here, uncle,’ the foreman motioned to him.

Uncle Khai did as he was told. Nobody offered to help.

Everybody simply stared in silence, not daring to touch the body of Fak because corpses were filthy, or was it his bad deeds that scared them away? Uncle Khai couldn’t say.

The body now lay on the charcoal-filled platform. The foreman took a bottle of petrol and poured it over the charcoal and over the body, then struck a match and flung it down. The fire caught immediately. The foreman pushed the platform, which moved on wheels like a train along tracks, and when it was inside the oven, closed the bottom door, then the top door, and made sure that the steel handles were locked. Through a small opening, flames could be seen lapping at the body inside.

‘You can keep the coffin and use it again when someone too poor to afford one dies,’ the foreman pointed out to the undertaker and to the members of the committee as well as to the crowd of villagers who took turns to look at the flames inside the furnace through the openCHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

377 ing. Everyone was very impressed with this new step forward in the development of the village.

Uncle Khai cut through the crowd and went over to the minibus terminal to buy some rice wine, then returned to the temple and sat drinking alone in the far corner of the main pavilion, away from the nearby crematorium.

His eyes stared at the people wandering around, but all the while he was feeling lonely, as lonely as if there was no one around. He was thinking of Fak, thinking of the days when Fak was still alive. Many scenes played through his mind, including the last time they had met.

Fak’s face was still vivid in his memory, and the words he had said were still ringing in his ears.

His eyes went on staring blankly at the people milling around the crematorium. This wasn’t the kind of funeral he had wanted. Fak’s body should not have been used like this. It shouldn’t have been used to try out the new furnace. It should have been given a proper cremation like everybody else. It didn’t have to be big, but at least it should have been performed according to custom, so that his soul could receive merit and blessings. He shouldn’t have been treated like a pig or a dog. Uncle Khai deeply regretted that he had chosen the wrong person to organise Fak’s cremation, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

One thing he had learned today was that he could see right through the headmaster, he could see just what the THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

378 man was made of. It had just dawned on him that the headmaster’s plan had been laid long ago and had now been carried out successfully. What hurt him most was that he had been used unwittingly in its implementation.

But who could he tell? Who would want to listen to what he had to say? After all, there was nothing wrong with what the headmaster had done and on the face of it, it had worked out to everybody’s advantage.

Uncle Khai began to reflect on the lifetime he had spent putting up with this kind of work and he felt tired of it all. He had nothing much to show for all those long years, and now he had been tricked by the headmaster into joining in the defiling of the soul of someone he loved and pitied. All along, the one thing he had been looking forward to was to make the best possible cremation for Fak as it would be the last time he could do something for his body. But things had turned out like this. It was disheartening. He brooded over everything that had happened, feeling utterly fed up, and made a promise to himself that this would be the last cremation he would attend to in his lifetime. In his heart, he asked Fak to forgive him. He hoped that from now on, he’d just lead the life of an ordinary man like the rest of them.

‘Don’t hold it against me, Fak, I’ve been as big a fool as you were,’ he mumbled, alone in his corner. ‘Come, let’s have a drink together. You haven’t touched your glass yet,’ he said and laughed, still alone. He thought of the CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT

379 way Fak used to laugh, and heard Fak’s laughter as clearly as it had been in the past.

As most of the villagers had already left, the headmaster walked straight to the undertaker inside the main pavilion.

‘So you’re having a drink by yourself, eh?’ the headmaster greeted him and smiled. To Uncle Khai, it was a smile of mockery.

‘It’s pretty easy now, wouldn’t you say. Easier than in the past.’ His face was still smiling.

The headmaster reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a wad of money, took out fifty baht and stuffed the rest back into his pocket.

‘Here – for your labour,’ he said, offering the banknotes.

At first, Uncle Khai thought that he wouldn’t accept, as he had decided he’d do this for Fak, but then he thought to himself, ‘After all, it’s Fak’s money’.

‘Go on, take it,’ the headmaster insisted when he saw the undertaker didn’t move.

Uncle Khai reached out and took the money and put it in his shirt pocket.

‘Actually, Mr. Fak was quite a useful person. Even though he’s dead his body still had its use – isn’t that right, uncle?’

The whole of the headmaster’s face was smiling. His eyes crinkled with a smile. His cheeks smiled, the corners of his mouth were upturned in a smile which THE JUDGMENT | CHART KORBJITTI

380 uncovered his sparkling white teeth. Even his neatly trimmed moustache smiled. It was a really beautiful smile.

Uncle Khai stared at the smiling face of the headmaster without saying a word; so the headmaster walked away.

‘I’d like to spit in your face,’ Khai thought, then he remembered the way M’am Somsong had spat in the headmaster’s face and felt vindicated.

‘I wonder whether she’s recovered by now. Have you been to see her yet?’ he asked Fak’s glass. Fak didn’t answer, so he went on: ‘This is your money, so I’m going to use it to make some merit for you. That’s all I could get back, you see,’ he said to Fak, his voice filled with sorrow.

Everybody had gone, leaving only silence behind.

Uncle Khai sat drinking and keeping Fak company until evening, gazing at the smoke that drifted out of the yellow chimney. The white trail floated up into the dark blue sky, higher and higher, until it spread out and vanished into thin air.

25 October 1981 Chart Korbjitti, born 1954, is a highly successful, self‐publishing Thai novelist and short story writer with a wide range of styles. Both The judgment and Time, 1993, received the SEA Write Award and were translated into French, English and other languages. They can be downloaded from thaifiction.com, along with Mad dogs & co, 1988, and his best novellas and short stories. The Judgment, serialised for television in the 1990s, was turned into a happy‐ending [!] movie, Ai Fak, in 2004.

CHART KORBJITTI | THE JUDGMENT