time | chart korbjitti

time CHART KORBJITTI

2

time TRANSLATED FROM THE THAI BY MARCEL BARANG

© CHART KORBJITTI © MARCEL BARANG for the translation Internet eBook edition 2008 | All rights reserved

Original Thai edition, Weila, 1993 CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

3 To my and everybody else’s grandparents

The curtain rises in the dark.

The darkness is total. Nothing to be seen. No movement to be heard.

After a while, a narrow, plunging shaft of light catches an old-fashioned clock hung on the pillar in the middle of the room. The clock thus stands out of the surrounding darkness. Its ticktack grows louder. The clock does not merely look old: its wood is worn-out and you can see the chips and cracks of its enamel, frittered away by time. The accumulated grime and dust also testify that no one takes care of it. But its pendulum still moves from side to side, as it must, unconcerned by the marks of deterioration on the body of the clock.

The time now is 4:45am.

The pencil of light from above does not light up the clock only. It projects itself weakly on the floor as well, faintly revealing the woodwork and an aisle which runs deep into the dark and is flanked on both sides by the dim shapes of mosquito nets over long rows of beds.

The eerie dark forms in them are stretched-out sleeping people.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

4 ‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’ a parched voice shouts out in the silence.

Some of the bodies on the beds toss and turn, as if the shout had reached into their sleep, but this only lasts for a brief moment, then everything is still and quiet as before.

Ticktack-ticktack Ticktack-ticktack.

Time passes as time must. The pendulum keeps moving from side to side.

Time goes by. Goes by without anything happening on stage.

Five minutes pass by.

Pass by ever so slowly.

I’m beginning to feel uneasy. Uneasy sitting here watching a clock ticking. Uneasy at the lack of action.

After a while, my nose picks up mustiness combined with a faint offensive smell of urine floating lightly in the air. I’m not at all sure whether the director of the play intends to release such a smell or whether the smell comes from the toilet in the theatre, but I’m pretty sure it must come from the stage, because before the play began there was no such smell.

At this point I sympathize with myself for having to sit caught up in the spectacle of a clock, breathing an unwelcome smell. But then, I’m not the only one in this condition. There are many other spectators sharing the same fate.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

5 But I can’t stop thinking that the director of the play must have meant it that way, that the smell must be necessary to his play. I don’t think he let it out only to annoy his audience.

Then, which part of the stage should the smell come from? I ask myself.

With my eyesight now adjusted to the darkness, the outline of the stage becomes clearer.

This dormitory has two aisles. The main one is in the centre of the stage, with beds on both sides, five on the left row, six on the right. The smaller aisle runs between the heads of the beds of the right row and a small cubicle set against the wall on the right side of the stage.

This small cubicle looks very much like a prison cell.

The cemented base of its front wall is chest-high and topped with steel bars reaching through to the ceiling.

I’m not sure if the cubicle is further partitioned, because the greater darkness on the sides of the stage does not allow me to see anything much.

I understand there must be someone in that ironbarred cubicle, otherwise they wouldn’t have partitioned the room, but I don’t understand why they must have some old people sleeping in there.

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’ The shout on the stage resounds again.

I’m certain it’s the same voice as I heard the first time, and this time I’m able to work out its direction: it comes from somewhere inside the cubicle.

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6 Far left on stage is a long, deep shower room jutting out onto the stage. There is no partition wall, just a doorframe to show the way in and out. A waist-high, rectangular water basin runs the length of the shower room, which also has a toilet. I’m not sure whether the smell of urine floating by comes from the toilet or not.

Ticktack-ticktack Ticktack-ticktack.

Time ticks by. Ticks by indefatigably.

The person next to me sighs.

If those who produced the play were sitting watching it also, the sighing and fidgeting of the audience would probably answer their question as to whether they have achieved what they wanted to achieve.

I don’t know what it is they want to achieve. Do they want the spectators to feel uneasy, or do they want them to be bored with what they are seeing?

But speaking for myself, I don’t want the people who watch my movies to be bored with what they see.

True, uneasiness at times makes for boredom, but surely boredom is entirely different from uneasiness.

As my record shows, I always try to stuff as much uneasiness into my movies as I feel is necessary.

And this is another reason why I wanted to come and see this play, because a newspaper review summed it up neatly as ‘the most boring play of the year.’

At first, when the company announced they’d perform this play, I didn’t pay much attention, because I was CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

7 busy shooting my latest movie, but I felt mildly tickled by the fact that they are all only in their early twenties.

In fact, according to their biographies, some of them are still university students. But there they were, foolishly announcing they’d perform a play about the inner feelings of the elderly.

That was what caught my attention.

What would these youngsters know about the inner feelings of old people? Why would young guys and girls like them perform a play about the elderly? Though there are lots of interesting plays for people of their age to perform, they decided to tackle a subject they did not know and had no way of knowing.

The funny thing is, I’ll be sixty-three this year and I’ve never even thought of doing a movie on old people. In my latest production, I’ve gone back instead to doing a movie about youth. I think it’s a lot more entertaining.

That’s what caught my attention. Just that.

From then on I didn’t follow the news about the company again, because I was fully taken up with my work.

When it was announced the play was to be premiered and the proceeds of the performance would go to an old people’s home, I read the reports and critical reviews attentively and decided that when I was free from work I’d try to see it. But it didn’t reach the stage where I decided I had to see it no matter what.

It’s a good thing I stopped shooting my film on schedule and went through the work prints yesterday. The TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

8 rushes were satisfactory. There was no need for remakes. So today I’m not worrying about work. I left it to the editor to cut the takes that can be used and splice them in sequence on a reel. At least I can relax for a few days, before going back to the lab to supervise the cutting of the master print.

The performance at which I sit smelling urine is the seven o’clock performance. The audience is sparse. I don’t know if it’s because the show has run its course or because the play is really boring, as the critics say.

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’ The same shout rings out again.

‘Yeah man, we already know there’s nothing,’ my young neighbour mumbles to his friend.

I dare not turn to look at him. I’m afraid I’ll make him even more annoyed. Actually, there’s plenty to be annoyed about, given that ten minutes have gone by already and nothing is happening on stage at all, except for the raucous shout being repeated time and time again.

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’

If this play was showing something interesting, I’m sure nobody would mind the ten minutes gone by, or if some did, it’d be to regret that time had gone by so fast.

But not here, not now, with everybody having to sit looking at the clock ticking away, having to sit looking at a lack of action. Even though it’d be the same ten minutes in both cases.

Same for me, actually. I can’t take any more of this clock CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

9 watching, even though I’ve been forewarned by the reviews that the clock will run until five in the morning before things begin to move on stage. But even so, I just can’t control myself. I feel uneasy beyond words.

I’m beginning to see a way not to let myself be manipulated like this any longer, to think of a way not to be bored for the five minutes that remain.

If it were a picture of mine, how would I manage it? I ask myself.

[Start the sequence with—] Close-up Of the clock needles. Brief shot. /Cut Close-up Of the pendulum, going from side to side. /Cut Close-up Of the whole clock, showing the time as 4:55. The picture recedes slowly to encompass the light in the middle of the room. /Fade out Medium-range (High-angle shot.) Fade in/ Of the clock hung on the central pillar of the room. Behind it, the mosquito nets of patients’ beds are lined up on either side of the aisle running into darkness. /Cut Medium-range (dolly) (At eye level.) Of the aisle between the beds. Slow travelling to one bed, stopping at the nightTIME | CHART KORBJITTI

10

Close-up

Close-up

Close-up

stand at the head of the bed. /Fade out Fade in/Of the things on the nightstand. Use ambient light, just strong enough to see a messy array of sundry items—cheap articles and useful items such as water container, drug phials, spittoon, plate or spoon. After a while, the picture slowly shifts to the body lying on the bed, gets closer and closer. /Fade out (Through the mosquito net.) Of the face of the person lying on the bed: sunken features, sparse white hair, deep orbits, eyes staring hard (to show the person is not asleep).

Slowly dissolving into the picture of the clock. /Fade out Fade-in/Of the clock dial. Now the time is exactly 5:00.

If this sequence was in my film, it wouldn’t take more than one minute for the time shown on the clock to reach five o’clock as desired. But this is the time on a theatre stage. So I have to sit and wait— The clock strikes five times.

The sliding door at the back of the dormitory (at the CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

11 very end of the central aisle) opens. Ubon (the nurse) pushes the door wide open. She presses the light switch by the doorframe. The whole hospital ward is suffused in bright light. All of the beds are seen clearly. The patients under the mosquito nets begin to move. (NB: Only the people in six beds do so. The patients in the remaining five beds cannot get up. These are the first and second beds of the left row and the third, fourth and fifth beds of the right row, counting from the door.)

Ubon walks up the central aisle. She is wearing a darkblue uniform, with a skirt reaching below the knee. She walks by the various beds on her way to the shower room to one side of the stage, switches its light on, turns on the faucets, making sure everything works.

Now all those who can move are putting away their bedding, taking out mosquito nets, folding blankets, etc.

Each of them looks weary out of illness and old age.

Ubon walks out of the shower room, takes down the mosquito nets of those patients that cannot move, until she comes to the last of the five beds, Old Yoo’s bed (third bed, right row). The body on it cannot stir. Only the eyes are wide open, but stare out expressionless.

(NB: In this play, conversations will only be heard when the dialogue is specified; as for those not involved in the dialogue, they are to talk as usual but without a sound.

This technique is to be used throughout the play.)

Ubon ‘Oh, so, granny, you’re awake?’

Old Yoo ‘Uh-huh.’ Indistinct eructation, as if the TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

12 tongue fills the mouth and has no strength to flex.

Ubon ‘Did you sleep well during the night?’

Old Yoo (Shakes her head for an answer.) ‘B-ba-bad.’

Ubon (Voice raising.) ‘Come again?’

Old Yoo ‘B-b-baaad.’

Ubon (Nods in understanding.) ‘Just as well. You haven’t had a bath in days.’

She walks away from Old Yoo’s bed to the shower room, to bring a wheelchair back to the bed. Meanwhile, all patients are going about their routines, such as getting a towel and bowl to go and have a wash. Some already carry their own spittoons in their hands. Others step into the toilet to answer nature’s call. All are moving very slowly, with hunched backs.

Ubon pushes the wheelchair alongside Old Yoo’s bed, then bends down, reaches for the bedpan under the bed and brings it up for inspection. (NB: These bedpans are for patients who can’t help themselves, who can’t sit up or walk by themselves. In the middle of the mattress is a round hole. The patient is lying with her bottom right over it, so that when she relieves herself, the mattress will not be dirtied—real mattresses should be used.)

Ubon ‘There’s nothing, you know, granny.’

(Then puts the bedpan back where it was.)

Voice offstage ‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’

Ubon (Head turned towards the cubicle, CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

13 shouts back.) ‘So you didn’t either, did you?’

Some smile at the nurse’s shouted answer. It sounds like there is still a wee bit of fun left in this place for them to smile at.

But there is no reply coming out of the cubicle, as if the owner of the voice does not wish to be heard by anyone, does not intend to talk to anyone specifically in this place. His shouts sound as though they are coming from afar.

A smile still lingers on the nurse’s face as she pulls out the blanket covering Old Yoo and folds it. This done, she helps the body on the bed to sit up, undresses it, then takes it all naked and shrivelled into her arms and lifts it onto the wheelchair, reaches out for the bowl and towel on the nightstand and places them on Old Yoo’s lap.

The light on stage gradually dims while the strobe from above follows the naked body on the wheelchair. The nurse slowly wheels the chair along the central aisle towards the shower room. The body sitting on the wheelchair is only skin and bones. The skin is sallow, sallow to the point you’d think there is no blood underneath.

As the nurse pushing the wheelchair reaches the halfway point, a liquid flows down from beneath the seat of the wheelchair and forms a trail on the floor. Can it be that the smell of urine comes from the old woman? I’ve yet to come to a conclusion.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

14 The nurse goes on pushing the wheelchair. Nothing in her expression shows she minds the urine flowing down. On the contrary: her face seems suffused with happiness at devoting herself to the service of someone who is incapacitated.

That’s what I feel.

The strobe shining down puts her happy face into sharp relief against the surrounding darkness. I guess she must be in her early twenties, at most not quite twenty-five, but her composed demeanour makes her look mature beyond her years.

Pushing the wheelchair she enters the shower room, where everyone is now busy having a wash. The light from above which has followed the wheelchair makes those who stand washing themselves look like dark shadows on the move outside of the circle of light.

She places the bowl on the rim of the basin before walking over to hang the towel on the rack at one end of the room, dons a plastic apron to protect herself from splashes, then walks back into the circle of light where the old woman sits waiting on the wheelchair. She scoops up some water, pours some over her hand as if to check how cold it is, then gently pours out water from the bowl over the old woman’s shoulders.

Seeing such a scene, an indescribable emotion takes hold of me as I realize there are many things of beauty in the world that we have yet to witness. The scene before us now isn’t at all spectacular, yet it’s a scene of simple CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

15 beauty that’s not easy to come by. I can’t help thinking it should be in my own movie.

Close-up

Voice over (Ubon)

Medium-range shot

Of the old woman’s face, a grid of wrinkles. The eyes in the sunken orbits are lost in hindsight, dry, deprived of any lubricant.

‘Close your eyes, please.’

The eyes close. A well-fleshed hand enters the picture, runs through the sparse white hair from the forehead up while water runs down, then the hand sweeps the wrinkled face. The picture gradually moves down from the face, past the neck, on to the chest. Meanwhile, rivulets of water still flow down as the plump hand scrubs the sallow, dried-out skin on display. The camera gradually backs away from the old woman’s chest, backs away so slowly the shift is hardly felt. /Fade out Inside the shower room, some women are washing themselves, others are getting dressed. As clothes slip, there are glimpses of naked flesh, but the owners of the

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

16 bodies can’t be bothered to hide what they used to conceal in younger days.

I’d never have thought the director of the play would include such a scene. In daily life, an old woman bathing is an ordinary enough scene, but once it’s brought on stage for us to see, it gives us the feeling it’s no ordinary scene as we’d see in daily life. Or perhaps it is that we’ve never really tried to observe it before? I’m not sure, but this kind of bathing scene I’ve seen before and used in my movies, at a time when movies in our fair land had no mouth-kissing scenes like they do these days, and reserved such scenes for sex bombs to show off their figures, to show off their bulges and curves under bodyhugging wet sarongs in order to rouse erotic yearnings.

What we can see on stage now is indeed bodies tightly wrapped in wet sarongs, yet I’m certain no one here entertains any lewd thoughts over what is to be seen.

I’m engrossed in the scene until— The nurse pulls the wheelchair out of the shower room.

The strobe light follows the two of them all the way. The nurse takes the old woman in her arms to lift her off the wheelchair and stretch her out on the bed. The body of the old woman keeps slipping, offering no ready hold. The nurse takes both arms, puts them between the legs, then makes the body bend over till the head almost touches the knees. And this is how she lifts the coiled body onto the CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

17 bed. She goes and unlocks the nightstand at the head of the bed, picks up a shirt, then returns to dry the body thoroughly and smear it with powder. The withered naked body lies stark white under the light.

Ubon

(Dresses her in a round-neck sleeveless shirt, then combs her hair.) ‘Beautiful, really, granny.’

Old Yoo ‘Hu—huh.’ (Not understanding.)

Ubon ‘I said you’re beautiful. You must’ve been quite a knockout in your time.’

Old Yoo (Smiles. Says nothing.)

Ubon ‘There, you rest now, granny. I’ve got other things to do as well.’

Ubon shifts the body of the old woman so that its bottom is over the hole in the middle of the mattress, then gently lowers the body down. Finally, she spreads out the blanket to cover the lower part of the body.

The stage lights turn as bright as before.

The strobe boring down on the two of them gradually dims and goes out altogether. The old woman becomes background to the scene. The nurse pushes the wheelchair back into the shower room, takes a mop and wipes out the spilt water and trail of urine along the aisle. The way she goes about wiping the floor shows she is used to such work. She does it with the right mixture of haste and thoroughness.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

18 Once she has wiped the floor, she walks back into the shower room, rinses the mop and puts it back. She walks out of the shower room and goes to the cubicle beside the small aisle. As she is about to release the steel latch on the outside of the cell, a shout coming from the back stills her hand.

‘Nurse! Nurse!’

Ubon turns abruptly to look at the origin of the sound, sees Old Jan sitting despondently by the nightstand at the head of her bed.

‘What’s the matter, granny?’

Old Jan is tongue-tied, with a lump in her throat, pallid as if she is about to faint.

‘What’s the matter, granny?’ Ubon shouts again, as she darts to her.

Everyone totters towards Old Jan’s bed.

‘What’s the matter?’ Ubon sounds alarmed. ‘You aren’t feeling well, is that it?’ She grabs Old Jan’s arm and shakes it to make her come to her senses.

‘Me money—me money’s gone!’ Old Jan looks up and complains woefully.

As soon as these words are out, all of the bodies who are moving towards her seem to be compelled to stay right where they are as if under a spell.

‘What!’ Ubon can’t believe her ears.

‘Me money’s gone, nurse. It’s really gone,’ Old Jan insists, her voice trembling.

‘You sure of what you’re saying?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

19 ‘It’s really gone, nurse. I kept it here, see.’ She lifts the brittle plastic sheet that covers the bottom of her nightstand to show there is nothing there.

‘Come on, take a good look once again, just in case it slipped somewhere else.’ Ubon is still unwilling to believe her. She looks around inside the nightstand.

‘What about the slit? Have you searched for it there?’

She points at the narrow opening at the top of the nightstand, which is full of all kinds of things.

‘I’ve already looked,’ Old Jan answers with a shaky voice.

‘Well, better have another look.’ Then she helps remove all the items in the nightstand – empty milk cans, plastic bags, bits of newspapers, drug bottles, and a lot more. She checks all over but sees no sign of any money.

The bottom drawer is full of clothes. She goes through every single item. Even the pockets of the properly folded clothes do not escape her hand. She gets everything out until the things form a pile in front of the nightstand.

No money in there either.

‘What about the top drawer?’ She won’t give up.

‘I’ve looked everywhere already.’

But Ubon still won’t believe her. She pulls out the drawer, rummages about but finds nothing.

‘Think again carefully whether you haven’t tucked it somewhere else, on the mattress, under the pillow, under the bed. Have you looked everywhere?’

And again she is the one who lifts the pillow, lifts the mattress, checks under the bed, to make absolutely sure.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

20 ‘There isn’t any, granny.’ She wipes out the sweat on her face, discouraged.

‘Then where am I going to find the money to make a food offering to the monk?’ Old Jan asks herself, and tears spring to her eyes.

‘Oh, come on, granny, there’s no need to cry. If it’s gone, it’s gone. Don’t think about it. You’ll get someone to bring you some more soon.’ Her voice is sweetly reassuring.

But it seems such words of solace are of no use. Old Jan looks bent on sobbing forever.

‘How much did you lose?’

Old Jan shakes her head, meaning she can’t remember how much there was.

‘I don’t know how I can help you, granny,’ Ubon tells her truthfully. ‘Actually, money, you know, you should keep it on yourself.’ The sentence is meant as an enticement to remember, but is perceived as a stinging reproach by the owner of the money.

‘But, who’d’ve thought – at death’s door as we are – they’d do a wicked thing like this?’

And this very sentence is what brings the bodies being cursed back to their senses, back to their senses amidst disparaging words.

‘How ’bout havin’ us all searched?’

Everybody turns to look at the author of the suggestion.

I see a fat woman standing in the aisle by her bed, which is the third bed on the left row. She is staring at CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

21 the owner of the money, who sits sobbing on the first bed of the right row front of stage.

Old Nuan

(Casting her eyes around.) ‘Better search everybody, so we know who did it. Otherwise, the whole place’s going to stink.’

Ubon (To Old Jan.) ‘Shall we do as Mrs. Nuan suggests?’

Old Jan (Talks as she sobs.) ‘Please don’t. No need to make such a fuss. It’s me own fault. I don’t know how to look after me own things. ’Bout the money itself, I don’t mind that much. What I mind is that today I won’t be able to earn merit, that’s all.’ (Sobs louder than before.)

Ubon ‘Well, it’s up to you, really. I don’t know how I can be of help. Actually, something like this shouldn’t happen.

It definitely shouldn’t.’ (She looks around.)

Old Nuan (Strenuously.) ‘I say let’s have a search.

Otherwise, we won’t be able to look each other in the face.’

It seems, from the nods of approval, that everybody agrees with this thought. But— Old Bunruean (Taking the plunge.) ‘How are you going to search anyway, my dear TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

22

Old Bunruean

Old Nuan

Old Jan Old Bunruean

Old Nuan

Old Bunruean

Old Nuan

Nuan? It’s money, you know, not something distinctive.’ (Gets up from her bed, which is next to Old Jan’s, and walks up to the nurse.)

(Talking with exquisite politeness.) ‘I think it’s going to be a nuisance, nurse, because we all have money. Suppose I’m the one who took her money and I tell you it’s my own, there’s no evidence, now, is there?’

(Sounding unhappy.) ‘Jan dear, do you remember the numbers on the banknotes?’

(Shakes her head.)

(Laughs, turns to tell Old Nuan:) ‘Who’d be crazy enough to memorize banknote numbers?’

(Retorts at once.) ‘Me for one, ha! I jot down every number, and I ain’t crazy yet either.’

(Sarcastically.) ‘You must be the only one in the world, my dear Nuan. Who ever heard of such a thing, sitting down to take down bill numbers? And what if the bills are laundered? I’ve heard it’s being done, you know.’

(Aggressively.) ‘Well, I’m poor, you see, Mrs. Bunruean. I got only a few bankCHART KORBJITTI | TIME

23 notes. I ain’t as rich as you are so you can’t be bothered takin’ their numbers down. But, all the same, it makes you wonder how someone as loaded as you ended up in a dump like this—’ Ubon (Cutting the argument short.) ‘All right, all right, that’s enough. Go and do whatever it is you have to do.’

Old Thapthim, Old Erp and Old Sorn, who stand in line at the outside, reluctantly get moving, only when Old Nuan and Old Bunruean have returned to their respective beds.

Ubon (Turns to look at Old Jan’s bed.) ‘You’re definite, aren’t you, that it’s gone? You haven’t used it for something else and then think you still have it? Or forgot where you put it?’

Old Jan (Does not answer – merely sobs.)

Ubon turns to look at the cell. When she sees that the door is still locked as usual, she turns round.

Ubon ‘Think carefully about it once again, granny. I’m sure it hasn’t gone away.’

(She comforts her, before getting up and going to the cell.)

Old Nuan stands looking at Ubon, until Ubon disappears into the cell, then she totters back to Old Jan’s bed.

Old Jan sits putting things back into her nightstand.

Old Nuan (Slowly, painfully sits down – her knees TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

24

Old Jan Old Nuan

Old Jan Old Nuan Old Jan

Old Nuan

Old Jan Old Nuan

hurt.) ‘Here, me dear, you take me money first. I’m lendin’ it to you, so you can buy food for the monk.’

‘I don’t want it, thanks. No money, no merit.’

(Insisting, puts the money into Old Jan’s palm until she succeeds.) ‘You take it. You can always give it back to me when you get some more.’

‘Then how ’bout you? You got enough to make merit?’

‘I do. Don’t worry. There’s more in me drawer.’

(Humbly.) ‘Blessings to you, me dear.

I’ll give it back to you as soon as I get some more. If it wasn’t for offerin’ the monk, I needn’t use it for nothin’. All the money I have I use to make merit.

Whoever took it, may she rot in hell—’ (Cutting her short.) ‘Don’t think about it, me dear. Think of it as charity.

Things like these, they rebound on ’m that dare ’m.’

‘I can’t get over it. Just the few of us old folk here. And yet this.’

‘Must be one of us tottering crones. You can bet it’s none of ’m four or five bedridden veggies o’er there.’ (Laughs.)

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

25 Old Nuan gets up with difficulty, grabs the bedside railing to get herself up, then slowly walks back to her own bed. On the way, she mumbles to herself loudly.

Old Nuan ‘People these days, they ain’t afraid of sin, they ain’t afraid of fate. I don’t know what it is their hearts are made of these days. May eternal fire come to cleanse the world once for all.’

As these words end, the central lights dim and go out.

The strobe projects its glare down onto the cell.

I look at the cell, see nothing but the nurse’s head bobbing within it.

‘There’s nothing!’ The shout from the cell comes out.

‘You can say that! You won’t even put your clothes on.

And, oh my, you’ve peed all over everything as well!

Oh, you—’ the nurse says with laughter in her voice.

I hear water splashing. I’m not sure whether she’s giving the old man a shower or cleaning excrement off the cement floor. The splash of water dies down, then I hear: ‘Here goes! Yup! Shift a little, old man. I’ll put your trousers on.’

‘No way! No way!’

I hear sounds of scuffling.

‘Eh, don’t be so stubborn!’ The nurse sounds angry.

The sounds of scuffling stop.

‘Aren’t you ashamed, old man? Sleeping in the nude like this. There’s people coming over to treat you to TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

26 lunch, you know— Okay, lift your bum up a little,’ the nurse’s voice orders.

From listening to the loud exchange, I think the scene inside the cell doesn’t bear watching. A good thing they aren’t showing it to us. I just see the nurse’s head leaning this way and that and bobbing inside the cell. To be blunt, I’m not that eager to see an old man in the buff.

What’s appealing about that? I see enough of those as it is every day.

The clock chimes.

On stage, it is six in the morning already.

Through my glasses I strain to read the time on my own wristwatch, unable to believe a whole hour has gone by.

My watch says the time is only 7:35pm. Which means only thirty-five minutes have elapsed since the start of the play.

The clock is deceiving me. It’s only now I realize a clock is merely an instrument for recording time: it isn’t time itself.

Light from outside is beginning to shine into the stage through the frosted glass panes above the windows, through the ventilation panels and through the door at the end of the central aisle. The door, which has been left open, frames a view of a clump of trees by one side of another building.

Outside it must be bright by now, I think. If it were a movie, you’d get to see more than the scene in here.

Panoramic

(Outdoors – high-angle shot.) Of Bangkok at dawn. /Cut CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

27 Medium-range

Medium-range

Medium-range

The madman Close-up Close-up

Ubon

(High-angle shot.) Of the congested traffic. Some cars still with their lights on. People strap-hanging in buses. /Cut (Eye-level shot.) Of old people exercising, with their children or grandchildren close by to help them out (maybe at Lumphini Park or Chatuchak Park). /Cut Of the temple gate. A monk cradling his alms bowl comes through the gate. Two boxers swinging punches at the air run past the monk. The monk walks out right of picture. The boxers run out left of picture. Only the empty temple gate is left.

After a while, a madman with a bag on his shoulder enters (right), stops and stands in the middle of the screen, looks up and mumbles all by himself.

Finally, he shouts out at the sky.

‘There’s nothing, right?’ /Cut (Of the nurse’s hand closing the cell door and latching it on the outside.)

(Of the nurse’s smiling face – we understand she is smiling at the old man inside the cell.)

‘Sure, if there’s nothing, then that’s it.’

Then walks out of the picture, leaving TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

28 only the cell bars over the whole screen. /Cut When Ubon has walked away from the cell, the light dousing the cell gradually dims, while the stage lights gradually grow brighter to match the light from outside, to show that it is full morning by now. (NB: The outside light will evolve according to the time shown on the clock on stage.)

Ubon goes and opens the window at the head of Bed 1 and Bed 2 of the left row. Those who can get up help one another open the other windows as much as their strength allows.

Silence takes over again. The constant ticking of the clock is the only sound that won’t keep quiet.

In the silence, it looks as though everybody is restless, waiting for something.

Old Thapthim cannot bear to wait any longer. She slowly gets up from her bed, which is by the door, leans out to take a look, then returns disappointed and walks across to the bed opposite hers.

‘No sign of her yet, me dear Erp.’ ‘How come she’s so late? She never is.’ Old Erp sighs.

‘If I was at home, I wouldn’t have to rely on her like this.’ There seems to be resentment in her voice.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

29 Old Thapthim smiles, showing the few blackened teeth she has left. She smiles because she knows this cannot be. ‘You’re still missin’ home, ain’t you?’

‘Not anymore I ain’t. I know there’s no hope. I’m just ramblin’ on, just in case it turns out to be true.’ Old Erp smiles sheepishly, embarrassed to find herself talking about home.

‘Well, for me, I’ve stopped thinkin’ ’bout it for a long, long time. I raised ’m until they could fend for themselves, and that’s all there was to it. These days, me only worry’s for me little one, you see. I’m afraid somethin’ will happen to ’im.’ There is sadness in Old Thapthim’s voice as well as on her face. ‘That’s all I worry about, really. He hasn’t come in months – I used to see ’im sittin’ by the door. He’d be gone a day or two and then turn up again. Oh dear!’ Her eyes are on the door, as though her son was actually there.

‘What a shame, really. He doesn’t understand what he’s told, and yet he still manages to come and see you to make you feel good. Not like mine, who never show their faces. All ten of ’m. Never seen ’m even once.’ Old Erp thinks of her own children.

It looks as though Old Thapthim isn’t quite listening to Old Erp, as her heart is set on her youngest child.

‘I’ve no idea these days what’s happenin’ to you, oh me son.’ She wipes silent tears and raises her joined hands above her head. ‘Please the Lord nothin’ bad happens to me son!’

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30 Old Thapthim’s tears prompt Old Erp’s tears to come out as well. Although they are not related, these two old women are like relatives. Although they did not know each other before, it’s as if they have become fellow travellers.

‘I’m sure he’s all right. The Lord’s with him. He’s never done any harm to anyone.’ Old Erp consoles her friend in spite of her own tears. She sees her friend still sitting with tears in her eyes staring at the door. ‘You’re a strange mother, you know. When your son comes to see you, you cry. And now that he’s been away for a while, here you are cryin’ again.’ Old Erp wipes her own tears, trying to sound jocular. ‘Think positive. Maybe he’s with his brother and sister and they’ve taken him under their wing.’

‘Good grief, me dear Erp, that’s absolutely impossible!

Even in me dreams I’ve never dreamed of such a thing, so how could it happen in reality? These days, I only think it’s me fate, it’s me own burden to bear, me dear.’

The two old women merely sit quietly looking at each other’s face with tears in their eyes, as if they are aware of sharing the same fate, but that fate has come from the past deeds of each, which have not been the same in the course of their lives, and they are not able to appeal to or blame anyone besides themselves. They understand this much.

Footsteps rushing to the door make them wipe their tears. They don’t want anyone to see them.

‘Here I come, ladies! Here I am!’ A woman vendor of CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

31 their daughters’ age enters, carrying a basket in each arm. With difficulty she lowers the baskets down by the foot of Old Erp’s bed. ‘Ouch! I’m so tired – hey, what’s the matter, grannies? Why the red eyes?’

‘Nothin’, nothin’ at all.’ Old Erp conceals her feelings under a normal tone of voice. ‘But how ’bout you? How come you’re so late today?’

‘My children are sitting for their exams, that’s how,’ the woman complains. ‘They got up afore dawn and set about reading their books. I had to do everything by myself. D’you think they’d find it in their hearts to give me a hand now and then? Not on your lives do they.’

‘Oh, come, now. It’s their future. Before long they’ll be in clover, so they’ll take care of you when you’re old,’ Old Erp says while her hand chooses plastic bags of foodstuffs in the baskets.

‘I don’t know when they’ll get it over with. If I work myself to death like this, it’s for them, you know,’ the woman vendor complains as if she cannot get over her irritation.

‘It’s never over, actually. Not even when they start their own family it isn’t. It’s only when we go out feet first that it’s really over.’ Old Erp has chosen the bags of food and other items she will offer the monk. Old Thapthim now takes her pick.

‘No way, I say. When they start a family, it’s their own concern by then.’

‘That’s not the way it is at all, young woman. You can TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

32 always say it is. But when the time comes, you can’t do it. No matter what, they’re still your children.’ Old Thapthim warns, out of experience. ‘Now, here: one rice, one curry, and a bunch of flowers.’ Old Thapthim puts them down to show the vendor.

‘Eight plus two plus two – twelve baht altogether.’ The vendor shows each item as she counts.

Old Thapthim undoes the knot of her sarong, takes out her money, carefully unrolls a twenty-baht bill, hands it over and receives the change from the vendor.

‘And how much for me?’ Old Erp points at the goods she has chosen.

‘Fifteen baht.’

Old Erp gets up, walks over to the head of her bed, lifts the pillow, takes out coins and counts them.

‘Wow, you’ve got a fortune in small change!’ the woman vendor jokes loudly as she stands waiting.

‘What are you sayin’? Just a few coins, that’s all.’ Old Erp smiles, then hands over the money.

The vendor takes the money, then walks lugging her baskets to Old Sorn’s bed, next to Old Erp’s bed. She doesn’t cross over to the other row of beds, because the patients on the two beds opposite have been reactionless for days.

When she has finished selling her wares to Old Sorn, she walks further to Old Nuan’s bed, then crosses over to Old Yoo’s.

Old Yoo lies staring hard at the vendor.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

33 ‘Will you make a food offering, granny?’ the vendor asks loudly.

‘Uh-huh.’ The sound comes out in acknowledgment.

‘Ubon! Ubon!’ the vendor calls out for the nurse.

‘Yes, what is it?’ is shouted out of the shower room.

‘Granny Yoo wants to make a food offering.’

‘Hold on. Let her choose first. I’ll pay you in a moment.’ Ubon is still busy washing bedpans.

The woman vendor lifts up her baskets and inclines them towards Old Yoo, who merely glances down and slowly points at this bag and that with all the consciousness she can muster. The vendor picks up the bags Old Yoo points at, then gathers them on the nightstand.

She walks up to Old Bunruean’s bed, without turning to glance at the two beds on the opposite side, because she knows the bodies lying on those beds are also waiting for their final departure.

The vendor takes Old Bunruean’s money then goes over to Old Jan’s bed.

Old Jan picks up a single bag of rice, then hands over a ten-baht bill.

‘How come you’re only buying rice today?’ the vendor asks as she fishes out the change.

Old Jan takes the change, holds it tight in her fist.

There is no answer from her.

‘What’s wrong, granny? Why won’t you talk?’

Old Jan still sits silent, as if she hasn’t heard the question.

‘Or is it you don’t like the food I brought today?’ the TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

34 vendor keeps asking.

‘Me money’s been stolen, that’s why. All of it. Luckily enough, dear Nuan here was kind enough to let me have ten baht, or else I wouldn’t even be able to buy rice for the monk,’ Old Jan explodes, with tears in her eyes yet again.

‘What! How can that be? You’re sure you didn’t lose it somewhere?’

‘How can I lose it somewhere? I stay here every day.

How could I go anywhere?’ There is some spite in her voice, so the vendor keeps quiet and waits for the nurse.

Her job over, Ubon walks out of the shower room, two bedpans in each hand. Her eyes catch hold of the woman vendor waiting by Old Jan’s bed. ‘Go and wait for me by Granny Yoo’s bed, will you?’ she turns to tell the vendor.

The vendor lifts her baskets and walks over to wait by Old Yoo’s bed. She looks at Ubon placing the bedpans under the beds of the patients and feels tired for her, until Ubon comes back with a sweaty face.

‘Old Jan got her money stolen, did she?’ the vendor whispers.

‘I’m not sure. It’s hard to say. I don’t know if it was stolen or if she misplaced it. I’d rather not talk about it, actually.’

The vendor nods in understanding.

‘How much is it for Granny Yoo?’ Ubon is staring at the bags of curry, rice and sweets and the set of incense, candle and flower piled up on the nightstand.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

35 ‘Thirty-seven baht.’ The number was already in the vendor’s head. ‘I don’t know if she knows what she’s doing, you know. She pointed at this and that, so I picked it up for her, but it’s odd, you know, she didn’t point at rice at all. So I picked it up for her. Don’t blame me, okay? Or you want me to put it back?’

‘Not at all.’ Ubon turns to smile at Old Yoo. ‘How come, granny? If you make an offering without rice, where will the monk find rice to eat?’ She laughs, then pulls out a bunch of keys from her shirt pocket, unlocks the nightstand, takes out the money, hands over the right amount, closes the nightstand and snaps the lock shut. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with her today. This morning she had me give her a bath. Now she wants to make an offering again – it doesn’t look good, I’m afraid,’ she adds as an aside.

The woman vendor looks at Old Yoo’s face, as if she knows what Ubon means. ‘Today she looks bright, but better not say anything: it might bring her bad luck.’

The nurse does not express any opinion, but it seems they both know what they are talking about.

I’m not sure whether what the two of them are talking about on stage is the same as what I have in mind, but listening to them makes me think of my daughter, who died eleven years ago.

At the time, I was busy shooting a movie way up north, in Phitsanulok. We went to stay there for four days to finish the floating-house scenes. I remember that on the night of the second day I could hardly get any TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

36 sleep at all, as if someone was around waiting to bother me, and there was a strong smell of mud in the room as well, but I didn’t think much of it. I only thought it was because in the daytime I had tramped in muddy water and the smell must have stuck. Late the next morning, as we were on location waiting for the light to be right to start shooting, my assistant director came over to whisper to me there was a phone call from home to my hotel asking me to call back urgently. I had the premonition something bad must have happened, because normally my wife never disturbed me when I was working. It was a rule between the two of us.

I waited until the crew took their lunch break, then hurried back to the hotel and called home.

My daughter had drowned.

My wife told me that on the morning of the day our daughter died, while my wife stood waiting to make her food offering to the monks like every day, our daughter had come out to share in the merit. My wife asked her how come she wanted to make merit as well, given that she’d never done so or shown any interest in making merit. My wife had discussed this with her before and my daughter had argued she didn’t have to make merit at all, that not making trouble for others was enough, and certainly better than making merit with the monks and then being evil to others. My wife didn’t say anything to her, because she felt she was old enough already, she had her own way of thinking, and it did no CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

37 harm to anyone. But that morning, my daughter answered her mother by saying, ‘Well, you see, if I die, I’ll go to the same place as you, because you make food offerings every day, and I’ve never made any, so maybe once we’re dead we’ll end up in different places, like.’

That evening, my daughter drowned as she was returning from the university because her ferry overturned. Her body was only found the next morning.

My wife went talking on and on between sobs, devastated that our daughter had given her an omen she had failed to notice, blaming herself, angry with herself for not being able to snatch our daughter out of the jaws of death.

Personally, I don’t believe in omens. I’ve always thought omens are born once people are dead. When someone dies, his words or acts before that are construed as omens.

But my wife really did believe in omens.

Just as the woman vendor on stage, too, must believe in omens. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have said, ‘Better not say anything: it might bring her bad luck.’

The vendor walks away from Old Yoo’s bed down the aisle.

The light goes down gradually. As it begins to dim, everybody stops still as darkly outlined statues until the woman vendor goes through the door.

The light at the door brightens to a painful glare.

Into this light steps a young monk. It looks as though his aura radiates all around him. This light is the light of faith, the light of the ultimate belief, and it is this same TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

38 light which comes and prompts the dark, stilled bodies to move again under the stimulus of merit.

When the monk comes through the door, all of the bodies move as usual.

The ambient light is still out. There is only the light suffusing the monk, following his every step.

The monk begins receiving alms offerings with Old Thapthim, who sits waiting to the right of the entrance door. Once she has put the food in the bowl, Old Thapthim prostrates herself, then with joined hands receives the monk’s blessing while praying in her heart. (NB: Each person’s prayer comes from within. Echo sound should be used to help the audience understand this – check whether this is possible.)

Old Thapthim (Praying.) ‘O Lord, please help me son. Let nothin’ happen to ’im.’

His blessing given, the monk walks across to receive the offering at Old Erp’s bed.

Old Erp (Praying.) ‘This comin’ draw, lemme get the winnin’ number this once, so I can go away from here.’

His blessing given, the monk walks over to Old Sorn’s bed to receive the offering.

Old Sorn (Praying.) ‘O Lord, let me die now.

I’ve had enough. There’s nothin’ holdin’ me back. I’m ready.’

His blessing given, the monk walks on to Old Nuan’s bed.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

39 Old Nuan

(Praying.) ‘Let me son be cured, O Lord, so his family can be happy.’

His blessing given, the monk walks on to the next bed.

The person on that bed lies still, oblivious to the world.

Only the breathing in and out makes the world notice she is alive.

The young monk stands extending loving kindness to her, then walks to the first bed of the left row. He stands praying in compassion for the person on the bed with a tranquil composure as he ponders on the universal truth of the transience of life.

Then the monk walks across to Old Jan’s bed. Old Jan drops the bag of rice into the bowl then joins her hands to receive the blessing.

Old Jan (Praying.) ‘May I get back the money that’s gone, so I can make merit by offerin’ food.’

The monk walks over to Old Bunruean’s bed to receive the offering.

Old Bunruean (Praying.) ‘Lord, O Lord, may no one come here and see me.’

Old Bunruean goes down on her knees and prostrates herself in a way which shows she was once in good hands.

The monk walks on to Old Yoo’s bed, beside which Ubon stands waiting.

Ubon ‘The monk’s here!’ (She helps Old Yoo to sit up, adjusts her clothes to make her look decent.)

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40 The monk removes the lid of his bowl. Ubon grabs Old Yoo’s hand and makes it drop the rice, curries and sweets into the bowl. The monk puts the lid back on.

Ubon again takes Old Yoo’s hand and makes her grab the votive set and place it on the lid of the bowl.

The monk blesses her, his lips hardly moving, without any sound to be heard.

Ubon takes Old Yoo’s hands, places them together, lifts them up to receive the blessing.

Ubon ‘You must pray now, granny. The monk has blessed you already.’

There is no sound of any prayer from Old Yoo. The monk leaves, extends loving kindness to the next bed and to the one after that. Neither acknowledges the priest’s blessings.

The bright light gives a wondrous saffron glow to the monk’s robe. Particles of colour float about him. Besides, his perfect composure makes it look as though his body is slowly floating out through the door as if he doesn’t use his feet to walk as laymen do.

Everybody looks at the monk until he goes out of sight with eyes that shine with hope, the hope that he will take the wish each has expressed in prayer and forward it to the heavens above.

The clock strikes seven times.

This time, it can’t fool me any longer. I already know it merely shows the time on stage.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

41 A thickset male worker of about forty plus comes through the door pushing a food trolley. A fat woman with bushy eyebrows follows in his steps. She wears a uniform of the same colour as the nurse’s. She must be around thirty-five. They both come to a stop in the middle of the aisle. On the trolley there is a big aluminium pot together with a stack of trays. At the bottom of the trolley are big plastic bottles of water and a bucket for scraps.

‘How is it going, Ubon? Busy?’ the stout woman asks.

‘A little, Lamjiak. There’s still those four beds I haven’t done yet. Just cleaned the bedpans.’ Ubon means the four beds whose occupants lie inert, as we know.

‘Never mind. Let ’m have their food first. You can finish ’m later.’ Lamjiak’s tone implies she really doesn’t mind.

‘What have you got for them this morning?’ Ubon asks as she walks to the trolley.

‘Pork gruel,’ Lamjiak tells her before she walks out to hand out medicine by each bed. She reads the patients’ names on the little plastic bags holding the drugs that she takes out of her shirt pocket. There are drugs to be taken either before or after the meal. As she hands out the drugs to each bed, she has to explain which to take first and which after. When she is through, she walks back to the food trolley.

The worker’s dark pudgy hand lifts the lid off the pot.

Fragrant steam wafts out. He sets about ladling out the rice gruel on the trays piled up on the trolley, while the old women line up to receive their tray of food.

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42 I think that if it were a movie, things would go faster than this time-wasting ladling out of food to tray after tray. Before the patients got their trays and walked back to their beds and were finished eating, people would long have fled the movie house. I think we should back a little and start like this.

Close-up

Close-up

(High-angle shot.) Of bits of shallot, parsley and fried garlic spread over the surface of the water, steam drops clinging to the inside of the pot. A dark pudgy hand holding the ladle stirs the whole. The ladle takes gruel and dumps it in the main compartment of a tray. One sees the rice gruel and morsels of pork all over the section. The picture slowly fades away.

(High-angle shot.) The picture slowly comes into focus. Of Old Yoo’s parched lips opening up.

Inside there are no teeth left. Her pale pink tongue is seen moving a little. Ubon’s hand slowly drives a spoonful of gruel into the gaping mouth. It takes a long time for the gruel in the spoon to slide into the mouth. Finally, the spoon leaves CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

43

Voice over (Ubon) Close-up

Close-up Close-up

Old Sorn Close-up Old Thapthim

Medium to close-up

the scene. Only the mouth remains, with gums patiently munching—to make you feel there are no taste buds left to savour the food.

‘Is it good?’ /Cut (High-angle shot.) Of the food tray only. After a while, a segment of tangerine falls onto the rice gruel, then another four or five pieces, until they cover the gruel. A withered hand holding a spoon mixes a segment with the gruel and lifts it up. /Cut Of Old Sorn spooning up tangerine and gruel and chewing on it. /Cut Old Sorn’s face shows she is pleased with the unusual taste she is discovering. Chews, swallows, then: (Mumbling.) ‘Not bad at all.’ She chuckles to herself. /Cut Of Old Thapthim’s face, gazing into space with tears in her eyes.

(Mumbling.) ‘I wonder if he’s eaten yet.’ Slow dolly away from Old Thapthim’s face. /Fade out Fade in/ Of Old Thapthim alone in the picture, sitting holding the

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44

Close-up Medium-range Old Erp

Old Thapthim

Close-up Old Erp

Medium-range

spoon dipped into the rice gruel as if she doesn’t feel like eating. /Cut Of Old Erp staring (at Old Thapthim). /Cut (Of both of them.) Showing Old Erp staring at Old Thapthim.

‘Come on, get a grip, me dear.

Force yourself to eat, so you’ve some strength.’

(Turning round.) ‘I miss ’im. If he was in ’is right mind like the others, I wouldn’t worry. He could fend for ’imself. But I’ve no idea how he supports ’imself, you know.’ (Wipes her tears.) /Cut Of Old Erp’s face.

(Talking reassuringly.) ‘There’s people to feed him, I’m sure. This is a Buddhist country. They wouldn’t let him starve.’ /Cut Of Old Bunruean, who sits eating her rice gruel. Around her tray are various kinds of dry edibles she keeps in plastic bags, such as dry shredded pork and so on. As she eats, she peers out towards Old Jan’s bed (to see if there is something to eat). /Cut CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

45 Close-up

Medium-range

Voice over (Old Jan)

Medium to close-up

Close-up Close-up

Voice over (Worker) Voice over (Old Jan) Voice over (Worker)

Of Old Jan, shuffling the gruel on her tray with her spoon, then turning to— /Cut (As seen through Old Jan’s eyes.)

Of the worker standing by the trolley.

‘I say, young man, how come I ain’t got no pork?’

The worker turns around, glances at her rather irritably, then grabs the ladle and searches for pork. /Cut Old Jan sits staring on the right side of the picture. The worker enters left, ladle in hand, then goes and sits down. /Cut Of the worker’s face as he bends down to look.

(As seen through the worker’s eyes.) Of three or four pieces of pork in the gruel on Old Jan’s tray.

‘What’s this, then, if not pork? And plenty of it too. Can’t you see it?’

‘There ain’t. I can’t see any.’

‘Awright, awright, have this, then.’

The ladle comes down and pours two or three pieces of pork over the gruel. /Cut

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46 Close-up

Medium to close-up

Medium-range

Lamjiak

Panoramic

(High-angle shot.) A hand forces a mouth open, then a spoon with only gruel in it pours it into the mouth until none is left. The mouth just holds it in. /Cut Of Lamjiak looking down at the patient, then starting to walk out. /Cut Of Lamjiak walking to another bed next to the previous one to help feed another patient. She feeds both patients (on beds 1 and 2 of the left row). When she has fed the patient on the second bed, she turns back to the first bed.

(Talking loudly.) ‘Don’t you just keep the rice in your mouth, or else we’ll be here all day. Hurry up and chew.’ The patient begins to move her mouth. /Cut Showing everyone sitting eating as best they can. Ubon is feeding Old Yoo as well as two invalid patients on adjoining beds (blowing on the gruel to cool it first). The worker, coming out of the cell, walks about filling glasses with water.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

47 I sit watching the three of them going about their work.

It looks no different from feeding babies, having to feed them food as well as water, to threaten as well as entreat. The only difference is that the babies we see here have big, desiccated bodies and are close to death. They are not an appealing sight, unlike little babies who will grow up by the day and look so cute, a treat to the eye and the heart.

To tell you frankly, when I see something like this, I’m scared.

Scared to have to lie on a bed like this.

I’m thinking of my wife— If she’d been here to watch this play with me and see the scenes I’ve seen, she’d have asked me a question: ‘Who will spoon-feed us like this when we reach such a stage?’

Yes, who? I ask myself.

Because we had no one. I have no one.

After our only daughter died, our married life became downright bleak, and knowing without ever talking about it that we had no one left any longer, that there were only the two of us to support each other, we became close once again without being told. Even in my work. When our daughter was alive, I had never allowed my wife to interfere with my work but, after her death, this rule was quietly dropped. I invited her to come along on shooting assignments, telling her we shouldn’t be apart because we only had each other.

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48 After our only daughter died, my wife became increasingly sickly, but we still lived through thick and thin together. We both feared being on our own. We even thought of adopting the child of one of our nieces to make her our own, to keep us company when we began to be unable to help ourselves, but then we thought of what it meant for mother and child to be separated, of how the mother would feel, even if she was totally willing to let us have her child. Finally, we gave up the idea, because it was selfish.

Sometimes, our niece would take her children to visit us, to give us a breeze of freshness. We took pleasure in seeing them, in talking to them. But once they went back, loneliness overcame us again.

Lately, we had been talking about death more and more often. She told me she was convinced she must die before me, but she didn’t want that. She’d like to see me die first: she couldn’t bear the thought of my being alone. She was willing to face the sorrow and stand the pain of being left alone in the world instead of me facing such ordeals.

The first time we talked about death, we were in bed, holding each other and crying, afraid that one of us must die before the other.

Not long after that, she had to check into hospital again. The doctor suggested she had another operation to help what was left of her heart muscle. After she returned that time, she looked weak and much older, although she was only fifty-eight. Fortunately, we were CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

49 still well off. So we had hired help to ease our chores.

One night as we lay in bed, as if she was aware she’d be the one to go first, she asked me if I’d take a new wife if she died. I told her, No. No one could ever replace her.

I wouldn’t. She told me, But you must. She implored me to take a new wife, to have someone to look after me, so she’d worry no longer.

Two days later, she was gone. I found her in the bathroom in the morning. She lay dead in there.

On my very sixtieth birthday anniversary.

Having lost her, I didn’t have the heart to do anything.

I’d be drunk almost every day, drunk not to have to think, not to have to remember. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night feeling parched. I’d get up and get some water to drink. My eyes would fall on the empty place in bed where she used to sleep by my side.

When I returned to lie down, there was only loneliness waiting for me. On some nights, I didn’t dare go up and sleep in the room, I didn’t want to see the bed I used to sleep in. Sometimes I was so drunk I collapsed on the dinner table. During that time, I tried to go out of the house, meet friends to forget, to let time go by a day at a time, but when I went back home, I had to meet my memories of her again. In those days, I didn’t want to do anything. My life got stuck on booze. My former assistants left to work with other movie directors. Some went into other lines of work altogether, as they couldn’t wait to get work from me and perhaps thought I’d no TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

50 longer be able to do anything else but wait for the day I died. I can understand them. They had to have money to live on, but I was beyond helping them any longer, beyond even the ability to get out of the mire I was in. I sank for a whole year.

I was fed up with life.

Until one day I asked myself, why should I keep living like this?

I should kill myself.

But finally – finally I decided to go on living.

I asked myself, if I keep on living, how will I live, and what for?

I began to look at what I had lost. I had lost my daughter, I had lost my wife, but I still had work to do.

Finally, I went back to work. These days, if I’m still alive, it’s thanks to work. I work hard in order to sleep well. I work hard in order to nurture the soul that remains in me, and I’m determined to go on doing it until I no longer can. It’s the only thing left in my life.

But when I see those bodies on stage lying there being fed, I’m scared. I’m damn scared – scared to have to live like this, to live unable to do anything, not even bring rice to my mouth. If such a day comes, what will I do with my life? But why think about this when the time hasn’t come? I still can work everyday. Let me get on with the work as is my duty, the best I can. If that day must come, I’ll probably know who’s going to spoonfeed me. Or maybe I’ll die before that day comes. Who CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

51 knows? Look at the old women walking painfully on stage. They’re still getting along, aren’t they?

Everyone is full. Some take their tray back to the trolley.

Some gather their own edibles back into their nightstand. The worker pours scraps into the bucket, then walks about collecting the trays off those who can’t help themselves. He walks up to the front bed of the left row.

Bed 1 (Left row) Cries out like a scared child.

Bed 2 (Left row) ‘Now, now – don’t cry – don’t cry – come see granny quick. I’m here.’

The worker looks at the two bodies lying unable to move.

Worker (Smiles – talks to the old woman on Bed 1.) ‘Be quiet now. Go see granny over there, go.’

He picks up the tray of gruel from the top of the nightstand.

Bed 1 (Stops crying. Addresses the worker.)

‘Headman Mark has sent his boat to fetch us. Come. Let’s go.’

Worker (Laughs.) ‘You go first, granny. I’ll join you later.’

Bed 1 ‘No, you go. And don’t you ram the wasps’ nest, or they’ll sting you.’

Worker ‘Okay, okay, then I go now.’ (Takes the tray and walks away.)

Bed 1 (Quiets down.)

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52 Bed 2

‘Now, now, be quiet. Come ’n’ have a crêpe—’ (She moves her hand as if to grope for crêpes, but it gets stuck against the side railings that prevent patients from falling off their beds.)

‘Eh? Who took me crêpes and ate ’m all?’

The chief nurse (Lamjiak), carrying a bucket of water and a towel, walks up to the old woman on Bed 2.

Lamjiak ‘What crêpes, granny? Let me have one.’

She lowers the railing on one side of the bed, then undertakes to unbutton the shirt of the old woman and take it out, then pulls off the blanket covering the lower part of the body and piles it up at the head of the bed.

Lamjiak ‘These crêpes, right?’ (She playfully pats the old woman’s breasts before setting about wiping her body.)

At the same time, the other nurse (Ubon) is wiping the body of the old woman on Bed 4 of the right row (counting from Old Yoo’s bed).

The worker leaves, pushing the trolley.

The time on stage is now eight o’clock.

A hidden radio plays the national anthem. (A radio announcer identifies the station, then goes on to name the program. The opening jingle of the program ends.)

Radio ‘Good morning, my dear listeners. We meet again as usual in the country news CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

53 report. Today we start with the most important national item, which I think all of us Thai brothers and sisters all over the country are already aware of, that is that now our country has another Miss Universe, Miss Phornthip, the second for Thailand. The first was Miss Aphatsara. I’m certain you all remember her very well, because she brought fame to our country by making it known to the nations of the world. Even though at the time our country was poor and few people in the world knew of it, Miss Aphatsara stunned the world with the beauty of the Thai woman. She made people all over the world realize that, though our country was poor, it was rich indeed in terms of the beauty of its women. And now, Miss Phornthip is living proof again of this in the eyes of the world. She was crowned Miss Universe unanimously, to the delight of all of us, Thai brothers and sisters. This is no small feat, my dear listeners, because few countries in the world have as many as two Miss Universes. Many wealthy countries are much better off than ours economically, but they have yet to have TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

54

Lamjiak

Radio

Song

two Miss Universes like we do. What does this mean, if not that the beauty of Thai women is truly of world class and that it’s hard to find women anywhere who can compete with our Thai women as far as beauty is concerned—’ (Grabs the naked body of the old woman of Bed 1 and turns it over on its side, presenting her bottom to the audience, then proceeds to wipe her back.)

‘—and I strongly believe that in future contests Thailand will have yet more Miss Universes. But for today, I, as a Thai citizen, feel extremely proud and offer Miss Phornthip my congratulations and I’m delighted to dedicate a song to her. This song was composed

by Uea Sunthornsanarm. It’s the song we used to hear every time there was a Miss Thailand contest in the past. Listen to it, and you’ll know which song it is.’

‘Praises be to your beauty Truly dazzling and stunning That casts a spell When once beheld A mere glance And one is taken CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

55 With fondness that won’t fade Word has long spread all over town Of your goddess-like looks The sight of you then Leaves one tied up In lasting musings A glimpse of you—’ While the song is being broadcast, the two nurses clean the naked bodies on stage. (NB: Observe the timing from the news broadcast until the nurses finish cleaning the persons on the four beds just as the song ends.) The last notes of the song fade away.

Old Bunruean (Enraptured by the song – when the song ends, turns to talk to Old Jan, who sits searching for her money in her nightstand.) ‘Really beautiful, don’t you think? I hadn’t heard that song in years.

It reminds me of the days when they had the Miss Thailand contest during the Constitution celebrations at Sararnrom Palace. I went there every year.

Have you been there sometimes, my dear Mrs. Jan?’ Old Jan ‘Ne’er did, a child of the fields likes I.’ Old Bunruean ‘Oh, in those days, I still had a driver and attendants. Wherever I wanted to go, it was a lark really.’ (Still caught in her memories of the past.)

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56 Old Jan

Old Bunruean

Old Jan

Old Bunruean Old Jan

Old Bunruean

Old Jan

(Hardly interested.) ‘I’ve heard you talk at least a hundred times about expensive clothes and them cars with funny names. If ever there was such things, where have they all gone by now, if I may ask?’ (Turns back to searching her nightstand, without giving a thought to the feelings of the listener.)

(Suddenly looking crestfallen.) ‘I really did have them, you know.’ (Mumbling to herself.) ‘I really did at that.’

(Speaks peevishly, still irked over the missing money – speaks while her hands are still foraging inside the nightstand.) ‘And so did I. Yesterday I still had it. But today it’s gone from me nightstand. By now I don’t know in whose nightstand it is.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Iʹm talking ’bout the money I had, what else. Just like ’m cars you used to have, init.’

‘And when you say it went into someone else’s nightstand, what exactly do you mean?’

‘Nothin’ in particular. What I mean is, someone stole me money from me nightstand, that’s all. Did you see anyCHART KORBJITTI | TIME

57

Old Bunruean

Old Jan

Old Bunruean Old Jan Old Bunruean

Old Jan

Old Bunruean

thin’? ’Cause after all our beds are sorta cheek by jowl. Just by gettin’ up you can reach me nightstand.’

(Sounding most unhappy.) ‘Eh? You’re talking like you’re suspecting me. I’ve never had such lowly thoughts, I’ll have you know.’

‘This’s got nothin’ to do with bein’ lowly or lofty, me dear. Thievery runs through masters and slaves alike, you know.’

(Angrily.) ‘I’ve never taken any thing of yours.’

‘Never said you did, but your bed happens to be right next to mine.’

‘Eh? What are you trying to say? If you think I did, then come over here. I’ll help you check right away.’

‘No need. This mornin’ there was a search already. You mentioned it was money, not a thing, so how can you want me to find it? I’m stupid. I ain’t got the knowledge of the wellborn, like.’

(Loudly.) ‘Well then, say which way you want it. Stop casting aspersions.

Come. Come and search. If you don’t you’ll be hearing from me.’

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58 Old Bunruean unlocks her nightstand, takes out her belongings and throws them around with thudding noises.

All of the patients turn to look at the source of the noise.

Both Lamjiak and Ubon come running and stand between the two beds.

Lamjiak ‘What’s going on? What’s the matter with you two again that you can’t let a day pass without quarrelling?’

Old Bunruean ‘Her money’s disappeared. She’s accusing me of stealing it. I told her to come and search. She doesn’t want to. Instead, she makes disparaging remarks about me.’

Old Jan ‘I never said she stole it, matron.’

Old Bunruean ‘But you said our beds are next to each other. Just by getting up I can reach your nightstand. So how do you want me to take it? Even if you didn’t say it in so many words, the implication is, I took it. Isn’t it so, matron?’ (Turning to ask Lamjiak.)

Lamjiak (Turns to ask Ubon.) ‘Has Mrs. Jan’s money disappeared?’

Ubon (Embarrassed.) ‘I don’t know about that. It’s difficult to say. I only know that’s what made me late this morning, what with all the talking back and forth.

I had to waste time searching the nightCHART KORBJITTI | TIME

59 stand, removing the mattress and all that. Such a headache, really.’ (She talks as if she does not want to have anything more to do with it.)

Old Bunruean (Complains to Lamjiak.) ‘You must take care of the matter for me, matron. All of a sudden being accused of stealing.

There’s never been such a damaging accusation in my family.’

Lamjiak (Annoyed.) ‘Why can’t the two of you stay together nicely like everyone else?

Look at Mrs. Erp and Mrs. Thapthim, or at Mrs. Sorn and Mrs. Nuan. They never quarrel, now, do they? Well, since you want me to take care of the matter, I’m going to do that for you. Just wait for now.’ (Spoken peremptorily.)

The two old women quiet down.

Lamjiak (Turns to Old Jan.) ‘I told you to give some money to the housekeeper for him to buy you a hasp and put it on for you, so you can lock the drawers. I’ve warned you time and time again, but you never listen.’

Old Jan (Lowering her head.) ‘But it costs money, you know, matron.’

Lamjiak ‘Of course it costs money. You keep forgetting where you keep your key at TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

60 least once a month. And about that money of yours, you sure you didn’t forget where you put it as well?’

Old Jan ‘I’m sure I didn’t, matron.’

Lamjiak ‘I don’t believe you – given that you keep losing your key so often.’

Old Jan ‘It’s true I keep forgettin’ where I put me things. But not money. It’s never happened, matron.’

Lamjiak ‘I don’t know.’ (Cutting the matter short.) ‘Next time, don’t lose it again, you hear?’

Old Jan (With a sad voice.) ‘I ain’t got any left to lose.’

Lamjiak ‘Just as well. You won’t make any more trouble.’

The worker comes back right now. He has a broom and a dustpan in his hands.

Lamjiak (Turns to look at the worker, then turns to Old Bunruean.) ‘Well, I’m going to take care of the matter right now.’

Ubon (Wondering.) ‘What are you going to do?’

Lamjiak (With a cold voice.) ‘Separate them.’

Ubon (Quiet. Has no opinion.)

Old Bunruean and Old Jan look at Lamjiak.

Lamjiak (Orders Old Bunruean.) ‘Well now, pick up your things.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

61 Old Bunruean

‘I’m not moving. I’m staying here. I wasn’t the one who started this, right, matron? I’ve always been on this bed since the very beginning. I like it here.

Don’t make me move, matron.’ (Pleading with a sad voice – her hands stroking the bed frame.) ‘Don’t make me move. Take pity on me, matron. Do it as a favour to an old woman, matron—’ Old Jan (Interrupting.) ‘I’ll move, matron. I’ve had it up to here with nice pricey clothes and all them cars with foreign names. I’ll move meself. Which bed do you want me to go to, matron?’

Lamjiak turns to take a look around. The worker is sweeping the floor between Old Erp’s and Old Sorn’s beds. Then her eyes come to Old Nuan’s bed.

Lamjiak (Turns back to consult with Ubon.)

‘How about moving Mrs. Nuan here?’

Ubon (Thinks, then speaks softly for only the two of them to hear.) ‘I think we’d better not, because this morning I got the impression she wouldn’t get along well with Mrs. Bunruean – I think we’d better move Mrs. Sorn, because she doesn’t seem to get involved with anybody.’

Lamjiak ‘All right then.’ (From her tone of voice, TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

62 doesn’t seem to attach much importance to Ubon’s arguments. Just getting the two of them apart is good enough.)

Lamjiak (Turns to Old Jan.) ‘Keep your things and exchange beds with Mrs. Sorn.

Now, is there any more problem?’

(Sounding as if she is utterly fed up with the whole affair.)

Old Jan ‘No, no, none.’ (Bends down to take the things out of her nightstand.)

Lamjiak ‘Leave your things in there. We’ll move the nightstand itself. What you have to move is whatever it is you keep under your bed. God knows what you’re going to find. Everybody keeps stuff that way.’ (Complaining as she walks away.)

Ubon sits down to help Old Jan pull out paper boxes and big plastic bags (all full of miscellaneous items) from under the bed.

Lamjiak walks over to Old Sorn’s bed.

Lamjiak (Urbanely.) ‘Granny – Granny, trade beds with Granny Jan, will you. You don’t mind, do you?’

Old Sorn has been looking up and staring (but not understanding, since she did not hear what the two nurses discussed between themselves before Lamjiak walked up to her).

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

63 Old Sorn

‘What did you say, matron? I didn’t hear you clearly.’

Lamjiak ‘Mrs. Jan is going to trade beds with you.’

Old Sorn (Nods in understanding.) ‘Oh yes, yes.

Fine, fine.’

Lamjiak ‘Well then, you can gather your things.’

Old Sorn ‘Oh, I have nothin’ at all, apart from a few clothes in the nightstand.’

Lamjiak ‘Fine then, granny. I’ll take out the things off the top for you.’ (Taking down the water flask and other necessary articles and putting them on the bed. Then turns to call the worker.)

‘Come and help me move this nightstand to Granny Jan’s bed, please.’

The worker walks up to Old Sorn’s nightstand. The two of them help each other lift it off the floor and carry it away.

Worker ‘No way they’re going to switch back again tomorrow, right?’ (Laughs.)

Lamjiak ‘Right – these things are really getting on my nerves.’

Worker (Laughs.)

Lamjiak ‘If I didn’t keep thinking they’re like my old folks, I don’t know where I’d be by now. I’ve been here ever since I was a TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

64 young woman because I can’t help feeling sorry for them.’

Worker ‘That’s fine – you’re earning merit for yourself.’

Lamjiak ‘Paying for past deeds is more like it. I think in a previous lifetime I must have refused to take care of my parents, that’s why I find myself doing this work now.’ (Laughs softly.)

Worker ‘I don’t think so. I think it’s because you won’t leave.’

Lamjiak ‘Precisely, that’s why I say I’m paying for past deeds.’ (Laughs.)

The two of them lower the nightstand down at the foot of Old Jan’s bed. Old Jan’s nightstand is already cleared of things on top. Lamjiak and the worker are about to lift Old Jan’s nightstand.

Ubon (Volunteers.) ‘Lamjiak, let me do it.’

Lamjiak ‘Never mind.’

Ubon ‘No, no, let me.’

Lamjiak backs away from the nightstand. Ubon and the worker help each other shift Old Jan’s nightstand and put Old Sorn’s nightstand in its place. This done, they lift Old Jan’s nightstand again and carry it away.

Worker ‘This one’s rather heavy, isn’t it?’

Ubon (Nods in agreement.)

Worker ‘Let me know if it’s too much, so we can take a break.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

65 Ubon Worker

‘Hu-huh.’

‘It’s good training, I guess, because this afternoon we’ll have to put it back.’

(Laughs.)

Ubon ‘Maybe not.’ (Laughs – knows it’s not true.)

Worker ‘You never know with old people.

Today they want it this way, tomorrow they’ll want it that way.’

Ubon ‘Lamjiak won’t let them. If they move back again this afternoon, I’m out.’

(Smiles.)

Worker ‘You must be kidding. Are you really thinking of leaving?’

Ubon ‘I haven’t decided yet. I’m in two minds about it.’

The worker observes the strain on Ubon’s face.

Worker ‘You want to stop for a while?’

Ubon nods.

Worker ‘If you go, I’ll miss you a lot.’ (This is not said as a lover’s entreaty.)

Ubon ‘I can’t make up my mind yet.’

Worker ‘It’s up to you, really. Staying here won’t get you anywhere. Not like working with other young people.’

Ubon (Stands breathing deeply for a while.)

‘So, shall we?’

Worker ‘You sure you got enough rest?’

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66 Ubon

‘I just want to get it over with, so I can do something else.’

The two of them help each other lift the nightstand and bring it to the foot of the bed. The worker walks over to the broom, picks it up, swipes the dust off the area of the previous nightstand and collects the dust in the dustpan. Then they help each other place the nightstand right where the other one used to be.

Old Sorn stands looking at the new nightstand being brought to the very spot where her own was. Even though her eyes do not see it clearly, her feelings tell her that the time has come—the time has come to move again from an old to a new place. She is not sorry to change her abode this time, except that she feels a longing for the bed on which she used to lie and sit.

Nothing else.

It has always been like this throughout her life. It has happened so often she has become convinced there is nothing to her life except moving, drifting away.

Even the body. It, too, has to move, to drift away.

These days, she does not fight it any longer, for she knows it’s only natural for it to drift away, except that she would like her life to drift away faster, to move faster, so it can come to an end for good, like water that flows down from the highest peak to end up in the sea— ‘You don’t want to move, is that it, granny?’ Ubon asks when she sees Old Sorn standing looking vacantly at the CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

67 bed. She feels guilty having made her suggestion to the chief nurse. ‘You’ll soon get used to your new place, granny.’

‘Staying here or there is the same, nurse,’ Old Sorn answers.

Ubon feels somewhat better, but in her heart she is not totally convinced, for she knows that old people are attached to their own ways and won’t let others mess around with even their smallest possessions.

‘Is this really how you feel, granny?’

‘Ah, so you think I’m a liar.’ She laughs.

‘Then I’ll take the things on your bed for you.’ Ubon has a bright smile on her face as she picks up the water flask, plate and spoon and takes them away. The worker walks after her lugging the mosquito net and the pillow.

Lamjiak walks holding Old Jan’s belongings and places them on the top of the nightstand.

Old Sorn feels a pain in her knees, so she lets herself down and squats on the floor, holding on with both hands to the foot of the bed. She sits observing the three of them setting Old Jan’s belongings on her bed until they are finished. Aware that her time is up in this place, she tries to get up, but it’s hard to get her body up.

‘Nurse, gimme a hand, will you?’

Ubon turns and sees her, so she helps her unfold her body to get it off the floor. Even then, it is still arching forward.

‘Wait – wait.’ Old Sorn isn’t ready to go yet. After a TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

68 while, she nods. ‘All right, all right, you can let go of me.’

‘Never mind, I’ll help you along. If you fall, it’ll be big trouble.’

‘Right. When I remain seated for a long time, I can’t get up. It’s too bad,’ the old woman grumbles.

Stooping, Old Jan walks to her new bed. ‘There’s nobody to help me walk,’ she remarks whimsically when she sees Ubon propping up Old Sorn.

‘I sat too long, that’s why, me dear. Otherwise, I don’t need no help,’ Old Sorn tells Old Jan before taking another step forward.

I see Old Mrs. Sorn bend over to look at her own feet without ever raising her head to look around. I think she must be concerned for herself because she’s aware she’s walking; she isn’t looking at her feet for the sake of looking at them. It reminds me of a young movie director friend of mine, who told me he had had a row with his producer because the producer wanted him to remove a scene he liked. That scene was of the young hero and heroine taking a walk together during the early stage of their courtship. He had filmed only the feet of the two of them walking on, while the beautiful words they exchanged were being voiced over. He had filmed the two pairs of feet going from the entrance of the alley to the girl’s house as a sequence shot. But when the film was mounted and projected in the lab, the producer refused to let him use that scene in the film, claiming CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

69 that the audience wouldn’t like it. Finally, my friend had to give in. He had to take the scene out and shoot it again the way the producer wanted. He was in a terrible mood when he came to unburden himself to me. I just laughed, did not express any opinion. He had a lot more to learn by himself, especially regarding working with producers. If I were him, I wouldn’t have filmed the feet only, even if it were one long sequence.

[The sequence begins with—] A close-up of Old Sorn’s feet walking. The feet are tiny, with bulging anklebones and wrinkled skinfolds over flesh. The long black nails seem to have never been taken care of. Each step is short, tentative, rather unstable, progressing slowly forward over the floorboards. The camera progressively backs away and the picture widens until one can see Old Bunruean sitting on her bed (right bottom corner of the picture) looking at Ubon propping up Old Sorn. The picture widens further and freezes over the bed Old Sorn will move to. The bed is still empty. To the left of the picture, Ubon and Old Sorn are approaching. Old Bunruean TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

70

Old Bunruean

Old Sorn Voice over

sits looking at them (in the centre of the picture). To the right of the picture is the cell (deep inside). Ubon slowly leads Old Sorn up to the bed.

Old Bunruean’s gaze follows them, out of interest for the new friend who is going to be her immediate neighbour. Ubon helps Old Sorn to sit on the bed. Old Bunruean smiles at Old Sorn. Ubon walks out of the picture. In the picture thus remain only Old Sorn, who sits turning her back (in the left part of the picture), and Old Bunruean, who sits (in the middle of the picture) looking at Old Sorn. The cell is on the right side of the picture (behind Old Bunruean).

‘How disheartening! I remember when I moved from the regular ward to this ward here, it took me days to get over it. I hate leaving a place. Do you feel the same?’

(Sighs.) ‘Sure. That’s the way of the world, me dear. Moving all the time.’

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’

Old Sorn and Old Bunruean turn to look.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

71

Old Bunruean

The picture gradually shifts past Old Sorn’s back. Old Bunruean turns to talk to Old Sorn.

‘The only thing here is you have to put up with these shouts. Apart from that, there’s nothing.’

The picture still keeps shifting past Old Bunruean and stops right in front of the cell, whose bars cover the whole screen.

Her gaze on the cell, Old Sorn pays no attention to what Old Bunruean is saying. She is only wondering who is staying in that cell. She has heard the shouts from the moment she moved into the ward. She remembers that at first, she wasn’t really interested in listening to the repeated shouts. She only found them irritating, because they always came unexpectedly. Even when she finally fell asleep in the darkness before dawn after staying awake for most of the night, a shout would startle her and she’d be wide-awake again. As days went by and she began to get used to the shouts, they started to intrude into her thinking. The more days passed, the more the shouts made her think that the person uttering them must be trying to tell something to the people here, yet no one was paying attention. But she became absorbed in them. She would have liked to know who was shouting. She would have liked to go and take a TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

72 look at his face, but she did not dare venture anywhere near the cell. It was strictly forbidden to get close to the cell. Even though in her heart she wanted to know, wanted to see the face of the person owning the voice, she never thought of risking it, because it was forbidden.

She did not want to put herself in trouble or make life difficult for anyone and, most important, her bed was far from the cell. To risk walking to it meant being stared at by many eyes. But now, she is near the cell. There is just a small area to cross. She thinks that one day, when no one is looking, she must go and take a look at the shouting man to see what he looks like.

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’ The shout comes again.

Old Sorn decides to shout back a question. ‘Nothing in this world, right?’

There is no answer from the cell.

‘Don’t mind him, my dear. At first, it’s a bit of a bother because it’s louder here than everywhere else,’ Old Bunruean tells the newcomer.

‘It doesn’t bother me. I was just teasin’ him, you know,’ Old Sorn turns to tell her.

‘Don’t pay attention to him. It doesn’t mean a thing.

But, say, my dear, aren’t you locking your nightstand?’

Old Bunruean’s gaze turns away from Old Sorn’s nightstand.

‘Why should I? Much trouble about nothin’.’

‘I don’t want to have problems again. Or it’s going to CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

73 be like with Mrs. Jan. Lock it up, and then hang the key round your neck. That way it won’t get lost. There’s nothing much to it.’ Old Bunruean slowly pulls on a dirty white cord to produce a key out of the neckline of her shirt. The way she does it is as if she loathes revealing her secret to anyone.

Old Sorn smiles. ‘I don’t need to. I have nothin’ of value in there. Even if I had, anyone’s welcome to help themselves. I’ll think nothin’ of it. Only that it might be necessary for ’m, it might be of use to ’m. I’m most willin’ to give away the little I have. Worldly possessions aren’t for us any longer – isn’t that so?’

‘Right you are, but I can’t give them up yet. I still haven’t become detached like you.’ Old Bunruean sounds unhappy that she has just given good advice only to be preached at in return.

‘You see, me dear, I’ve been listenin’ to the monk who comes and sermons us every holy day. He says we come naked into the world and we go naked. We can’t take anythin’ with us. There’s nothin’ that’s truly ours.’

‘But while we’re still alive, my dear, we can’t stay naked. We must have some things of our own – things that are ours – and we must watch over them and take care of them.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t attach too much importance to ’m. They are ours only for a little while longer, and then they become the property of someone else,’ Old Sorn tells her new friend ponderously.

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74 Old Bunruean has had enough of sermons. She turns her face away and lies down without paying attention to her conversation partner any longer.

Old Sorn slowly moves to the middle of the bed and wearily lies herself down, still thinking of the cell over there.

I don’t really believe in what Old Mrs. Sorn has been telling Old Mrs. Bunruean, that if someone takes something off her, she’ll think it must be necessary or useful to that person and that she’ll be happy to give it away. These days, I never hear anybody talk like that. Only edifying Buddhist tales. But so be it. This is just a play, right?

Anything can happen. Let’s see what comes up next.

Now, Old Mrs. Nuan and Old Mrs. Jan are talking, each on her bed. As for Ubon and Lamjiak, they stand talking in the aisle. Each couple is talking about different things. I don’t know which one to listen to. I think that, at this point, if it were a movie, there would be a problem, because in the same scene there should only be one clear conversation to lead to the next scene, but now that I see the play doing it, I’d like to try to do it too. I’m not wasting any film anyway, just thinking things up.

Panoramic

Showing all of the beds, with the patients lying or sitting on them. Old Sorn and Old Bunruean lie on their beds. Old Thapthim sits staring vacantly at the door. Old Erp is lying down. Old Nuan CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

75

Lamjiak Old Jan Ubon

Old Nuan

Lamjiak Old Jan

Lamjiak

and Old Jan sit talking on their respective beds. The two nurses stand talking in the aisle. (Hold the wide angle while everybody moves as usual. Anyone can do what they want, such as go to the shower room, as her condition allows.) The two nurses are talking while Old Nuan and Old Jan are talking as well and the worker is mopping the floor.

‘I’m not forbidding you, you know. It’s up to you.’

‘I feel better here.’

‘I understand. Even if you forbade me, I wouldn’t listen if I really wanted to go.

But I still can’t make up my mind because I pity them, really.’ (She shakes her head, looking at the rows of patients around her.)

‘On this side there’s a window, so it’s brighter. Our eyes and ears ain’t what they used to be.’

(Laughs softly.)

‘Being close to you, I feel warm in me heart. In here, I see there’s only you who’s been tryin’ to help me.’

‘You’re like me, you know. I’ve always been about to leave since I was still young, and yet here I am, still – I can’t TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

76 leave. I can’t help feeling sorry for them.’

Old Jan ‘If tomorrow you still haven’t got enough to make a donation, just let me know.’

Lamjiak ‘It’s tomorrow, isn’t it, that you must give him an answer?’

Old Jan ‘I’ve still some left. This mornin’ I bought just one bag of rice for me offerin’.’

Ubon ‘Yes. I have to tell him by tomorrow if I’ll do it or not. If I don’t, he’ll take someone else.’

Lamjiak ‘Well, if you go, I’ll miss you a lot.’

The worker is carrying a bucket of water. His left hand holds a mop. He walks by.

Worker ‘Exactly, that’s what I was telling her a minute ago. If she goes for good, I’ll be sorry. I’ll be frank with you: I’ve never seen a young woman like you take care of the old the way you do. Most of those who come do it as if they couldn’t care less. They work here only to wait for some other job. As soon as they get one, they’re gone. Don’t leave, please. I’m asking you. Let’s stay together like this.

Plenty of merit.’ (Laughs, then walks away to mop the floor, starting from under Old Thapthim’s bed.)

Lamjiak ‘You go, Ubon. Go and eat. Or you might just faint.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

77 The chime of the clock says it is nine o’clock.

Ubon walks out. Lamjiak’s gaze follows her.

Lamjiak ‘Think it over carefully, okay. There’s still plenty of time left.’

Old Jan ‘What’s the time now, matron?’

Lamjiak (Turns to her.) ‘Nine in the morning.’

Old Yoo (Mutters loudly.) ‘Thief!’

Lamjiak (Turns to look, then walks up to Old Yoo’s bed.) ‘What is it, granny?’

Old Yoo ‘Thief.’

Lamjiak ‘What?’

Old Yoo ‘Thief!’

Lamjiak ‘Oh! You’re stiff, are you?’ (Shifts Old Yoo’s body to have it lie on one side.)

‘Feeling better, now?’

Old Yoo ‘Mmm.’ Lamjiak goes and changes the posture of the body lying on the bed next to Old Yoo, then walks to do the same with the bodies on beds 1 and 2 of the left row. Old Bunruean sits up, looking peeved.

Old Bunruean (Calling out as Lamjiak is shifting the body on Bed 2.) ‘Matron, please, matron!’

Lamjiak ‘Just a moment.’ (Turns over the body on Bed 2, then walks across to Old Bunruean’s bed.) ‘What is it this time, granny?’ /Cut Close-up Of Old Bunruean’s face looking towards—/Cut TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

78 Medium-range

(As seen through Old Bunruean’s eyes.)

Of Old Jan and Old Nuan who sit talking—but no sound is heard. /Cut Medium-range Of Lamjiak and Old Bunruean.

Lamjiak ‘What is it, granny?’

Old Bunruean ‘These two are gossiping about me.’ /Cut Close-up Of Lamjiak, turning to look.

Medium-range (With Old Bunruean’s back in the foreground.) Of Lamjiak looking at Old Jan and Old Nuan, who sit on their beds talking to each other. The worker is mopping the floor between the beds of the two old women. Lamjiak turns back to look at Old Bunruean.

Lamjiak ‘I can’t hear what they’re saying.’ /Cut Medium to close-up (With Lamjiak’s back in the foreground.) Of Old Bunruean’s face.

Old Bunruean ‘I really can hear them. They’re saying I’m a thief—’ /Cut Close-up (With Old Bunruean’s back in the foreground.) Of Lamjiak.

Lamjiak (Weary – turns to look at the women again to make sure, then turns round.)

‘They’re not saying anything about you.

They’re talking about someone else.

Nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with you at all.’ /Cut Close-up Of Old Bunruean’s face.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

79 Old Bunruean Medium-range

Old Jan Close-up Old Nuan Medium-range

Close-up

‘Well, if you say so, then so be it, matron.’ /Cut Of Old Nuan and Old Jan. (Old Jan is just turning round from looking at Old Thapthim.)

‘It breaks me heart to see poor Thapthim waiting for her son like this.’ Cut Of Old Nuan’s face.

(Sighs – turns to look at Old Thapthim.) /Cut (As seen through Old Nuan’s eyes.) Of Old Thapthim sitting on her bed, her body still as a statue. The light from outside turns the front part of her, from her face to her arms, which are limp by her side, creamy white. The rest of her is in dark shadow, her back outlined. /Cut Of Old Thapthim’s face. Clear tears blur her eyes, which gaze into space.

She is not worried about her daughter and first son.

They are both doing fine. She is only worried about her youngest son, who is retarded, as by now she doesn’t know whether he is still alive or dead. She worries only about him, thinks about him all the time. Even though, on some days, there are times when she thinks about her older son and daughter, she does so as mothers think of their children, and she feels that her two children must TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

80 know the feeling, because they both have their own children to think about. Whenever they haven’t seen their own children for a long time, how do they feel?

They must know the feeling well. But do they think of their mother’s feelings when she thinks about them? She has never asked, and since that day they haven’t shown their faces to be asked either.

She still remembers that day well, that time when she was still in the ward for ordinary old people. That day there was a big party over lunch. Besides the variety of dishes and desserts and the presents distributed, her own picture had appeared on the television screen, so it was hard to forget.

When they were filming for television, they asked her about her family. The dazzling lights, the camera running, the microphone they held to her mouth gave her stage fright, but she answered their questions truthfully.

She told them her name, her family name, the name of her dead husband, the name of the children she still had.

She even told of her little son who was retarded. She told the kind of life that had made her decide to come here to die. She spoke honestly, told it as it was. Before they left, they told her which channel to watch, on which day and at what time. She kept reciting this to herself day after day, waiting for that day to come. It wasn’t only her: many other people were asked the same. And many people sat in front of the television screen that day like her, even the matron supervising the building.

She sat on the front row, her head raised to wait for the CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

81 picture of herself. She was happy and proud to see herself on the television screen. She had never thought she would get such an opportunity in her life. She was happy beyond words. She forgot her sorrow, her plight at having to come to live in a place like this. That day for the whole day she had only happiness, talking only about being on television.

But she did not know that the picture on the television screen would make her children angry, angry to the point that they never came to see her again.

At first, she wasn’t aware of anything, but after they hadn’t come back for many days, she came to think that, by revealing her and their names, she must have made them embarrassed in front of their friends and acquaintances, in front of their colleagues at work. They must be angry at her for harming their reputation. So they had given her up as their mother. But then again, she never thought of being angry at her children, because she had never been angry at them. Even though they had been angry at her so often that she had had to come live here, she had never been angry at them. She had never cut her children off her motherly bosom. She had never even thought of doing so.

She sits waiting, angry at herself for making her children lose face, for making her children unhappy. That’s all she is sorry about.

At this point of her cerebrations, the tears brimming in her eyes start rolling again. No sound of sobbing comes TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

82 out of her, only tears that roll down, roll down quietly, blurring her vision. She wipes them away, her eyes still on the door.

‘I’m finished. In a moment, I’ll go take care of things in the kitchen.’

‘You do that. Er – if you see Ubon in the kitchen, tell her to come here and take over from me. I’ll go and help you myself.’

‘But there’s nothing today. There are people offering the lunch, aren’t there?’

‘Yes, but we have to be ready, in case the host wants something extra—’ ‘Let Ubon stay in the kitchen then.’

‘No, tell her to come here. There’s too much work in the kitchen. Here, the work is over now. She can get some rest.’

‘You sound like you’re afraid she’ll leave.’

‘That’s entirely up to her. We can’t say anything, but I’ve already told her not to worry about here. If she’s got better prospects over there, we should let her go—’ ‘But it’s too bad if she leaves – well, I’m going. If I meet her, I’ll tell her.’

This conversation does not reach Old Thapthim’s consciousness. She is still staring vacantly at the doorframe.

Even when the worker walks out, she hardly notices, for her heart is not in what her eyes see.

In her heart, she is thinking of the time she was staying with her daughter, whose husband never stopped CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

83 berating her. Sometimes she did things she thought had to be done, but her daughter got furious and shouted at her to go and stay with her son. With an aching heart she went back to visit her son. Before long her daughterin-law and her son conspired to send her back to her daughter. And so on back and forth, back and forth. The last years of her life were no different from sepaktakroh, being kicked back and forth, never falling to the ground to get some rest. If she were on her own, it wouldn’t matter too much. But every time she was sent flying back and forth, her younger son had to fly along with her, as she did not trust anybody for him to stay with, not even his brother or his sister.

Until one day, his brother and sister got together and managed to fool him and sent him back to the asylum again.

With her young one institutionalized, she was no longer worried. She decided, without telling anyone until she had worked everything out, to come and stay in this old people’s home, to be a sepak-takroh ball with time to rest on the grass of a lawn.

Her daughter and elder son took turns visiting her now and then. Later, her daughter took her little brother to visit as well, because he had fled from the asylum again.

Then her younger son became a rattan ball once again, staying now with his sister, now with his brother, until finally, when her elder son came to visit her, he told her: ‘He’s disappeared; I don’t know where he’s gone.’ She TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

84 could only feel sorry. The very next day, her younger son came. He came to stand holding on to the railing of the porch of the dormitory, watching her. He came almost every day, came to stand and watch his mother.

When visiting hour was over, he was chased away. All she could do was worry about where he slept at night, how he slept, whether he had anything to eat. Whenever someone came and handed out dried-out biscuits or some fruit, she kept them for him, fearing he’d be hungry, fearing he had nothing to eat.

After she was on television that day, her daughter and first son made themselves scarce, never came to see her again, but her younger son came without fail. Even when she moved to this ward for ailing people, he still came and sat watching by the door.

‘Oh my son, may nothin’ be the matter with you, you hear,’ she keeps imploring in her heart.

The clock strikes ten times.

The chime does not trespass into Old Thapthim’s consciousness. She does not know either that the shadows on the top of the stairs are shortening, until Ubon walks in through the door.

Ubon

Old Thapthim

‘Granny, you’re crying again. Come, now, stop crying, will you. I think he’ll come today.’

(Smiles through her tears.) ‘You really think so, nurse?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

85 Ubon

‘Of course, granny.’ (She has no idea.)

‘You stop crying now. Sadness makes one age fast. If your son comes and can’t recognize you, don’t blame me,’ she threatens with a smile.

Old Thapthim (Insists firmly.) ‘He’ll recognize me.

Always does.’

Ubon (Taking her into her arms to comfort her.) ‘He’ll be here soon. You just calm down, granny.’

Old Thapthim (Starting to sob again.) ‘I’m only afraid somethin’ will happen to ’im, nurse.

That he comes or not don’t matter, so long as nothin’ happens to ’im.’

Ubon ‘Nothing’s going to happen to him, granny.’

Lamjiak walks up to Ubon.

Lamjiak ‘I’m leaving now. I’ll be in the kitchen.’

Ubon (Nods.) ‘Okay.’ (Her eyes follow Lamjiak as she walks out the door.)

Old Thapthim (With a tremulous voice.) ‘You sure nothin’ will happen to ’im?’

Ubon ‘Yes, I’m sure. He’ll be all right. Believe me. The Lord protects those who show gratitude to their parents.’

A scraping of footsteps is heard coming from the walkway in front of the building. They both look at the door.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

86 My eyes are on the door too. The body that appears and stands panting in the doorframe is that of a boy of eleven or twelve years of age. He is wearing a dirty white T-shirt advertising a brand of soda pop, and kaki shorts so ancient you couldn’t believe they can still be used by a schoolboy. In his right arm he is holding a big woven basket which looks rather heavy. I don’t think this is Old Thapthim’s son, the one she is mumbling about, because of the age difference between the two makes this boy more like a grandson than a son.

The boy puts down his basket and stands resting. After a while, he hooks the basket with his arm and lifts it, his right shoulder sloping badly. When he has caught his balance, he makes as if to step onto the floor of the dormitory.

‘Take your shoes off first,’ Ubon says. ‘Can’t you see the floor’s just been cleaned?’

‘Yes, miss, yes, miss—’ The little fellow smiles to apologize before slipping off his flip-flops, then walks up to the two women.

‘How about a bottle, granny? They’re still chilled.

What d’you say, granny?’ he says, while bringing his basket closer. I notice that the little boy speaks as though he doesn’t want to impose on someone who is crying, yet is compelled to ask.

The old woman shakes her head.

‘How ’bout you, miss? Want one?’ He turns the basket under his arm towards Ubon. ‘Buy a bottle off me, won’t you?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

87 I’ve seen this imploring gaze hundreds and thousands of times on children of the same age as his, in restaurants, at traffic-light intersections, in bus terminals. Even though the wares they peddle differ, they have the same gaze, beseeching, begging.

Children of this age should have cheerful gazes and be at school, isn’t that so? What is it that makes them be out of school with such beseeching eyes? I ask myself.

‘Won’t you, miss? Yesterday, you didn’t buy one.

Have pity on me. If today I don’t sell enough again, I’m going to get hell. Okay? Just one?’

‘All right, make that a bottle of orange soda.’ She slips her hand in her shirt pocket, at the same time as the boy puts down his basket, picks up a bottle of orange soda, then dives into his shorts pocket and takes out a bottle opener.

The two of them make an exchange of goods. The nurse hands over money to the boy. The boy hands over the bottle, already opened and with a straw in it, then carrying his basket walks across to another bed.

‘Here, granny, have this orange soda, it’ll help you cheer up.’

At first, I thought she had bought it for herself out of pity for the child.

Old Mrs. Thapthim pushes it away fussily. ‘I don’t want it, I don’t want any, nurse.’ But finally she is obliged to accept the bottle of soda pop.

‘You drink it. I bought it for you, granny. Now, you stop crying, okay. Your son will come this afternoon.’

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

88 ‘Blessings to you, young woman. Why didn’t I have children like you?’

‘But I’m your granddaughter already, aren’t I?’ I see her stroke Old Mrs. Thapthim’s back lightly before walking away. Her eyes are on the boy who is making a sale to the bed opposite.

‘Granny Erp, today there’s people bringing us lunch, you know.’

‘Is that so, nurse? I was just about to order noodles with gravy.’ Granny Erp looks up from the woven basket.

‘Aren’t you having Chinese cabbage in gravy then?’ the boy asks dejectedly.

‘Didn’t you hear what the nurse said?’

‘A bottle of water, then. You want one?’

‘Nope.’

‘Then, tomorrow, okay for Chinese cabbage, granny?’

‘Hey, you, really! You sell things as if you owned the shop. Tell me now: are you the owner’s son or what?’

The little fellow pulls a long face. ‘I’m not—’ ‘Then why are you pesterin’ me? You aren’t even the owner’s son.’

‘If I don’t sell enough, he’s going to yell at me, granny,’ the little fellow answers, looking down.

‘Good grief.’

I think that Old Mrs. Erp’s reaction expresses what I’m feeling now.

‘What’s wrong with people these days? They use kids like they would cows or buffalos—’ she mutters.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

89 Yes, that’s exactly how I feel, too.

I feel sad every time I see children forced to work themselves to a frazzle in return for just a few baht, sad for those children’s lives, sad for the future of our country. Even as I sit watching the little fellow lugging his basket full of bottles from bed to bed, I’m not through feeling sad, although I know this is only a play.

‘Hey kid, come this way, will you,’ Old Mrs. Nuan calls out. The little fellow carrying his basket goes and stands between Old Mrs. Nuan’s and Old Mrs. Jan’s beds. Old Mrs. Nuan slowly gets out of bed and bends over to look at the basket.

‘Me dear Jan, how ’bout a bottle? I’m offerin’.’ She looks up to ask.

‘No thank you. It’d be a waste of your money.’

‘Come on, have one. It’s on me.’

‘Save your money, me dear Nuan. This morning you let me borrow from you already. And now you want to treat me as well. I won’t have it.’

But I see Old Mrs. Jan’s gaze fixed on the basket of soda bottles.

‘No, no, you have one. I still got plenty.’

The little fellow, bottle-opener in hand, stands waiting.

‘Come on, have one. Don’t be embarrassed. Let’s say if I run out of money, you’ll buy one for me instead.’

Old Mrs. Jan slowly gets out of bed, bends over the basket, then stretches out to pick up a bottle of soft drink, but the little fellow swiftly grabs the bottle and TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

90 opens it, inserts a straw and hands it over, as if he is afraid someone might change her mind.

‘Ten baht, granny.’ The savvy way he asks makes me suspect he is a trickster.

He takes the money and puts it in his pocket, then heaves the basket off the floor and walks from Old Mrs. Nuan’s bed along the aisle. As he is about to walk past Bed 2 of the left row, the body lying on the bed shouts.

‘Hui! Hui! Come to me quick.’

The little fellow starts, turns to cast a glance, then walks up to the body on the bed.

I can’t help feeling amused hearing that woman calling everybody ‘Hui.’ Even the body lying on the bed next to hers she addresses as if she were her grandchild. By now, I’d really like to know what Hui, her real grandchild, actually looks like.

Must have been lovely as a child, I think.

The little boy stands looking at the body lying on its side on the bed. He still has his basket under his arm. He gazes at the face of the body lying there as if he is thinking about something.

‘Great-grandma, what is it you’re chewing?’ He bends over to look into the mouth that chomps nonstop.

‘Rice. Have you eaten yet? Come and eat with me.’

He glances again until he is sure. ‘There’s nothing in there. Great-grandma, you’re chewing air.’

The body does not answer, goes on chomping as if it was delicious.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

91 ‘Are you hungry? Better drink milk, you know. Wait, I’ll give you some milk.’ He puts down his basket, then picks up a carton of milk.

‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing, ha?’ Ubon walks up to him.

The little fellow turns to look, then goes and inserts a straw in the carton of milk without paying further attention to the question, and introduces the straw into a gap in the busily chewing mouth.

‘Drink some milk, great-grandma.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Feeding her milk.’

‘Who’s paying for it, hey? You can’t deceive old people to sell your stuff. She’s past it, don’t you know that?’

‘I know.’ The little fellow stands watching the straw.

‘You have to suck on it, great-grandma.’

‘If you know, then how can you keep on doing this?

Sell only to those who have their wits about them.

You’re behaving like a cheat, you know. If you behave like this when you grow older, you’ll get yourself into trouble.’

‘But I’m not selling it.’

‘Not selling it? How come? Then how can you give it away? What you have in there isn’t yours.’

‘I’m giving it to her to drink. Don’t you feel pity for her, miss? I do.’

‘Good for you to feel pity. But these goods aren’t yours to give away. It isn’t right, you know. If they catch you TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

92 at it, you’ll be in trouble. They must have counted them already, when they put them into your basket.’

‘No, they don’t know.’ The child’s face registers happiness as he sees the milk going up the straw.

‘Even if they don’t, it’s still wrong, because you’re stealing from them.’

‘I’m not stealing. I’m buying it to offer it to her.’ It is the first time that the child looks up at the face of the person giving him a dressing-down.

‘So you have money, do you?’

I feel that Ubon’s voice is mellowing.

‘I do. I have money. In this pocket, here.’ The little fellow pats his shorts pocket with his free hand to confirm.

‘I was simply giving you a warning – you don’t have to pay for her. She has money. It’s in the nightstand. I’ll give it to you in a minute.’

‘I don’t want her money. I’m giving it to her myself. I miss my own great-grandma.’ The child’s face saddens.

I share the little child’s sorrow, thinking of how I missed home when I was a child. I’ve long forgotten about it. I think of that time when I was still a child and my mother took me to stay for the night with my grandmother, which was only a short distance down the river.

That night I lay crying missing home all night long, so that first thing in the morning grandmother had to paddle me back. And I was only staying away for a short while, for a night – but then, how about these kids?

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

93 These kids who have to be away from home for months and years on end, aren’t they missing home?

The nurse is taken aback for a while. There is sympathy in her eyes as she gazes at the little boy.

‘Do you know, miss? My great-grandma was like this, lying chewing all day. When I was at home, I used to feed her myself – I don’t know if she’s dead or not by now.’ The little child speaks as if he is talking to himself.

‘If you don’t want her money, then take mine, okay?’

Ubon takes a ten-baht bill and hands it over.

I’m sure she’s feeling guilty, just as I do for thinking at first that the little fellow was up to some trick to sell his wares, just like so many other children forced to do so by society. It never crossed my mind he’d make it a gift to the old woman just because she reminds him of his great-grandma.

‘I don’t want it, miss. I really want to give it to her.’

The little child’s gaze is so earnest that Ubon has to slowly put the money back into her pocket. She does not say anything, raises her hand and strokes the little child on the head.

‘I am sorry.’

They gaze at each other, and fall silent.

I think it’s correct for this part of the play to have nothing else spoken, to let the emotion sink into the audience for a while. There is only the ticktack of the clock as background music. The scene should quiet down and proceed in silence.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

94 Under the clock on the central pillar, the little child still holds the carton of milk so that the straw stays in the old woman’s mouth. Ubon stands watching for a while.

When the milk is finished, he throws the empty carton in the basket, heaves up the basket and walks away.

Ubon’s eyes follow him then turn to look at the body of the old woman. She goes and picks up a piece of cloth on the nightstand at the head of the bed and wipes off the traces of milk from the old woman’s mouth, then turns her body to lie on its back. The boy walks by the first bed of the left row. The body on it lies unaware of anything. Ubon walks up to it, grabs the body and turns it to lie on its back. The boy walks across to the right row of beds. On the first bed front of stage, Old Sorn is asleep. So the boy walks on to Old Bunruean’s bed, who sits looking at him. He holds up his basket for her to see his goods. Old Bunruean chooses a bottle of red soda pop and a wrapped piece of cake and pays, then the boy walks on to Old Yoo’s bed, who is lying on her side, one arm rhythmically stroking her haunch. The boy walks up to her to show her what is in his basket. After a while, he walks on (probably knowing from the old woman’s eyes that she does not want anything), past the two beds with still bodies on them, then walks past Old Thapthim’s bed. Old Thapthim is still gazing at the door, still holding the bottle of orange soda which she has not even started. When the little fellow goes out through the door, it is as if she remembers the bottle in her hand. She CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

95 looks at the bottle then slowly gets up, takes a few steps to the nightstand, places the bottle on a plate, then pours some water in the plate to protect the bottle from the ants. Ubon walks up to Old Yoo’s bed, grabs her body and turns it on its back, then walks to the other bed, grabs the body lying on its side and makes it lie on its back. The body moans a little like someone talking in her sleep, then is quiet. She walks on to another bed, next to Old Thapthim’s bed, turns the body on it to make it lie on its side, then walks up to the narrow aisle at the head of the bed, retraces her steps to go and look into the cell, which is to one corner at the head of Old Bunruean’s bed.

She leans out to look inside the cell. When she sees everything is fine, she walks back through the narrow aisle to the end of the room, turns left past Old Thapthim’s bed and gets out through the door and sits down to rest on the front porch. Old Thapthim lets herself down to lie on her side, her head turned towards the door. Old Erp shifts herself from the edge of the bed, reclines and lies down. Old Jan and Old Nuan sit mumbling on, before reclining to lie down each on her own bed. Old Bunruean places the bottle of red soda pop, of which almost half is left, on the top of her nightstand, then walks back to let herself down on her bed. The whole room has now returned to peace once again. All the bodies are stretched out on their beds – the dormitory thus looks like a prison cell in which inmates are forbidden to step outside, with old age and illness as keepers standing watch. The TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

96 pendulum still goes on swinging high on the pillar. Its ticktack-ticktack goes on ceaselessly.

The moment all the bodies stop moving, it looks as though they are asleep. Old Sorn’s body slowly shifts from being on her back to lie on her side, facing Old Bunruean. The bodies lying stretched out on the beds are peaceful and quiet. Old Sorn slowly raises herself to a sitting position. After a while, she slowly lowers her feet to the floor, walks from the edge of her bed to well past the head of her bed, then steps along the narrow aisle towards the cell.

The strokes of the clock say the time is eleven o’clock.

Old Sorn stops short, turns to look at the clock, then decides to walk back.

Voice offstage ‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’ (Loudly to Old Sorn’s back, together with the clatter of a furious struggle within the cell.)

Old Sorn does not turn round to have a look, as her eyes are busy watching every step she takes on the floor.

Voice offstage ‘There’s absolutely nothing!’ (Shouted once again.)

Old Bunruean (Turns over – irritated.) ‘Tsk, what a nuisance!’ (Turns to look towards the cell.) ‘Hey, why are you standing in the aisle over there, my dear Sorn?’

Old Sorn does not answer, but proceeds step by step towards her nightstand. Boisterous noises – the rattle of CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

97 food trolleys and prattle of little children – suddenly come from the door.

Both turn round to look, and Old Thapthim, Old Erp, Old Jan, Old Nuan all endeavour to sit up, all of them looking towards the door.

Ubon walks in holding a chair in her arms and leading the way. The worker enters pushing a food trolley.

There are three big pots on it, and a bucket for scraps at the bottom. Another food trolley, pushed by Lamjiak, has two big pots and an ice box on top and a water container, bowls and food trays at the bottom.

A young man and a young woman enter supporting an old woman (aged about eighty), followed by the father and the mother of the two youngsters, and by a heavily pregnant woman (the father’s younger sister) wearing a maternity dress and holding a (one-year old) child against her breast. A female servant carrying a bag full of child-care paraphernalia and leading a (threeyear-old) girl by the hand enters, bringing up the rear.

Lamjiak and the worker stop their trolleys in the middle of the alley. Ubon goes and sets up the chair right under the clock then returns to the food trolleys.

The young man and the young woman prop their grandmother on the chair then go help with the trolleys. The father and the mother stand there already. The servant goes and places the bag against the clock pillar.

Servant (Speaking to the three-year-old girl.)

‘Jip, you stay with grandma, okay?

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98 Don’t run away and be naughty.’

She releases the child into the custody of the grandmother and goes back to help with the food on the trolleys. The girl stands holding her grandmother’s knee and looking around in wonder.

Old Sorn (Turning away from the group of people, speaks to Old Bunruean.) ‘Good grief! Look at me, I thought I was goin’ to the toilet. I lost me way, didn’t I. Being old’s no good, really. You keep forgettin’ things. There’s only the past you can’t forget.’ (Smiles at herself.

Plods all hunched up along the aisle.)

As she walks past the grandmother (the patron), who sits under the clock by the central pillar, she says.

Old Sorn ‘Er – how lucky you are, with all your near and dear around you!’

Grandmother ‘Yes. We old people depend on ’m.

Without ’m to look after us, we’d be in a nice pickle.’

The three-year-old girl is beginning to get confident enough to let go of her grandma’s knee and come to look at Old Sorn at close quarters.

Old Sorn ‘What a cute little face! Whose girl is this, I wonder?’ (Asking the girl.)

Grandmother ‘My little daughter’s daughter. She’s got two. There she is, holding the younger one. Girls both. And another on the CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

99

Old Sorn

Grandmother

Old Sorn

Old Sorn

Servant Father

way. Her lord and master’d like to have a son.’

(Laughs.) ‘It’s all the same, boys, girls, they’re all children – how many have you got yourself?’

Seven. Five boys, two girls. Five of them ’ve gone abroad. They wanted me to go over there. No way. I’ve been there. I didn’t like it. Travelling around is such a hassle. Now, I’ve got only two left here. The oldest and the youngest.

Taking care of me. What about you?

How many?’

(At a loss.) ‘I – I don’t have any. I live alone.’ (Moves to resume her walk to the shower room. The girl follows her, curious to see where she is going.)

(Turns and laughs.) ‘I’m goin’ to the loo.

Don’t go in there. Go see over there. Go see what they’re all doin’.’ (Points to the food trolleys, where everybody is helping ladling out food and taking trays to the various beds. The girl looks and runs back to the servant.)

‘Don’t run, Jip, or you’re going to fall.’

(Tells his two children.) ‘When the food’s served, take the trays to the various beds. Now.’ TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

100 Son and daughter take a tray of food each and get going.

Ubon ‘Don’t give out trays to the people lying on the beds just yet, because they’ve got to be spoon-fed.’

Lamjiak ‘Ubon, take this tray and feed Granny Yoo to begin with, okay?’

Ubon takes the tray and walks to Old Yoo’s bed.

Father (Asks Lamjiak.) ‘How many beds have got to be spoon-fed?’

Lamjiak ‘Five altogether.’

Father ‘Hey? Then let’s take one each. No big deal. Just helping along, right? Sharing the merit.’

Mother (Turns to Lamjiak.) ‘Give me a tray. I’ll feed the one over there.’ (Points to the first bed on the left row.)

Lamjiak (Takes a tray and hands it over.) ‘Here you are.’

Mother ‘How about a spoon? Isn’t there any?’

Lamjiak ‘Spoons are on the nightstands.’

The aunt (the pregnant woman) lets her daughter toddle on the floor.

Aunt (Talking to the servant.) ‘Keep an eye on her, will you—’ (The child cries – she wants to be held.)

Servant (Picks the child up.) ‘All right, let’s go – we’ll have milk, how’s that?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

101 The aunt lifts the tray, walks up to the second bed of the left row. The young man and the young woman come and get trays of food and walk out for a second round.

Voice offstage ‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’

Everybody turns to stare.

Father ‘What was that?’

Worker ‘There’s an old man in there, sir. He’s lost his marbles, but he’s still able to feed himself.’

The father nods, walks up to the cell. Stops and stands looking in front of the cell. His expression shows that this is something he has never experienced before. He stands there for a while, then walks back to the food trolleys.

Father ‘Let me take it to him.’

Lamjiak ‘Don’t go in there, sir. If you do, there’ll be no end of trouble. He’s always asking for this and that. If he sees someone wearing something or other, he wants it all. And if you don’t give it to him, he gets angry.’

Father (Laughs.) ‘Is that so? Then how come you’re not putting clothes on him?’

Lamjiak (Turns to ask Ubon, who sits on Old Yoo’s bed.) ‘Ubon, didn’t you get him dressed this morning?’

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102 Ubon Lamjiak

‘I did!’

(Addressing the father.) ‘I think he took them off. That’s the way he is. He doesn’t like to wear clothes. I wonder why.’

Father (Laughs.) ‘Some people are weird, aren’t they?’

Lamjiak ‘Yes, working here you see lots of weird things.’

Worker (Putting down the ladle.) ‘Well, that’s it.’ (Lifts the tray and walks to the cell with it.)

The young man and the young woman walk up to the trolley, pick up trays of food and take them to Old Bunruean’s and Old Sorn’s beds. Lamjiak holding two trays walks to the two beds which are between Old Thapthim and Old Yoo. The worker returns to the food trolleys, his main post – ready to ladle out seconds.

Father (Tells his daughter.) ‘Go help the matron with the food, will you?’ (Nods at Lamjiak, who stands between the two beds.)

Daughter (Turns round to him.) ‘I can’t do it.’

Father ‘Well, give it a try.’

Daughter (Shakes her head.) ‘Berk. No way. I’m afraid I’ll make her choke.’

Father (Turns to look at his son.) ‘Then you go.’

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103 Son

(Laughs.) ‘You must be kidding – you go.’

Father ‘No, you go. Before long I’ll be old, so you know how to spoon-feed me.’

Son ‘I’ll get you a nurse.’ (Laughs.)

Worker (Laughs.)

Father (Talks to the worker.) ‘Listen to him.

He’s already figured it out. (Laughs – turns to talk to both of his children.) ‘All right, then, go and see if there’s something missing and get it for them. Ask them if there’s anything else they want.’

The two youngsters smile, then walk over to the various beds.

Father (Talks to the worker.) ‘Kids these days, they’re quick to tell you they’ll hire helpers. They think money can buy everything.’ (Laughs.)

Worker ‘That’s right, sir. I say, how many have you got?’

Father ‘Four. The eldest’s already working.

The second is doing his master’s in America, staying with his uncle over there. As for these two, he’s in his last year and she’s on her first year.’

Worker ‘Oh, wow! Then you don’t have to worry. With all your children learning so high, you’ll be fine when you’re old, TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

104 you’ll be plenty looked after.’

Father ‘Mm – I’m not hoping they’ll come and take care of us when we’re old. We raise them, so we hope they’ll do well for themselves, and when they do, that’s it, we’ve done our duty by them.’

Worker ‘But for some, when they raise their children, they hope, you know, they hope they can rely on them when they’re old.’

Father (Laughs.) ‘Well, I don’t think that way. I think, if we think like that, it’s like being in business, like making an investment and expecting some kind of profit out of it. I think raising kids is no business.’

(Laughs.) ‘You can’t expect any kind of profit.’

Worker ‘You’re right. Look at Old Erp, on that bed there, at the end of the left row by the door.’

Father (Turns round.) ‘What about her?’

Worker ‘She’s got ten children, but she ended up here. Not one of ’m has ever come to visit her. She says she can’t remember their faces any longer—’ The daughter comes back with a tray.

Daughter ‘Mister, she wants steamed duck only.

Just the meat, mind you.’

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105 Worker

Daughter Father Worker

Father Worker

Father Worker Father

Worker

(Fetches the right piece of meat as ordered.) ‘What do you think? Old people are fussy, aren’t they?’

(Laughs – walks back with the tray.)

‘These women here are all sick, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, mostly with old age diseases.

Some are paralyzed. Once they come here, very few ever walk out.’

‘How come? Isn’t there some doctor taking care of them?’

‘There’s a doctor who visits on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. If there’s an emergency, we call a practical nurse. There’s a nurse quarter here.’

(Nods in understanding.) ‘I suppose that’s what it takes.’

‘Yes. Once you come here, you must get yourself ready—’ ‘Yeah, once you come to the terminal, you must prepare for the one-way journey. Everyone on your own.’ (Laughs.)

(Laughs.) ‘Yes, but it’s a mess. This terminal here’s got all kinds of stories you wouldn’t believe. People who work here have to be truly patient; if they’re not, they can’t stay. Those of us who stay do so because we feel sorry for ’m.

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106 We think of nothing else.’

Father ‘Well, that’s good. You help them as much as you can.’

Worker ‘Yes, but I don’t know to what extent we can help. From what I see, these days the queue for applications grows longer every year, you know.’

Father (Laughs.) ‘As I said: these days, old people aren’t important any longer.

Society doesn’t want them any more.

They want to go forward into the future, they aren’t thinking of the past.

Those who’re growing up today, it’s people in the past who’ve helped raise them up; they haven’t just popped up fully grown. They only think old people are no longer useful, so they get rid of ’m. If we keep thinking like this, see what’s going to happen before long—’ The mother comes back with a tray.

Mother (Talks to her husband.) ‘Look at this. She polished it off. Oh, she really can eat.

Spoonful after spoonful, she got through it all. Eyes closed, you know, but her mouth busy munching.’ (Holds out the tray to the worker.) ‘May I have some beef stock with rice, and another slice of squash as well?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

107 Then, smiling happily, she walks back to the same bed.

Worker ‘Have you done this before, sir?’

Father ‘Never. Usually I make merit at the temple. And then, my mother reached eighty, so I thought we’d do something special. At first, my mother said she’d treat the monks at our temple to lunch.

And then my sister—’ (Flicking his head towards the pregnant woman spoon-feeding the woman on the second bed of the left row.) ‘—she mentioned she’d seen that feature on TV some time back, so she said let’s try here. Feed the monks in the morning, then treat people to lunch here. I thought ’twas just as well. My mother’d meet old people for a change: there’s no one at home. When we came to ask around, it turned out treating everybody was too much. Just too many people. Then they said there’s only a dozen people at the hospital ward, so we decided to do it here – I wonder how my mother likes it.’

Voice offstage ‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’

Worker (Turns to look.) ‘Wait, let me have a look at him.’

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108 Father

‘I guess he’s cleaned up his tray, too.’

(Laughs – follows the worker with his eyes.)

The son walks up holding a tray.

Son (Talking softly.) ‘Dad, this old woman’s real strange, you know.’ (Signals with his lips and eyes towards Old Sorn’s bed – front of stage, right row.)

Father ‘Why?’ Son (Holds out the tray.) ‘Look at this. I don’t know how she can eat like this.

She puts orange in her duck steamed with pickled limes.’ (Laughs.) ‘And here, rice mixed with tamarind. She didn’t eat the chicken of the chicken curry, only the eggplant. I guess she’s round the bend.’ (Laughs.)

Father ‘Then what does she want you to get her?’

Son ‘More eggplant.’ (Laughs.)

Father ‘So give it to her.’

Son (Chooses eggplant from the curry pot.)

‘Why does she eat like this, dad?’

Father (Laughs.) ‘You go and ask her. (Laughs.)

‘Why ask me? I’m not the one eating it.’

The worker walks back. In his hands is the tray, empty.

Worker ‘Finished it off, he did.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

109 Father Worker

‘Give him some more, then.’

‘Sure will.’ (Dishes it out, then walks back with it to the cell.)

The father follows him with his eyes then looks at his son, who sits looking at Old Sorn chewing her food.

Son ‘Is that good, granny, tamarind and rice?’

Old Sorn ‘Tamarind is sweet, you know. One day they came and gave us some. I put some aside for the monk, of course, and I ate the rest. You want some? Let’s share. It’s very sweet.’

Son (With a dubious expression on his face) ‘No, thanks. Tell me really, granny, you actually like this?’

Old Sorn (As she puts a spoonful of tamarind and rice into her mouth.) ‘Of corch ah do. Ah keep tryin’ out.’ (Puts more rice in her mouth, then uses her spoon to mix a segment of orange with duck soup and slurps that.)

Son ‘Why do you eat like this? I don’t see anybody else doing it.’

Old Sorn (Swallows her rice.) ‘I’m fed up. I’ve eaten all sorts. Know ’m all, pork, duck, chicken, mushroom, curries of all kinds.

I’d never eaten sweet tamarind with rice. So I’m givin’ it a try.’

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110 Son

Old Sorn Son Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn Son Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn

(Laughs – thinks it’s fun, changes from squatting to sitting squarely on the floor.) ‘Then what else have you eaten that you like?’

‘Watermelon and boiled Chinese bean curd’s good too.’

(Laughs.)

‘You think I’m kiddin’? You try it.’

(Spoons in more rice then picks up a slice of eggplant and puts it in her mouth.)

‘Where’s your home, granny?’

(Waits till she has swallowed her food.)

‘Right here.’

‘No – I mean, before you came here.’

(Seems reluctant to answer.) ‘I didn’t have one. I went from house to house so often I can’t remember any longer.’

‘All right, all right. If you don’t want to talk about it, don’t.’

(Smiles, pleased.) ‘I never think ’bout it.

These days I only live one day at a time.

The Lord says, Let’s be aware of what we’re doin’. Right now, I’m eatin’—’ ‘And talking to me also. Be careful you don’t choke.’ (Laughs.)

(Laughs.) ‘Er – right. Right you are.’

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111

Son Old Sorn

Son

Old Sorn Son Old Sorn

Son

Old Sorn

chews on it.)

‘Do you want some more rice?’

(Swallows the rice.) ‘No, that’s enough rice. I’ve had enough. Let me try eggplant with tamarind to see if they agree with each other.’

(Laughs.) ‘As well they should: they’re both greens.’ (Laughs. Looks at Old Sorn picking up a slice of eggplant from the tray and putting it in her mouth, then doing the same with tamarind.)

‘Do they make sense together, granny?’

‘You try it.’

‘Not yet. Wait till I’m your age, then I’ll try. Er – how old are you actually?’

‘Dunno. I gave up countin’ years ago.

Age is a matter of time. Time passes, age increases. One day goes by, so you’re a day older. Once you’re old, what’s the point of keepin’ a tally?’

(Laughs.) ‘You’re right again, granny.

You look like a clever person. You shouldn’t be staying here at all.’

(With a flat voice.) ‘That’s because I’ve been careless with life. Here, all of us who’re here, we’ve all been careless with life.’ (Picks up a slice of tamarind and chews on it.)

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112 The young man looks around the room, then turns to look at Old Sorn.

Old Sorn ‘When you’re old, if you don’t want to end up like this, don’t be careless with life. Life’s worth living, but don’t be careless with it.’

Son ‘What does that mean, life’s worth living but don’t be careless with it?’

Old Sorn (Smiles.) ‘You too look like you’re clever. You figure it out by yourself.’

(Pushes back the food tray, picks up the spittoon, pours water to wash her hand and the spoon, then raises her hands over her head and bows.) ‘May you be blessed in age, status, health and strength.’

Son (Laughs.) ‘Not yet. It isn’t over yet.

There’s still dessert.’

Old Sorn ‘What! There’s more, is there?’

Son ‘There’s sweets in coconut cream.’

Old Sorn ‘What! Why didn’t you bring it at the same time so I could eat it with the rest?’

Son (Picks up the tray as he stands up.) ‘I’ll go and get it for you. But then—’ Old Sorn (Wondering.) ‘But then what?’

Son ‘Your coconut cream: you want it with shrimp paste or without?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

113 Old Sorn bursts out laughing. It is such a hearty laughter that several people turn and stare. The young man walks away grinning, tray in hand, back to the trolleys. (Several people are waiting for dessert.)

Mother (Asks with a smile.) ‘What have you done to her that she’s laughing her heart out like that?’

Son ‘Oh, she’s tops, really, mom. She’s outrageously funny, you know, dad.’

Father ‘Well, you aren’t too bad on that score, either, are you?’

Mother (Smiling, tells her husband.) ‘He takes after you, dear.’

The young man pours the leftover food from the tray into the bucket in the trolley, then picks up a bowl of sweets in coconut cream, tops it with shaven ice, walks over to Old Sorn’s bed and places the bowl in front of her.

Son (His face still smiling.) ‘Here you are, granny. But I couldn’t find any shrimp paste.’ (Laughs.)

Old Sorn smiles delighted, then spoons some into her mouth.

Son ‘How is it? Does it taste right?’

Old Sorn ‘Nothing unusual.’

Son ‘Well, coconut cream’s coconut cream.

How can it be unusual?’

Old Sorn ‘As I said—’ TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

114 Son Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn Son Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn Son

Old Sorn Son Old Sorn Son

‘Er – what is it you do here day after day?’

‘I don’t do nothin’. Wait for the day I’ll die. When that’ll be, I don’t know. I’m fed up with the world.’

‘Are you afraid to die?’

(Laughs.) ‘How ’bout you?’ (Stares him in the face, waiting for an answer.)

(Uncertainly.) ‘I am.’

‘I’m not. These days I pray every night.

I ask the Lord to let me go if He so pleases. And if I’m taken in my sleep and don’t wake up, so much the better.

But the Lord ain’t helpin’ me any.’

‘What do you mean He isn’t helping?’

‘Well, at night, I can’t quite sleep. I keep wakin’ up.’

‘You shouldn’t sleep in the daytime.

That’s what makes you feel drowsy at night.’

‘I try not to.’

‘Besides praying to the Lord, what else do you do?’

‘I extend lovin’ kindness to all slaves—’ (Laughs.) ‘Why, you’re wrong there, granny. These days there’s no more slaves. Slavery was abolished a long time ago.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

115 Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn Son

Old Sorn Son

Old Sorn

‘Who told you there’s no more slaves?

There’s still slaves everywhere. You’re a slave. I’m a slave. Your parents too are slaves. Everybody’s a slave.’

‘How come? Then, who are the masters?’

(Briefly ponders.) ‘It depends. Sometimes you are, sometimes the others are, sometimes even things can be, depending on who’s usin’ who. Sometimes you’re your own master, sometimes the others are the masters. Sometimes you let things be your masters – you understand?’

(Laughs.) ‘No, I don’t. Please explain, granny.’

‘Figure it out by yourself.’

(Laughs.) ‘I say, granny, you want me to use my brain all the time. Just looking into textbooks gives me headaches, you know.’

(Laughs.) ‘That’s it, you see: these days you’re a slave to textbooks.’ (Laughs.)

‘In that case, pray for me tonight that I’m freed from slavery, will you.’

(Laughs.)

‘Nobody can escape it. If you’re freed from this you become a slave to that.

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116

Son Old Sorn Son Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn Son Old Sorn

You get free from here only to get stuck someplace else.’

‘Hey? Then, what are you a slave to?’

‘I’m a slave to old age. I’m a slave to illness.’

‘What kind of illness?’

‘Dunno. What’s the point of knowin’? I only know me knees’re weak. Can’t feel a thin’ down to the soles of me feet.

The doctor gives me drugs. Tells me to walk a lot, but I can’t quite walk. I’m too old.’

‘Aren’t you bored stiff, not being able to go anywhere all day?’

‘Well, it’s up to us, you see. We already know we can’t go anywhere. If we’re bored, we’re bored wherever we are.

The world’s in us.’

‘If I were you, I couldn’t stand being like this.’

(Laughs.) ‘If you were me, you’d have to.’

(Looks at the bowl.) ‘The ice is all melted.’

(Uninterested.) ‘Never mind. It’s ice, so it melts. If it was a piece of stone, maybe it wouldn’t melt. It’s doing its duty as it is. Or what do you think?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

117 Son Old Sorn Son

Old Sorn Son

Old Sorn Son Old Sorn

Son Old Sorn

Son

(Laughs.) ‘You’re too much, you know.’

(Laughs.) ‘I’m tellin’ the truth.’

(Laughs.) ‘I wasn’t arguing, was I? You know, if my gran’ was like you, I’d spend the whole day talking with her.’

‘How come? Don’t you talk with your grandmother?’

‘Not much. I don’t know what to talk about with her. She’s always grumbling and being fussy.’

‘Old people, let me tell you, can be annoyin’.’

‘But I’m not annoyed with you at all.’

‘If you were with me all day, you would be, believe me.’ (Laughs.) ‘You should talk to her. You know? She won’t be around for you to talk with for many years. Bear with her a little.

Maybe you’ll get something good out of it. Old people have seen the world before you: remember this.’

‘Sure, if she didn’t grumble so much.’

‘Well, don’t listen to her grumblin’.

Listen when she talks. Believe me.

Nobody wants to be old, but we all must. You too. Before long, you’ll be old also.’

‘But I won’t grumble.’

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118 Old Sorn laughs for an answer. She picks up the spoon and washes it.

Son ‘How come, granny? You haven’t finished yet.’

Old Sorn (As she bends over washing the spoon.) ‘I’m full. That’s enough.’

Son ‘But that’s only dessert.’

Old Sorn ‘It’s all the same, dessert or rice. When you’re full, you’re full.’

Son ‘Then, I’ll take it away, shall I?’ (Picks up the bowl and gets up.)

Old Sorn ‘Sure – may you be blessed with a long life.’

As the young man holding the bowl walks back to the trolleys, the clock strikes twelve times.

He turns towards the source of the noise, then walks over (going behind his grandmother, who sits against the clock pillar) to have a look at the clock.

Son (Turns to call out.) ‘Dad!’ His father stands by Bed 1 looking at his wife spoonfeeding dessert to the person lying there.

Father ‘What?’

Son ‘That’s an antique, dad. Come and have a look.’

His father walks up to the clock on the pillar.

Son ‘This model’s worth a fortune, dad.

See here, the arrows placed crosswise and the face of Jesus?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

119 Father

(Nods in agreement.) ‘Mm, and still in perfect condition.’

Son ‘How about buying it to take back home?’ (Laughs – only kidding.)

His grandmother sitting on the chair says out of the blue, without turning to look at her grandchild or her son.

Grandmother ‘You see old things and you want ’m badly. They’ve got value, they’ve got a price. But old people, nobody wants ’m. Look around. They ditch ’m here, all of ’m old people—’ Son (Speaks softly, to be heard only by his father.) ‘Here she goes again. Let’s go, dad.’ (Walks over to return the bowl to the trolleys.)

The father still stands looking at the clock. Nobody knows whether he is thinking of what his mother said or admiring the clock.

Right now, the worker and Ubon go back and forth retrieving the dessert bowls from the various beds, while some of the old women wipe and clean up their nightstands (there may be some with spilt food and ants swarming around). Son and daughter stand looking at their mother feeding dessert to the woman. The pregnant aunt is spoon-feeding the other lying woman. The three-year-old girl stands clinging to her mother’s leg. The servant is playing with the baby on the porch outside. Lamjiak is still feeding the women on the two beds next to Old Yoo’s bed.

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120 Lamjiak

(Calls the worker softly as he walks past.) ‘Pst!’ Worker ‘What is it?’

Lamjiak (Nods for him to come closer – whispers.) ‘Go put his trousers on the old man, will you, otherwise when the patron goes to see him, it won’t look good.’

The worker nods in understanding. When he has put down the empty tray and cups, he heads discreetly for the cell. Nobody notices, except Old Sorn, who sits on her bed looking at him. An instant later, there are sounds of a scuffle.

Voice offstage ‘No! No! I don’t want to! I won’t have it!’

Voice offstage (The worker. Half-threatening.) ‘How can you say you don’t want to? You must put ’m on.’

The exchange prompts the young man and the young woman to drift over for a look. They stand against the bars of the cell.

Ubon (Warning.) ‘You two over there, don’t get too close. If he gets angry, he’ll throw things at you and you might get hurt.’

The two youngsters step back dutifully. Old Sorn is still watching.

Voice offstage (The worker.) ‘Ouch! Ouch! Don’t kick.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

121 It hurts, ye know. Hey, watch it! I said, watch it! You blockhead!’

Sounds of struggling.

Voice offstage ‘Motherfuckers! I’ve got nothing left.

Motherfuckers!’

Voice offstage (The worker. Threatening.) ‘Hey! Shut up!’

Daughter (Turns to talk to her brother.) ‘Disgusting! And it stinks of piss, too!’

Son (Does not turn to look at his sister.) ‘If it’s disgusting, don’t look. If it stinks, don’t stay around smelling.’ (Laughs.)

The young woman does not say anything further, turns to look inside the cell, until the worker comes out and latches the door.

Son ‘If he’s kept like this, he’ll be in a jam if there’s a fire.’

Worker ‘Well, I don’t know what else to do. If we don’t lock him up, he comes out and abuses people. If there’s a fire, don’t worry, we’ve taken precautions.’

(Turns to order to the cell.) ‘Don’t take ’m off again, you hear! If you take ’m off, no dinner tonight.’

Daughter ‘What’s the matter with him? How come he’s like this?’

Worker ‘He was cheated by his nephews. His house was in Bang Len, in Nakhon PaTIME | CHART KORBJITTI

122 thom out there. He was a rich man, you know. He had no children, only nephews. Eventually, they cheated him out of his property, and left him with nothing. And didn’t take care of him either. People around there took pity on him, so they sent him here. So these days he keeps shouting all day he’s got nothing, absolutely nothing left.’

Daughter ‘Poor man!’

The worker walks back to the trolleys. The young woman follows him. The young man walks over to Old Sorn’s bed, and stops by to talk.

Son ‘It’s such a pity about him, isn’t it, granny?’

Old Sorn ‘Right. Don’t you go and cheat your grandmother, you hear.’ (Laughs.)

Son ‘I reckoned you’d say that.’ (Laughs.)

‘I’d like to keep talking to you, but I must go and help with the work. I haven’t done anything much to help yet.’ (Looks at the trolleys, with several people around them – the party is almost over.)

The young man walks away.

Old Bunruean turns to look at Old Sorn.

Old Bunruean ‘I say, my dear Sorn, you seem to have a way with young men, haven’t you?’

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123 Old Sorn

(With a flat voice.) ‘It’s such a pity for him.’

Old Bunruean ‘Who?’ Old Sorn (Smiles—does not answer.)

At the trolleys, all the trays and bowls have been collected. Ubon, Lamjiak and the worker are pouring water into flasks and placing them on the various nightstands. Lamjiak hands out drugs to take after the meal to some patients.

At the clock pillar, the grandmother still sits on the chair. Her granddaughter sits on the floor before her, putting money into envelopes. The father, the mother, the pregnant aunt, the three-year-old girl and the young man stand in a circle looking around. The servant is still on the porch with the one-year-old girl.

After a while, everything is ready. The circle breaks.

The father and the mother help the grandmother to get up. The grandmother stands still for a while, then ventures to take a step.

Father (Asks Lamjiak.) ‘Let’s start with this bed, okay?’ (Points to Bed 1 of the left row.)

Lamjiak ‘Fine, any bed you please.’

Aunt ‘Wait, wait. I forgot. I took my camera along to take pictures to send to America.’ (Shouts calling the servant.)

‘Mon! Mon!’ Servant ‘Yes, what is it, ma’am?’ (Girl in her TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

124 arms, enters through the door.)

Aunt ‘Give me the camera in the bag. Let me take the baby.’ (Takes her child in her arms.)

The servant walks up to the bag, which is against the clock pillar. Everybody’s eyes are on the servant. She takes the camera out. (An idiot-proof model, with flash incorporated.) Walks over to give it to the pregnant woman.

Ubon ‘Do you want me to take the pictures for you?’

Aunt ‘Yes, yes. You push here, see.’ (Pointing to the button and giving her the camera.)

The father and the mother help the grandmother to reach the first bed. Everybody crowds around the body lying still. The grandmother stands beside the bed, holding out a money envelope to the body on the bed.

The mother stands to the left of the grandmother. The pregnant woman, holding her baby in her arms, stands to the right. The daughter, holding the little girl in her arms, stands next. The son, the father and the servant form the back row.

Aunt ‘Can you see everybody?’

Ubon ‘Yes, I can see you all.’

Father (Jokingly.) ‘Count first, okay? or else the old woman won’t smile at the right time.’ (Meaning the body lying on the bed.)

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125 Everybody laughs.

Ubon ‘Ready? One! Two! Three!’

All lights on stage go off.

The shutter clicks. A flash briefly lights the group out of the darkness.

The lights stay out. After a while.

Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

A flash briefly catches the group around Bed 2 of the left row.

Darkness— Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

The group of people appears in a flash at Old Nuan’s bed. Old Nuan sits, her head turned to smile at the grandmother.

Darkness— Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

The group of people is framed in light by Old Jan’s bed. In the picture, Old Jan has already pulled the money envelope to her.

Darkness— Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

The group of people is caught in the flash of light. Old Erp sits on the bed, bowing, hands joined above her head.

Darkness— Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

Picture of the group of people by Old Thapthim’s bed.

Old Thapthim sits crying as her hands receive the envelope.

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126 Darkness— Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

Picture of the group of people around a body lying insensate on its bed. The grandmother puts the money envelope on the chest of the body.

Darkness— Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

Picture of the group of people around the next bed.

The body on it lies looking at the grandmother. Its hands seem to have raised a little.

Darkness— Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

Picture of the group of people around Old Yoo’s bed.

Old Yoo’s hands take the envelope, but her eyes are looking vacantly towards the foot of the bed.

Darkness— Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two—’ Voice ‘Eh, wait! Wait! Wait a minute.’

The lights on stage come on, dazzling.

Grandmother ‘Mrs. Bunruean, is this you?’

Old Bunruean (At a loss what to say, and alarmed.)

‘Ye-yes.’

Grandmother ‘Good gracious me, Mrs. Bunruean! I never thought I’d meet you here.’

Old Bunruean (Half afraid, half daring.) ‘Pray who are you? I can’t remember you, I’m afraid.’

Grandmother ‘I’m Sa-ang, Sa-ang, you know: the daughter of Mrs. Piu and Mr Daeng.’

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127 Old Bunruean

Grandmother

Old Bunruean

Grandmother Old Bunruean Grandmother

Old Bunruean Father Old Bunruean

(Searching her memory for a while, then slowly pulling herself erect.) ‘Oh yes, Sa-ang—you were staying in the outhouses, weren’t you?’

‘Yes. You remember me, don’t you?

During the war, I even went into service with you and His Excellency, your father, in Pathum Thani, right?’

‘Oh? Oh yes, yes! I do remember you now. You had three sons in a row, didn’t you, with Mr. – what’s his name, your husband, I mean?’

‘Mr. Yuean.’

‘And where is he? Didn’t he come along?’

‘He’s been dead for more than ten years. That’s him, here, the eldest, I took along to Pathum in those days.’

(Points to the father.) ‘Here, pay respect to Mrs. Bunruean, me son. She’s done much for us, you know.’

(Turns to look at the father.) ‘How about you? Do you still remember me?’

(Eyeing her dubiously, but—) ‘I do, madam.’ (Bows to her.)

‘Bless you.’ (Turns to ask the grandmother.) ‘Er, and how did you manage to make so much money that you can TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

128

Grandmother

Old Bunruean Grandmother Old Bunruean Grandmother Old Bunruean

Father

Grandmother

afford to treat us poor folks here?’

‘I’m not wealthy at all, madam. The money is my children’s. I depend on ’m, you see. Don’t you have any yourself?’

‘What? Children or money?’

‘Children of course!’

‘I don’t. If I did, I suppose I wouldn’t have had to come here.’

‘So you never married, did you?’

(With a strained voice – stammering, reluctant to answer.) ‘I did – er – I didn’t, really. At the time I was too old already – it wouldn’t have been seemly.’ (Turns her eyes away.)

(Whispers to the grandmother.) ‘Let’s go, mother. You’re only making her unhappy for nothing.’

‘Here, take this for your needs, Mrs. Bunruean. Some day, if me children are free, I’ll come by again.’

The lights go off.

In the darkness— Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

The flash goes off. In the instant picture, Old Bunruean sits grandly, and it is impossible to say which hands give and which hands take the envelope.

Voice (Ubon) ‘One! Two! Three!’

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129 In the briefly lit picture, Old Sorn receives the money but her eyes are on the young man in the back row.

The lights on stage come back.

Ubon returns the camera to the pregnant woman, who passes it on to the servant.

The group of people follow Ubon to the cell. The grandmother, the father, the son and the servant line up in front of the cell. The mother walks up in turn, leans out to take a look, turns her head away then retreats.

Mother (Turns to tell the pregnant woman, her sister-in-law.) ‘Don’t look. It’s disgusting. And what with you being pregnant and all.’ (Turns to tell her daughter, who holds the three-yearold girl in her arms.) ‘Take Jip away.’

Girl (Jip) ‘I want to see! I want to see!’ (Throws a fit.) ‘I want to see!’ (The farther away she is taken, the bigger the tantrum, until—) Father ‘Okay, okay, come see, come.’

The daughter brings the girl back, hoists her up over the back of the young man.

Girl (Jip) (Laughs delighted with what she sees.) ‘Rude!’

Grandmother (Looking frightened.) ‘I’m not going in there.’

Ubon (Smiles—tells the grandmother.) ‘You don’t have to go in there. It’s not TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

130 allowed, anyway.’

Voice offstage ‘Motherfuckers! Motherfuckers!’

Ubon (Peers into the cell.) ‘Hey, why are you swearing at them? They’re bringing you money, you know.’

Voice offstage ‘Motherfuckers! Motherfuckers!’

Ubon (Turns to tell the grandmother.) ‘That’s the way he is. Every time someone brings him money or presents, he starts cursing. At first, we let him have the money. He just tore it to bits, swearing and cursing all the while. So now we just take it in his name. He’s got money, you know, never uses it. So we figure when he dies we’ll make merit for him—’ Grandmother (Nods in understanding.) ‘Take it then, take it. Keep it for him.’

Voice offstage ‘Motherfuckers! Motherfuckers!’

The group of people file back from the cell, check the things they have brought in. Meanwhile, Lamjiak walks around taking the money envelopes from the beds whose patients cannot get up and locking them up in their nightstands. After everybody has checked that everything is all right, they help one another take the things out along the central aisle. Lamjiak, Ubon and the worker walk them to the door. The father turns back.

Father ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ (Puts his hand CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

131 into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, hands out one hundred baht each to the three of them.) ‘Don’t argue, okay? It’s just a way to help.

Don’t think about it as money—think of it as a way to help one another.’

Ubon (Bowing to him.) ‘Thank you very much, sir.’

Lamjiak ‘Thank you, sir.’

Worker ‘Thanks a lot, sir.’

Father ‘Just a little help. If I can find the time, I’ll come again.’

The father goes through the door to follow the others.

The two nurses and the worker stand by the door and stare until the group is out of sight.

I take my eyes off the door to look at the patients on their beds. They sit or lie, back to their boring daily routine. There is nothing interesting. I let my eyes rove around, taking in everyone in turn, then I must hold my gaze on Old Mrs. Jan. I see her sitting on her bed smiling at the money envelope. I think of the morning scene when her money disappeared. She was in tears over the loss of her money. Now she has money again. What will she do with it? Where will she keep it? I’d like to know, but in a situation like this, a situation in which one sees everything on stage, she is only a component of the scene, because she has no speaking role to attract the TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

132 attention of the audience. Her only part consists in sitting smiling at the envelope in her hand. If the spectators don’t pay attention to her, they won’t know what Old Mrs. Jan is doing. At this point, I think a play on stage is rather limited in its expression, especially in the scenes that have many people without any particular part. The audience won’t know where to look, which is different from movies. In a movie, we’re able to force the people to look at the pictures we want them to look at.

Close-up

Voice over (worker) Voice over (Ubon) Voice over (worker)

Close-up

Of Old Jan sitting on her bed and opening the envelope with trembling hands.

‘Lamjiak, Ubon, go and have lunch first.’

‘No, you eat first.’

‘Come on, you go. I still have to mop the floor over there.’

Sounds of footsteps of the two nurses walking away. /Cut Of Old Jan’s hands, quivering and clumsy with impatience, tearing off a little of the fold she is opening. A corner of the banknote inside can be seen. A wrinkled finger slides into the opening then tears off the whole length of the fold impatiently. Pulls out the one-

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133

Close-up

Old Jan

Medium-range

Voice over (Old Jan)

Medium-range

Old Jan

hundred-baht bill. Throws the empty envelope on the bed. /Cut Of Old Jan’s happy face, admiring the bill in her hand. Raises her joined hands above her head and bows.

(Mumbling.) ‘Thank you, o Lord, for answering me prayer.’

Looks back at the money, then slowly turns to look towards Old Nuan’s bed. /Cut (As seen through Old Jan’s eyes.)

Of Old Nuan sitting on the floor peering at the banknote in her left hand. Her right hand holds a pencil firmly, then scribbles in her notebook.

‘Me dear Nuan, I’ve money now to reimburse you.’

Old Nuan turns to. /Cut Showing the two of them. Old Jan slowly gets out of bed, walks over to Old Nuan, then sits down in front of her. Old Nuan finishes taking down the number of the banknote, then looks up.

(Hands over her money.) ‘Take this. Ten baht, init?’

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134 Old Nuan Old Jan

‘Why don’t you keep it for now?’

‘I don’t want to. The more I go, the more forgetful I become. What if I forget, or you forget? It might be a bone of contention between us.

Just to think of it, I’m afraid—’ Old Nuan ‘Oh well, have it your way then.’

Old Nuan slowly reaches out to open her nightstand. /Cut Close-up Of the hand pulling the lid of the nightstand open. Sundry wrapped sweets fall and scatter on the floor.

Voice over (Old Nuan) ‘Oh-oh!’

Old Nuan’s hand gets into the lower part of the nightstand and comes out with an ancient cigarette box. The camera follows Old Nuan’s hand until it places the box on the floor then opens its lid.

Voice over (Old Jan) ‘You got a lot in there.’ /Cut Medium to close-up Of Old Jan and Old Nuan looking at the hoard. /Cut Close-up Of Old Jan’s face. As she thinks of the money she used to have, her face gets sullen.

Old Jan (Mumbling.) ‘Whoever took it, may she burn in hell!’

Voice over (Old Nuan) ‘Hey, who are you cursin’ now?’

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135 Old Jan

Medium to close-up

Close-up

Close-up Medium-range

Close-up

(Looks up from the money in the box.) ‘The one who stole me money, that’s who!’ /Cut Old Jan gives her banknote to Old Nuan. Old Nuan takes it, takes down the serial number in her notebook, then adjusts the bill to the stack, pulls out the bunch of ten-baht bills and bends over to search for their numbers in her notebook. /Cut (As seen through Old Nuan’s eyes.) Of the notebook and the hand checking every banknote to give the change to Old Jan. When she finds a number in her book, she strikes it out. /Cut Of Old Jan’s face looking down at the notebook. /Cut Old Nuan hands over the change to Old Jan, then puts the kitty back into the nightstand, puts the sweets that are scattered around back into the nightstand, inserts the key, puts the notebook inside the top drawer. /Cut Of Old Jan’s face, looking unhappy.

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136 Old Jan

‘And where am I going to keep me money?’

Ticktack-ticktack.

Ticktack-ticktack.

The clock strikes one.

The worker looks at the clock. He is starting to feel hungry. He walks back to the shower room to put the mop back, then walks over to lift the chair left at the foot of the clock pillar, then goes out the same way to the porch in front of the ward, sits down and waits for Ubon to come back and take over.

Old Bunruean, who has been covertly looking at the worker until he took the chair outside, now turns to look at Old Sorn’s bed.

Old Sorn’s eyes are still on the cell, as she keeps wondering about the man in it.

Why does he have to curse over and over again whenever someone brings him money?

‘My dear Sorn.’

Old Sorn, started out of the problem she is puzzling over, turns to look at the speaker.

‘Did you call me?’

‘Yes, I did call you.’

‘Any problem?’

‘Not at all. I wanted to ask you if you believe me now.’

‘About what?’

‘Well, that I am truly Duke Sunthon’s daughter. You CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

137 saw her just now, didn’t you? The one who came to treat us to lunch, she was one of my servants in the old days.’

There is an undertone of contempt in her voice.

‘I believe you,’ Old Sorn says as she really feels. ‘I’ve believed you from the first time you told me. A look at you and I knew you’re no ordinary person like the likes of me.’

Old Bunruean smiles happily. A constant stream of memories is passing through her mind.

She slowly gets out of bed and steps out along the main aisle. Today she is a happy woman. Today she has been vindicated. The truth has revealed itself: she hasn’t been telling tall tales to fool people like everyone thinks.

Every morning she implores the Lord in her prayers not to let people who know her come in here, out of shame for her former rank, out of shame for her present condition. But today she has gone beyond that shame. She does not feel humiliated any longer. From now on, she will stop begging the Lord over this. She is beyond it now. There is nothing to be ashamed of, since it is true.

Just as it is true that she is Duke Sunthon’s daughter.

Old Bunruean’s reedy body stepping with grace towards Old Jan’s bed seems to be more dignified than any other day.

She comes to a stop and stands catching her breath at the foot of Old Jan’s bed.

Old Jan is still sitting with the money held firmly in her fist, side by side with Old Nuan, who also sits on the TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

138 floor, in front of her nightstand. They both look at Old Bunruean, wondering why she’s coming over.

‘Now, do you believe that everything I’ve been telling you is the honest truth?’ Old Bunruean asks slowly, having yet to recover from the exhaustion of her walk.

‘I ne’er said you took it, you know.’ Old Jan looks surly.

‘I don’t give a hoot for your money. But I came to tell you, ha, that everything I’ve told you is true. Well, you saw it, didn’t you? The money you received today, the one who gave it to you used to be one of the servants in my house—’ ‘So what, me dear Mrs. Bunruean?’ Old Nuan interrupts.

‘So nothing. I wanted to tell you, ha, that I’m nobody’s slave like the rest of you.’

‘Oh? Is that so? Then why are you tellin’ me? Why don’t you keep this to yourself? I don’t wan to hear about other people’s past.’

‘I just wanted to set the record straight.’ Old Bunruean’s voice is getting harder, but her legs are getting weaker. Slowly, she eases herself down to sit on the floor between the beds. So the three of them find themselves sitting level with the ground.

‘We’re all the same, Mrs. Bunruean,’ Old Nuan says.

‘There’s no need to boast about the past to one another. If we were so proud of ourselves, we wouldn’t end up here.’

‘But I come from a prestigious family. I used to have servants and attendants.’

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139 ‘And where are they now, hey, your servants, your attendants?’ Old Nuan retorts.

Old Bunruean is struck dumb with the truth of it.

These people are long gone. They only remain in her memory, in the pride she takes in her glorious past.

‘So, where are they now, me dear?’ Old Nuan asks again.

‘Well, that woman who came to give us money. Didn’t you see her? She was a servant of mine.’ Old Bunruean pulls herself erect once again.

‘And weren’t you ashamed in front of her? You were her mistress. How come you held out your hand to receive money from a servant? You tell me that.’

Again Old Nuan’s words stab her through the chest.

Old Bunruean’s body shrinks without her realizing it.

‘Believe me, me dear. You don’t have to tell us about your past, who you were, where you come from and all that. All of us who’ve come here, we’re all in the same boat, me dear woman. We’re all at the same level.

There’s no one better ’an anyone else.’

Old Bunruean is silent.

Old Jan sits listening with sympathy. Even though all the time she was in the bed next to Old Bunruean’s she felt herself to be so much inferior, now that she sees the expression on Old Bunruean’s face, she feels pity for her.

‘Isn’t what I say true?’ Old Nuan asks evenly.

Old Bunruean does not answer. She slowly grasps the edge of the bed to pull herself up. She does not turn TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

140 round to look at the two of them. She step by step walks back to her bed, there to feel like groaning in an agony of grief, all dejected, disheartened, worn out. The pride she took along with her at first is entirely gone, leaving only the dismay and despondency she has come back with.

It’s true what she said: I took money from a servant, she thinks.

She has nothing left any longer. Gone are the servants, the menials. Even her lineage, an exalted lineage she has done so much to preserve, has come to an end now that she has received money from the hand of a slave.

She begins to understand herself. To understand that what she used to uphold, what she has always valued so highly, did not define her, but that she allowed herself to be defined by it.

She knows now that she is not superior to anyone here. Knows now that she is ordinary, as ordinary as the next person in the ward.

She slowly lowers herself onto her bed and lies down on her side, her face turned towards Old Yoo, hiding her tears so no one can see them— (Footsteps coming to a stop on the porch.)

Voice (Ubon) ‘Go and have lunch.’

Voice (worker) ‘Did you have enough to eat?’

Voice (Ubon) ‘Plenty. We washed the dishes, too.’

Voice (worker) ‘What! Why did you do that? I can do it. It’s my job.’

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141 Voice (Ubon)

‘It doesn’t matter. I won’t do it everyday, anyway.’ (Laughs.)

Voice (worker) ‘Oh, so you mean – you’ve decided to leave, haven’t you?’ (Laughs – only kidding.)

(There is no answer from Ubon.)

Voice (worker) ‘Has Lamjiak left for the market yet?’

Voice (Ubon) ‘Yes. We just parted ways before I came here. You go and have lunch.’

(Footsteps of the worker going down the stairs from the porch.)

Ubon walks in through the door. Old Thapthim still sits on her bed with an empty gaze. Old Erp lies on her own bed. Old Nuan and Old Jan separate to climb on their respective beds. Old Yoo lies staring at the ceiling.

Old Bunruean turns round to face Old Sorn. Old Sorn lies on her bed.

Ubon walks over to turn over the invalid bodies on the five beds. (NB: Check first: those bodies that sleep need not be turned over.) This done, she walks over to the cell and leans out. There is no sound coming out of the cell.

Ubon (Smiles at herself – whispers.) ‘Sleeping like a babe.’

This time of day is not just meant for the patients to rest in bed, it is also the time for her to rest. All the fuss ends when all are asleep.

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142 She slowly walks along the small aisle, taking care not to disturb the patients with heavy footsteps, until she walks by Old Thapthim’s bed. She feels sorry for her, seeing her waiting for her retarded son, but all she can do is comfort her and pity her in her heart. She is unable to help more than this.

‘Sleep and get some rest, granny.’

‘I can’t sleep, nurse. I worry ’bout ’im.’

‘Try to stop worrying. As I told you, no matter what, he’ll come.’

‘You’re sure, nurse, aren’t you?’ Old Thapthim stresses the words, trying to get Ubon to make a firm promise.

Ubon only smiles.

‘I do think so.’ She walks over to the door, goes out and eases herself down on the bench at the edge of the porch.

She doesn’t quite understand how it is that a retarded child still finds it in himself to come and visit his own mother. Or is there something binding in the blood relationship between mother and child? And how about those children whose mental health is fine, then? Why don’t they come to visit their mothers? Or is it that there is nothing binding in the blood relationship any longer?

She cannot answer herself.

When she first started here, she didn’t quite think about this subject. She merely thought that these people’s children were mean, cold-hearted bastards getting rid of their own parents by making them stay in a place like this.

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143 When she saw Old Thapthim’s retarded son regularly coming to visit, she began to wonder about the blood relationship, about the bond between mother and child.

She wondered to the point of asking herself: what if her son was not retarded like the others? Would he come and visit his mother?

She cannot answer herself either.

She has been working here for two years, and the only thing she knows is that these women are pitiful. Some of them are fierce, fussy, grouchy, prone to embellishing the truth, making nuisances of themselves in a bid for attention; some are light-fingered, quarrel, denigrate one another, and so on – but all of them, in her view, are pitiful.

Because they have all been discarded.

She takes her eyes away from Old Thapthim and looks at the pavilion in the middle of the pond. She doesn’t want to think. Doesn’t want to remember. Doesn’t want such stories to undermine her spirit.

But the picture in front of her eyes right now is the same as the one she saw yesterday, and the day before yesterday, and the one she will see tomorrow.

Sure enough, there’s the fat old woman sitting in the shade of the Indian almond tree. In front of her is a basket full of bread, which she sells to people to feed the fish in the pond. And there too, the puny old one, proffering samples of the knitting she does to the young men and women walking by, and all of the people in the TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

144 pavilion in the middle of the pond are also old people, though they have yet to reach the stage of having to lie down in bed permanently. Before long they’ll have to be transferred to this ward. And across the pond, in the wooden building, all those old, white-haired people sitting along the edge of the porch. And over there as well, the old geezer wearing only a sarong, pacing up and down the porch tapping his cane— All of them have been discarded, haven’t they?

And you’re preparing to desert them also, aren’t you? she asks herself.

Her eyes are still on the sarong-clad old man jerking along over there and she is reminded of the old man who made her cry.

When she first started here, she was working in that ward. There was an old man who was not well. He had long hair and an unkempt beard. She cut his hair, shaved his beard, took care of him, gave him baths, cleaned his mess, asked him how he felt, because she felt pity for this man who was her grandfather’s age. But it turned out that the body she took care of did not think like her. He thought that she waited upon him because she loved him the way young people do. Even on her days off, he went out after her, tried to follow her, tried not to let her out of sight, as though he were a young man in love for the first time, until she began to feel annoyed, annoyed by his feelings for her. He pleaded and protested of his love for her, demanding only one CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

145 thing: that she promised she’d spend her life with him.

She herself knew full well that was impossible, whichever way you looked at it, and she also knew that what the old man was saying came from the ravings of old age, the fancies of an old man feeling forlorn.

In order to put an end to it, she told him that if he truly loved her, he should ask the matron for her hand, claiming that she herself was in no position to decide on such a matter.

But instead of giving up, the old man actually went to ask the matron for her hand, professing that he loved her and asking for permission to have her live with him.

The matron asked him whether he could work to support her, and he confidently answered that he could. The matron then told him fine, but there was one condition: that he climbed up a coconut tree and brought her back one coconut. He promised that he would do so.

When the time came for the old man to show he could climb up a coconut tree, she felt guilty.

He tried his struggling best to scramble up, but he hadn’t hoisted himself halfway up the trunk that he came sliding down and fell into a heap on the ground.

He tried to climb again, but strength failed him and he came sliding down. He tried again, and again slid down.

His chest and belly were full of scrape marks.

Then she told him to stop. She didn’t want him to get hurt more than this, but the old man wouldn’t stop. He tried and tried and tried until he had no strength left— TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

146 Lay sprawled out under the coconut tree, with blood oozing all over his flesh.

She turned her head away from the picture, then her tears flowed out. She raced back inside.

It was her own fault.

From then on, the old man clammed up, saying nothing, talking to no one.

He died five days later. People said he died of a broken heart.

She once again cried, feeling that she was responsible for the pitiful man’s death.

But what could she have done?

The whole affair is still vivid in her memory.

She is always asking herself, if that man’s children had taken good care of him, had provided him with the happiness people of his age are entitled to, would he have come and ended his life here, ended his life in such shameful conditions?

She knew he must have been lonely, forlorn and sad, just like everyone else here, as no one had ever paid any attention to him. As soon as someone had tried to please him, he had begun to think that way.

Every time she thinks of this, she is overwhelmed with pity.

No, she does not merely feel pity for the old man who lost his life. She feels pity for the lives of all the old people who stay here, for all of the people she can see around her.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

147 True: at first, it had been just a job she had forced herself to put up with rather than being out of work. She had put up with it, put up with the revolting smells.

Some of the bodies stank as they lay rotting away even though they were still breathing. Some ate faeces they mistook for food. Others lugged clothes around, shuffling after their grandchildren. Others still fled from the dormitory and went to report to the police station that their boat or some such thing had disappeared. A few threw things or food at her, for doing something they took exception to. She had to put up with it all.

In those days she had thought that if she found another job, even with less pay, she’d leave, but of the jobs she applied for, she never heard back from them for months, even years.

As she waited, her feelings slowly began to change.

She began to realize that everything these people were doing came from a lack of sanity. These people acted just as they felt like, unaware of whether they should or not, of whether it was right or wrong, merely to call attention to themselves, to be pampered in the final days of their lives.

Thus, how could she be angry at them?

She began to forgive them, began to control her temper, and began to give, began to think that these people were her own grandparents. She acted with everybody as if she was in their debt for past kindnesses.

So much so that these days, her feelings towards them TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

148 do not come from the duties she has to perform. They come from her willingness to help them out, because she wants them to have something good in life before they depart from this world.

But today a new job is already waiting for her.

She is about to desert these people.

To desert them exactly in the same way they have been deserted by their children and grandchildren.

Thinking about it, her heart sinks— Are you really leaving?

Her gaze is still on the other ward. Over there, there’s that old woman awkwardly inching her way down the stairs, without anyone to help her, without anyone waiting to catch her if she falters, without children or grandchildren to keep her from falling.

Oh! Oh! Be careful!

The clock on the stage strikes two.

I’m beginning to feel fed up with the display on stage.

This time it’s not out of uneasiness, as when they had us looking at the clock ticking for fifteen minutes solid at the opening of the play, but the only thing there is to see now is old women lying on their beds. There’s only Old Mrs. Thapthim who sits staring vacantly at the door.

Nothing has been happening at all since the nurse went out, and in here there is nothing to be seen – or do they want us to look at people sleeping like this until the end?

I think this is the weakness of this play that has prompted the critics to label it ‘the most boring play of the year,’ CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

149 because the plot has nothing to hold our attention. It’s merely a succession of small events displayed in chronological order, and each of these events has little of interest.

They are just ordinary events of daily life. On top of that, now the audience is made to look at people sleeping!

That’s where they fail, I think.

I don’t know how many minutes this postprandial snooze scene has lasted for, because I forgot to check the time. I’ve merely been looking at the stage, waiting for something to happen, but I haven’t seen anything more than people on their beds.

Time goes by— Ticktack-ticktack.

Ticktack-ticktack.

Old Mrs. Thapthim is still staring vacantly at the door.

Ubon still hasn’t come back.

Nothing is happening.

The audience is beginning to fidget, out of boredom at watching people lying on stage, a spectacle that offers nothing of interest, nothing to think about – except people sleeping.

Before I completely lose interest, the lights on stage gradually dim and finally go out.

Someone applauds, then others in turn clap their hands. Maybe they think the play is over.

When the smattering of applause dies down, my ears pick up sounds nearby – the tap of a stick on the floor along with short footsteps.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

150 Voice (in the dark) ‘Win big tomorrow! Win big tomorrow!’

A shaft of light falls down on the door. A lottery vendor – dark glasses, a white cane held before him, a dark-brown plastic bag swung over his shoulder – appears through the door, takes off his shoes before stepping onto the floor. Dark bodies on various beds sit up, as though the prospect of wealth is prompting them to start moving again.

Old Erp ‘Come this way! Come this way.’

The spotlight follows the lottery vendor. He taps his cane lightly on the floor, against bed legs, until he comes to a stop and stands in front of the source of the call.

Old Erp ‘Do you have six-seven-three?’

The lottery vendor fishes out of his bag a bundle of national lottery tickets. Ubon comes and stands in the doorframe in the dark, in case of problems.

The lottery vendor stands holding out the tickets, but keeping a firm grip on the stubs.

Old Erp inspects them, looks for the number she wants and finds it. She grabs it firmly.

Old Erp (Looking at Ubon.) ‘Nurse, could you check for me? This is six-seven-three, init?’

Ubon walks up to her, looks at the number of the ticket in Old Erp’s hand.

Old Erp ‘Is it six-seven-three?’

Ubon ‘This one is six-seven-eight.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

151 The lottery vendor still keeps a firm grip on the stub.

Old Erp ‘I’ll have six-seven-three, nurse.’

Ubon finds it for her, then tells the vendor.

Ubon ‘She wants this one.’

Lottery vendor ‘Take a double.’

Ubon (Asks Old Erp.) ‘What do you say, granny?’

Old Erp ‘Make it a double.’

Lottery vendor ‘Forty-five baht.’

Old Erp ‘What? Surely not. Forty-two’s enough.

Take pity on me. I’ve no income. I’m too old.’

Lottery vendor ‘Forty-five, granny. You take pity on me. I’m blind. That’s the only way I can make a living.’

Ubon (Sighs, looks at the two of them.) ‘Why don’t you take just one, granny? I see you buying every time there’s a draw.

You’ve never won, though. Such a waste of money.’

Old Erp ‘Come on, now – forty-two.’

Lottery vendor ‘I can’t, granny. Take pity on me.’

Ubon ‘You take just one, okay?’ (Turns to the vendor.) ‘You shouldn’t come to sell tickets in here, you know. It’s like cheating old people of their money.’

Lottery vendor ‘It’s not cheating, miss, because it’s the government that does it. The underTIME | CHART KORBJITTI

152 ground lottery, now that’s cheating, if you ask me. Sometimes, you win and they don’t pay. But this, the government always pays the rewards, miss.

The government don’t cheat.’

Old Erp ‘Make it forty-four, okay? Take pity on me. I buy every time.’

Lottery vendor ‘All right, all right.’

Old Erp takes her money out of the front knot of her sarong, then reaches out to lift her pillow, picks up loose change and counts.

Old Erp ‘Tell me, nurse, is this a one-baht or a five-baht coin?’

Ubon (Picks it up.) ‘Five baht.’

Old Erp ‘See, see, I almost did it again. Those damn five-baht coins, I hate ’m!’

Old Erp hands over forty-five baht. The lottery vendor fingers the banknotes and the coin, then tears out the lottery tickets, hands them over, then the change, sure that he is giving out a one-baht coin, not a five-baht one. This done, he walks in the light, tapping on the floor with his cane, away from Old Erp’s bed. Ubon follows him.

Lottery vendor ‘Win big tomorrow! Win big tomorrow!’

The beam of light follows the lottery vendor. All around is a double row of people who wait for hope sitting on their beds, dim shadows lost in darkness.

Old Jan ‘Come o’er this way, young man.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

153 He stops, walks guided by his cane towards the source of the call and stands between Old Jan’s and Old Nuan’s beds.

Old Jan ‘Gimme the first-prize ticket, please.’

Old Nuan (Laughs.) ‘Oh, you! If he knew, he’d keep it for himself, wouldn’t he?’

Ubon (Laughs.) ‘You know this, yet you still buy from him!’

Lottery vendor ‘I wouldn’t keep it, miss. I don’t go for it.’

Old Nuan (Teasingly.) ‘Then, my man, when are you going to strike it rich if you don’t play?’

Lottery vendor ‘I ain’t lucky that way, ma’am.’

Old Jan ‘All right, let me have a single ticket.’

Lottery vendor ‘May I have the money first? Twentythree baht.’

Ubon (Asks Old Jan.) ‘Do you remember where you put it?’

Old Jan (Lifts the selvage of her shirt. The money is in the pocket of her undershirt. She picks up a twenty-baht and a ten-baht bills and hands them over.)

‘You can see, now, can’t you, nurse, that I don’t forget. Other things I may forget, it’s happened before, but money I never forget.’

Ubon (Laughs.) ‘Well, be careful when you TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

154 send your shirt for washing. Don’t forget to take the money out.’

The lottery vendor gives out the change, then pulls out a ticket and gives it to Old Jan. Old Nuan ‘That’s prize number what?’ (Laughs.)

Lottery vendor ‘The first prize, ma’am. Won’t you have one for yourself?’

Old Nuan ‘No, thanks. I’d rather save the money.’

Ubon ‘Good for you, granny.’

The vendor walks away.

Old Bunruean sits on her bed, looking out in the dark.

Lottery vendor ‘Win big tomorrow! Win big tomorrow!’

Old Bunruean ‘Come this way, please.’

The vendor walks in the light up to Old Bunruean. Old Sorn lies on her own bed.

Old Bunruean ‘Do you have a set?’

Lottery vendor ‘There’s one left, ma’am.’

Old Bunruean ‘All right, then, give it to me.’

Lottery vendor ‘Ninety baht, you know, ma’am.’

Old Bunruean ‘Just give it me.’

Ubon ‘Why buy so much? A double’s enough. So you can keep your money to use on other things.’

Old Bunruean (Looks at Ubon.) ‘I don’t want to keep that money.’

Ubon ‘What money?’

Old Bunruean (Sadly.) ‘The money they gave us today.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

155 Ubon Old Bunruean

Ubon

Lottery vendor Ubon Old Bunruean Ubon

Lottery vendor Ubon

Old Bunruean Ubon

‘What’s wrong with it? It’s money, isn’t it?’

‘It is, but I don’t want to keep it. I don’t want to see the money from my servant.’

‘But it’s money all the same, granny.

They gave it to you. They did it to make merit. They gave it to you to buy necessities. If they knew you thought like this, they’d be sorry, you know.’

‘You want the whole set, don’t you?’

‘Hold on – I won’t allow you to spend all. It’s too much.’

‘But I don’t want to keep it!’

‘If you didn’t want it, why didn’t you return it to them when they gave it to you? So they could use it on someone else. If they knew you took it to gamble it away, well, think about it. Would that be a good thing?’

‘So, which way is it to be, ma’am?’

(Turns round, sounding annoyed.) ‘Eh! Just wait, okay?’ (Turns back. Tells Old Bunruean.) ‘If you didn’t want it, why didn’t you give it back then?’

(At a loss – answers softly.) ‘Well, I wanted it, then.’

‘That’s it, you see. You wanted it. Come TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

156

Old Bunruean Ubon Old Bunruean Ubon

Lottery vendor Old Bunruean

off it, granny. Using that money in this way isn’t right. Keep it to use on something more useful than this. If you must try your luck, just buy a little for the fun of it, don’t spend it all and be left without anything. All right?’

‘All right.’

‘Take only a double, okay?’

‘I’ll have just one ticket.’

(Smiles.) ‘Very good, granny.’ (Turns to tell the vendor.) ‘Give her one ticket only.’

‘Which number do you want, granny?’

‘Any number. Just give it me.’

Old Mrs. Bunruean fishes a white envelope out of her shirt pocket and pulls the one-hundred-baht bill out of it. From the way she hands over the money to the lottery vendor, I feel as if she dislikes that particular banknote. I catch myself wondering what she’d do if her ticket happened to win a prize. Suppose she won half a million or a million baht: would she still hate that money or not?

What would she do with it?

I think she is hurrying to get rid of this hundred-baht bill because she doesn’t want to keep it as a thorn in her flesh.

She wants to see its value turned into something else.

But then, money is money. It circulates from hand to countless hand and it will keep circulating, but its value CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

157 remains. Nobody can do anything about it. Even though it has gone from a slave’s hand into the hand of the wellborn, and then the hand of a blind man, and after that perhaps will go through the hand of a retailer or a wholesaler to eventually return to state coffers, that onehundred-baht bill will still be a one-hundred-baht bill.

That’s the very reason why people kill each other: because of its value – its value, which is able to have people kill each other.

These days, I accept money as something necessary for me, necessary to carry on living, necessary to remain alive, necessary to help me stand on my own two feet without having to bow my head hands over crotch to show respect to whoever I don’t feel like respecting.

That’s all there is to it, so there’s no need to make a fuss over it.

‘Win big tomorrow! Win big tomorrow!’ The lottery vendor, cane cluck clucking, walks out the door.

The lights on stage brighten up as before.

I don’t think this sequence is for real. In real life, would they allow people to come and sell lottery tickets?

This kind of thing shouldn’t be allowed in a place like this.

But I believe what my eyes have seen: if someone actually comes in to sell, there must be people to buy.

But then, thinking another way, since they allow a woman vendor to come and sell food offerings to make merit, since they allow a boy to come and sell soft drinks TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

158 and noodles, why should they forbid a blind man to come and sell lottery tickets in a place like this – given that the blind man didn’t come to peddle illegal goods?

On the contrary: what he is selling he gets directly from the government. Selling hope, hope to old people who have run out of hope: isn’t that a charitable way for the government to make sure these old people have some hope?

‘Win big tomorrow! Win big tomorrow!’ The shouts fade into the distance— As the shouts die out, I see an emaciated young woman with a girl and a little boy, both equally gaunt, dressed in a way that reveals their undernourished condition. The three of them stop and stand in the doorway as if they are scared. It’s like a photograph framed by the door, a perfect photograph, beautiful in composition, lighting and meaning, which fully expresses the sort of life the three of them lead. It’s a beautiful picture, beautiful in a sad way. Pictures of this kind, some people don’t like to put them up in their houses. They are too depressing. But for me, it’s a picture of truth. I’m always ready to use such pictures in my movies if I get a chance to, even for a short sequence.

Medium to close-up Of the three of them. The young woman, who doesn’t look very confident, looks away (at Ubon). The girl and the little boy stand arm to arm CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

159 and head bent, not daring to meet anybody’s eyes.

Young woman ‘Miss, we’ve come to visit grandma.’ /Cut Close-up Of Ubon looking at her.

Ubon ‘Take off your shoes first.’ /Cut Close-up Of the young woman, taking her eyes off Ubon and looking at— Medium-range (As seen through the young woman’s eyes.) Of Old Nuan who sits looking and smiling happily (already waiting). /Cut Medium-range (Old Nuan’s back in the foreground – sitting on her bed.) Of the young woman taking her shoes off. The girl and the boy rush to their grandmother. The young woman walks past Old Thapthim. Old Thapthim turns to look.) /Cut Close-up Of Old Thapthim’s face. Turns to look towards Old Nuan’s bed with mournful eyes. /Cut Medium to close-up (As seen through Old Thapthim’s eyes.) Of Old Nuan’s grandchildren prostrating themselves in front of her. /Cut Close-up Of Old Thapthim’s face, tears in her eyes. After a while, turns to stare TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

160 vacantly (towards the door – waiting for her son). /Cut Medium to close-up Old Nuan gets out of bed, sits on the floor in front of her three visitors.

The two children get closer. Old Nuan’s face looks bright, all sorrows forgotten.

Old Nuan ‘Hey, it’s been such a long time!

Where’s your mother?’

Young woman ‘She’s with dad, she let me come.’ /Cut Close-up Of Old Nuan’s face (looking worried).

Old Nuan ‘How about your father? Is he any better?’

Voice over (young woman) ‘Like before, grandma.’

Old Nuan (Looking sadder.) ‘I see. Is the school still payin’ the pension?’ /Cut Close-up Of the young woman’s face.

Young woman ‘Yes, grandma, they still do.’ /Cut Close-up Of Old Jan’s face (looking relieved).

Old Nuan ‘I see. That’s very good of ’m.’ (Turns to ask the young ones.) ‘You kids want snacks? I kept plenty for you.’ /Cut Medium-range Old Nuan turns towards the nightstand, takes out her key and unlocks it. /Cut CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

161 Close-up Close-up

Medium-range Close-up Old Nuan Medium-range

Old Nuan

Young woman Old Nuan

Young woman

Of the two children. They both stare at the nightstand, unblinking. /Cut (As seen through the children’s eyes.) The lid opens. Wrapped-up snacks and things tightly packed inside spill over and fall to the floor. /Cut Of the boy and girl fighting over the snacks fallen on the floor. /Cut Of Old Nuan (looking with compassion).

‘Don’t fight. There’s plenty. I kept ’m for you.’ /Cut The two children share the snacks, then at once start to unwrap them.

The young woman and Old Nuan sit looking at them.

(Looks up at the young woman.)

‘How ’bout you? Eaten anythin’ yet?’

‘I’m not hungry, grandma. How about you? Have you?’

‘I did. Today people came to treat us. So I ate plenty.’ (Turns to pull at a bag of sweet tamarind seeds out of the nightstand – hands it over.)

‘Take this. Eat these tamarind seeds.’

‘I won’t eat ’m. I’ll give ’m to dad TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

162

Close-up Young woman Close-up Old Nuan

Close-up Young woman Close-up Old Nuan

Close-up Close-up

instead.’ (Takes the bag and puts it down next to herself.) /Cut Of the young woman.

‘And how ’bout you, grandma?

How are you?’ /Cut Of Old Nuan.

‘The doctor, he says I should lose weight, but it seems I can’t.’

(Laughs.) ‘He says not to eat too much rice. I tell him I don’t think I eat too much.’ (Laughs.) /Cut Of the young woman’s face.

‘Dad told me to ask. He worries about you.’ /Cut Of Old Nuan’s face (looking at a loss what to say).

‘Well, you tell your father I’m doin’ fine now, there’s no need to worry.’

(Sighs.) ‘These days I don’t worry about meself any longer. I’ll soon be dead anyways. I only worry about you lot, wonderin’ if you’ll make it—’ /Cut Of the young woman (turning sad). /Cut Of the two children eating snacks ravenously (as if they have never eaten anything like them before)./Cut CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

163 Close-up

Of Old Nuan looking at her two grandchildren.

Old Nuan ‘You like ’m?’

Voice over (girl) ’Oh yes!’

Voice over (boy) ’Oh yes! You’ll give me more to take back home, won’t you, grandma?’

Old Nuan ‘Sure, sure. You can have ’m all. I keep ’m for you only.’ /Cut Close-up Of the two children, looking up at their grandmother, then turning to look and smile at each other.

Voice over (Old Nuan) ‘Do your very best at school, you hear, little uns. So that when you’re grown up you can look after your father.’

Girl ‘Yes, grandma.’

Boy ‘Yes, grandma.’ /Cut Close-up Of Old Nuan.

Old Nuan (Wistfully.) ‘I don’t know how many days I’ve got left to see you again.’ /Cut Close-up (With Old Nuan’s back in the foreground.) Of the young woman’s face (looking not too happy).

Young woman ‘Grandma, don’t talk like that. If somethin’ happens to you, I think dad’ll be very sad. He keeps grumblin’ everyday, regrettin’ everyday TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

164 he had to let you come here. He’s getting quite upset ’bout it.’ /Cut Close-up Of Old Nuan’s face, reflecting the mood of her granddaughter’s words.

Voice over (young woman) ‘He says he can’t even take care of his own mom, he can’t even take care of his own kids. Mom and me, we keep tryin’ to comfort him day after day. You know, I’m afraid when there’s no one home, I’m afraid he’ll do somethin’ to himself.

That’s what I worry about every day, you know. When I come back from school, the first thin’ I do is rush to his bed to see him—’ (Voice shaking.)

Old Nuan ‘Oh, my poor, poor son!’

She thinks of her son. Even though she and her son are still alive, both of them, it’s exactly as if they were dead to each other. They haven’t seen each other in years. Just his wife, his children, who come with news, who come to tell her how his family is doing. Just his wife, his children, who come visiting and go back to tell him his mother is still alive, how she looks, how she’s feeling.

She herself would like to go and see her son, but she cannot. He himself would want to come and see her, but he cannot. And he still thinks of her, punishing himself CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

165 for being unable to take care of her. She has never thought of criticizing him, knowing full well that if his body was strong like it used to be, she wouldn’t have had to come and stay here, to be separated from him.

And anyway, her coming here was her own decision, it wasn’t at all what he wanted. She still remembers when she was with him, the time when he could still work as a carpenter at that school. He and his wife wore themselves out working to feed their children and her. And when he fell off that scaffolding that time and was crippled, she began to feel that she was in excess in the family. She knew very well that the pension he received from the school wasn’t nearly enough to help feed the family, given that, even before his fall, they had been struggling to live one day at a time. But when that came to pass, what with the cost of medicine and the money paid by the school being hardly more than half of his previous salary, she decided to become a nun in a nearby temple, merely in the hope of not being a burden to his family. When she was free from temple activities, she gathered the dry foodstuffs and miscellaneous items that people offered to make merit and took them to his family for them to eat and use. She didn’t think of morality, didn’t think that anybody would find fault with her. She only thought she was his mother, she had to take care of her son, take care of her son as well as she could. But her behaviour turned out to be wrong and she was criticized by people in the temple, more and more often and more TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

166 and more harshly. Finally, she decided to come here.

When she had made her arrangements, she left the nunhood, and came to this place. At first, she still went back to see him every so often, but when she fell ill and was confined to bed, she no longer had the opportunity to go and see him.

These days, though they are still alive, it’s like she and he are dead to each other, separated from each other although neither has sought such a separation.

‘Tell your mother to take your father to see me some time,’ she mumbles to her granddaughter. In her mind, before dying, she’d like to see her son one more time.

‘Dad keeps complaining he’d like to come, but—’ The young woman leaves it at that.

Her grandmother nods in understanding.

A cool wind blows gently in. She turns her face away from her granddaughter to look at the window. Her heart is already flying off to see her son, but her body still sits dejectedly on the floor. It disobeys even when she moves.

‘Eat properly, don’t stuff yourselves like that. Look at this, it’s fallen all over the floor,’ the elder sister is telling her younger siblings.

Old Jan turns back to look at the two kids. That’s all she’s got left. This is the only thing that cheers her up at times.

‘Let ’m enjoy themselves. All it takes is a broom.’

The boy smiles at his grandmother. The little fellow CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

167 doesn’t quite understand why his grandma has got to stay here. He only knows that his grandma has a heart of gold. Every time he comes here, she has treats for him, and he likes it here.

‘I’ll have another one, okay?’ he tells his grandma as he tears the wrapping around yet another snack.

His grandma nods and smiles, holds out her hand and strokes the head of her grandchild affectionately. And so it is that, while she strokes his head, she feels she is stroking the head of her son. The blood relationship, she can feel it right in her palm.

‘How ’bout staying with grandma?’

‘No way,’ the little child answers without pausing to think.

‘Why not? If you stay with grandma, you’ll have snacks to eat every day, you know,’ the young woman adds.

‘No way,’ the little child confirms.

‘Why not? Don’t you like me?’ Old Nuan asks with a smile.

‘Not that. I don’t like prison.’

‘How many times have I told you this isn’t a prison?’ the young woman upbraids her little brother. No matter how she explains, at his age, the little child just can’t figure out what an old people’s home is. He’s always asking when grandma will come out of prison and come back home at last.

‘This place here is for old people to stay, it isn’t a TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

168 prison, you know,’ his big sister explains once again.

‘Why aren’t you comin’ back home?’ the child asks his grandma.

She is unable to answer such an easy question. He is too young to be told about necessity.

‘Well, I’m in prison, aren’t I? So, how can I go home?’

She laughs softly, feeling all drained inside.

She doesn’t want to say anything any more, merely look at her grandchildren busy with yet another bag of snacks, which she has bought and kept, waiting for them.

The clock strikes three.

The young woman turns to the source of the chime, sees only the back of the clock hung on the pillar.

‘Already three o’clock!’ she complains as if she can’t believe her ears, before getting up and walking up to the central pillar.

It really says three.

She goes back to her grandmother and brother and sister, still wondering how time could have flown so fast.

‘Three o’clock already, grandma. We have to go back.’

‘Er – sure, sure.’

‘Or else it’ll be dark when we get there. The traffic’s awful, you know.’

‘Sure—’ She turns to the nightstand, pulls out lots of things, toothpaste, toothbrushes, soap, and so on, which she has patiently hoarded, and when she is done, she takes out a carton box from under the bed and opens it.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

169 ‘Here’s a blanket. You give it to your father. Tuck ’im in it at night. These days, the weather can get quite chilly.’

She crams the things she has taken from the nightstand into the box.

‘Come on, take these snacks and put them in the box for the time being,’ the young woman tells her brother and sister as she drops the bag of tamarind seeds into the box.

Obediently, the two little children gather the sweets and drop them in the box. The young woman closes the box properly, then collects the wrappings from the snacks and throws them in the spittoon.

At that moment, the grandmother reaches over to the nightstand and takes out her last piece of property. She places the moneybox in front of her, then opens it, picks up a wad of money and hands it over to her eldest granddaughter. ‘Here, you give this to your father.’

The young woman raises her joined hands to her forehead and bows, hurriedly stuffs the money into her trouser pocket, afraid the nurse might see her.

The three of them bow to their grandmother then get up and walk away. She is so tired she cannot even stand up to see them out. She merely sees them out with her eyes— Only when her grandchildren have disappeared past the doorway does she turn to close the lid of the nightstand, which by now has nothing of value left inside, except for a pile of everyday clothes.

She doesn’t regret the money she has given them. She TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

170 doesn’t think of the things they are taking back with them. She only feels the satisfaction of having accomplished her duty as a mother. No one has told her what her duty is. No one has ever taught her, and no one can ever take it away from her.

I’ll do it till I die.

‘You gave ’m everythin’ you have, didn’t you?’ Old Jan asks as if she can’t believe her eyes.

Old Nuan Old Jan Old Nuan

Old Jan

(Turns to look.) ‘Yes dear. Keepin’ them for meself’s useless.’

‘Why didn’t you keep some to make merit?’

‘Certainly not, me dear. The monks, they’ve people offerin’ ’m food to make merit. But me children? They’ve got no one to help ’m. I feel sorry for ’m.’

(Slowly stretches herself upward, pulls on the top drawer, takes out pencil and notebook, then stoops to the ground and strikes out the bill numbers.)

(Talking loudly, sounding vexed.)

‘That’s right. It’s as they say, you know.

Parents, they’re never black hearted with their children. It’s only the children who’re ungrateful to their parents.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

171 ‘What kind of a father are you to treat your daughter like this!’

I recall my wife’s words. I can’t deny her accusation.

Yes, I was a black-hearted father to my daughter. Had always been.

She was born when I was enjoying success, fame and wealth. She was born at a time when several producers stuffed money into envelopes and came chasing after me at home even, asking me to promise to make just one movie for them. Even when I turned them down, they pretended to forget the money they had brought along.

My daughter was born during that period, a period when fame and money had gone to my head. I thought at the time that my daughter could stay with her mother.

As for me, I had work to do. To do for whom? Well, for the family, for my child and my wife. I only thought that far – thought merely that I’d make money for my family.

I didn’t think of the warmth a child needs.

During that time, I’d shoot two movies at a time. I did everything myself, wrote the script, did the editing, and directed. Nobody could work in a way that satisfied me.

I never saw anybody’s skills but my own.

The first time I saw my daughter’s face, she was more than three months old. I had returned home that day.

My daughter wailed when I took her off her mother’s bosom to hold her in my arms. I knew she took me to be a stranger, me who was her father, but her outburst was as if she was cursing me. What kind of a father was I TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

172 who took his child in his arms and she wailed like that?

And every time I tried to take her in my arms again, she’d cry out in the same fashion.

But at the time I didn’t think of what her cursing meant, and besides, I had no time to be interested. I didn’t try to figure out what caused her outbursts. I was busy with my work, did nothing but work. I was never close to my daughter, until she began to turn into a young woman.

When my golden years were over, those who had fawned over me began to make themselves scarce.

I began to look at myself, began to think – to think about the money and fame I used to have, and slowly came to realize that they were meaningless.

I was lucky my golden years were over: I got my life back instead.

But what I could never get back was my daughter. I lost her even while she was still alive.

We lived in the same house, but exchanged only a few words, for she did not know what to tell me, and I didn’t know what to tell her either. There were occasions, all the same, when we did talk about the fundamentals of life. I could only ramble on about the things I had known, but I don’t know how much of this she took in.

But with her mother, she was close to her as if they were friends, to the point that sometimes I felt jealous.

And sometimes wondered about my being a father.

Wasn’t I her father? Wasn’t she my daughter? It was CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

173 neither. We were father and daughter, but we didn’t know how to show love to each other. It seemed there was some kind of curtain spread out between us, and it kept separating us in darkness until— Until she was gone that day, the day my wife called to tell me the terrible news.

My wife urged me to come back at once to arrange the funeral of our child.

But it was as though I was doing evil by my daughter a second time around, even now that she was no longer alive.

I simply could not go back to arrange for my daughter’s funeral.

Of course, I felt wretched – no less wretched than my wife felt. But what could I do? There were the many lives of our crew I was responsible for. If I postponed the shooting schedule, I didn’t know how many years it’d be before I could book the stars again. The work would be completely disrupted. And during that time, what would my guys do? What would their families live on?

Besides, expenses would skyrocket if I had to bring the shooting crew back here. How much would the producer be willing to lose? It’d be a complete write-off, just by my going back to oversee my daughter’s funeral.

I could not do it.

If I told them to give up shooting that day they’d do it to a man. But would their stopping work get me my daughter back, given that she was already dead? If by TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

174 going back that day to arrange for the funeral, my daughter would come back to life, I’d have rushed there at once, I’d have rushed there with all possible haste. But no, she wasn’t going to return to life.

I told my wife to arrange for the funeral on her own first, that I’d hurry back as soon as my work was over.

‘What kind of a father are you to treat your daughter like this!’ She slammed down the phone without waiting to listen to my reasons.

I’d very much want to stand up and holler to that old woman on the stage over there, ‘I am one father who was black-hearted to his child!’

But I can’t do it – merely confess in my heart.

I think of my daughter, think of my wife. By now they must be reunited somewhere.

But I don’t know if there’s room for me there or not.

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’

The shout draws my attention back to the stage.

Old Bunruean Old Sorn Old Bunruean

Old Sorn

(Complains to Old Sorn.) ‘As soon as he’s up he starts bothering us.’

‘Maybe he wants to talk to someone.’

(Laughs.) ‘How can he talk to anyone?

He can only utter a few words. That’s all he says all day.’

(As if talking to herself.) ‘Maybe he’s lonely, bein’ in there by himself, seein’ no one, talkin’ to no one.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

175 Old Bunruean

‘Go ahead and talk to him then.’

(Laughs – knows it’s impossible.)

Old Sorn (Thinks it over, then turns around to shout towards the cell.) ‘What is it that there isn’t?’

There is no answer from the cell.

Old Sorn (Complains.) ‘He won’t even answer.’

Ubon walks past, coming from behind Old Sorn.

Ubon (Chidingly.) ‘What’s the matter?

Feeling hot?’

Old Sorn (Turns to look. Smiles sheepishly.) ‘No, no, nurse. I was just teasin’ him.’

Ubon (Warningly.) ‘Don’t provoke him.

Leave him alone. If he gets into a frenzy, we’ll be in trouble for nothing.’

Old Sorn (Wearily.) ‘Yes, nurse.’

Ubon (Smiles, makes to walk on, but—) Old Bunruean ‘I told her so already. I said, the only thing about being here is, you have to put up with the shouting.’

Ubon (Tells Old Bunruean.) ‘But you’re used to it. Oh, look at this!’ (Points at the bottle of red soft drink on the nightstand.) ‘Ants’ll be all over it if you don’t drink it all.’ Warning over, she walks away.

Old Bunruean (Makes to take the bottle, but stills her TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

176

Old Sorn Old Sorn Old Bunruean

Old Sorn

Old Bunruean Old Sorn

Old Sorn

hand.) ‘I’m trying to save it for later and they’ve the gall to steal it!’ (In anger, picks up her fan and thrashes at the ants running up the nightstand.)

‘There! There!’

(Startled.) ‘Don’t kill ’m!’

Old Bunruean pays no attention.

‘Why do you kill ’m? They can’t help it.’

(Turns round.) ‘They’re coming to drink my soda, that’s why! Can’t you see them?’

‘They don’t know it’s yours. They come by it, so they call over the others for a drink. They think it’s theirs.’

‘I bought it with my own money, didn’t I?’ ‘They don’t know that. They don’t know we use money to buy things.

They wouldn’t understand. You understand?’

Old Bunruean is not interested.

Turns to bang away at the line of ants on the nightstand.

(Complains.) ‘Hey, me dear, you don’t understand, do you? If you don’t want ’m to take it, then protect your bottle in some other way. Don’t kill ’m.’

Old Sorn turns her head away from CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

177 the scene, slowly eases herself out of bed. Doesn’t want to stay. Doesn’t want to see— I see Old Mrs. Sorn looking strangely distraught. I think she probably doesn’t know where to go, just wants to get away from that bed.

Panoramic

(High-angle shot.) Showing the whole of the hospital room. Old Sorn walks away from her bed to the central aisle. She walks sluggishly in the dark as she goes by the second bed of the left row.

The old woman on Bed 2 ‘Hui! Come here, come see granny, quick!’

Old Sorn stops, makes as if to walk over, but changes her mind and walks on, past Old Nuan’s bed. Old Nuan sits wiping the floor in front of her nightstand, where her grandchildren have dropped some crumbs of their snacks. She does not pay attention to Old Sorn. Old Jan sits at the bottom of her bed, busy counting the money in the pocket of her undershirt. As soon as Old Sorn walks by, she quickly adjusts her TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

178

Old Jan Old Sorn

Old Erp

Old Sorn

Old Erp Old Sorn Old Jan

shirt to cover her undershirt.

(Asks Old Sorn.) ‘Where’re you goin’?’

(Stops.) ‘I think I’ll go and sit on the porch.’

Old Erp is sitting on her bed. She has been watching Old Sorn’s progress.

‘Visiting the old home, ain’t you?

Come sit and talk with us first.’

Old Sorn slowly walks up to Old Erp’s bed and lets herself down to sit on the floor between Old Erp’s and Old Jan’s beds.

‘Whew! I’m tired.’

Very slowly, almost imperceptibly, the camera moves down from above to eye level. The width of field remains the same (covering the whole stage, so that the viewers appear to be looking at the real thing). All the beds inside the dormitory can be seen. Old Bunruean looks at Old Sorn. As for Old Thapthim, she is not paying attention to anyone.

‘How’s your new home? Fine?’

‘Sure, it’s fine.’

(Whispering.) ‘Then, where do you keep your money?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

179 Old Sorn Old Jan Old Nuan Old Jan

Old Sorn Old Jan

Old Sorn

Old Jan

Old Sorn Old Nuan

‘In the nightstand.’

‘Don’t keep it in there, me dear Sorn.

Right there, it—’ (Stills her hand. Says hurriedly.)

‘Tsk! Tsk! What are you sayin’?’

(Lowers her voice, tells Old Sorn.)

‘You’d better keep it on you. I don’t leave mine in the nightstand any longer. Not when it amounts to a hundred plus.’

‘What hundred plus, me dear Jan? I haven’t any money left.’

‘What! The money they gave us this noon. A hundred, no less. Didn’t you have a look?’

‘I don’t mean that. I intend to give it back by makin’ merit tomorrow. I still have plenty to use.’

(Laughs.) ‘Like Old Nuan here. Just now she gave it all away to her grandchildren.’

(Turns towards Old Nuan.) ‘She has someone to worry about. I don’t.’

‘That’s something you can’t get away from. If you had someone, you’d know. Look at her.’ (Motions with her head towards Old Thapthim.) ‘She keeps worrying about TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

180

Old Sorn Old Erp

Old Sorn Old Thapthim

Old Erp

Old Sorn Old Jan Old Erp

Old Sorn

her son. That’s the truth, me dear.

You don’t have one, so you don’t know.’

‘I believe you.’

(Calls out loudly.) ‘Thapthim, my dear, come and talk with us here.

He’ll be here in a minute.’

(Smiles invitingly.) ‘Do come. Let’s talk and have fun.’

(Without moving.) ‘Spare me. I don’t know what to talk about. I haven’t the heart to talk with no one.’ (Turns round to look at the door.)

Old Sorn and Old Erp turn back.

‘I, for one, you know, I pity her. Sittin’ up and lyin’ down, just waitin’ for her son. Poor thing—’ ‘We’re all to be pitied, you know.’

‘But there’s no one to pity us. That’s why we must hold on to our money.’

‘You can say that again. You know, if I win the lottery, I won’t wait for no one to take pity on me.’ (Smiles, full of hope.)

‘That’s not it. That’s not it at all, Erp, me dear. What I said was, we’re all to be pitied. Money won’t help. Isn’t that right, Nuan dear?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

181

Old Sorn

Old Erp

Old Sorn

Old Bunruean Old Nuan

Old Nuan does not express any opinion, contrives to get up, takes a rag and walks to the shower room.

(Turns to talk to Old Erp.) ‘These days, it isn’t as if we have any big problems. We have a place to sleep, rice to eat, drugs to take. We have a monk comin’ to our very beds for us to make merit. Money? We don’t need any. Or else, just a little, enough to buy food to make an offerin’. Easy to bear: we’ve practically no burden. Isn’t that so?’

‘Not at all. If you’d got money, you wouldn’t have to stew in here. You could go wherever you pleased, there’d be plenty of people to look after you.’

‘Well, look at the fella in the cell over there. He had bags of money, then he had to go in there, didn’t ’e?’ (Old Sorn points at the cell beyond Old Bunruean’s bed.)

Right as Old Nuan walks by Old Bunruean’s bed.

‘I say, my dear Nuan.’

(Stops, and turns to look.) ‘Did you call me?’

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182 Old Bunruean Old Nuan Old Bunruean Old Nuan

Old Bunruean Old Nuan

Old Sorn

Old Erp

‘Yes. What are those women over there saying against me?’

(Laughs softly.) ‘Not at all, me dear.

They ain’t sayin’ nothin’ about you.’

‘Then why are they pointing at me?

‘They did? I don’t know. When I left them, they were talkin’ ’bout money.’

(Angrily.) ‘Claiming I took it, I bet.’

‘Not at all. don’t think like that, me dear. Nobody’s accusin’ you.’

(Losing interest in the subject. Walks out to the shower room.)

Old Bunruean slowly leaves her bed and, step after step, goes towards Old Sorn’s group.

‘Money ain’t always good on all occasions. Sometimes it hurts us. Bein’ cheated, bein’ robbed, bein’ killed because of money. How can you say money’s always good for us?’

‘Dunno. Just let me have some, never mind if it’s not good.’ (Laughs – sees Old Bunruean walking straight towards them.) ‘Hey, Mrs. Bunruean, come, come and talk with us. Oh, I just learned today you’re the daughter of Duke Sunthon.’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

183 Old Bunruean

Old Jan

Old Bunruean

Old Jan

Old Sorn

Old Bunruean

(Indifferent.) ‘Never mind whose daughter I am. But what about you lot? Have you gathered to talk about me again?’

‘Oh, that’s why you’re comin’ here.

And here I was thinkin’ you were comin’ to join us.’

‘Well, Mrs. Nuan just told me you were talking about money. I came to make it clear that your money, you know, I had nothing to do with it. I can swear right now.’ (Glares at Old Jan.) What about you? Are you ready to swear with me?’

(With a hard voice.) ‘Eh! Mrs. Bunruean, I ne’er said even once that you took me money. So what are you followin’ me here again for? I’ve already fled from you to stay here.’

(Mediating.) ‘Mrs. Bunruean, nobody’s sayin’ anythin’ against you.

We sit here talkin’, talkin’ about money, the money the gov’ment gives out to people to use, you know. Nothin’ to do with the money that disappeared.’

‘Then why did you point your finger at my bed?’

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184 Old Sorn

Old Jan Old Erp Old Bunruean

Medium-range

Old Sorn Close-up Close-up Old Erp

(Smiles.) ‘Oh, I see. I didn’t. I wasn’t pointin’ at your bed at all, I was pointin’ at the cell. I was sayin’ that he had bags of money but finally he had to come and stay here as well.’

‘That’s true. If you don’t believe her, ask Old Erp here.’

(Corroborating.) ‘Nobody’s sayin’ nothin’ about you, believe me.’

‘The so be it. I’ll tell you, though.

Stealing just isn’t in my blood.’

Old Bunruean slowly turns round and walks back, trying to walk with majesty. /Cut Showing only the group of Old Jan, Old Sorn and Old Erp. Old Sorn turns round (from looking at Old Bunruean).

‘Tell us, if you win the first prize, what are you going to do, ha?’ /Cut Of Old Jan turning to look at Old Erp out of curiosity.

Of Old Erp’s face. Thinks. Smiles happily. After a while says— ‘Buy a house, go fetch me children so we can be together – then I’ll get meself treated in a good hospital – make merit—’ CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

185 Voice over (Old Jan) ‘Put the money in the bank and live off the interest.’

Old Erp ‘Why, yes – put it in the bank and live off the interest – and then—’ Voice over (Old Jan) ‘Buy a car, get someone to drive for you whenever you feel like goin’ somewhere.’

Old Erp ‘Buy a car – go to the Emerald Buddha – and, oh, yes, keep some of it for the cremation, so me children won’t have problems.’

Voice over (Old Jan) ‘Then aren’t you thinkin’ of givin’ us some?’

Old Erp (Laughs.) ‘I forgot. I’ll give each of you—’ (Pauses to think.) /Cut Close-up Of Old Jan’s face, waiting to hear how much.

Voice over (Old Erp) ‘Two hundred each.’

Old Jan’s face suddenly falls. /Cut Close-up Of Old Erp’s face.

Old Erp ‘If my young ones are free, I’ll have ’m take me here to come and see you.’ (Exuding happiness as she envisions the occasion.) /Cut In the early morning, when she wakes up from sleep, there’ll be people preparing food for her to give to the monks. The hands of her children or grandchildren will TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

186 help her ladle out the rice, from her rice pot to the monks’ bowls, and then the various dishes she’ll place on the lids of the monks’ bowls, followed by the flowerincense-candle set. She can see herself supported by her children and grandchildren as she prostrates herself in front of the Emerald Buddha in the assembly hall.

‘How much is the first prize anyway?’ Old Sorn asks out of sheer ignorance.

‘Three million,’ Old Jan answers at once.

‘I took a double. So, that’s six million.’ Old Erp’s face is still elated by her hopeful vision.

‘Oh!’ Old Sorn is startled by the amount. She has no idea what she’d do if she came into so much money – much too much for her.

‘Granny! Granny! Your son’s here!’ Ubon’s voice shouts excitedly.

Then Old Erp’s first prize melts in front of her eyes.

Three pairs of eyes turn to look at the door. Three pairs of shaky legs get off the floor and start walking towards the source of the voice.

‘He’s really come. Over there. Coming this way, see.’

Ubon points him out for them to see.

‘Is this true, nurse?’ Old Thapthim asks with a tremulous voice, not quite believing her ears.

‘Come and see.’ Ubon is still pointing.

Old Thapthim gets out of bed. The exhaustion she felt as she sat is now gone. She rushes and clutches the doorframe.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

187 In the blurry brightness outside, a body is walking through white fog towards her. She is not sure it’s him, but she motions to him with her hand. ‘Lek! Lek!’ ‘What is it? What are you all lookin’ at?’ Old Nuan shouts as she comes along the passageway from the shower room, still holding the rag in her hand.

‘My son’s come! My son’s come!’ Old Thapthim turns to shout back with a happy face.

Old Bunruean gets out of bed, steps out of her area and follows Old Nuan.

Old Yoo merely looks, unable to get up from her bed.

‘There’s nothing! There’s nothing at all!’ The shout from the cell comes out boisterously.

The shouts are heard throughout the village.

Their little village.

A strange village with only old people and the sound of weeping.

A strange village with hospital beds for family homes.

By now, everybody in their village knows that Old Thapthim’s son is coming.

When Old Thapthim’s son came to visit her everyday without fail, nobody thought much of it, nobody was interested, besides looking at mother and son with eyes full of pity – pity for themselves who had no children coming for a visit. But when Old Thapthim’s son disappeared and they saw Old Thapthim sitting waiting on her bed day after day, and still Old Thapthim’s body sat watching the door every day, they kept calling on her, TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

188 calling on her out of worry. Next-door neighbours did so often, villagers further afield also came by to comfort her. And, by the by, they too started to wait – all waiting now for Old Thapthim’s son without realizing it.

They have been waiting for months.

And now there are shouts announcing that Old Thapthim’s son is back again. Everybody hears. There is no one who does not rejoice, except that to what extent each of them does cannot be measured.

‘Who shaved his head?’ Old Erp whispers to Old Jan. ‘Someone must have, he can’t possibly have done it himself, me dear.’

‘Or maybe he was in the monkhood?’

‘He can’t. Insane people aren’t allowed to.’ Old Jan’s eyes are still on the body approaching.

‘He isn’t wearin’ the same clothes as before either.’

Old Thapthim wipes her tears. She is now sure that that shape out there is her son.

‘He’s grown thin, don’t you think?’ someone suggests, but she pays no attention.

‘Lek! I’m here.’

‘I’m here,’ she repeats when she sees her son standing on the stairs, not daring to step onto the polished stone floor of the porch.

His bright white eyes shift in fright as he turns his head looking at the people who stand waiting crowding the doorway and sees only heads peering out like dried skulls.

‘What’s he afraid of?’ Old Erp wonders.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

189 ‘I’ve never seen ’im afraid before,’ Old Nuan mumbles.

‘What are you afraid of, son? There’s nothin’ to fear – come and see your mom, come,’ Old Thapthim entreats her son.

She thinks of the bottle of orange pop she has put aside for him. She slowly walks to her nightstand and walks out again with the bottle in her hand. ‘Lek, come and drink orange juice, come. I’ve kept it for you.’ She proffers the bottle, arm stretched out, but her son’s expression as he stands still over there is as if the bottle is too far away for him to dare reach out for it.

‘I think you’d better move back, all of you.’ Ubon stops looking at him, turns to look at everybody. She feels that there is something unusual in his arrival, and if something happens, she must be responsible. ‘Please return to your beds,’ she tells everybody.

The cluster of people watching in the doorway breaks away from the door as ordered, though their hearts are not in it.

Ubon goes to the door, taking each step cautiously. She doesn’t quite understand why he is afraid of people, even though before he was the one smiling at everybody here.

But in his return this time, there is no smile on his face.

It has disappeared as if there never had been any, and with his smile gone, she feels he is a frightening stranger. So she hurries over to the shower room and comes out with a mop clasped firmly in her hands.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

190 ‘Come here, Lek. Come see your mom. Come drink orange juice, come.’ Old Thapthim is still calling her son, as if enticing a little child with a piece of cake in her hand.

Finally her son dares to step onto the floor, though his eyes are still shifting from side to side all the time.

The mother smiles at her child. The child does not smile back.

The mother calls her son in her heart, pulls at the invisible cord between them to shorten it little by little.

Little by little he steps forward, one step at a time, as the cord gets shorter and shorter under the mother’s pull, until the mother’s hand grabs the dirty black hand of the child and makes it take the bottle of orange pop.

‘Drink it, son, it’ll refresh you.’

Ubon looks at this scene as she swings about swiping the floor in the periphery of Old Thapthim’s bed, holding the handle of the mop firmly in her hands.

‘Sit down, sit down.’ The mother’s hand still grasps her child’s softly as she lowers herself down.

‘You must be tired, do sit down, son.’ That voice, anyone listening knows, even without understanding the meaning of the words, that it comes from a mother’s heart.

The bodies of the two of them slowly sit down almost at the same time. The mother sits on the floorboards of the room. Her son sits on the stone floor of the porch.

The door is between them.

‘Drink up, son.’ The withered hand keeps insisting, until the straw enters the mouth of the son.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

191 The mouth sucks through the straw greedily.

The mother’s eyes watch the son’s mouth with happiness. Tears overflow them.

Now, he has come back. He’s here for his mother to see. For his mother to feel delighted.

O my son, you’re the only one left for me to worry about.

She slowly raises her hand to rub his back, to touch his flesh, and finally she can’t contain herself, takes her son into her arms and bursts into tears. Her tears flow down to smear her son’s shoulder.

The stale body odour that others can’t stand, the mother smells with delight, as if it is the sweet smell of a newborn a mother raptures over.

She cries openly, unashamedly, and so it is that her tears bring tears to the eyes of Old Erp and Old Jan, who sit on their beds watching. Even Ubon must avert her eyes, mopping up the floor to conceal her own feelings.

Her hold on the handle has now weakened.

The scene she averts her eyes from makes her want to weep. She can see the love a mother has for her child, can see the bonds a child has with his mother.

Nothing can loosen them. Not even a coat of madness can prevent the two of them from being close to each other.

She worries that the madness in him which makes him unable to communicate normally may drive him to hurt someone, perhaps even his own mother. But the mother TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

192 herself is not afraid of her son’s madness as she is. On the contrary: she is trying to reach out to him as if there is no madness in him.

‘Lek, who was it that shaved your head?’

Ubon turns to look at the scene again and sees Old Thapthim’s hand reaching out to stroke the bald head of her son. As she strokes her son’s head lightly, her son’s lips slowly form into a smile, shy and then firm and then full – the innocent smile of an honest child, the very smile he used to bring along every time he came.

Now his smile is back.

Back thanks to his mother’s hand.

Ubon looks at this smile until she is sure it is the same smile as he used to offer his mother.

There is no need for the mop handle in her hand. She turns her back and goes and puts the mop back at its usual place.

And it looks as though it isn’t just Ubon who is trusting that smile. All of the people in the village breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of it. Some, who merely leaned out of the gaping door of their houses, are emboldened to slowly step down the stairs. Others, who sat stuck legs dangling on the stairs, are brave enough to slowly go down to the ground and start walking.

‘Who was it who shaved your head, son?’ the mother asks again. ‘Was it your brother?’ She fancies that, after he disappeared, his brother and sister went after him and had him back to tare care of him.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

193 Her son is still beaming, impervious to his mother’s questions.

‘It’s your brother who did it, wasn’t it?’

‘White lotuses with shadows of silver.’ Her son smiles broadly.

But his mother’s face falls as she despairs of getting through to her child.

She is always trying to talk to him, hoping that one day he’ll be aware of something, that he’ll answer and make sense like everybody else, but she is disappointed every time.

Doesn’t know what to do. Only sighs, then smiles at her son.

At least you’ve come to see me.

Old Erp, Old Jan and Old Nuan slowly step closer and ease themselves down to sit at a distance, afraid they might startle Old Thapthim’s son, but he is not frightened as he was a moment ago. On the contrary: he smiles at everybody like they were close relatives.

‘Take this, dear. Peal it for ’im to eat.’ Old Erp offers an orange to Old Thapthim.

‘And this.’ Old Jan proffers two sweet tamarind pods.

‘No need, no need, I’ve got me own.’ Old Thapthim accepts the gifts. She knows their value is not in the pods or the orange.

People from the distant houses come limping along.

Old Bunruean walks holding her bottle of soft drink, followed by Old Sorn holding two oranges.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

194 ‘It doesn’t matter, does it? I’ve taken all the ants out,’ Old Bunruean takes counsel along the way.

‘It doesn’t matter. Even if he swallows one or two, he won’t die,’ Old Sorn answers.

‘If he gets sick, I’ll hold you responsible,’ Ubon, walking out of the shower room, jokes behind their backs.

‘Oh, come on, nurse.’ Old Sorn turns to her and smiles.

‘Be careful as you walk,’ Ubon warns, smiling as well, then stops by Old Yoo’s bed.

Old Bunruean and Old Sorn slowly pursue their walk until they reach Old Thapthim’s bed.

‘Here you are, my dear. Give it to your son.’ Old Bunruean proffers her bottle of red soft drink.

‘You shouldn’t take so much trouble, really,’ Old Thapthim says deferentially.

‘Take it, here, here, oranges.’ Old Sorn offers the two oranges.

‘Aren’t you keepin’ ’m to eat with your rice?’ Old Erp asks teasingly.

‘I’ve still got plenty,’ Old Sorn says.

The wide circle slowly narrows, while room is made for the late arrivals.

Old Thapthim’s son still smiles without attempting to leave. He must no longer be afraid. Old Thapthim peals an orange and give it to her child. Her son takes it, chews and swallows even the pips.

They all sit happily watching the mother feeding her son, as though Old Thapthim’s son is truly their own.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

195 Truly the son of this village.

‘Give him some soda, my dear,’ Old Bunruean reminds her.

‘In a moment.’ Old Thapthim turns round to smile, happy that her son is the focus of everyone’s concern and affection.

‘Where were you for so long?’ Old Sorn asks.

‘At the big swamp. There are big white lotus flowers.

Their shadow in the water’s like silver. The fish swarmed around to eat the silver, fought over it, bit one another—’ He laughs delightedly.

His answer triggers a round of laughter from the listeners, as they are unable to figure out where he has been.

‘Where? Where?’ Old Sorn asks.

‘In town. They bit each other to death all over the swamp. Fought over themselves to eat the lotus shadow.

None of them could eat the lotus shadow.’

‘Why, son? Why couldn’t they eat the lotus shadow?’

Old Thapthim gives him another orange.

Her son takes it and chews on it, while his mother cracks open a pod of sweet tamarind.

‘Them pigs, them buffalo, you see, they all came to fight over the lotus shadow.’ He laughs again.

He sounds like a bold adventurer back from some distant land relating his discoveries to the meek.

‘They bit each other, the water splashed, turned into blood, there was blood all over as they fought over the silver shadow of the lotuses.’

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

196 Even though they know that whatever comes out of Old Thapthim’s son’s mouth is sheer nonsense, they can’t help being interested: at least, it’s something that comes from the outside world, from outside their fenced-off village. It’s something interesting that helps pass the time of day.

‘So you went to the swamp, did you?’ the mother asks as she hands over a tamarind seed. Her son takes it and chews on it. This time, he spits out the pip.

Old Jan sits smiling, with a modicum of happiness that at least her tamarind seeds are being eaten by someone.

‘Is it sweet?’ Old Jan asks.

‘The swamp was full of blood. The whole swamp was red. Pigs, fish, buffalo, dogs, tigers, all fighting each other in the swamp, fighting over the lotus shadow.

People too came, women, men too, stripped and fought each other in the swamp. People biting buffalo, buffalo biting dogs, tigers biting people. Vultures also came to eat the lotus shadow—’ He speaks with a resounding voice and clear words which come flowing out fast as if they did not pass through thought, as if they came out of the story his eyes had actually seen.

‘Nobody can eat the lotus shadow. It’s only a shadow, ah, ah!’ He laughs uproariously. ‘They’re mad – mad buffalo, mad dogs, mad people, mad birds, mad tigers, mad animals. They bite each other day and night, jump into the swamp then bite each other, fight over the silver shadow of the lotuses.’ He laughs.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

197 ‘What about you? Didn’t you try to eat like ’m?’ Old Sorn wonders.

He stops laughing, looks Old Sorn in the face. ‘Me? I’m not mad!’ he says with finality.

Hearing this, the people crowding around are swept by gales of laughter.

‘I shouldn’t have asked,’ Old Sorn says to Old Bunruean as if she is mumbling to herself.

‘That’s right, we’re mad, you’re the only one who’s all right,’ Old Nuan taunts, then laughs, together with everybody else.

The laughter makes Ubon turn round and look. Her ear has followed what has been said, but she can’t help looking back.

‘Aren’t you going to listen to him, granny?’ she turns to ask Old Yoo, whose body lies glued to the bed.

That body merely opens its eyes wide, gazing into space.

‘Can you hear what they’re saying?’ Ubon asks.

The gaunt face nods as if she did, then manages to smile.

‘Fed. Fed.’ ‘Afraid, are you?’ Ubon raises her hand and strokes Old Yoo’s withered cheek. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, granny. I’m here with you.’ She smiles at her.

The clock strikes four times.

But the chime is perhaps not loud enough to reach the circle of people sitting by the door, and even if it does reach them, they are not interested, have no time for it, because it’s only natural for time to move along. There is TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

198 nothing interesting, and right now there is nothing more interesting than the story of the swamp of blood they are listening to.

‘The water in the swamp turned to blood—’ Here, son, have some soda pop, auntie here brought it for you.’ Old Thapthim hands over the bottle of red soft drink to her son.

Old Bunruean feels happy. She has forgotten about the ants swarming over her bottle of soft drink. She looks at him sucking on the red liquid until the bottle is empty.

He opens his blood-red mouth to go on with the story.

‘The fishy smell of blood held over the whole swamp—’ All eyes are on him. All ears are listening. As if they are all part of the alarming happening. Even Old Bunruean, even as she realizes that his mouth is the same colour as the water in the swamp – the colour of blood.

‘—By the edge of the swamp, the blood had thickened into a lid that simmered. Chunks of meat from men and beasts were floating and rotting in there—’ She can feel that smell assaulting her nose.

‘—Vultures and crows fought beak and claws over them, but none could eat the lotus shadow. It’s only a shadow, ha, ha!’ His red mouth laughs agape.

Old Bunruean feels scared about the scene he is describing, and now she suddenly feels scared of him. The wide-open mouth seems to be plastered with blood from feeding on raw flesh. She feels her head spinning. In her nose is the fishy smell of blood, increasingly putrid.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

199 ‘Thapthim my dear, let me have the empty bottle back.

I’m going back to my bed.’

‘Aren’t you stayin’ to listen to ’im? He’s fun, you know.’ Old Jan turns to her and smiles enticingly.

‘No, dear. I feel light in the head all of a sudden,’ Old Bunruean answers Old Jan with a smile. ‘Please let me have the bottle, dear Mrs. Thapthim,’ she insists.

Old Thapthim prizes the bottle off her son’s hand. He lets go of it willingly enough.

‘Say thank you to auntie,’ she tells her son, then points at Old Bunruean, who sits at the back next to Old Sorn.

He looks at where his mother is pointing her hand.

‘Foams of blood floating all over. They never gave up biting each other, day and night, howling in pain, calling out—’ ‘I’m leaving.’ Old Bunruean takes the bottle from Old Thapthim’s hand, then tries to get up, her free hand pulling at the bottom of Old Thapthim’s bed. She feels her heart flutter and her legs wobble. In that instant, everything in sight turns black.

Her body falls sprawling on the floor. The empty bottle slips off her hand, rolls clinking to the foot of the bed next to Old Thapthim’s.

‘Whasamatter, dear? Whasamatter?’ Old Sorn turns back and asks, shaking her.

Ubon rushes in from Old Yoo’s bed, and bends down to prop her up. ‘What’s the matter, granny?’

‘I – I fainted—’ Old Bunruean answers, her eyes still tightly shut.

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200 ‘Do you have any smelling salts, granny?’ Ubon asks Old Thapthim.

‘I do, I do, nurse. Cordial, too,’ Old Jan volunteers, as she stands up and walks to her bed.

The circle around Old Thapthim’s son reforms itself around Old Bunruean, watching her with concern.

‘Shift back a little, will you? You’re crowding her,’ Ubon orders as she lifts Old Bunruean’s head on to her lap.

‘Here, nurse, the salts.’ Old Thapthim hands them over to Ubon, while Old Jan is still searching for hers in her nightstand.

Ubon takes the phial and unscrews its top, then holds the phial close to Old Bunruean’s nose.

‘Take a deep breath—’ The body does as it is told. Four or five breaths, and heavy eyes begin to open.

‘I’m feeling better now, nurse.’

‘Nurse, I can’t find it, I don’t know where it is,’ Old Jan’s voice comes over loudly in confession.

Ubon turns to look, sees Old Jan sitting with a long face in front of her nightstand.

‘I don’t know where it is. I thought I’d put it in this drawer.’

Ubon smiles, can’t help feeling pity for Old Jan’s utter confusion.

‘Did you put it with the money that disappeared?’ she teases.

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201 ‘I didn’t take it, nurse! I’ll swear to it anywhere!’ the body whose head is resting on her lap utters in earnest.

Ubon feels guilty for digging up the story the lot of them have probably forgotten by now. ‘No, no, I was kidding, granny. I was teasing Mrs. Jan because she always forgets things. Maybe she’s put it somewhere else and forgotten about it – how are you now, granny?

Feeling better?’

Old Bunruean nods, feeling better in her heart and in her body. She takes another deep breath of the salts. ‘I’m all right now. A little bit woozy, that’s all.’ Old Bunruean makes as if to get up.

‘Wait, granny. Get yourself some rest first.’ Ubon forces the body to rest its head again on her lap.

Old Jan walks back and squats down, feeling hopeless.

‘I really couldn’t find it, me poor Mrs. Bunruean. It isn’t that I don’t want to give it to you.’ This said with the tone of apology.

‘It doesn’t matter, my dear. I have some too, in the nightstand. If you need any, just let me know.’ Old Bunruean smiles dryly.

‘The little birdie came and sang what he heard, the blood in the swamp kept rising and rising—’ The circle which has turned away to take care of Old Bunruean soon turns back to listen to the returned bold adventurer’s account.

‘—The blood flowed out of the swamp, running all over the ground, flooding houses, flooding the town. A TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

202 monk came and stood praying, but it didn’t help any—’ ‘Nurse, I’d like to go back to my bed,’ Old Bunruean tells Ubon. Her head is full of blood flowing all over streets, coming forth without end.

Ubon cautiously helps Old Bunruean to stand up and walks her back to her bed, thinking she must want to lie down to rest and feel better.

‘—The blood has already come, the blood of those who fight over the silver shadow of lotuses. Be careful, all of you. It’ll flood the whole town. The town’ll become a swamp. Nobody can stop it—’ ‘Did you see this yourself?’ Old Sorn can’t help wondering.

His red mouth stops moving. His big white eyes shift to stare at Old Sorn.

Old Sorn feels frightened by his stare. It is as though it has the power to force her to turn her head away. She thinks to herself, I shouldn’t have asked this question.

Shouldn’t have obstructed the demented flow of blood.

She is afraid he’ll turn even crazier and hurt her.

‘I saw it with my own eyes. I see it every day. That’s why I’ve come to tell you to beware—’ Old Sorn dares to raise her head slowly and look at him, and she is puzzled to see that his eyes are now gentle and there is a smile on his lips.

Whether anybody else has observed it too, Old Sorn notices that he is beginning to answer her questions.

Even though she has never heard anything like the story CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

203 he is telling and she doesn’t think it is true, when she asked him ‘Did you see this yourself?’ he answered the question straight.

‘Then tell me, this lotus shadow, what is it?’ she asks out once again.

‘A shadow. Just a shadow. You can’t eat it,’ he answers.

‘There’s nothing! There’s nothing at all! There’s absolutely nothing!’ the shouting from the cell resounds boisterously.

Old Sorn turns to look towards the source of the shouting. She isn’t sure whether the man in the cell is listening to the story or shouting just like that.

‘There’s the lotus shadow!’ Old Thapthim’s son shouts back.

Old Sorn turns back to look at Old Thapthim’s son.

She comes to feel she is sitting in the middle between the two men as they argue.

Everybody who hears the two deranged men shouting at each other thinks it’s funny. They all laugh. Even Old Thapthim cannot help feeling amused. She raises her hand and strokes her son on the head fondly. My poor clever son, what is it you’re tryin’ to tell us?

‘Not any more! There’s nothing!’ the voice from the cell shouts again.

‘There’s the lotus shadow!’ Old Thapthim’s son laughs.

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’ The shout from the cell won’t give in.

Old Sorn isn’t sure whether the two of them are talkTIME | CHART KORBJITTI

204 ing about the same thing, and she isn’t sure either whether what she assumes she understands more or less is what the two of them are shouting about. But then she comes to think that everything she hears is only an argument between a mad man and a retarded man. As for herself, she is sane, neither mad nor retarded, yet she is beginning to understand what the two of them are arguing about.

Or is it I’m round the bend? She smiles without realizing it.

The clinking of the food trolley moving up the ramp by the stairs draws everybody’s attention and all heads turn round. Old Sorn is sorry it’s already dinnertime.

She’d like it to come a little later, as she’d like to ask, Are there really lotus shadows or aren’t there?

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’ the voice from the cell shouts out again.

Old Sorn turns to look. She can’t believe her ears.

‘There is, too, there is! There’s another dinner coming up for all,’ the worker bawls out just as he pushes the trolley up to the door. Everybody laughs with the worker.

Old Sorn thus turns to face the truth. That’s right, there’s still another dinner to eat.

‘Hey, how are you? You’ve been gone for so long.

Where have you been?’ the worker asks, as he waits for the circle of people around the door to let the trolley through.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

205 ‘At the big swamp in town. There’s white lotus flowers with a shadow of silver—’ ‘’That so? I see. But tonight we have gray lotus stems boiled in coconut cream.’ The worker laughs, paying no attention to the answer. He pushes the trolley along the ramp, then through to the main aisle in the middle of the room.

And so it is that now there is no story to listen to any longer. They all know their duty. The time for the outside world is over. It’s dinnertime. It’s time to eat once again. They all split up and go back to their respective beds.

Back to their respective houses.

There is only the mother and the son sitting on either side of the door, looking at each other, neither interested in food, neither interested in whether the stomach is hungry or not, given that inside they are both blissful to the point of overflowing.

‘Why, granny! So your son’s back, hey?’ Lamjiak, who is climbing the stairs, greets Old Thapthim.

‘Yes, he just came,’ Old Thapthim looks up and answers, a smile all over her face, which still shows traces of tears.

‘Where have you been hiding for so long? Making your mother worry every day.’ Lamjiak smiles at Old Thapthim’s son.

‘In the big swamp there’s white lotus flowers with a shadow of silver—’ TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

206 Lamjiak nods, smiles at such an answer. She fishes all medicine packs out of her pocket and chooses one.

‘Here, pills to take after the meal.’ She hands over two small yellow pills. Old Thapthim takes them as she does every time. As Lamjiak starts to walk away, she calls her.

‘Matron?’

‘You want plenty of rice, right?’ Lamjiak turns to ask.

Old Thapthim gives a sheepish smile as if she has been caught out, but what to do, with her son right here?

Even dogs feed their puppies.

‘Think of it as doing good, matron.’

‘Yes, granny. I’m a mother too. I understand.’ Lamjiak really understands that feeling, and every time he comes, she is the one who makes sure Old Thapthim gets extra food for her son. ‘I won’t forget, don’t worry.’

‘Blessed by your heart, me good woman!’ Old Thapthim raises her joined hands above her head and bows.

Her eyes follow Lamjiak’s back, who hurries to hand out the drugs to the various beds. She then looks at the food trolley. Everybody is lining up to be served. So she slowly gets up, deciding she’ll go last. This way, at least, everybody will get enough food first. Whatever is left she can share with her son.

‘You wait for me here, Lek.’ I see Old Mrs. Thapthim instruct her son before she stands up and comes towards the trolley, her eyes on it.

Hey, be careful, you’re going to step on that bottle!

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207 I almost shout out when I see her nearly stepping on the bottle of soft drink Old Mrs. Bunruean has caused to roll on the floor. I guessed that bottle was going to play a part with her, because the patients on the other two beds next to hers can’t move, and she is about the only one to use this way. Suppose the bottle has no significance in this scene, then I think it’d betray inexperience on the part of the director for using more things in a scene than is necessary. I’ve been taught that everything in a scene must be relevant to the story. I’m convinced these people have been taught likewise. If not, they’d have had the bottle kept away a long time ago, by whoever, Ubon, Old Mrs. Bunruean, or even Old Mrs. Thapthim herself. But no, they left it lying on the floor, as if they meant to have some-one step over it and then fall flat on the floor. I have this mental scene of Old Mrs. Thapthim holding a tray of food in her hands and walking back to her son, her eyes on her son, walking steadily until she comes to the bottle, then her foot slips over the bottle and she goes full length on the floor. The food splatters around, and she doesn’t get up any more.

Don’t, you hear. Don’t do that! I beg you!

But, okay, since they had the bottle thrown away to no purpose, I might as well show them how it’s done, whether they’ll follow suit or not.

Close-up

(High-angle shot.) Of the tray placed on the food trolley. In the TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

208 rice compartment, there is a mound of rice and fried gourd.

At this point, the ladle is entering the picture, filling up the next compartment with lotus stems boiled in coconut cream almost to overflowing. Hands on both sides come in to hold the tray and lift it. /Cut Medium-range, receding (With Old Thapthim’s back in the foreground.) Showing Old Thapthim carefully turning away from the food trolley, tray in hand, and walking towards her son. (In the picture may be seen Old Nuan, also tray in hand, reaching her own bed – to show that Old Thapthim is the last one to receive her tray.) After a while— /Cut Close-up Of Old Thapthim’s son’s face, staring at his mother. His mouth is moving as if he is chewing rice. After a while— /Cut Close-up (dolly) Of the upper half of Old Thapthim’s body, from the tray up.

She is walking forward. The dolly backs up as she progresses.

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209

Close-up (dolly)

Close-up Close-up

Close-up Close-up Close-up

Voice over (Old Jan)

She walks carefully, her eyes lowered onto the tray, sometimes looking up at her son, stepping along very slowly. /Cut Of Old Thapthim’s feet, slowly stepping forward. The dolly backs up accordingly, until it catches the bottle of soft drink.

(The picture freezes at bottle level.) Showing Old Thapthim’s feet coming straight at it. Closer and closer. After a while— /Cut Of Old Thapthim’s face, looking at her son. /Cut (Low-angle shot.) Of the bottle of soft drink. Old Thapthim’s feet coming straight at it – another three or four steps and she will reach it. /Cut Of Old Thapthim’s face, smiling at her son. /Cut Of her son’s face, chewing and waiting. /Cut (Low-angle shot.) Of the bottle.

Old Thapthim’s feet get nearer – only one step left.

‘Thapthim, me dear!’

Old Thapthim’s foot halts in

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

210 mid-swing.

Voice over (Old Thapthim) ‘If I’m taking so much, it’s for me son.’

The foot moves a little, ready to step out again.

Voice over (Old Jan) ‘Thapthim, me dear. Careful you don’t step on that bottle.’

The foot stops moving.

Voice over (Old Thapthim) ‘Hey? Oh! Yes – yes.’

The foot swerves to avoid the bottle, steps past it. After a while— /Cut Medium-range (With Old Thapthim’s son’s back in the foreground.) Of Old Thapthim slowly bending over, placing the tray in front of her son. /Cut I’m relieved they haven’t done anything rash to the old woman.

‘Here you are. Let me get a spoon for you.’

The son looks at his mother walking over to the nightstand in a way that is no different from a young animal starved of milk.

She comes back with two spoons in her hand, hands him one.

‘You eat, Lek,’ she utters softly, as she spoons out lotus in coconut cream over the mound of rice.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

211 The son looks like he isn’t interested in his mother any longer. He shovels rice into his mouth rapidly. The mother merely spoons out more lotus stems over the rice. She herself does not partake of even a mouthful, happily watching her son as he chews away, remembering the days of yore when she used to feed him.

Mouthful after mouthful.

She watches without feeling bored until her son puts down his spoon.

‘Eat some more, son, eat plenty,’ she encourages him.

Her son doesn’t answer, as if he hasn’t heard her. He is full and that’s it.

‘Eat some more, son, or you’ll be hungry later tonight,’ she tells him out of worry, but her son remains still, not even looking at the food.

Finally, when she sees her son sitting without reaction, she gets up to get the water flask and a glass she fills for him.

Only then does she start to eat what is left.

Many patients are already full. Some are taking their trays back to the trolley.

She scatters the remaining coconut cream over the rice, then hastens to chew. She doesn’t want to be a burden to anybody. She doesn’t want them to wait for her.

She scrapes the last of the food in the tray. Even though she isn’t quite full, it’s quite enough for her.

They served me so much already, she thinks.

She gathers her spoon and her son’s and gets up to TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

212 wash them over the spittoon, rinses her mouth, then picks up the two pills from the floor and pops them into her mouth. She raises the glass of water, takes a sip and swallows, swallows even though she doesn’t want to.

She doesn’t want to live any longer.

If she forces herself to swallow, to swallow drugs twice a day, it’s for her son. She still worries about him. She still wants to see him.

Old Thapthim slowly moves herself to a standing position, walks with her tray along the central aisle.

Her son’s gaze follows her.

My own gaze is on her as she reaches the food trolley in the middle of the stage.

I’m not quite sure there was enough food on that tray for the two of them, especially for the mother.

But I see her fully happy face. It eclipses every other feeling.

She places the tray over the others on the trolley, raises her hands above her head and bows to the worker.

‘Blessed be your heart, young man!’

‘Have you eaten enough, granny?’

‘Oh, plenty!’

Just as Old Thapthim turns round to walk back to her bed, the boy selling soft drinks enters through the door. Under his arm there is still the same basket he had in the first scene when he came to sell, but in this scene the basket is empty. The boy sees the bottle of orange soda by Old CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

213 Thapthim’s son. He hesitates to pick it up, and finally doesn’t dare, because he is afraid of Old Thapthim’s son.

Young vendor (Speaking low out of fear.) ‘Mister, may I have that bottle back?’

Thapthim’s son (Turns to look.) ‘Blood will overflow the town and the town will turn into a swamp. You’ll be bitten to death in the swamp.’

Young vendor (Scared, yet game.) ‘Mister, lemme have the bottle. It’s mine.’

The young soft-drink vendor reaches out to grab the bottle by the neck. At once, Old Thapthim’s son snatches his wrist.

Young vendor (Startled – sees Old Thapthim walking back.) ‘Grandma, grandma, help me, please!’

Thapthim’s son (Laughs.) ‘You must get away, you know. Blood’s going to overflow the town. You’ll be bitten to death!’

Young vendor ‘Grandma! Quick! Help me, please!’

Old Thapthim hurries back, lets herself down to sit before her son.

Old Thapthim ‘Lek! Lek! Let go of ’im, son!’

As Old Thapthim’s son turns to look at his mother, the soft-drink vendor shakes his arm loose and springs back to stand at a distance.

Young vendor ‘Grandma, pick up the bottle for me, will ya?’

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214 Old Thapthim hands over the bottle to him. He quickly puts it in his basket and darts away.

Old Thapthim ‘Hey, not so fast!’

The soda-pop peddler turns round, then backtracks.

Old Thapthim (Pointing to the bottle on the floor.)

‘There’s another one there.’

The boy goes and picks up the bottle and puts it into his basket, then walks across to collect the empty bottles at Old Jan’s and Old Nuan’s beds. The two old women laugh at the little fellow’s fear.

Old Nuan ‘He ain’t going to do nothin’ to you.’

Young vendor ‘He’s mad!’

Old Jan (Laughs.) ‘He says he ain’t mad. He says dear Sorn over there’s mad.’ (Pointing to Old Sorn’s bed.)

Young vendor (Turns round.) ‘Don’t believe him, granny. He’s the one who’s mad!’

Old Jan laughs affectionately. The young soft-drink vendor walks away from Old Jan’s bed, then stops by the second bed of the left row.

Young vendor (Stoops to look at the body lying on the bed. Talking to himself.) ‘Greatgrandma’s chewing air again.’

Then walks across to Old Bunruean’s bed.

Young vendor ‘Grandma, what about the soft-drink bottle?’

Old Bunruean (Looks at the nightstand.) ‘Hey? Where has it gone now?’

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

215 Old Sorn

‘You gave it to Old Thapthim’s son, remember?’

Old Bunruean ‘That’s right. See? I had forgotten.’

(Turns to tell the young soft-drink vendor.) ‘Search for it over there. It fell on the floor.’

Young vendor ‘I found it already.’ (Counts the bottles in his basket.) ‘They’re all here, grandma.’

The young vendor walks away from Old Bunruean’s bed along the aisle and reaches the door.

Young vendor (Speaks to Old Thapthim.) ‘Watch your son, grandma.’

Old Thapthim (Laughs.) ‘Eh! What cheek! My son ain’t a dog, you know, that I have to watch ’im so he won’t bite you!’

Young vendor (As he puts his shoes on.) ‘Well, he’s mad, see.’

Old Thapthim (In earnest.) ‘He’s a good lad.’

Thapthim’s son ‘Don’t you go eat the silver shadow of the lotuses, you hear? Get away from it!’

The young vendor laughs, walks away. At the same time, the worker begins to push the trolley along the aisle. He stops by to fill the water containers by each bed, until he comes to the last bed – Old Thapthim’s bed.

He picks up the plastic water bottle placed on the floor, fills it, then puts it on the nightstand.

Worker ‘Auntie, tell your son it’s time to go TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

216 back. Visiting time’s over.’

Old Thapthim ‘Sure, sure, won’t be long.’

The worker pushes the trolley and goes out the door.

Old Thapthim’s gaze follows him, then turns to her son.

Old Thapthim ‘Have you had enough to eat, Lek?’ Thapthim’s son (Smiles – does not say anything.)

It is this smile, isn’t it, that makes Old Thapthim’s world full of light?

It is this smile, isn’t it, that fills her up with hope to give meaning to each day?

She smiles at her son, smiles in fondness for him.

At least, there’s you to worry about me, to come and see your mother.

She now feels that the time she has been with her son is too short. She’d like him to stay longer than this, stay until she can see his face long enough to repay herself for having missed him, but she knows this cannot be, because it’s the rule, the rule which says that visiting hours are over, thus he has to go and she has to stay. They must part, part without knowing how her son will fare. Where will he spend the night? Where will he sleep? Her heart would like to wander away with him to take care of him, but she cannot do so. She can’t take care of him. Even she has to rely on others for her own care.

At this point in her reflections, she has lost any longing for life. She does not want to live on, but she has to, out of worry for him.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

217 Just as she worries she’s unable to help in anything.

‘Granny, you must tell your son to go back now,’ Ubon’s voice warns her.

She turns round and sees Ubon and Lamjiak standing watching by the aisle at the foot of the bed. From the looks the two of them are giving her, she understands that they both understand her.

‘Lek, come and see me tomorrow again, won’t you?’ she tells her son with sadness in her voice.

Sure, she knows her son doesn’t understand, but she tells him with the same hope as always. She tells him, then waits for the next day, speeding up the hours for the next day to come and her son to be back again.

‘You go now, Lek. Don’t worry ’bout me. Come see me again tomorrow,’ she forces herself to say with a trembling voice, even though she doesn’t want him to go.

‘Go now, go, come back tomorrow,’ Lamjiak opens her mouth while waving him away to make him understand. ‘Go, go, visiting time’s over.’

The son looks at them gesturing for him to leave, then slowly, obediently, gets moving, stands up, smiles at his mother, then walks out to the stairs. Before going down the stairs, he turns and again smiles at his mother.

‘Come see me tomorrow, okay?’ She looks at her son through the curtain of tears in her eyes.

‘You know what? When I see this, I feel bad inside,’ Ubon mumbles to Lamjiak.

‘It’s our duty,’ Lamjiak answers in a very low voice, TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

218 thinking of her own child waiting at home.

‘Don’t cry, granny. He’ll be back tomorrow,’ Ubon comforts Old Thapthim when she sees her beginning to sob.

‘He’ll really come, won’t he, nurse?’ Old Thapthim insists.

‘I think so. See: he’s disappeared for months, and yet he’s managed to find his way back here today.’

‘He’ll really come, then, won’t he, nurse?’

‘If he comes, he’ll come all by himself,’ Lamjiak interrupts. She doesn’t want Ubon to tie herself down to a promise. ‘We’re going to eat now, granny, we’re hungry.’ She cuts the matter short, while nodding at Ubon.

‘Let’s go. There shouldn’t be anything happening now.

Let’s go and eat together, so we can talk—so, have you made up your mind yet about leaving?’ Her last sentence sounds like she is asking for the sake of conversation rather than expecting an answer.

Ubon does not answer, merely bows her head and walks after her.

They go through the door, leaving the village behind.

Leaving it to be bathed in evening sunlight.

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’ The shout floats out of the cell.

But the two of them are not interested enough to turn for a look. They know those words are meaningless. The shout floating by is like the sound of the wind blowing past.

Just like the clock as it strikes five times.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

219 It sounds then is gone, like the wind blowing past.

Gone without a trace.

Gone without coming back.

Gone without anyone paying attention.

There is only Old Yoo to pay attention. To want to know. To want to know what time of the evening it is, given that of her own evening very little is left.

She assumes it must be early evening by now, but she isn’t sure what time it is exactly. How many chimes did she hear? Five? Six? Or seven? She isn’t sure. She’d like to get up to go and check, but her body has no heart for it. That body has long given up, yet the heart would still like to walk.

But she is at her wit’s end.

She can only turn to look at the clock, of which she can only see the back.

Ticktack-ticktack.

Ticktack-ticktack.

She hears this sound pulsating in her ears now that the place is quiet. Without the buzz of people talking, the ticking of the clock is like a friend chatting to her.

If she were to ask the people on the next beds, nobody would understand her. Because her tongue has gone stiff, whatever sounds come out are hard to interpret.

At first, there were still some who could understand her, but by and by those who could understand became less and less numerous, so she would only listen. But when she answered and tried her best to mouth the TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

220 words, nobody could make sense of the sounds she uttered. After a while, both speaker and listeners grew irritated. No matter how much was said, neither side could make sense of the other. So finally she took refuge in silence. The people on neighbouring beds gradually made themselves scarce. Nobody came round to talk to her.

What kind of fate is this for her, she keeps asking herself.

Not being able to walk on her own was hard enough, and now she has to be unable to talk to others.

These days, she only wants to die.

But she doesn’t ever die as she wishes.

How long she’ll have to go on suffering, she has no idea.

She only lies and waits. Sleeps, wakes up, sleeps, wakes up, stays on her bed.

At night, she can’t sleep, her eyes wide open staring at the top of her mosquito net. In the daytime, her eyes are pegged to the ceiling.

The little happiness she has comes from dreams. She dreams that she can walk like everybody else, dreams that she can talk and be understood as used to be the case. When she wakes up and is back to the real world, happiness turns to sorrow.

Her happiness is like a dream that can’t be caught, a dream without substance.

Her world at this time keeps alternating between happiness and sorrow, between darkness and light, between sleep and wakefulness, while time goes by. Goes by.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

221 Lately, she often dreams of the house where she was born. Dreams of herself as a young girl running, playing, frolicking again. She doesn’t understand why she has to dream of her birthplace, but she is happy to see her warm home again – not just in her mind, for she can feel it, touch it, as if it were real. She once dreamt she was asleep in the house where she was born, and in her sleep, she dreamt she saw friends of the same age come and join her and they played games and had bags of fun, and she dreamt she paddled a boat with her big sister, the boat capsized, she started and woke up. Thought for a moment that she had woken up on her bed in the house where she was born. Thought she was a small girl startled in the middle of the night. Called out her parents to come and pacify her out of her nightmare. Called for a long time, but no one came to see her. When she came to her senses, she realized that she had woken with a body that could not walk, had woken to the truth that she was lying in this hospital ward.

The dream that night has confused her ever since.

Whenever she wakes up in the middle of the night, she never knows where she is. In the house she was born in?

In the hospital ward?

Realizing that she is in the hospital ward makes her feel gloomy. She tries to keep her eyes closed to force herself back to sleep, back to her old house.

Her world at this time is evolving between dreams and reality – a reality which looks like a dream, dreams that look like reality.

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222 What, then, is real? What, then, is dreamt?

What is it, then, that makes up reality?

Open-eyed reality may turn out to be a dream.

The dream of being in her old house may turn out to be reality.

And this is what she believes.

She believes that open-eyed reality is but a dream, a nightmare that torments her all the time.

And this is what she believes.

She believes that dreams of her happy childhood are reality, a reality she does not want to sleep out of again to meet with atrocious dreams.

Her world at this time thus is a world which has gotten loose from everybody else, a world truly for her alone – the world she has chosen, deciding which is the real world, which the world of dreams.

She doesn’t want to open her eyes to face the world of atrocious dreams.

If possible, she’d like to sleep in the real world, the world of her happiness.

She doesn’t want to encounter the world of dreams where, upon opening her eyes, she is faced with a terrible dream that tortures her heart and leaves her exhausted.

She doesn’t want to keep on encountering the nightmare. The nightmare which has been haunting her until now. The nightmare which begins with— ‘This is where he told me to take you,’ the taxi driver tells her when he sees her reluctant to get out of the car.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

223 ‘You get out, old ma. This is the right place, don’t worry.

He told me to bring you here.’

‘This ain’t me house. Take me back to me house,’ she urges him.

‘How will I know where your house is? He told me to take you here. He told me you lived here. I’ve brought you here. So what else do you want?’

‘Me son told me to go back home first, but here, this ain’t home, don’t you see?’ She is telling the truth.

‘I don’t know about that. I was hired to take you here.

And here you are.’

‘Send me back home, please. I want to go home,’ she pleads, even though she hasn’t a single baht with her.

‘Take pity on me. I want to go back home.’

The taxi driver looks at her. He begins to understand what is going to happen to that old woman, but wonders why the man who hired him to take her here is behaving so hardheartedly.

‘Where’s your house? I’ll take you there,’ he decides.

‘In Phra Khanong.’ She smiles with hope.

‘What’s the name of the street?’

‘Dunno. I dunno.’

‘Oh, heck, old woman. Phra Khanong is such a wide area. If you don’t know the street, then how can we go and find it?’

Her hope is snuffed out.

‘Well, okay, let’s go. Let’s try. Maybe it’ll come back to you,’ he says hopefully. She admires his goodwill.

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224 He takes her into street after street after street until both he and her are discouraged.

‘That man this morning, he’s really your son, isn’t he?’ he asks her on the way back.

‘Ye-yes,’ she answers half-heartedly.

‘Why? Why does he behave like this?’

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how to answer.

There are only tears of sorrow that fall instead of an answer. They flow all the way. They flow ceaselessly, even when she steps out of the taxi.

‘I have no money to pay you,’ she confesses.

‘Even if you had, I wouldn’t take it, old ma—’ he tells her before the car moves away.

And this is her nightmare. The nightmare that haunts her as soon as she opens her eyes. She hates it, doesn’t want to think about it, but it remains in her memory always— Now she feels weary, weary of the nightmare that sticks to her thoughts as soon as she opens her eyes.

She closes her eyes – closes her eyes to meet the reality of her dreams.

Before long, she is asleep, and dreams she sees the reality.

In the early morning, sunlight bathes the whole canal.

The little girl paddles the boat with her big sister. Her sister paddles at the back. She sits paddling at the prow.

In the middle of the boat is a big pile of vetch whose golden flowers fight with the sunlight. Next to the vetch are greenish purple stems of lotuses with white flowers CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

225 placed in orderly rows. The two of them are paddling back home. The little girl splashes some water on her face. She feels the freshness of happiness in the mild sunlight of early morning. She turns to look at the sun of a new day— —and right then, the last sunrays of dusk begin to slant through the door, coating the floorboards of the hospital ward.

The last rays of the day are here now. They come without being invited, like a passing visitor who won’t stay, dropping by just to tell the news that the day is about to end and before long darkness will prevail.

And everybody in this ward is aware of it. Some, holding a bowl, are on their way to wash their bodies.

Others, exhausted, sit nodding drowsily on their beds like dark shadows. Each is doing her duty all by herself, preparing to greet the coming night.

‘Won’t you take a bath, my dear?’ Old Bunruean asks Old Sorn, when she sees her still sitting dejectedly on her bed.

‘Not today. It isn’t hot at all.’

‘I can’t do without it, whatever the weather. I must freshen up every evening, otherwise I don’t feel nice in bed.’ Old Bunruean, holding her bowl, gets out of bed.

Old Sorn laughs softly. She doesn’t reply. In her heart, she doesn’t want to talk to anyone. She doesn’t know what’s the matter. She only knows that when evening comes, when she sees the last blond rays of the sun, she TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

226 feels melancholy and despondent. She tries to resist, to fight her mood, but she never succeeds.

Or maybe it’s like the evening of my life? she used to ask herself.

But the answer she finds in herself is that she has never thought the evening of her life should be a time of sorrow and dismay. On the contrary: she feels glad, actually, that it is going to end, that the curtain is going to fall on the final call. The closer the time, the more happiness she has, waiting with a smile of welcome and a cheerful face.

But oddly enough, evening brings sadness to her every day, even though she has nothing sad to think over.

She has given up thinking about life in the past. She has given up worrying about life tomorrow. She is aware that she lives in the present, today, in a hospital ward. Therefore, what is there for her to be sad about?

But whenever evening comes, she can’t resist.

She feels sad and lonely, even though her friends in the ward are all here.

And she believes that she isn’t the only one to feel like this. Everybody in this dormitory must have the same feeling. She has noticed that, although in the morning and in the afternoon they all talk eagerly, even quarrel, and tell one another their tales of woes, come evening, everyone quiets down and stops socializing, as if each of them was alone in the world, a world whose rays are about to pass away— CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

227 As for herself, she uses this time of day to recollect the various events of her day, from the moment she woke up in the morning up until evening, recollecting them in as much detail as she can recall every day.

She remembers what the doctor once told her: if you don’t want to lose your memory, before going to sleep try to remember what you’ve done during the day, every day, until it becomes second nature to you. Do like this every day, every single day, mind, and it’ll help your memory stay with you for a long time. You won’t be forgetful like old people in general.

And of course she doesn’t want to be forgetful and end up irritating others or even herself.

There are times when she opens her nightstand and doesn’t know what it is she wants to pick up, because she has already forgotten. No matter how much she thinks about it, she can’t figure out what she opened the nightstand for. It makes her tetchy all day.

She begins to recall from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, and on until Old Jan found that her money was missing. She recalls what she had for breakfast, and on until she swapped beds to sleep here.

Sometimes, there are stretches where she can’t think of what she did. She tries to remember as much as she can to make it a complete review of what happened— What! Again? They are showing us this boring scene yet again, are they? I can’t believe this, but then I must, because on stage right now there’s nothing interesting at TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

228 all – not since the two nurses went out for their meal.

I’ve been sitting hoping something would happen. I don’t know how many minutes have gone by, yet I still can’t see anything worth watching. Only that everybody is taking a shower. There is only Old Mrs. Sorn who sits on her bed without moving. I don’t understand what they want to tell the audience. Do they want to tell us that Old Mrs. Sorn is lazy, as she won’t shower in the evening? I don’t think it makes sense. It’s a person’s right. How many times a day one takes a shower is up to each individual. I don’t think this matters to anyone. Or is it that they want to stress the scene of the evening ablutions? I don’t see any-thing interesting in that either.

And it’s a repetition. A repetition from the shower scene in the morning. But actually, the morning scene was more interesting, thanks to the lighting effect. But what we see now, there’s nothing – only people taking an ordinary wash under ordinary evening light. This scene bores me. Bores me as much as the midday scene when we had to watch people resting on their beds after lunch.

I stop looking at what’s going on on stage and turn to cast a glance at the spectators. I’d like to know if they’re feeling the same as I do. And if the people who wrote this play came to sit here with me, they’d see what I can see, which is that the spectators are not interested in their play. Some whisper among themselves. Others talk to each other, as if to kill time until the play comes to an end and they can go back home at last. I think this is CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

229 another scene they got wrong, in that they’re unable to hold the attention of the audience on the stage. Or is it what they want? That is, they want to observe the reactions of the audience, like when I went to see that ‘experimental’ movie by a young woman artist? I’ll admit quite frankly I didn’t understand anything at all, and I believe that if a professional like me watches a movie and doesn’t understand it, then no one can watch and understand it. I sat watching it in a bad temper.

Finally, when the movie ended, the artist came out and apologized to us. She claimed that what she wanted was to see the reactions of the viewers as they watched her movie. If the people who produced this play think the same as that artist, I’ll tell you bluntly, I won’t have it. If you think I’m an old man with narrow views, well, go ahead, but I feel they’re antagonizing their audience too much. And yet, if they don’t think like this, then what is it that they think? Or perhaps they thought they’d make their play different from all of the others? That is, a play which presents ordinary life doesn’t have to show anything special, only replicas of the daily life of old people in a hospital ward, including the faint smell of urine which has been bothering my nose throughout the performance. They’ve put it in merely to make their play different from the others, have they? Yes, I accept it’s different. It must be the first play ever to release a smell on stage. But does being different help the story in any way? This is the point they should ponder. I think young TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

230 people these days only want to do something different for the sake of it, and forget what it is they’re doing. I myself have come to sit here and smell urine because I want to listen to the story they’re telling us. I’ve come to see the story they tell us, not to see people lying, sitting, bathing, eating and so on. If that’s what I wanted, I’d go and sit in an old people’s home, sit there watching all day, and see them. And if I thought that home gave a first-class theatrical performance, I’d probably see a lot more, instead of wasting money to come and sit here. I believe many people here must be feeling the same as I do.

That is, bored with this scene.

But what the hell can we do? No matter how bored, we have to stand it. Stand watching until the play is over, to assuage their feelings. I myself wouldn’t like to see viewers leave the movie house until the movie is over.

It’d hurt my feelings too much. And the same goes for me: I don’t want to hurt their feelings, I don’t want to hurt their commitment to their work, so it’s necessary to bear with it. Bear with it and turn to watch what’s going on on stage once again. Old Mrs. Sorn still sits looking vacantly at the sunrays falling on the floorboards. One thing I’m sure of at this point is that they want Old Mrs. Sorn to be the focal point of the scene, because while everybody is taking a shower, she alone is sitting on her bed. Suppose they didn’t want her to stand out, they’d have her join the others in the shower room, or else lie down on her bed like those bodies that can’t get up, to CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

231 keep her out of sight of the audience. But here they’re making her stand out by sitting alone in the scene. For sure, this is what they want, but I don’t know what it is they want me to see. Merely see Old Mrs. Sorn sitting and thinking? Yes, she looks like she is sitting thinking about something, but how the hell am I to know what she thinks? Maybe she sits thinking about home. Or about tomorrow. Or about the past. I’ve no way of knowing, and I won’t venture a guess. I know that guesses don’t amount to knowledge. You see someone sitting and, presto, you’re supposed to guess what that person thinks? That’s too much to ask from anyone. If it were in real life and I’d like to find out, I’d go and ask, but this is a play on stage. How can I go up there and ask? I think they should reconsider about this. That is, since they’re producing a play, they should make sure the audience understands. At least they should help the spectators a little, maybe have Old Mrs. Sorn mumble a few words, enough to have an inkling of what she’s thinking, so the audience can follow. But here, zilch.

They aren’t helping the audience any. Or maybe it’s a new method that they have? That is, to have the spectators think instead of the actors? If we were Old Mrs. Sorn, what would we think? I really don’t know what the people who produced this play sought to convey about this scene. I only know that, if I had to think by myself instead of Old Mrs. Sorn, I wouldn’t be able to. If they want me to think what it is they want, I can’t guess TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

232 either. But one thing I think about this scene is, I think the same as the review article I read— ‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’

Old Sorn turns round to look at the source of the shouting.

Is there really nothin’? Not even a lotus shadow?

She’d like to ask to make sure. Her heart would like to get out of bed, go and ask the man in the cell. Would like to see his face. Would like to talk to make sure. But she doesn’t dare. She merely thinks that one day – one day the chance will be hers. But not at this time. Not now when all eyes are still wide open. She decides to turn round to look at the sunrays stretching over the floorboards.

She goes on recollecting what she talked about with the young man, recollecting the story about slaves that she told him, recollecting when he had asked her, ‘Who are the masters, then?’ She had answered that it depended on the things we were slaves to, that those things were the masters, but she forgot to tell him that those things also have their big master.

The clock strikes six.

She turns round towards the clock.

Even though I don’t want to go with it, I don’t want to be its slave, it still drags me along, she thinks.

The sunrays that keep stretching on the floor have now turned orange—

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

233 At the last stroke of the clock, Old Sorn slowly gets out of bed, pulls out her mosquito net and unfolds it to prepare to set it up. Ubon and Lamjiak walk in through the door. Ubon presses the switch by the doorframe. The lights on stage change to night neon light. Old Jan, who has finished cleaning herself, walks back along the aisle.

Ubon and Lamjiak walk to the shower room to get the implements they need to wash the bed-ridden patients.

As Ubon comes level with Old Jan on the aisle— Ubon (Teasingly.) ‘Granny, have you still got your money?’

Old Jan (Smiles.) ‘I still do, nurse. Here.’ (Plunges her hand in the pocket of her undershirt.)

Ubon (Smiles.) ‘Keep an eye on it, okay.

Don’t tell me tomorrow it’s gone again.’

Old Jan (Earnestly.) ‘I’ve told you before, nurse.

I ne’er forget ’bout money.’

Ubon ‘Good enough. Don’t lose it, that’s all.

So you can buy food for the monk in the morning.’

Ubon walks on, enters the shower room, comes out with a medium-sized towel and a bucket of water, as does Lamjiak. They go to work their separate ways.

They both know their routine. Lamjiak cleans the bodies on beds 1 and 2 of the left row. Ubon cleans the bodies on the beds next to Old Thapthim’s and further up (beds TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

234 5 and 6 of the right row). As Ubon rinses and wipes the excretory of her first patient, Old Thapthim walks out of the shower room, heading back to her own bed. She still looks worried. She turns to look towards Ubon, who is lifting the patient’s leg to wipe her bottom.

Old Thapthim ‘Nurse?’

Ubon (Turns to look.) ‘What is it, granny?’

Old Thapthim ‘Tomorrow me son will come again, won’t he?’

Ubon (Smiles – answers gently.) ‘Of course he’ll come, granny.’

Old Thapthim smiles happily, places her bowl down on the top of her nightstand. Ubon turns back and goes on with her work. When she is finished with Bed 5, she walks to the shower room, changes the water in the bucket and washes the towel. She walks out of the shower room almost at the same time as Lamjiak, who has finished her first bed as well. Old Nuan walks out of the shower room behind Ubon. Ubon walks over to Bed 4. Old Jan is busy setting up her mosquito net on her bed.

While Ubon is busy cleaning the body on Bed 4— Old Jan (Shouts out from inside the net.)

‘Nurse! Nurse!’

Ubon (Startled – turns round.) ‘What’s wrong, granny?’

Ubon and Lamjiak drop their work, rush to Old Jan’s bed, as everybody hobbles over out of curiosity and worry for their friend.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

235 Ubon

(Asks sharply.) ‘What’s wrong, granny?’

Old Jan (Pokes her head out of the net, a big smile on her face.) ‘I found the money, nurse!’

Lamjiak (Relieved.) ‘Good grief! You gave me such a fright. Where was it?’

Old Jan ‘In the net.’

Ubon and Lamjiak burst out laughing.

Old Jan ‘I set up the net then went in to tuck it in. That’s when I saw the money on the bed.’ (Laughs sheepishly.)

Ubon ‘I told you to search for it, didn’t I?’ Old Jan (Looking like she won’t accept the blame.) ‘Who’d’ve thought it was in the net, nurse?’

Lamjiak ‘Where’s the money now?’

Old Jan holds out her hand to show her. Everybody can now smile.

Old Bunruean (As soon as she sees the money.) ‘I told you already I didn’t take it, and I didn’t. You didn’t believe me.’

Old Jan (Looking embarrassed.) ‘I ne’er said you took it.’

Old Bunruean ‘How can you say this? You said your nightstand was next to my bed. What else could that mean?’ (Turns to complain to Lamjiak.) ‘You see, nurse, TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

236 what the truth is. She hid it into her net, then she claimed I stole it.’

Lamjiak ‘She didn’t hide it. Come on. Any-way, it’s found now, that’s the only thing that matters. Nobody’s accusing anybody.’

Old Bunruean ‘I’m the aggrieved party, nurse. She called me a thief. My ancestors never had such a streak.’

Old Jan (Pleading.) ‘Mrs. Bunruean, I ne’er said you were a thief, I swear.’

Lamjiak (To end the matter.) ‘Come on, now. We live together here, let’s not quarrel. You go now. Go and do what you have to do. Go.’ (Lamjiak speaks curtly. She still has work to do.)

They all leave and go back to their beds.

Ubon (Tells Old Jan.) ‘Take good care of it, okay, granny.’ (Then walks across to carry on with her work.)

Old Jan (Looks at Old Bunruean’s receding back.) ‘Ne’er said you did, Mrs. Bunruean.’

Old Bunruean (Walks on deliberately without turning round to look. Says with a resentful, sulking voice.) ‘Now don’t! Don’t try to apologize.’

Then everything goes back to normal, like every day.

Everybody gets ready, sets up her mosquito net, tucks it CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

237 in, while the two nurses clean the bed-ridden bodies. It’s been like this for a long time, and so will it be in future.

Having finished with Bed 4, Ubon carries the bucket of water into the shower room, while Lamjiak washes her towel and cleans herself. Ubon washes her towel and changes the water in the bucket. Lamjiak hangs the towel on the rack, then turns the bucket over and puts it in its usual place.

Lamjiak (Encouragingly.) ‘The work’s almost over.’

Ubon (Smiles.) ‘Yes, there’s only Old Yoo’s bed left.’ (Bends down and lifts the bucket.)

They walk out of the shower room together without saying anything further. They know in their hearts that before long their duties will be over, their burden will be over for today. They’ll have time to rest, have some personal time, time to think on their own.

That’s what Ubon, who is single, can do. Her work over, she has time to rest. At least she’ll have time to consider whether to stay here or give up this job. But as for Lamjiak, even when her work here is over, she must go back to do her motherly duty by her children until they are asleep. That’s when she’ll truly have time to rest.

They walk their separate ways. Lamjiak turns by Old Sorn’s bed towards the cell.

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238 Ubon walks straight to Old Yoo’s bed. She comes to it, sees that Old Yoo is fast asleep. She slowly puts down the bucket of water by the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, picks the towel out of the water and wrings it, then carefully takes the blanket off the lower part of Old Yoo’s body. In her heart, she doesn’t like doing this. She doesn’t like to bother her when she is sleeping, but she forces herself to do it. She doesn’t want excreta to stay and spread and court infection. She reaches out to grab Old Yoo’s leg, meaning to slowly fold it, but she feels that the skin is unusually dry and cold and the leg stiff. She takes it all in and swiftly takes her hands off.

‘Granny! Granny!’ she calls out gently, shaking the body lightly at the same time. ‘Granny! Granny!’

But the body still sleeps tight, does not respond.

She wipes her hands on her shirt until they are dry, then brings one up to Old Yoo’s nose, as if unwilling to believe what she is thinking.

‘Lamjiak! Lamjiak!’ Ubon shouts, her voice sharp.

‘What is it?’ Lamjiak comes rushing out of the cell. In her hurry, she forgets to slip on the latch.

‘Old Yoo’s dead,’ Ubon tells her sadly.

‘What! I just saw her and she was fine. You sure?’

‘Yes. She isn’t breathing. Her body’s already stiff.’

Lamjiak grabs an arm and shakes it, then checks the pulse at the wrist.

‘It’s as if she knew. This morning she asked to be CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

239 washed, and made merit as well.’ Ubon’s voice is shaky.

Her feelings right now are like she has just lost an old relative of hers.

‘Yes, she’s gone.’ Lamjiak takes her hand off the wrist of the body lying peaceably on the bed. ‘You’re fine now, aren’t you, granny?’ she tells the body.

‘Yes, she must be, Lamjiak. She looks so peaceful, smiling in her sleep.’ Ubon is staring at the face. ‘Go away in peace, granny,’ she mumbles.

‘I’ll go and tell the worker to take care of it,’ Lamjiak says to Ubon in a low voice.

And so it is that the bad news spreads swiftly throughout the village. Even before Lamjiak has left the ward, they all come muttering and crowd around Old Yoo’s bed.

Ubon sets about washing the body as if that body is still alive— I see the light project a faint beam from above onto Old Mrs. Yoo’s bed and gradually increase in intensity, while the neon lights are turned off one after the other until only the beam of light from above is left to shine brightly on Old Mrs. Yoo’s bed out of the surrounding darkness.

It is an eerie picture.

Medium-range

(High-angle shot.) Of the white naked corpse lying on the bed. While Ubon cleans the body, the others who have crowded around to watch do not exTIME | CHART KORBJITTI

240

Close-up

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change a word. They are seen merely as dark shadows beyond the circle of light. (Ubon works unhurriedly. One can see how conscientious she is about her work, as if to pay a last homage to the departed.) Hold the picture until Ubon bends down to unlock the nightstand and select the newest set of clothes to put on the corpse. /Cut (Low-angle shot.) Of Ubon’s face looking down at the body with tears welling up in her eyes. /Cut (As seen through Ubon’s eyes.) Of the face of the corpse, asleep and smiling happily. /Cut Of Ubon dressing the corpse in a white, short-sleeved shirt. /Cut (Slow travelling.) Of Old Erp’s face.

After a while, the picture slowly travels through the faces of all—successively, Old Thapthim, Old Nuan, Old Jan, Old Bunruean and Old Sorn. Each face is looking at the corpse with the sorrow of having lost a friend.

Yet another friend has passed away. A friend who shared the same room, the same meals. Even though of late she could no longer talk, she was still a friend. We CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

241 could still see her, a friend sharing the same fate. From now on, we won’t see her any longer. There will be nothing left to see. Before long they’ll take her personal effects away to make room for someone else. All that will be left will be her friends’ memories. And later, when the lot of us follows her, nobody will know that she used to exist.

There’s nothin’, right? Isn’t that it? Old Sorn asks herself.

As she looks at Ubon putting a new tube skirt on Old Yoo, she thinks about herself. When her time comes, it’ll be like this. She’ll be washed and dressed in a new set of clothes. Her friends will be around her waiting to send her off. She feels as if she stands looking at herself lying dead on the bed.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, she thinks. She comes to feel jealous for the friend who has passed away, passed away with a smiling face, a face full of happiness. She doesn’t know if among her friends now standing around some are feeling sad, but as for herself, she feels glad that her friend has gone peacefully.

You must be happy, otherwise you wouldn’t be smilin’, she thinks of telling that body, but there is no answer.

She looks intently at the face of her friend once again, as if to press for an answer, but that face still smiles peacefully, unaware of anything. Unaware of who will do what to the body. Unaware of her friend’s question.

Unaware of the presence of her friends around her. Old Sorn comes to have a strange feeling about the face she TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

242 sees, about the face she is seeing right now. Even though it’s almost the same as Yoo’s, she believes that the body lying on the bed is not her friend Yoo any longer.

She unwittingly smiles as a thought comes to her.

My dear Yoo, this isn’t you any longer. You’ve disappeared. The body lyin’ in front of me here isn’t you. It’s just a corpse. A human corpse. What lies here is but a corpse. As for the part that was you, my friend, it has disappeared. What lies smilin’ here isn’t my friend Yoo. I don’t know who it is. It’s just a human body.

In that case, the value of a human body is only that of a corpse, isn’t it?

What’s left in the end is only a corpse, isn’t it?

Old Sorn turns to look at her friends who stand around looking at the corpse. What she sees here is nothing but corpses. Standing corpses looking at a corpse.

I’m a corpse too, then why the heck should we stand lookin’ at a corpse?

She laughs out, amused. Her laughter makes the aggrieved circle turn to look at her.

‘What are you laughing about, my dear Sorn?’ Old Bunruean turns to ask frostily.

‘I’m not. I’m thinkin’ of poor Yoo.’ Old Sorn forces her smiling face to stop smiling.

‘You don’t seem to be in your right mind.’ Old Bunruean shakes her head in puzzlement, then turns to look again at the body wearing new clothes on the bed.

Ubon is arranging the clothes, pulling here, tugging CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

243 there, making sure there is no unseemly fold, appraising her work until she is satisfied she has done her duty by that body to perfection. Then she gets up and, clutching the edge of the bed, stands looking at the body of Old Yoo. ‘You can leave, now, granny. You’ve nothing to worry about any more,’ she instructs that body for the last time.

And so it is that this final instruction makes tears overflow the eyes of some of the bodies standing around, each realizing that the time has come for a final separation, and that there’s no way they’ll ever see her again— The picture of these dark bodies standing racked with sobs in the darkness outside of the circle of light is terribly oppressing and depressing. It makes me think of death.

Death hurts those who are left behind. No matter how good or bad a man is, no matter how many people he has killed, when he dies, believe me, there are people who are sorry – at least his children, his wife, his parents or his friends. But as far as I’m concerned, these days I don’t think any longer anybody will be unhappy when I die. I’m not worried about this at all. When my daughter and my wife were still alive, I admit I did think about it. I worried about them and thought they’d be sad. But now I don’t have to. I never think that there will be people standing around my body like with Old Mrs. Yoo lying over there.

And when that day comes, even if I happen to be lying dead alone, I’ll smile in welcome. At least, I’ve been able in this life to do the things I wanted to do, I’ve spent that life doing work I love. I wasn’t born to waste the rice of the TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

244 world. This should be enough, shouldn’t it, for a man’s life. Why should one bother other people by having them feel sad over you? These days, I’m not afraid of death. I’m always ready for it, ready every day. I never fear it. The only thing I fear is to be left with a life that can’t help itself, to be left with a life in which I cannot work. That’s the only thing I fear, really. But then, if that day must come, I’ll go up on stage to lie down on Old Mrs. Yoo’s bed instead.

Who the hell will know?

Who the hell will know?

Everybody is waiting.

After quite a while, Lamjiak walks in carrying a lantern, with four workers walking behind her bearing a coffin on their shoulders.

The whole world that has been waiting then begins to move.

Two workers help each other lower the body into the coffin, then close the lid.

Meanwhile, nobody talks to anybody else.

Lamjiak hands over the lantern to Ubon. Ubon takes it, then holds it as she takes the lead. The workers bearing the coffin walk in her footsteps, followed by Lamjiak, Old Erp, Old Jan, Old Bunruean, Old Nuan, Old Thapthim and Old Sorn.

The light gradually dims while the funeral procession gets underway in the passage. The blaze of the lantern thus brightens. The light from above is just bright enough to see the empty bed where Old Yoo used to lie.

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME

245 Ubon holding the lantern goes through the door, followed by the four workers carrying the coffin. The funeral procession exits through the door one at a time, one and then one and then one and then one and then one and then one, one at a time following the body.

‘There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!’ The shout from the cell resounds.

I see Old Mrs. Sorn turn back to look towards the cell.

She has a sudden happy smile. In her smile, it’s as if she has found some valuable she has been trying and trying to find all her life.

She walks past the door into the darkness. The door of the hospital ward slowly slides shut, and the light directed at Old Yoo’s bed goes out.

In the darkness, there is a scrreeech as if a door is opening.

The light from above falls down on the cell, projecting a brightness that hurts the eye. The door of the cell slowly opens, slowly, slowly, until it is wide open, allowing to see inside the cell. There is nothing at all. There is no utensil. There is not a single accessory that could certify that there used to be someone in that cell. It’s only an empty room.

It is only an empty room.

An empty room.

After a while, the light dims then goes out.

The clock strikes seven times.

Ticktack-ticktack.

TIME | CHART KORBJITTI

246 Ticktack-ticktack is still heard all the time.

The curtain slowly unrolls itself and falls.

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, 1981, 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.

Covers of successive Thai editions of Weila

French (Sonne l’heure – Le Seuil) and English (Howling Books) editions

CHART KORBJITTI | TIME