wanlaya's love | seinee saowaphong

wanlayaÊs love SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

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wanlayaÊs love TRANSLATED FROM THE THAI BY MARCEL BARANG

© THAI MODERN CLASSICS Internet edition 2008 | All rights reserved Original Thai edition, Khwamrak Khong Wanlaya, 1952

SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

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1 I love Paris!

Not because Paris has excellent wine and champagne.

Not because Paris has dancing cabarets such as Casino de Paris, Tabarin, Folies-Bergère, Lido and Naturiste. Not because Paris has the charm of the women of the Champs Élysées, Pigalle, Madeleine and Clichy.

Of course I will not deny that such attractions are part of what makes Paris the Paris everyone talks about, but they are only a small, nonessential part of it. Whoever knows only this much of Paris does not know Paris.

I love Paris because Paris is a city of life, a very old city which has seen many events of great import for the history of mankind, a city which has seen blood, tears, cruelty, struggle, sacrifice, betrayal and revolution. Paris may not have the latest buildings or be as spick-and-span as the capitals of some other countries, but its antique splendour and the events of the past which have etched invisible marks in the stone of its walls, on the cobbles that cover Place de la Concorde and on the stone slabs of the Bastille jail, which was so thoroughly taken apart that nothing of the main structure remains to be seen, the blood and tears that still flow and mix in the Seine over lichen-covered human bones and the rusty remains of old weapons – all this is the pride of Paris which no other city has and which makes it unlike any other. I love the Paris of Balzac, WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

4 Voltaire, Hugo and Rolland, the Paris of Pasteur and JoliotCurie, of Bizet and Gounod, of Delacroix, Rodin and Picasso, the Paris that artists and writers such as Heine, Goya, Chopin, Repin, Belinsky, Hemingway and Ehrenburg came to know at various periods in their lifetimes.

I like the ancient feel of Paris, the small old houses along the steep streets of Montmartre, the narrow, dark alleyways of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and Montparnasse, the movable flower and book stands along the quays of the Seine, the shade of the chestnut trees on a summer afternoon…

Some thirty years ago, after the First World War, young Thai students congregated at La Source and Dupont coffee shops in the Latin Quarter to discuss everything from affairs of the heart to political developments at home. At that time, the world was going through momentous changes: the Hohenzollern and Habsburg dynasties had fallen, the Austro-Hungarian empire had been dismantled and replaced by socialist republics in a new trend toward democracy – Poland, Czechoslovakia, Finland and Yugoslavia and, most outstanding of all, the socialist revolution in the former Russian empire.

Amid the disorders of post-war daily life, the economic depression prompted new thoughts and new struggles.

The disintegration of the old institutions foreboded the end of any lingering faith in the sacredness of the old order. No one was invulnerable, nothing was everlasting. The old had to give way to the new.

SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

5 After the Second World War, the coffee shops are still here but many things have changed. At the very least, the customers are no longer of the same ilk. Maurice Chevalier’s song ‘Paris will always be Paris’ had been on the lips of all Parisians before the war and even when the town was crawling with soldiers wearing the Swastika, but no one thinks of singing it now. Is Paris still Paris, I wonder. The time has come for a new generation.

Even Delacroix’s painting ‘La liberté guidant le peuple’ (Liberty Guiding the People) still gives heart to those who witness quarrels and arguments, as now Paris is the Paris of the Fourth Republic.

Life is something that does not hold still. The good old days are gone forever, but better days must surely lay ahead, as life definitely tends to evolve toward perfection and excellence.

At first glance, it looks like nothing has changed. The coffee shops are still crowded in the summer. The people of Paris still like to relax and discuss their thousand-and-one problems over a glass of Martini with small ice cubes and the zest of a lime in it. The women with slender bodies and fashionable, much copied hairdos and clothes are still around. In the little streets of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, which look so much alike that at night you hardly know which is which, under oldfashioned lampposts that throw a dim light in the evening, couples and groups of all sizes walk by, often singing songs of love or songs of strife, as some think of love WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

6 and romance while others think of struggle. ‘C’est la lutte finale…’

I love Paris and this is the reason why I am writing about life in Paris. It may be a task beyond the capacities of someone of my calibre but I am not worried because I write out of love. I have met many people in Paris; their life stories are interesting and, taken altogether, form a picture which highlights the progression of life in both wisdom and feeling during the era in which you and I live. Of all the natural phenomena, life is the most beautiful, and the most lovable lives are those of the young, because the door of their future is wide open to all kinds of wonderful possibilities. Besides, as you know, writers usually crave beauty, and this being so, how could they possibly neglect life?

Talking of Paris makes me think of Wanlaya, a Thai woman I met there. She was twenty-four years old, beautiful and a bright student. Would you like to know her?

Her name is Wanlaya, her surname – her surname is of no importance whatsoever, because one day she will probably use someone else’s; maybe yours, if you are a really good person. But beware, I am warning you, a woman like Wanlaya doesn’t love easily.

No, I am not trying to interpose myself, and I will tell you her story presently.

You may want to know how rich or poor she is. If she is rich, many of you may try your luck, because to marry a woman both rich and beautiful is the ultimate dream SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

7 of many a man. And if she is poor, several among you may rub your hands in satisfaction at the prospect of buying her body and soul as easily as if she were a socialite or an actress.

Wanlaya came from a family of ordinary people, who were rather poor, but she was a clever child who learned well and had a talent for music, and she was given a scholarship to pursue her musical studies in Paris, which she hoped to complete in the next two years.

Wanlaya was a young woman and as such had the awareness that a woman with ordinary feelings and emotions ought to have. And everybody knew that she had a male friend who was closer to her than anyone else. His name was Reiwat. He studied economics in England. Reiwat paid his way through university, as he was the heir of a noble family whose history could be traced back to the early Bangkok period, and he had both money and lineage. He came to Paris almost every year during the summer vacation, and all those who knew them both always saw the two of them out and about together. It was thought theirs would be one of the many love stories that end in ordinary bliss, but this was not to be.

It happened on a day in spring.

When Wanlaya stepped off the bus at Place des Pyramides at the corner of Rue de Rivoli and walked toward the Jardin des Tuileries, she found him already standing there waiting.

WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

8 ‘Have you been waiting long, Reiwat?’

‘Not long. Fifteen minutes only,’ Reiwat answered, took his Dunhill pipe out of his mouth and emptied the bowl by tapping it against the sole of his shoe.

‘Sorry to have kept you waiting,’ Wanlaya explained further. ‘Today, the last class was singing. No matter how hard we tried, the teacher wasn’t satisfied. By the time she let us go, it was several minutes past the hour.

That’s why I’m late to meet you.’

The two of them went into the park and strolled along gravel paths in the shade of trees through which sunrays seeped. They walked past a female painter whose hair was dishevelled in the manner of artists and who sat painting a picture of the coffee shop next to a flower bed with careless strokes of bleeding colours.

‘Are you thirsty, Wan? How about sitting over there for a drink?’

The young woman shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

Reiwat took out his tobacco pouch from his pocket and filled his pipe again. He was a young man with sharp features, neatly dressed in good-quality clothes. The black, tapered Dunhill pipe clamped between his teeth made him look even smarter.

‘I’m leaving for Bangkok tomorrow,’ he said after they had walked quietly for a while.

‘By plane?’

Reiwat nodded.

‘What’s the hurry?’

SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

9 ‘Actually, I wasn’t supposed to drop by Paris at all because my family insists on my returning at once. If you were not here, there would be no need for me to stop by,’ he said at his usual plodding pace.

Wanlaya threw him a brief glance but said nothing.

‘I came here–’ Some emotion seemed to make it increasingly difficult for him to let words pass through his lips. ‘Er – because I had something to tell you.’

Wanlaya was silent, her eyes fastened on the path. It seemed that she already knew what he was going to say.

Reiwat stared at the young woman walking beside him – at the profile his eyes were so familiar with and his heart had always found so impressive, even though, to be totally frank, the picture of her face in his mind had faded on occasion at the sight and contact of a few foreign women during his stay in London and of a few other women who had been in and out of his life. He shrugged as he thought about this. Everybody has weak points, he told himself and mentally swore that this was the face of the woman he loved.

He had known Wanlaya since they were in Thailand.

At the time, she was in her teens and he had told her of his feelings for her before he had gone to study abroad, but Wanlaya had said neither ‘yes’ nor ‘no’. She had told him there was plenty of time, and she wasn’t sure, as time may change many things. She had told him that when the time came, if he still wanted an answer from her, she would let him know what her feelings were.

WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

10 The two of them had kept in contact all this time and were on the best of terms.

‘I want to tell you,’ he went on with difficulty, ‘what I already told you once. I want to confirm it and I want an answer.’

There was no answer from the young woman. A sudden emotion raced to his head, sapping his confidence.

He reached out for her hand and held it in his. Wanlaya did not pull her hand free. They both continued walking in silence.

‘I need to know your decision about the future, Wan, because I must hurry back home and I don’t know what is waiting ahead,’ he said, speaking softly.

‘You haven’t told me what it is you want to talk to me about.’

‘You already know, Wan. I already told you once before I left for England.’

‘I really don’t. We’ve talked about so many things I can’t think of any one topic to discuss now. Since I don’t know, how can I give you the right answer?’

Reiwat was speechless for a moment. ‘I want to tell you I love you, and I’d like to know if you have the same feelings for me as I have for you.’

Wanlaya blushed but looked composed and calm. She suppressed her excitement and faced the problem at hand like someone whose mind was made up.

‘I am still a student,’ she replied under her breath.

‘Please answer my question to the point.’

SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

11 ‘That’s what I’m doing.’ Her voice was shaky. ‘I used to be fond of you, Reiwat, and I still am, but–’ Her voice died down. Reiwat’s heart was pounding. His face was deeply flushed. ‘But I’ve never entertained the idea of marrying you.’

A jumble of feelings coursed through him. A smarting pain pierced his confident and arrogant heart as he had never known before. He had never been disappointed in his family prestige and wealth. He had but always been given everything he asked for and always owned everything he wanted to own.

‘What is it about me that makes you unable to share your life with me?’ he asked with a voice that quavered and was tinged with conceit.

‘Many things.’

‘Such as?’

Wanlaya looked him boldly in the eye. ‘I think there’s much to be said to make you understand, and maybe telling you the truth will cut you to the quick.’

‘Go ahead. I love the truth as well.’

‘You don’t understand, Rei’, what women need from love.’

He shrugged. ‘Boats need open seas, roosters need high perches, and women need a happy and peaceful life.’

Wanlaya shook her head. A sarcastic smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. ‘Maybe it’s like that for some people – love for happiness, marriage for happiness. What you say is right, but your understanding of happiness and mine are different. To share the life of a man of a noble and WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

12 wealthy family like you would mean a smooth life of utterly boring routine – a life so flat I can clearly see from here the funeral pyre and obituary book awaiting me at the end of the road. I don’t want that kind of happiness. My happiness lies in anticipation, in strife and in risk, but not the kind of risk that turns wheeler-dealers into tycoons or into destitute overnight – the risk and struggle of those who do creative work. Maybe it’s like walking into the wild with a machete where no one has ever set foot, and then later the path once unknown to all shows the way to prosperity for those that come behind.’

‘You’re daydreaming,’ he said sarcastically.

‘True, sharing life with you will bring happiness and peace. You’ll work and look after the wealth accumulated for you by your ancestors and you’ll see to it that it grows and multiplies. On the social side, you’ll cast your vote every so often and may even stand for election to Parliament and be elected, which will enable you to protect the rights and interests of yourself and of those who have the same status as you, and will allow you to further garner fame and fortune. In the evening, friends who are from noble families like yours or have piles of money will come to your house for dinner. They’ll sit at the table and behave with the ever-so-stuffy decorum expected of the genteel. I may have to play the piano to entertain the guests, as a way to further assert your prominence and browbeat other people by the same token. They’ll applaud and praise me for my excellent musical performance, but I don’t want SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

13 that – at least, not from such a narrow circle of people. My happiness is in walking through grassy patches up a knoll, listening to the water flowing in a stream, eating rice wrapped in a banana or lotus leaf amid clumps of weeds or grass, and recording the simple and melodious tunes of village folk, which they have played and sung for generations, then arranging, sorting them out and classifying them according to modern methodology before they are gone forever.’

Wanlaya stopped speaking and shot a sideways glance at Reiwat, whose face looked set and tense as he drew fiercely on his pipe.

‘Where did you get these nonsensical ideas from?’ he asked without looking at her.

‘From life,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry, Reiwat, if what I say rubs you the wrong way, but we’re old enough to talk frankly and openly. I’ll love and marry a man who works – a man who does real work, not for himself or for his own status or to win fame and respect from other people, but a man who works for the sake of work itself and of the world in which he is born, a man who will be a part of the gigantic machine that is building a new kind of future, not someone who still clings to the hubs and cogs of that machine and spends each day seeking personal happiness to die in due course without leaving a trace behind.’

‘You – you’re an insane radical,’ he said, almost shouting.

Wanlaya smiled. I can’t help it, she thought.

‘We are in the second half of the twentieth century, but WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

14 there are still plenty of men who are still in the Middle Ages and think that women are inferior creatures and that their wife or wives are their personal property and have no right or liberty to think or do anything by themselves. But now the time has come to start anew in a big way.’ She stressed every word with the absolute conviction and confidence she felt in what she said. ‘The creation and development of a new ideal will burst wide open to the whole of mankind the gates that have been locked since time immemorial–’ Wanlaya stopped speaking as they walked across Place de la Concorde, which was bustling with vehicles. When they reached the corner of the Champs Élysées, Reiwat stopped.

‘I think we’ve talked enough,’ he said with a harsh voice.

‘I need a couple of pegs of cognac.’ Then he headed for the nearest café.

‘Au revoir,’ Wanlaya said, then walked another way, which meant that the lives of these two had now parted, each going its separate way, and that they would grow further apart with every passing day.

I am not much surprised. Love is part of the dynamism of life. The outlook of an individual is bound to change.

And if love cannot adjust to the changes in life, then it must disintegrate.

From that moment on, I began to take an interest in Wanlaya, or to be more specific, in the exalted thoughts of this petite woman.

SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

15

2 Phaijit was second secretary at the Royal Thai embassy. He was well built and well groomed. Sartorial neatness to the point of meticulousness was one of his personality traits.

Phaijit had obtained a bachelor’s degree in England, and his career as a civil servant had thus progressed rather rapidly. He was not quite thirty-six, yet had already been promoted to second secretary at the Royal Thai embassy in Paris. Intelligent and ambitious, he was endeavouring to climb the civil service ladder without any time wasted.

Long a bachelor, he had loved and courted several women, most of them both beautiful and well-to-do, but had finally settled on Tueanta, the latest woman he had made advances to, and had sent his elders to ask for her hand on his behalf. Phaijit was clever. He never took any action, any step in life, without making a cautious calculation of what was in it for him. He had received a high education abroad, but his status was still far from secure.

His father had been bestowed the title of Luang∗, which did not carry much property with it. The farsighted Phaijit had concluded that his marriage must have nothing to do with love or feeling, but must be yet another means of forwarding his career and status. Indeed, ∗ An ancient Thai title of nobility somewhat equivalent to the European viscount

WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

16 how could an ambitious man like him make time for true love?

He had been attracted and had become close to several women of good standing, who were daughters of moneyed merchants or in some cases of high-ranking officials of Jao Phraya∗ rank. His foreign education and the bright future ahead of him were assets that put him on a par with the wealth and prestige of noble families. There would be no objections from these women’s parents were he to propose marriage. But Phaijit was cleverer than that. His thinking was that of a master chess player who plans several moves ahead – not just the next move, as average players do.

Thus he married Tueanta.

He had lofty ambitions and craved elegance, fame and success in the Career. He dreamt of being a plenipotentiary or an ambassador dressed in full gold-on-black regalia on the occasion of the presentation of credentials to a Head of State, and of spending his life in the highest stratum of society with a most exalted status. He longed for the life of a diplomat that would enable him to shake hands with prime ministers and ministers of foreign affairs, be a guest of kings and presidents, dance with blue blood, sit in huge, bedight sedans driven by manly frocked chauffeurs, sipping champagne, and mouthing words of honey in public speeches as in private commendations. ∗ The equivalent of a duke in pre-1932 Siam

SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

17 And this is why he married Tueanta, because Tueanta was the daughter of one of the Reformists∗, who was an influential figure in the political arena at the time.

Although her father was not as wealthy as the big-time merchants or her family as venerable as those of the old aristocracy, he held enough power these days to make things happen when nobody else could. Staying in the shadow of his father-in-law’s influence, he thought, would make it easier and quicker for him to climb the golden ladder.

Phaijit was adept at contacting people who were senior to him, and he was one-hundred-percent qualified to be a diplomat. Whenever his seniors met him, they invariably praised him for being a fine, highly educated young man whose gentility of manners was impeccable. If he had to stand in their presence, he stood on tight legs, hands clasped, and bowed low from waist to head with courteous modesty. If he had to be seated, he kept his knees together, would not place his elbows on the armrests but kept them by his side, his head slightly tilted forward. When he said ‘yes, sir’, his voice was grave and gracious. Courtesy had a deep and tight hold on him.

Even when he was on the telephone to them, he behaved as if he were in their presence.

But then, his colleagues, from civil servants of equal

∗ The group of civilian and military figures who overthrew the Siamese absolute monarchy in 1932

WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

18 rank to clerks and janitor, saw him in another light. With them, Phaijit behaved in a dignified, imposing manner.

His words had the ring of authority. He stalked into rooms with heavy, self-assured steps. When he sat down at his desk, he always leaned back, chin up, shoulders level, his mouth clamped on his pipe.

Phaijit was a shrewd calculator and thought only of weighty matters with a brain that was thoroughly circumspect, not through heartbeats or through idle daydreams that could never come true. He had banked on a marriage outside of his career path, but he was clever and deliberate enough not to rush into it tactlessly. He had prepared the ground to build a firm foundation for his rise in a positive way in order to double the returns in due time. He had a good knowledge of English, but he did not know French well enough. Diplomats have to know at least two foreign languages, and French is the language of diplomacy. Therefore he needed to learn French. To come to France was the first step in his plan, and it can be said without exaggeration that his hope was fulfilled thanks not a little to his father-in-law’s connections. Private and public interest meshed nicely indeed.

And this was one thing that showed Phaijit’s shrewdness.

High society in Thailand is neither very extensive nor very complex. It is easy to figure out who is who in high circles. Phaijit had a clear vision of the situation and SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

19 knew well how to use such knowledge to his advantage and self-aggrandizement. Since the end of the Second World War Paris had become a point of passage for Thai people going to continental Europe, England or America. Even though there were not as many Thai people and Thai students in France as in England, there was a constant flow of Thai individuals in and out of Paris – sometimes special envoys, sometimes administrative inspectors, even some bona fide traders and ordinary tourists. Phaijit knew that success in his line of work depended on socializing. He found the time to welcome the people coming through Paris, but was astute enough to choose whom to welcome and whom not to, just as he knew when and how to address someone and when to keep quiet. For those who held top positions of power, he made time to welcome them, show them round and see to their welfare in every way, but for subalterns, ‘I’m so sorry my functions leave me with so little time to spare. Next time you’re free, let me know, sir, don’t hesitate, come and have a meal with us at home…’

To call Tueanta a beautiful woman would be an exaggeration but she was far from unattractive. After she had obtained a BA degree from Chulalongkorn University, she had stayed at home and for a year had wondered what kind of work she should do that would suit her condition. Family wise, there was no need for her to rush into any work. So Tueanta stayed home and spent her time reading, helping with the lighter household WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

20 chores and strolling about, and it was during that time that Phaijit entered her life. She was a young woman who had a bookish understanding of the world. She was candid and meek, did not put on airs and was devoid of guile. She had spent most of her life as a girl in the company of her mother, who was a good wife to her husband and a good mother to her children. Tueanta hardly knew anything about her father, his thoughts or his work, except that she felt he was overly busy. Besides his official duties, he sat on numerous committees and usually came back very late at night. Tueanta had her meals alone with her younger siblings, listened to the wireless and then went to bed while her mother sat waiting for her husband quietly and patiently. Her mother never said a word, never complained, never questioned why he came home so late. Her father never did anything around the house. Sometimes he didn’t even know how many servants there were, or where his clothes were kept. Her mother took care of everything. Such was the life of a woman, Tueanta thought, being a housewife, taking care of a husband and children, and that was all.

Tueanta was courteous and mild-mannered. That her father was a powerful man did not go to her head. She remained unassuming and behaved in the manner expected of a gentlewoman, and her adolescent years went by smoothly. There were a few occasions when Tueanta brooded over the strange glances she caught some SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

21 young men throwing at her. Wasn’t it what was vaunted in the beautiful poems of Byron and Pope, Tennyson and Browning, in Khun Chang Khun Phaen∗ and Lilit Phralor∗∗? But a woman like Tueanta was a model lady right out of Kritsana’s Teachings∗∗∗ and Precepts for Women∗∗∗∗. Love and marriage were for elders to arrange.

She was partial to the beauty of poetry, to starlight and moonlight, and felt secret stirrings deep in her heart but they had no way of making themselves felt in the open due to the strict observation of customs that was the prerogative of Siamese ladies.

When Phaijit entered her life, although there was no intimacy before marriage, she prepared herself to love him as much as a woman can love a man. Her parents had not loved each other before their marriage was arranged by their elders, yet family life had always been smooth and happy. She walked into wedlock almost as if into a dream, but with the pride of being willing to love and sacrifice for the man to whom she was entrusting her whole life. Her entire thoughts and feelings were based on the pictures of delicacy, warmth and deep

∗ A collective epic work of great poetic force composed in the early 19th century ∗∗ The first tragic and gracefully erotic love affair written in Thai in the late 14th century by an unknown poet inspired by a northern tale ∗∗∗ Kritsana Sorn Nong, by Krom Phra Paramarnuchit, a contemporary of King Rama III ∗∗∗∗ Supharsit Sorn Ying, by Sunthorn Phoo

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22 emotions conjured up by Byron and Shelley, Sunthorn Phoo∗ and Narinthibeit∗∗.

Phaijit was a gentleman. He knew how to treat his wife with tact and tenderness, yet never mentioned Sunthorn Phoo or even Byron, Tennyson or any other of the poets of the country in which he had done his studies. To quote Sunthorn Phoo or Seeprart∗∗∗ was perhaps old hat for a foreign-educated student, but why did he never mention western poets? Or did he think someone as homegrown as Tueanta could not appreciate lofty world literature?

Tueanta had followed Phaijit to Paris, not in the hope of studying Voltaire or Hugo, who had written the rather unbelievable stories she had read when she was at university, but as the wife of a second secretary of the embassy. She believed that their coming to Paris was due to her husband’s merit, and this made her even more willing to love and make sacrifices for him.

‘The distinction of a man rubs off on his wife…’∗∗∗∗ Phaijit was incensed that the janitor of the embassy whom he had instructed to get him a packet of Dunhill imported from England from the customs official had ∗ The best-known of Thai classical poets – the people’s poet (1786-1855) ∗∗ A contemporary of King Rama II and Sunthorn Phoo – the Byron of Thai poets ∗∗∗ The prince of poets – a contemporary of King Narrai in the late 17th century ∗∗∗∗ From Kritsana’s Teachings

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23 come back empty-handed, though it was no fault of the janitor at all. His irritation made him give up the drafting of two urgent dispatches and grab the newspaper instead to kill time until he had recovered his calm.

There was a knock on the swinging door. He almost let out a harsh expletive but checked himself in time when he saw that the legs behind the swinging panels were those of a woman. A man must always be civil to a woman was one of Phaijit’s tenets.

‘Come in.’

The owner of the legs pushed the swinging door open, stepped inside, raised her hands and bowed to him.

He folded the newspaper, nudged it to one side and returned the greeting. ‘How come you’re so early today?’

Wanlaya smiled broadly. ‘I’ve come to bother you about the allowance. Can I have it today?’

Phaijit smiled. His mood suddenly improved. ‘Oh yes, it’s the beginning of the month already. Do sit down.’

He fussily forwarded a chair for her to sit.

‘Thank you.’

‘Let me check if the receipt’s been typed.’

Phaijit walked out. For the few, beautiful female students, he insisted on handing over the grant himself.

As for the male students, he let someone else do it and merely countersigned the receipt.

Phaijit walked back in.

‘I’ve given instructions. You’ll get the money in a moment. Can you wait ten minutes?’

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24 ‘No problem,’ Wanlaya answered. ‘I’m free this morning.’

Wanlaya stood up.

‘Eh? Where are you going?’

‘I think I’ll sit in the waiting room and read the Thai newspapers. And besides, sitting here would disturb you in your work.’

‘Not at all. I have nothing to do. Sit down and let’s chat. The papers in the waiting room are old ones. The new ones haven’t arrived yet.’

Wanlaya thus had to sit down again.

‘You’ve got a nice brooch. Where did you buy it?’

Phaijit pointed at a small jumping fox pinned on the left side of Wanlaya’s bosom.

‘I bought it in a small boutique near Opéra. Do you like it?’

‘You certainly know what to buy. It means you have the eyes of an artist. I like everything you’re wearing.’

‘Actually, I bought it because it was cheap, only a few francs.’

‘Well, that shows you’re clever. You know a bargain when you see one.’

An official brought the money and receipt to Phaijit, who counted the money and handed over the receipt to Wanlaya for her to sign. She received the money from him – ‘Thank you, sir.’ – folded it and slipped it into her bag without counting it.

‘Count it first. If you’re short-changed you can’t come and blame me afterward,’ he said humorously. ‘Er – you’re SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

25 free, you said. How about having lunch with me?’ Before Wanlaya could answer, Phaijit went on: ‘Let’s go find something to eat around the Champs Élysées.’

‘Why don’t you invite me to your house?’ Wanlaya said, laughing mockingly.

Phaijit was a little crestfallen. ‘My wife’s a poor cook.’

‘Then is Mrs. Tueanta coming too?’

He shook his head.

‘Thank you, but sorry, I must refuse.’

‘Why? Can’t you go out with me without my wife coming along?’

‘That’s not it, but I haven’t told the housekeeper. The cook will complain if she’s prepared something and then I don’t come.’

‘Whether you eat or not, she’ll charge full rate anyway.’

‘But it isn’t proper. If I had told her beforehand, then it wouldn’t matter.’

‘Is that so? Then next time before taking you out I’ll have to issue an invitation card.’

Wanlaya laughed as if she took what he said as a joke.

Right then, an official came in to ask Phaijit to take a telephone call. Wanlaya took advantage of this to turn her back and leave.

Montree and I were sitting in the waiting room reading the newspapers when Wanlaya walked in.

‘Hello!’ Montree and I said almost at the same time.

‘Hello!’ she answered.

WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

26 ‘I know,’ Montree said with a smile. ‘Today you’re rich. Your treat, all right? Where shall we go?’ He turned to me. ‘How about the Chinese place at Luxembourg?’

Wanlaya laughed. ‘You’ve just been paid too, haven’t you?’

‘A pittance, once they had deducted all I had already borrowed,’ Montree answered. ‘So what do you say about treating us?’

‘I have to go back home for lunch.’

‘My luck,’ Montree said.

Wanlaya sat down. I shifted the newspapers toward her.

‘These days the papers are full of new words,’ Montree said. ‘Do you know what ‘saeng’∗ means?’

Wanlaya shook her head.

‘I don’t know either how widely it applies.’

After reading the newspapers, the three of us walked out of the embassy. After we had taken Wanlaya to the Métro station for her to return to her place at Trocadéro, Montree and I took a cab to have lunch around Luxembourg.

∗ An outdated slang word meaning ‘pilfering’, ‘filching’, ‘nicking’

SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE

27

3 Several of us had been sitting around the same table in the Café de la Paix near Opéra since four in the afternoon, some drinking lemon juice, some Martinis, and some beer.

As evening fell, the flow of passers-by on the pavements thickened, because that time of day was a change of shift in Paris. People walked past ceaselessly. The eyes of the young men that we were followed some pretty young thing passing by until she melted into the crowd, then turned to fasten on a new one. Some were kind enough to whisper or nudge the others who weren’t looking to get them to turn and take notice, and at times conversation stopped dead without any prearranged signal or consultation when an exceptionally beautiful goddess glided gracefully by, drawing all eyes after her like searchlights tailing an airplane until she went out of sight.

We Thai usually have no apéritif hour before dinner, nor are we in the habit of sitting in cafés in the evening. Yet there was nothing strange in the fact that we were beginning to follow the daily-life rituals of Parisians: everything must be done according to local conditions and in tune with the times.

Also, like most other people of the same age, Thai students found time to study, work, and enjoy themselves on occasion, and when they assembled for a chat, their conversations covered a broad range of topics, from the vital WANLAYA’S LOVE | SEINEE SAOWAPHONG

28 statistics of women to the news of the day, world events and political developments, from frivolous titbits to matters of great weight; and from those conversations could be fathomed who was interested in what and who thought what on matters of general interest. As for more personal concerns, if they were not divulged, who could know about them?

After the end of the Second World War, not many Thai students went to study in Paris. Most went to England, seemingly for the simple reason that Paris offered temptations that led young men astray, and besides, Paris seemed to be a breeding ground for revolutionaries.

Those who went to study in Paris tended to be hot heads who liked revolution, and revolution seemed to have fairly negative rather than positive connotations. To go to England to study was the proper, gentlemanly thing to do...

In the early 1950s, novelist‐diplomat Sakchai Bamrungphong, now better known under his pen name Seinee Saowaphong, wrote two socially committed novels that flopped – Wanlaya’s love and Ghosts – and as the diplomat prospered the novelist fell into oblivion. Two decades later, however, the ‘student revolution’ of 1973 resur‐ rected these generous, prophetic works and their author was given a second literary life and pride of place as Thai‐ land’s foremost progressive writer. Proclaimed a National Artist in 1990, Seinee Saowaphong is ninety years old this year.

SEINEE SAOWAPHONG | WANLAYA’S LOVE