An elephant named Maliwan, -พลายมลิวัลย์

4/27/13 An elephant named Maliwan, Thanom Mahaphaoraya
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AN ELEPHANT
NAMED MALIWAN
Thanorm Maha-paoraya
A 1942 novel translated from the Thai by

Phongdeit Jiangphatthanarkit
Editing, postscript and revision by
Marcel Barang
First published in Thai as a book, Phlai Maliwan, 1946

First published by THAI MODERN CLASSICS, 1995
Revised, Internet version 2006, typeset in Palatino Linotype
1
Above and to the left, a whip of buffalo hide was raised as high as it would go, and at the count of five, came down
lashing the back of the culprit. Thirty seconds later, a similar whip was raised on the right side and came whooshing
down in the same way, and this went on at a steady rhythm, from left to right, under the command of one man, who
stood arms akimbo, shouting unremittingly: “Left... Right... Right hardah... Left’s gooood!”
The punishment proceeded without mercy or the slightest attention to the groans and moans of distress that
betrayed the culprit’s excruciating pain. A group of men and women stood by, exchanging comments in low voices.
Some gritted their teeth, and tears welled up in their eyes; others whispered to one another that had the haulage
equipment manager not stood there issuing instructions, the officials would probably have lowered the punishment to
fifty or sixty lashes out of compassion.
The slim, tall man who stood leaning against a tree behind a group of workers at some distance from the crowd of
web.archive.org/web/20080417182020/http://www.thaifiction.com/english/2maliwan.htm 1/34
local people clearly heard their compassionate whispers and the scene he saw made him wince inside at every crack of
the whips, until he felt he could not stand watching that heartbreaking sight any longer – but then, he was not quite
sure whether what was happening wasn’t a dream.
He did remember that early the night before, the captain had invited him over to his cabin for a nightcap, and he
had stayed there until – until when? He had no idea. On the way back, it seemed that he had stopped and stood
clutching the railing of the deck, looking at the water the ship parted into waves big and small. He had seen the crests
of white foam crash into each other and disappear into the dense darkness ahead. He vaguely recalled that the ship
had veered to anchor at a port he did not know, nor did he know whether it had been right or wrong for him to leave
the railing, take a few staggering steps and stumble clumsily down some stairs to find himself sitting among a few
passengers in a row boat which had come alongside the ship. A little after that, he had hauled himself up onto a kind
of bridge the row boat had come to, and then walked aimlessly until a roomy container of sorts had stood in his way.
He remembered clearly that he had eased himself onto it to take some rest because the thought had crossed his mind
that he shouldn’t wander too far away from the ship, though he understood the row boat would return soon and stop
by to take him back to her, as he was certain she would never leave any passenger behind on the long and cluttered
bridge.
So how was it then that at dawn the water had turned into land and the white-crested waves into a thick forest of
trees? The men and women standing around seemed ready to go about their daily work, and the most amazing thing
was that he could see in front of him a white elephant, whose legs were tied to big poles, and who was being lashed left
and right. Had he become raving mad because the alcohol had gone to his head, as several doctors and many friends
and relatives had warned him about time after time? Had his destiny finally caught up with him now that his latest
attempt at giving up alcohol had once again failed, and he had been far from any bottle this morning? He knew
himself and was aware that shunning alcohol by going on a cruise aboard the Phanurangsee had been a grave mistake
and, even worse, that his own obduracy would never again allow him to try and accommodate the pleas of Orraphin
and other members of the family, because he hated to be such dismal failure in circumstances that would make him an
object of pity, even if it was failure in trying to turn his useless self into a worthy person.
His rambling thoughts were brought back to the scene at hand by trumpeting that resounded all over the forest, as
the elephant who was being punished called to other animals at liberty somewhere in the deep jungle. He wondered
again about his sanity. He definitely wasn’t mad. All of his organs were performing normally. Each shriek made him
feel as if the threaded dry-leather laces with which the officials lashed the raw hide of the elephant were inflicting sharp
pains to his own chest. Therefore, instead of forcing himself to witness the torture of the animal and share the
excitement of a few of the men there, he made up his mind that he had better find a way out of the area and return to
the ship, so that he wouldn’t show his compassion for the pitiful creature. This would be tantamount to meddling in
other people’s affairs, the sort of behaviour which had taught him a painful lesson in the not-so-distant past.
As he stood there thinking carefully of a way to extricate himself, another kind of doubt arose in his mind. In this
thick forest, all the workers were dressed in the same way, with dark-blue shorts and shirts of the same colour. Both
shirts and shorts looked like they had never been washed and showed streaks of dry sweat and grime at the edges.
They gave out a foul body odour every time their owners gesticulated as they enjoyed watching the animal being
tortured. These men, when they turned to look at him, did not seem to have any curiosity as to who he was or where
he had come from, though they did whisper among themselves as they looked at the way he was dressed before
turning back to watch the whipping. Therefore, if he hoped to find an answer to his puzzlement by asking for answers
from these workers, who spoke Thai with an accent so strange and words so weird that at times he could not
understand them, he was bound to be disappointed.
As he stood thinking, unable to make up his mind whether he should tell his story to these people and risk being
laughed at, all of a sudden another amazing picture materialized before him. It was the figure of a young man with a
tall, well-built if slightly stout body formally dressed in brown shorts, a neatly pressed white shirt, thick long socks and
brown leather shoes. The man came to a stop at some distance to the right of the gathering, took off his pith helmet
and stroked his hair to tidy it, out of habit, it seemed, rather than foppishness.
“How come it isn’t over yet? I’ve got work waiting. This is no time for merriment,” he said in a loud voice which
had none of the unfamiliar accent of the local people.
“Sarry, bass, we begon late this morn’, sah,” the man who presided over the punishment reported.
The ‘bass’ looked unhappy as he turned to walk away, but then he caught a glance of a stranger stepping out of the
group of workers to intercept him. This time it was the local man who was amazed. The stranger was tall and slim and
had an elongated face with fine skin. Though he had a fair complexion, his face looked rather seasoned by wind and
sun. He wore western-style trousers, and a dark-blue flannel vest over a lapelled shirt. His heelless canvas shoes were of
the same white colour as his trousers and shirt, but all of his garments, though they looked well-cut and expensive,
were passably rumpled. There were dark smudges on his sleeves, and stains on his trousers and shoes. A shock of
unkempt hair fell over his forehead. His ease of movement and confident bearing didn’t agree with his clothes, which
were spotted with soot from head to foot. The young local man turned round to look for the rest of the tour group, but
saw no one similarly dressed or remotely comparable to him. Besides, it was too early in the morning for tourists.
Could it be that this man had come to seek his fortune by gambling with the workers, as inveterate gamesters were
wont to do?
When the two men stood face to face, they looked one another in the eye with suspicion, each trying to fathom out
the other.
“I do beg your pardon.” The stranger was the first to speak. “You must be the man in charge here?” His question
was rather terse, but his voice was even and had the proper and sonorous timbre and clarity of elocution that denoted
upper-class breeding. This alerted and worried the other man, unable as he was to decide what to make of the stranger.
What he could do, though, was answer the man’s question without delay.
“Yes, I’m the superintendent in charge of this forestry concession,” he replied, then took his pipe out of his mouth.
The way they spoke as well as the civil manner in which they deferred to each other seemed to be imposed to each by
the subtle power of the other’s fine presence, something which only instinct could perceive and no spoken or written
language could ever explain.
As for the stranger, when he moved closer and noticed the genial disposition shown in the other man’s face and the
perspicacity of his large, round eyes, he made up his mind there and then to ask for his help in explaining his presence
here.
“Then perhaps you can help me puzzle out how it is that last night I was on board a ship and now I find myself in
the jungle?”
The superintendent of the forestry concession stopped entertaining the notion that the stranger might be a fortune
seeker. He looked at the questioner in puzzlement, and then it was as though he could see right through the stranger’s
imposing presence and personality to his very self, so he asked:
“Do you remember which ship you were on?”
“The Phanurangsee.”
“Oh!” The superintendent bowed his head, his whole body almost doubled over. “What a strange way to travel! The
Phanurangsee only stopped to deliver the mailbag and take passengers on back to Bangkok. I guess it was about three
in the morning when she anchored at Siracha, only for a short call, mind you, sir, but you are now standing in a
forestry concession of the Siracha Company, fifty kilometres from town.”
“I sat on a big box and saw with my own eyes the ship was still there, so how could she leave her passengers
behind?” The man stopped speaking and bit his lips as if deep in thought. A haze of alcohol still numbed his brain. “It
seems I jumped into a small boat and then climbed up at the end of a long bridge, a very long bridge indeed. I took
several steps and still couldn’t get to the end of it. When I saw a carriage or a box – or was it a carriage shaped like a
box? – I sat down on it to rest. So by what kind of miracle do I find myself into your forestry concession?”
The expression on the local man’s face showed that he was doing his best to hold back his laughter.
“No miracle, actually, sir. I think I can guess what happened. Begging your pardon, wasn’t there a big party on
board last night?”
The stranger’s face broke into a smile. “Yes, indeed. Since we went on board in Bangkok, there’s never been a free
moment till this morning and as we were to leave today, the captain, the engineer and the passengers – me and two
foreigners – celebrated and had a swell time.”
To show he had similar inclinations, the superintendent opined: “Indeed, a sea trip is a perfect occasion for
celebration. I understand.”
“Wait. Tipsy as I was, I still could see that water was water, but this is uncanny: when I opened my eyes again, the
sea had turned into a forest.”
“That’s not difficult to explain. You went to sleep on a railroad car. You see, in the evening, we use a train to take
the logs to port and once they’ve been loaded on the lighters, some time before daybreak the train starts back to the
forest, occasionally bringing supplies with it. The box you said you slept on must have been the last car, the one that
carries firewood from the forest. As it happened, there was nothing to be taken from port last night, so nobody checked
the cars on the return trip.
“The ship you saw must have been the steamer the company uses to pull the lighters taking the logs to Bangkok.
She docks at the head of the pier. As for the Phanurangsee you came with, she anchors beyond the pier and rather far
from it. Your ship was probably partly obscured by our company ship. When she left, since you saw her from a
distance, and unless you observed her carefully, you would hardly notice that she was sailing. I think you didn’t notice
because you still had our company ship right in front of you. She was also scheduled to leave for Bangkok this
morning, by the way. You probably slept soundly on the empty car even while the train pulled it here. What a
frightful prospect!” The superintendent twisted his mouth, which was another of his habits when he felt at once
amused and alarmed. “If you had fallen off the train in your sleep, that would have been the end.”
The listener raised his hand to push back his hair and looked abashed.
“I must admit I had taken a drop too much.”
“Anyway, if you want to return to Bangkok, you can take a bus from Siracha,” the superintendent explained, but it
seemed that his listener was not so much interested in road connections with Bangkok as in finding out more about the
present location.
“Where did you say this part of the woods was?”
“This concession belongs to the Siracha Lumber Company. We call it the Muenjit site, and it’s fifty kilometres from
company headquarters.”
“I say! How weird indeed this trip of mine is turning out to be, especially ...” He didn’t speak any further.
Right then, the place resounded with loud groans and moans, more high-pitched than the previous ones, compelling
both men to turn round to look at the author of such pitiful lament still under castigation. The superintendent pressed
his lips together while the other man grimaced.
“There’s something else I’d like to know. What’s the fun about? What are they beating the elephant for?” he asked
the superintendent with a strained voice. “I find it so beastly I can’t stand watching it any more.”
“They aren’t doing it for fun at all. It’s a real punishment ordered by the company’s manager. The reason is, he
killed his own mahout yesterday. I reported the matter to headquarters and received the order last night to have him
punished with one hundred lashes and have his mother brought over to give him a further beating. This Maliwan is
extremely useful at work, but he is also extremely mischievous and stubborn.” The superintendent stopped speaking
and turned to the four-legged culprit, then proceeded to say: “Please stay around for the time being. I must attend to
my work. If you go straight over there and then turn right, sir, you can buy something to eat, though it’s very much
pot luck. When the train goes back in late afternoon, I’ll come back for you and tell them to take you to Siracha.”
The stranger thanked the local man, then had no choice but to turn round and walk back in the direction of the
group of people who stood watching the punishment of the culprit Maliwan, whose moaning and groaning was
getting louder than ever.
After the prescribed number of lashes had been administered to the elephant as his punishment, the officials further
tormented him by ordering him to kneel down, trumpet and bow and by prodding him until he complied. Then they
removed the ropes fastened around his legs and hobbled his front legs anew. A while later, a mahout led an old
elephant in and made her come to a stop next to Maliwan. What happened after that generated great mirth among the
local crowd, as the old elephant raised her trunk and slapped Maliwan’s back with it time and again.
“Tha’s right, Ol’ Ma! Beat ’im! Teach ’im a less’n! Won mawr, Ma! Won mawr! Hardah!” The onlookers yelled and
cheered deafeningly, none of them paying attention to the warnings of the superintendent, who was shouting out of
concern for his workers. He was afraid that Maliwan would feel slighted and turn vindictive, which could pose a
danger to them all.
An elephant who had been punished by the hand of man only to be further chastised by the trunk of its mother
would feel hurt and sad. Even though his cries gradually died down, the way in which Maliwan now expressed his
grief was much more impressive than his moans had been. He stood with tears rolling down; he stood motionless, not
even trying to avoid the trunk of Old Ma, his mother. He did not writhe or fret and fume as when he had been beaten
by men a moment ago. Finally, Old Ma thought that she had punished her son sufficiently and, gasping for air and
feeling utterly exhausted, in the manner of the old, she stopped her trunk lashing and stood shifting her weight from
side to side as if to say, “Phew! I’m so tired, m’lords. This should be enough. He’s been taught a lesson. And don’t you
forget it, you wayward son! I’ve never seen such mischievous behaviour. Next time I’m told you misbehaved, I’ll tear
open that thick hide of yours with my bare trunk, you hear!”
Maliwan’s punishment by his masters and by his mother now over, the mahout led plodding Old Ma back to her
pen. The assistant mahout brought rice and other foods and placed them before Maliwan, then loudly invited him to
eat as if nothing grievous had happened to him, but instead of eating to satiate his hunger, Maliwan stood still, tears
streaming down, not touching the food, not even showing any desire to eat.
“Come on, Mali dear, don’t be like this. He tol’ ya ta eat, so ya eat. Or before long ya’ll go hungry with nothin’ to
munch on. Or is it booze ya wanna, big boy?” the haulage equipment manager, who had presided over the
punishment, shouted in jest. Hardly had he finished speaking when the whole place burst into laughter as everybody
there was reminded that Maliwan had furtively drunk as many as ten jugs of moonshine alcohol which the villagers
had left to ferment.
“Oh! Does this elephant like to drink rice wine, uncle?” the stranger asked the man standing next to him.
“Yep, ’e just begun ta,” the senior worker turned to answer. “Been two days, the villagers boiled ten jags o’ rice wine
and left ’em to farment. Maliwan managed to raid ’em all off and nobody know’d ’bout it. When ’is ma’out found ’im,
’e saw ’e couldna do a bit o’ work cuz ’e just stood there with eyes narrow like slits. The bass ’e said ’e wuz sick in the
stomach and hadda rest in ’is pen. And then de villagers they come complain Maliwan stole all their hooch. They said
they’d lost one rai warth o’ paddy, and de bass hadda make it up to ’em. Oh, ’e’s smart, this fella Maliwan, ’e knows ’is
work awright, ’e can do as mooch as t’ree ’phunts. The day ’e got stinko, they hadda use t’ree ov ’em to do ’is work.
And let me warn them who be prancin’ ’bout watchin’ this: they’d betta be careful cuz Maliwan, he’ll na fergit. When
we’s ordered ta t’rash ’im, none of us’re too keen ta do it. If Mas’ah Win hadna been ’round, he wouldna been
punished so.”
“Hold it, uncle. This liquor the villagers boil and ferment, is it on sale anywhere? How about going there for a
chat?”
The old worker adjusted the piece of thick red cloth round his waist, then pointed his finger straight ahead, and,
walking intently, took his guest to the intended destination.
Finally, the setting of the sun in late afternoon signalled to all workers that the period of their daily toil was coming to
an end. The official responsible for the traffic of the log freight train reported to his supervisor that the train was now
ready to return to Siracha. The report instantly reminded the young man in charge that the stranger was still around
and it was his responsibility to help him leave the place, for his own safety. He thus ordered a coolie to go and bring
the strange man back, because it was almost time for the train to leave.
The coolie returned within ten minutes.
“Guess he won’t leave now, sah. I t’ink ya’d betta go see for yerself.” The message puzzled the man in charge, so he
decided to leave his work to go and see what the matter was.
The scene that confronted the young man could have brought tears to the eyes of the soft-hearted. On the large
landing in front of him, he saw a kneeled Maliwan stroking with his trunk the body of a man who lied sound asleep
next to him. When he was in a good mood, Maliwan knew how to be friendly and watch over whoever showed a
disposition he took a fancy to. How was it, then, that a mere stranger had been able to melt Maliwan’s heart so quickly
that the elephant had forsaken his recalcitrance to willingly kneel and fondly caress his newly found friend?
The local man took hurried steps towards them, because he wouldn’t trust Maliwan to have truly given up his
obduracy. Were he for any reason to flow into a rage, his irrepressibly quick temper would probably kill the hapless
man in the twinkling of an eye. But when he got closer, the first thing he saw was the object that had cemented the
friendship between man and beast: a can of liquor locally known as phueak. Some of it was still left at the bottom.
Maliwan would no doubt need more than one can of this clear rice wine to fall into a drunken stupor, but it would
probably take no more than half a can of phueak for an ordinary man, even an inveterate drinker like this stranger
who had strayed into this forest totally unawares, to collapse and lie unconscious next to the elephant’s fodder as this
man did.
2
MC SURIYA-YIAMSAKON DISAPPEARS AT SEA
Mom Chao Suriya-Yiamsakon, a passenger on board the Phanurangsee, has disappeared from the ship between See
Chang Island and Bangkok during the return leg of a cruise, according to a telephone call from the East Asiatic Co
received by our office about one o’clock today. After an investigation, it was assumed that he accidentally fell into the
sea late at night, as he was usually seen sitting on the railing every night until late.
“It may be recalled that the prince was the first Thai ever to have had the honour of graduating from a military
college of engineering in the United States...
The newspaper in which the sad news was reported was spread in front of Orraphin. She looked at the large headline
before her eyes as if the letters were written in fire. Yet, she was not interested in reading the report to the end, not even
the several lines of comments that followed. She used a pair of scissors to cut out the article, which she folded neatly,
and placed the clipping among a few objects in a large wooden trunk which was used instead of a chair and was
placed by the window of her bedroom.
This was the last memento she had of the man who had been her husband. It was confirmation that the prince
known by this name, which meant ‘universal sun’, no longer existed in this world, and indeed she felt that the sun of
the universe had ceased shining the moment a representative of the shipping company had informed her of the
sorrowful news and handed over to her the various personal items which the staff on board the Phanurangsee had
found in Prince Suriya’s cabin. Thus, it was not surprising that Orraphin did not burst into tears when she saw the
news of her husband’s disappearance as reported in the newspaper. She had felt all the nerves in her body go numb
with cold as soon as she had heard the verbal report the day before. No, Orraphin did not weep, nor had she on the
day she had received the news. She had moved about energetically as she collected the prince’s personal belongings
and placed them in the trunk so that not a single item would remain in sight. And today, she had decided that, once
she had put the clipping away, she would lock the trunk for ever. But when it was time for her to close the lid for good,
Orraphin let out a sob and her body quivered. Her emotions, usually well under control, now surrendered to long-
suppressed, overwhelming grief. This was because she had been startled when the lid had slipped from her hand and
fallen onto the trunk with a thud, and her memory had gone back to another sound in a scene whose emotional charge
had made her burst into tears in front of all the guests and go on crying as if she would never stop. The scene was of a
few men helping one another push the coffin containing the body of her mother to the mortuary. The scraping of the
coffin against the planks had ended with a loud thump, the same sound as the lid had made when it dropped tightly
shut over the trunk a moment ago – final, but with a deep resonance in her heart, as if this ultimate sound imprinted
forever the memories of loved ones. Orraphin’s energy was gone by now and so were her attempts to concentrate on
the teachings of the Lord Buddha. She buried her head in her arms, which rested on the lid of the trunk, and tried to
suppress the pain in her eye sockets, as she felt tepid liquid welling up in her eyes. She had to stop crying like a baby.
She must not show signs of distress now that her beloved had departed for the bliss of heaven.
But Orraphin was an ordinary woman, and to prevent herself from mourning for a person who had been intimately
involved in her life was beyond her power. During the last three years, Prince Suriya had led his life like someone
under a curse. Although he was an aristocrat and had received an excellent education as befitted his noble birth and
high rank, the prince was widely known for being devoid of arrogance and for refusing to think of himself as a
reincarnated deity, unlike some other aristocrats of the same rank. He had enjoyed a wide reputation as an engineer
whose special training gave him outstanding ability in all the tasks under his purview. Orraphin was well aware that
the prince’s real nature was to uphold the manly ideals of behaving like a gentleman and doing everything a full-
bloodied man could do for his fatherland. It was these two qualities of his which had won her love and inspired her
confidence in the bright future awaiting her as the companion of a man who was full of gentle tenderness in speech as
well as in manner. This is how he really had been, and to make her forget the bliss she had known during the first year
of her life with her husband would be very difficult indeed.
But then, totally unexpectedly, a calamity had befallen Orraphin’s family. Prince Suriya had had such a severe
difference of opinion with his superiors that he had had to tender his resignation. The prince was extremely impulsive,
especially as he was devoted to his work much beyond the common calling. This was because his father, who was
renowned in the same field, had spent much time and effort preparing him for the same career even before he was
born, so to speak. So, deprived of the work that was the most meaningful part of his existence, he became like a boat
without a rudder. The loss of his work removed his reason to live.
That same night, Prince Suriya took his shattered body back to his residence virtually on all fours. The stench of
alcohol emanating from him was so strong that it seemed liquor had been poured all over the room. Seeing her
husband in such a state, Orraphin almost lost her mind and did not know what to do. She dragged Prince Suriya’s
battered body to the bedroom and onto the bed and changed his clothes. Orraphin knew that the prince’s father was a
heavy drinker. Prince Suriya was also aware of the fact, but he was determined to control himself, and had once made
a promise that he would never drink more than four glasses of liquor in a single sitting, because he knew that
whenever he drank five glasses in succession he could not stop himself drinking. Assuredly, the blood boiling in his
veins would demand that he, as the heir, went the way of his father and carry on the family line. That night, he must
have partaken of liquor beyond his own limit. But on the following night again Prince Suriya crawled back to her in
the same state as the night before.
After she learned the truth from her husband’s own mouth, Orraphin decided to forgive him. She had to entirely
suppress the resentment and loathing that come naturally to women and make herself willing to comfort and help her
husband in everything that would ensure the triumph of good over evil, as the latter was welcoming her husband with
open arms to the ruination of his life. But as already mentioned, Prince Suriya was a man under a curse, so that the
efforts she deployed and the forbearance and loyalty she demonstrated towards her husband, without the least
happiness to reward her in return, proved fruitless. Prince Suriya became an inveterate drinker and took to travelling
upcountry. Even though he was conscious of Orraphin’s goodness in those moments when he came to his senses, he
would forget about it as soon as he was drunk and be totally deaf to her pleas and warnings. Whenever he tired of
travelling upcountry and returned to her as in the past, she had to begin worrying anew every time. She slept in a state
of alert, ready to answer the telephone and leave home at a moment’s notice to retrieve her husband from a hospital or
from a police station or from one of a variety of places of entertainment, depending on the arrangements she had just
made with the person in charge in each establishment. It was then that the whole of Bangkok gave her husband the
prestigious title of ‘Number-One City Drunkard’.
However dissolute the prince’s behaviour proved to be, Orraphin was still firmly convinced that one day her
husband would free himself from the shackles of evil of all kinds. She still adored him and was ready to suffer torments
on her own in order to worship the genuine love she felt for this pitiful man. Her respect for the real, original prince she
had known was still secure enough for her to sacrifice everything that a woman could wish for. The only thing that she
asked for was for the prince to return to her embrace once again. But now, her prayer had proved to be in vain. Prince
Suriya’s travels, which he had resumed at the beginning of the year, had come to an end, and it was the sort of ending
that many astrologers had warned her about when they told her: “This man will not die in his bed.”
Orraphin let her mind drift through the various events that had taken place in her life, and she would have
continued sitting there had not the noise of a child broken the silence. She turned in the direction from where the sound
originated and heaved a long sigh. Then she lifted a cushion and placed it over the lid of the trunk. She adjusted the
frills so that the wooden trunk was completely out of sight under the pinkish, plaited covering.
She hurried over to a cot, lifted its mosquito net and examined the face of a little boy who was about two years old.
She saw that he was sleeping soundly, his arms stretched out across the whole width of the mattress. Kamon-Suriya!
“You look like you are going to fly,” she said in a loud voice. “You are the only possession of Daddy’s that I can’t
keep with the others. Oh, my sweetheart, please don’t act as if you were going to fly away from me.”
3
As soon as his body awoke from its deep sleep, the cold asserted itself over all his nerves. Suriya felt chilled and
shivered on contact with the cold wind, which blew through one of the openings. He had to bring his legs up against
his torso so that they could seek warmth from each other. His mental faculties, however, were not alert enough for him
to immediately understand what he saw as he opened his eyes. The picture that presented itself had finely serrated,
ragged edges set against an empty background – a long parallelogram of misty grey. It did not move under his gaze,
neither changing nor fading away, but became clearer as the light in the framed background gradually increased.
His eyes, fascinated by the picture, adjusted to it little by little, and when both his body and his mind were fully
awake, he was able to tell himself with confidence that what he had been looking at while half asleep was a spread of
palm roofs seen through a window frame, dark against the natural colour of the sky at daybreak. This was the first
time in his life that he had woken up in a palm-roofed shack in an unfamiliar setting. As was in the nature of someone
accustomed to the grandeur of mansions, he couldn’t prevent himself from recalling the joy and happiness he had
become familiar with in the past, before turning to the present to reflect on his current status.
He was very much aware that, throughout his married life with Orraphin, no matter how drunk he had been the
previous night, he had always woken up on a soft mattress and seen Orraphin sitting by his side ready to wait on him
as was the duty of a good wife. He had never had to listen to a stern rebuke from her, which might have led to endless
trouble, nor had he ever seen her react in an offensive manner. Orraphin’s one weapon, the value of which she was not
even aware of, was the disturbingly sorrowful look in her eyes. Such a look made him profoundly ill-at-ease, scared
him even, and whenever possible, he would do his utmost to avoid eye contact with her. He had every reason to believe
that Orraphin loved him as much as or more than other women loved their husbands. How about him? He was
equally certain that he loved her no less than other husbands in this world loved their wives. If so, by what twist of fate
did he find himself stretched out flat on a worn-out mat in a row of wooden shacks crowned with palm roofs, instead of
lying beside Orraphin on a soft mattress and a soft pillow in his grand mansion as he was used to? Ah, yes! Liquor! He
had deliberately left Orraphin in order to try to stop drinking. But did the fact that he found himself sleeping shabbily
in a stranger’s home attest to his victory over liquor? Not at all. The opposite was true. This made his heart ache.
Whenever he thought about it, the only thing he wanted to do was take a drink in order to erase the thought from his
mind. He fondly remembered that, when the ship was about to set off, Orraphin had whispered to him as a last
entreaty, “I wish you’ll come back to Jiu and me as a winner.”
Listen! Listen to the great woman! Even though her husband was a drunkard, she still tried to pick her words so
that they would not hurt his feelings. Indeed, to return to Orraphin’s embrace and love was a prospect he brooded over
with equal measures of bitterness and bliss.
The young man rested his face on his arms as though he were unable to compete with the silver and golden rays
shining forth over the horizon ahead. You must make it! Alas, only the night before he had been defeated for good.
How could he have the cheek to go back to her?
Engrossed in his thoughts, he must have drifted into sleep again. He woke up with a start. Sunlight now filled the
sky. He heard the shouts of people waking one another up, the imprecations of a woman next door berating her man
who was unwilling to get up, the sporadic cries of children and trumpeting of elephants, all noises combining into a din
which indicated that the life of a new day had begun in these parts and it was time for everyone to go about earning
their keep once again.
Mr. Mui, the owner of the shack, appeared and stood hesitantly at the door, a large, brand-new aluminium water
scoop in his hand.
“So, you’s awake.” He crouched and crept inside and getting closer saw that his guest lay with his eyes wide open.
“I brought you some watah. I thought you was asleep, so I was gonna leave it next ta ya.”
“I woke up once, then fell asleep again. Thanks very much, Mr. Mui. Place it down here.” Suriya responded to the
homeowner’s kindness, then rose slowly to his feet, shook his head, made a puzzled face for a while and finally
stretched his limbs, which had pressed against Mr. Mui’s mat all night long.
As for Mr. Mui, when he saw there was no longer any obstacle in his path, he went to pick up the dark-blue shirt
and shorts which hung on a rail fixed to the wall and put them on over his close-fitting briefs, which once upon a time
had been whiter than white, and then turned to address the stranger, the guest whom heaven seemed to have sent for
his own blessing, and said, “Take yer time, sah. Ya can call any kid around here to serve ya. There’s a big shop behind
the barracks sellin’ tea and coffee. Now, I must ’urry ta work.” He pointed at the large shed next to the workers’
quarters, then turned to take dry tobacco shreds from a woven bamboo container and rolled himself three cigarettes:
one which he proceeded to smoke and two which he placed behind his ears, a sure sign that he was feeling thoroughly
pleased with himself.
The young man stared at the owner of the place. When he had heard him refer to “barracks” in English, the
familiarity of the word had given him an odd thrill, but before he could ask how it was that the workers’ quarters were
thus called, Mr. Mui went on: “Here’s the key to the room, in case after ya go over there, you wanna come back take a
rest.”
“No need, Mr. Mui. Just lock up the room and take the key with you. What you could do before you leave, though,
is ask some boy to get me two cups of coffee.”
As he sat alone on a log in front of the shack, sipping coffee and puffing on his cigarette in turn, he learned
something new: the power of phueak or moonshine was different from that of whiskey in that the former took effect
immediately without your knowledge, so much so that you finally lost consciousness. Of the previous night’s events,
he only remembered that, after he and Mr. Mui had gone to cement their friendship in what the villagers called the bar
at the back of the workers’ quarters and, after a whole day’s binge, had found themselves in total communion, on the
way back each had bought a can of clear liquor and given it to Maliwan. How it had come about that he had gone to
spend the night at Mr. Mui’s place while Mr. Mui slept some place else, he hadn’t the faintest idea. It was apparent that
the after-effects of local moonshine were also different from those of whiskey and foreign liquor in general. The latter,
which led to drunkenness only gradually, had a lingering intoxication when it had reached its peak and wouldn’t
allow you to sober up easily, so that the next day you had a headache and felt groggy, giddy and exhausted, and you
had to adopt the strategy of picking a hair of the dog that bit you to alleviate these symptoms. As he reflected about
this, he saw a way to achieve victory in his battle to stop drinking. He thought he should put the stratagem to work
right away; that is, he would remain in the forest for a few more days to check again that, in this out-of-the- way place
very much beyond the influence of whiskey, his master, he probably would not turn into a slave of phueak instead,
since moonshine did not require him to resort to the endless hair-of-the-dog strategy as foreign liquor did. Thus, he
stood a good chance of gaining the upper hand in this battle.
Mr. Suwan Sirichai, the superintendent of Muenjit, was on his way to the workers’ quarters, and turning towards
them, saw the stranger, who was sipping his second cup of coffee. The visitor quickly put the cup down, got up from
the log and smiled at the local man to show him the respect demanded by custom.
“I waited for you for quite a long time yesterday.” Mr. Suwan spoke first, seeing from the expression on the guest’s
face that he was quite embarrassed by his obnoxious behaviour of the day before. “The main office needed the train
urgently, so I had to let it go. I couldn’t wait for you any longer.” Having said this, the superintendent stared silently at
the other party, to give him a chance to reply freely. Suriya, who was no less versed in manly manners than Mr.
Suwan, answered frankly, “I thank you, sir, and I do apologize for being such a nuisance to you and your work. The
truth is, I had drunk more than I should. You see, it was my first encounter with rice wine.”
“No wonder! Rice wine is rather fierce for those who aren’t used to it.”
“Indeed. I remember I brought back two cans of it for your Maliwan, but I haven’t the foggiest what happened to
the elephant after that.”
Mr. Suwan laughed and answered: “You’re very lucky to have established a rapport with that elephant, because he
fears no one around here except Mr. Bun- hai, who is an elephant driver. Even with me – the way he looks at me is
none too friendly, I must say.”
Suriya answered slowly, as if deep in thought: “I’ve always liked elephants. I think they’re clever and there’s much
to be learned from their ways.”
“Yes, most city people find it strange that elephants can work like men, so they get the wrong idea that elephants
can distinguish between good and evil as men can. But the fact is, no matter how clever elephants are, they’re still
animals. You can’t trust them very much, especially Maliwan.”
“I find it strange as well, from what Mr. Mui told me yesterday of Maliwan’s record.”
Mr. Suwan took this opportunity to broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind since the night before.
“Talking about Old Mui, I’d like to invite you to have a rest at my house instead. When it’s time for the train to leave
this evening, I’ll send someone to pick you up. I’ve told my wife to prepare a room for you and it’s ready now.”
“Thank you very much, sir, but there’s no need to trouble yourself on my behalf,” Suriya declined the invitation
promptly and courteously. “Mr. Mui has already taken me to the restaurant in the forest over there.”
Surprised, Mr. Suwan asked at once: “Where did he take you to? Oh, yesterday morning, I forgot to ask someone
to take you to the main shop. I was very busy. I didn’t have time to explain anything much, so I only told you the
essentials. I thought you’d find the place by yourself. But Old Mui hardly goes there these days.”
The younger man smiled but did not say anything.
Mr. Suwan turned round swiftly. “Let’s go and talk at the shop. I’ll take you there myself.” While they were on
their way, Mr. Suwan explained: “The shop I’m taking you to belongs to the company. It only sells goods to company
workers and local villagers, in order to prevent foreigners from taking advantage of those villagers who live deeper into
the forest by selling them at grossly inflated prices the goods they buy here. Old Mui wouldn’t dare take you to that
shop, because he has taken goods on credit way beyond his limit, so we’ve had to forbid the shop to serve him until he
clears his old debts. I guess that’s why he took you to eat rice and curry at the villagers’ shop behind the barracks
instead.”
Mr. Suwan’s guest could have replied that he had stayed at the shack from dawn to dusk and his three meals
yesterday had consisted of two plates of rice and spicy curry for breakfast and again for lunch but dinner had been
rice wine and a few pods of fresh tamarind dipped in salt.
“Upon my word! Who would have thought there’d be Libby’s canned food for sale in this part of the woods?” an
exceedingly surprised Suriya exclaimed upon setting foot into the company shop. He immediately set out to survey the
various consumer products on sale. They ranged from silver earrings and silver rings set with coloured gems for the
wives and daughters of the workers to brightly coloured silk trousers, canned food and miscellaneous kitchenware.
“Compared to the shops in Bangkok, we’d be on a par with those in Bang Lamphoo*, I reckon,” Mr. Suwan went
on with a rather smug tone. “The company has set up a shop of this kind at every site. Each site must be responsible
for supplying various grades of consumer goods, from good to mediocre, to cater to some five hundred households. We
sell eight to ten thousand baht worth of goods a month. And since the shop’s opened all day, you can’t prevent it from
being a meeting place for workers and villagers till late at night. Please come this way.”
Mr. Suwan invited his guest to sit down at a special table reserved for the shop’s personnel. He ordered an employee
of the food section to prepare coffee, fried eggs and fried Chinese sausages for two, as well as open a box of cream
crackers, and bring it all to the table, and if his guest had not stopped him, the big- hearted superintendent would have
ordered either Vienna sausages or Libby’s corned beef as a further offering.
“I’d really like you to stay at my house. These men are so crude,” Mr. Suwan said as he skewered a Chinese sausage
and put it in his mouth. “They speak noisily and you can hardly make head or tail of what they’re saying.”
“No need really, sir. It would be too much of an imposition. You’ve done more than enough for me as it is, and I’m
most grateful.” Suriya smoothly declined the offer, but his heart was in turmoil for the very reason that he could not
tell Mr. Suwan that he had just made the decision not to leave the forest and that he intended to learn more about the
local way of life. He did not want someone of more or less the same moral standard as he, like Mr. Suwan, to pry into
his reasons or behaviour, which may have caused the superintendent to look down on him. Moreover, he was
convinced that Mr. Suwan’s family must have learned all that had happened the day before from Mr. Suwan himself
or from other people, as was customary in small communities. He did not wish to become a laughing stock to more
people than was necessary, and if it was inevitable, he would rather be held in contempt or considered a bit of a clown
by lowly working class people than by individuals of his own social standing or just below.
“Then, please meet me at four o’clock at the intersection by the piles of lumber.” The superintendent must have
misinterpreted the stranger’s hesitation to cut the conversation short like this. “I remain entirely at your disposal,” he
went on. “My name is Suwan Sirichai. You can mention it as a password everywhere you go around here to get
whatever service you wish for.”
Just as though he had not heard the other party introduce himself in order to learn his name in exchange, the guest
answered: “Actually, I may not be leaving today. I feel that the weather here is so fine I’d like to stay a few more days.
But please don’t trouble yourself. I can stay with Mr. Mui, and I’ll have my meals here.”
Upon hearing this, Mr. Suwan was bewildered, almost to the point of forgetting his manners. He remained open-
mouthed for a long moment before he could come up with a reply.
“Er – that’s perfectly all right. Now that you’ve made your intentions quite clear, everything’s fine.” And to cover
up his puzzlement over the man’s request to stay in the forest with Mr. Mui for no apparent reason, Mr. Suwan said,
while producing a cigarette case and presenting it open: “Won’t you try a Muenjit Sphinx?”
Suriya almost started when he saw Red Lion cigarettes, with their distinctive lion rampant, next to Gold Flake
cigarettes in the superintendent’s big wooden case.
“They’re selling like hot cakes. Red Lions are very popular among foreigners here.”
Suriya took three puffs on his Red Lion and felt as if needles pricked his throat. His temples throbbed and his head
swelled. For the sake of good manners, he went on sitting and making a show of inhaling and exhaling smoke. Before
long, however, he laughed sheepishly as he threw the cigarette away. He took a Gold Flake from the case and drew on
it instead to soothe his throat.
“This smells like the celestial smoke drifting out of Siva’s pipe. As a matter of fact, I just ran out of cigarettes this
morning. How could I possibly believe there’d be Gold Flakes for sale in this neck of the woods?”
Mr. Suwan laughed. “Actually, they are sold to management only. But for heavy smokers like us, they are too
strong, so we have to smoke Red Lions as well. If you want, I’ll have one of my workers go over to my house and bring
you back a tin.” Then Mr. Suwan went back to the question of accommodation. “Please think carefully again. If you
decide to stay at my house, you should go there now. I’d be happy to welcome you any time. But if you’d rather not,
then it’s entirely up to you.”
Suriya declined the invitation firmly, yet politely enough. Right then, a thought flashed across his mind and forced
him to ask yet again for an explanation from the superintendent, as to why the workers here called their quarters
“barracks”.
“We’ve been using this name since the time the Borneo Company was hired to run the company on behalf of its
Thai executive committee. The management has been in Thai hands for more than ten years now, but the workers still
call their quarters and many things they use by their foreign names. Calling them by their Thai names would only
confuse them. The longer you stay here, the more foreign words you’ll notice.”
Suriya laughed, amused. He felt there were indeed many factors which helped make life here really enjoyable.
“Before I take my leave, I’d like to tell you more about Maliwan.” Mr. Suwan lit a Red Lion and drew on it with an
impassive face, then went on speaking. “I am very worried about your friend Maliwan. Please take good care of
yourself. I have a feeling he’s going to put you into big trouble because of his temper that I told you about yesterday.
What I didn’t tell you is that he’s jealous and vengeful. This is an important point. When Maliwan is fond of a mahout,
that mahout can’t get close to anyone else in his presence, not even his own wife. I’ve learnt that Maliwan has had no
less than a hundred mahouts since he was a calf. In most cases, when they realized that Maliwan liked them, they
resigned at once. Let me put it this way: if you go to the toilet, he’ll follow you and wait out front, and maybe he’ll
open the door and have a look inside if you take too long. Many people have experienced this.”
Suriya placed his cup down because he was laughing so hard he was spilling the coffee.
“It would be better not to let him love you,” Mr. Suwan said with laughter in his voice. “Don’t make him angry
either. He attacks even my workers, but they never learn their lesson. They keep teasing or berating him till it gets
them into trouble, because they get their rice pots, curry pots and earthenware jars smashed up almost every night. It
happens so often we’re fed up punishing him.”
The conversation went on, centred on the history of Maliwan, which, from his early days up to the present, was an
unending series of wicked pranks, and the two men couldn’t repress their laughter as they talked about them. Finally,
Mr. Suwan put on his helmet and invited his guest to go into the forest with him to watch the cutting and hauling of
the trees as a way to while away the time. The guest promptly declined the invitation, alleging that he was more
interested in the people and their activities at the barracks, although he actually refused out of consideration for the
superintendent. For one thing, he was aware that Mr. Suwan would have had to bear the burden of providing him
with luncheon; for another, right now he didn’t feel like going and interfering with anybody’s work.
At last, Suriya was on his own for the second time that morning. He sat smoking one of the Gold Flakes one of the
workers had brought him courtesy of Mr. Suwan. He couldn’t make up his mind whether he should take a leisurely
stroll to wherever his steps would take him or make for the stream beside the quarters and find a place secluded
enough for him to take a swim and get rid of the sweat and grime that had accumulated since the day before. It was
late morning already, yet he was still undecided, and felt a growing irritation in his eyes from the strong sunlight. The
peace and quiet of the nature around him, the growing heat of the sun, as well as the buzz of prolonged conversations
blurred at times by odd words and unfamiliar accents were powerful enough to make ordinary people drowsy, let
alone a man who was recovering from the effects of a product laced with the poison of alcohol. Suriya sat watching the
groups of workers as they took turns buying drinks and foodstuff. After a while, everyone in one group left, only to be
replaced by a new batch, and this coming and going went on ceaselessly. In the watcher’s opinion, listening to other
people talking and exchanging views wasn’t in the least a waste of time.
Actually, all the normal activities at the Muenjit site shop were proceeding as usual. Nothing was missing. Nothing
new, nothing strange was happening, and nothing changed in the open lean-to jutting out of the main shop. In late
morning, villagers and workers who didn’t go to work assembled in the shop, coming and leaving one after the other,
more or less rapidly depending on the urgency of their needs, which increased anew as the sun lowered itself behind
the tree tops. Suriya sat engrossed in what was going on, but in the afternoon he no longer let his mind drift as he had
in the morning. On the table before him now was a stack of dozens of sheets of paper taken out of the American
Weekly magazine and used for wrapping purposes, and a cup of coffee and the tin of cigarettes were placed beside
him. Once in a while, he would look up and watch the customers, and he finally realized that what lured an unending
stream of people to the shop was phueak, the rice wine sold at the back of the shop. To say that it was sold at the back
of the shop didn’t mean that there was a special counter hidden away at the rear of the main shop. In point of fact, jars
of phueak were on display on a table in a large open shed within the shop itself. And this very location provided Suriya
with a new bit of knowledge, which was that if whiskey in Bangkok earned its slaves general reprobation and the
contempt of all of their relatives, this was not at all the case for the slaves of moonshine rice wine in this jungle. To
drink a glass or two of phueak, or even a bottle or a jug of it, was considered perfectly normal here. Men and women
of all ages, from labourers on daily wages to supervisors of small and even large units, all equally shared the same
thirst for it. Suriya came to the conclusion that it was because everyone here, whether men or women, children as well
as adults, had a job, hence a steady income.
Thus, it could be presumed that these people did not have enough spare time to dream of upholding traditions,
practise social discrimination and denigrate one another like the community of whiskey imbibers in Bangkok. The
more Suriya saw of their generosity, the more people he conversed with, the more respect he felt for these Thai people
who were eking out a living deep in the woods, and since he had more friends to chat with, he got up from his seat in
the reserved area and went down to the lower level, under the shed, to be with them. He chatted with them throughout
the afternoon and, as evening came, his prodigality would not allow him to merely talk with his guests but forced him
to have drinks placed before them to quench their thirst. In such a gathering, it would have been ill- mannered for the
host not to join in the libations. Indeed, it was unprecedented. So it should come as no surprise that, later that evening,
Suriya’s inebriation prompted him to repeat the eccentricity of purchasing two cans of phueak and taking them to
Maliwan in his pen. Once again, history repeated itself as it had the day before.
His effort to give up drinking whiskey with the help of the local moonshine continued in this manner for three days
running. On the morning of the fourth day, however, Suriya gave up and made up his mind that, come hell or high
water, he would catch the train and leave this enchanting forest that very day. But fate had prescribed otherwise. The
day before, in the evening, Mr. Suwan, who had been so kind to him, had received a telephone call from headquarters
instructing him to assemble a team and leave forthwith to go and assess the possibility of opening a new site in a
border area in Rayong province, which meant that he would have to trek the jungle for months. As a man of discipline
always ready to do this kind of urgent work, Mr. Suwan was on his way the next day before dawn. Before he left the
Muenjit site, the always thorough superintendent had written a note instructing his deputy that, if a man of such and
such appearance recommending himself from him asked to board the train to return to Siracha, he should be extended
every facility. But the deputy, who was only a clerk sent by headquarters to work at the site temporarily, was unaware
of the relationship between the young stranger and the superintendent and thus did not even think of locating the man
and providing him with convenience or assistance as Mr. Suwan had hoped for. Owing to this reason, Suriya’s
determination to leave turned out to be no more than a wish.
So he went on staying at Mr. Mui’s, using the money he had on him, which amounted to more than three hundred
baht, to entertain his new friends day after day. The first week or so, when he opened his eyes to the first rays of dawn,
he would take the firm decision to take the train back to Siracha in the evening. When it was time to eat at the shop,
given its limited choice of fresh dishes and the fact that his throat was parched from the night before, he felt like
sipping some liquor to whet his appetite. One glass would lead to a second and then to a third. Furthermore, Mr. Mui,
who was delighted that heaven had sent a wealthy man to his abode, did his best to be of service to his guest. Having
heard Suriya complain that the local moonshine had a revolting smell, Mr. Mui lost no time toning down the smell in
his own way, which was to put a handful of Chinese herbs into the bottle of liquor and leave it to settle overnight; the
next morning, the rice wine would smell and taste like some kinds of foreign brandy. Apart from the smell, which they
found offensive at first, whiskey drinkers who turned to bootlegged liquor of this kind often faced another
inconvenience: they usually felt queasy as soon as they awoke. Thus, on the mornings Suriya felt like vomiting, Mr.
Mui would pour a glass of pick-me-up of his own making and raise it to Suriya’s lips. Because of all this, the strong
feeling which should have led Suriya’s life towards the proper path was kept hidden behind a curtain of rice wine haze
and though light could seep through it at daybreak on occasion, its rays were completely obscured by the cordial
administered by the ever attentive Mr. Mui.
The days and nights went by. Suriya’s life proceeded aimlessly with no specific object other than the consumption
of alcohol. Once drunk, he would show his eccentricity in favour of Maliwan, the fiercest elephant the company had
ever had, and it was a real miracle that he could do so without losing his life. But the three hundred baht plus in his
possession could support him for only two months until they were spent, as is the law of nature – whatever flows out
without being replenished must eventually run out.
Ordinarily, at least in the capital, when your money runs out, you lose your friends and starve. This is an
incontrovertible article of the law in what is called civilized society, but that article did not apply to life in the thick
forest of Siracha. Suriya’s money ran out but he didn’t lose his friends, nor did he have to go without either drink or
food. Mr. Mui, who had kept him company over every meal for almost three months without spending a satang,
promptly went back to work so as not to make his friend worry about him. As for all those who had been the recipients
of his largesse, they would not demerit in one another’s eyes and endeavoured to show their gratitude to a generous
man whom they respected and accepted wholeheartedly. Each of them was happy to sacrifice a little of what he had to
spare him from having to perform some lowly work as he certainly had never done in his life, until Mr. Suwan, the
generous superintendent, returned and found suitable employment for him. But Suriya was too much of a gentleman.
Even though he forgot son, wife and home when alcohol suffused his brain, there were times when he had vivid
recollections of them, and these came with a certain sense of shame which was instrumental in preventing him from
reaching a definite decision. How much time went by, he neither knew nor cared, but to let others work in order to
support him like some kind of collective contribution was not in the nature of a real man, drunkard or no.
With this in mind, it wasn’t long before Suriya got himself a job which required some knowledge of engineering,
and he performed it well. Assuredly, it was a lowly kind of work, which commanded a ridiculously low income
compared to what he was used to earning, but for living in the forest among easy-going friends, it was enough to live
on – had Maliwan, whom he loved and who loved him in return, not created trouble.
Due to the elephant’s possessiveness, Mr. Suwan’s foreboding became true for the first time: Maliwan took a dislike
to Mr. Mui, which developed into an all-too-obvious detestation.
Therefore, Mr. Mui had to be careful and alert with every step he took, especially at a time when his low income did
not allow him to buy bootleg to entertain Maliwan, who showed his displeasure all the more by going on the rampage.
All too often, Suriya could not control him and needed help from the elephant driver. This was turning into a major
nuisance. Finally, when Suriya grew weary of Maliwan’s selfish excesses, he agreed to Mr. Mui’s idea to migrate and
seek employment at another forestry concession, in Khlong Yai. A few days later, the two friends left Muenjit and
headed for Khlong Yai, and they were lucky enough to get jobs together in the tractor division at the site.
This is why, when Mr. Suwan returned from Rayong at the end of four months, he did not meet the young man of
aristocratic mien and manners, and assumed that he had finally returned to Bangkok. And this is also why Prince
Suriya-Yiamsakon was, unbeknownst to him, pronounced legally dead. This happened simply because he had
misjudged the powerful seduction of the local rice wine. Actually, most people who fall under the spell of bootlegged
liquor like this phueak find breaking the habit extremely difficult.
4
“Hullo? Hullo? HULLO? This is the Khlong Yai superintendent speaking. Hullo? I’m calling from Khlong Y... oh,
heck! This line’s crazy – crazy like its operator. Hey! Who’s this eavesdropping on me? Don’t report me to the Big
Man, okay? Hullo? Is that Nongkhor? Good. Put me through to Muenjit, will you. Hullo? Hullo? Is that Muenjit? This
is the Khlong Yai superintendent. Go tell your boss I want to speak to him.
“Hello, is that Suwan? Right, Bamrung speaking. Is that you, Suwan? What? What did you say? I got you out of
bed? Well, that’ll teach you to play lover boy this time of day. Anyway, answer me this: haven’t you lost something
lately?”
There was a silence for a while, then the man at the Muenjit end of the line answered in puzzlement: “What are you
talking about? I just asked my wife. She says I’ve got nothing missing.”
“Oh, but you have. I’ll give you a clue: a big piece of movable property.”
“Come off it! What’s the idea talking in riddles at this ungodly hour? Don’t do this to an old friend. What is it? I
have to go to...”
“You mean you don’t know or you won’t tell?”
“I really don’t know.”
“An elephant – you know, a large animal with big ears and a small tail?”
“What!”
“To be specific, the apple of your eye, Maliwan. He invited himself to my barracks in the wee hours of morning.”
“How can that be? I saw him only yesterday. Wait! Hold on! Don’t hang up, okay? My man Bun-hai’s just come in.
What is it, Bun-hai? Maliwan’s broken loose, eh? Now, tell me something I don’t know! Actually, he’s now in the
barracks at the Khlong Yai site. Er – get ready to go with the cattle truck to bring him back. Tell Yaem to hurry and
get the truck out within the hour. Then go get a complete set of fetters and straps from the store. I’ll do the paperwork
for it later. Hullo? Are you still with us, Bamrung?”
“Well, I ain’t dead, if that’s what you mean. I’m speaking with you right now.”
“Not that! I was asking if you were still listening.”
“Oh, sure. What else do you want to know?”
“Did Maliwan run wild and do a lot of damage?”
This time, it was the turn of the man in Khlong Yai to be silent, which showed that he was trying to review the
events of the past hour or so. When he resumed speaking, there was obvious excitement in his voice: “It’s weird,
actually: none at all. But I’m sure it’s him. I watched him from behind a tree. I didn’t dare get close to him.”
“What was he doing?”

“Well, that’s what’s so weird about it,” answered Bamrung, who was well-known among top officials for being the
merriest superintendent around. He remained silent for a while, before speaking again in a tone which had lost all
trace of excitement: “Maliwan is nursing one of my workers at the tractor division.”
“What!”
“It’s true.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t. What’s the name of that worker?”
“That’s another mystery. He signs his pay checks as Phueak. The workers here call him Phueak too and like him a
lot. He’s a really queer fellow. His clothes are so filthy he stinks like a skunk and his beard and moustache are like
quills on a porcupine, and yet I’ve noticed from the way he speaks and behaves at times, Phueak can’t possibly be his
name. But he insists on it, so I call him Phueak like everyone else does. But wait, I seem to remember he was with you
before, wasn’t that so? He moved to my site about two years ago.”
“I’ve never had a worker named Phueak. But never mind this Phueak character. Tell me about Maliwan instead. I
wouldn’t be surprised if he raised hell as usual. I’ve just ordered Bun-hai to go over and bring our truant champion
back.”
“Oh ho, lots of fun ahead, I’m sure. The whole place is already in chaos and he’s quiet; if he really gets mad, it’s
gonna get much worse – worse even than when your Bangkok wife came face to face with your local wife, Seewichai,
in your Muenjit house!”
“Enough. Stick to the point, will you?”
The Khlong Yai superintendent burst out laughing, then went on speaking: “It was like this, you see. I was still
asleep when Thiam rushed in wild-eyed and woke me up yelling something I didn’t quite catch, something like ‘Bass,
bass, Mali’s broke’ loose’. So I grabbed my rifle and loaded it with two dum-dum bullets, thinking I might have to
shoot him, because out here there’s no mahout to control him and I can’t let him destroy company property or kill
people as he has often done in the past. I’d explain myself with the company later. And do you know what I saw on the
way? You could’ve knocked me down with a feather. I saw this woman running for dear life with only her bra on.”
“Come off it, you’re putting me on.”
The Khlong Yai caller was adamant. “If you don’t believe me, ask the workers. They all saw her. Maliwan had long
gone by, but she kept running back and forth. It was only when people shook her that she came to her senses. Don’t
you remember how it was that day when the only thing you could think of doing was run up and down the stairs?”
“All right, all right, I believe you. Just cut out the bull, will you? I’ve got to...”
“There’s plenty more I could tell you, but then what’s the point?”
“Come on now. Tell me only what’s directly of concern to me. I have to go to the toilet.”
“Directly of concern to you, there’s nothing much, really. Maliwan hasn’t run wild. It seems he came here just for
the purpose of visiting the worker named Phueak. The guy’s down with malaria and I’m afraid it might go to his
brain. His body’s as cold as with that other fellow, Jaeng. He’s got to be rushed to Siracha, and I’ll ask His Highness
who’s coming to inspect the new bridge today to take him there on the way back. Anyway, when I arrived at the
barracks, I saw your Maliwan standing by the window and stroking Phueak with his trunk, and then after a while he
went round the barracks clumsily as though he wished he was the size of a dog and able to get inside and nurse him.
As for Mr. Mui, who shares the room with Phueak, he was scared witless by Maliwan and ran for the forest as if he
had grown wings. We brought him back shortly before I called you, but we couldn’t get anything out of him.”
“Wait! Mui – is that the same Mui who’s on the log-loading shift?”
“That’s the one.”
“Hmm... and this guy Phueak, does he drink like a fish?”
“That he does... Hey, Suwan, are you still there?”
“Yes... I was wondering. Just now, you were saying it’s unlikely his name’s Phueak. You mean he should have a
more classy name than this, right?”
“Right.”
“You said the way he behaves and talks sometimes is very much above the kind of lowly forestry job he’s got?”
“Correct. And sometimes – very often actually – he’s as drunk as a dog.”
“Oh! Dogs at your site get drunk as well, do they? One more thing I’d like to know is, does Maliwan make it
obvious he loves Phueak?”
“Right again. There’s one thing I should add: no matter how drunk he is, the guy’s never said a word about what he
did before he came to stay in the forest.”
“Bamrung, I’ve changed my mind: I’ll go along with Bun-hai to your site so that I can find the answers to a few
riddles I have. You said His Highness is coming to Khlong Yai today on inspection, didn’t you? When he calls you up
to have the line cleared for him, please let him know I’d like a ride in his car to go and bring Maliwan back. I’ll be
leaving right away. Tell him to wait for me at the Kho-but crossing. My cattle truck’s too slow.”
“That’s good. We haven’t seen each other for so long, and the timing’s excellent. As it is, I’ve got some good news
for you. I didn’t think you’d come, so I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“What now? I really must go to the toilet.”
“This won’t take long. My relatives in Bangkok sent me dried longan imported from China and I’ve had them kept
in phueak for five days. I’ve had a sip at the brew and you know what, Suwan? It’s the best local brandy I’ve ever
tasted and I wouldn’t exchange it for anything, except perhaps some Hennessy or Martell.”
“We’re gonna hit the stuff during working hours in the presence of the general manager: is that the idea,
Bamrung?”
“Oh, come on now! You know what they say: those who can’t quaff a drink on the quiet might as well die of thirst.
And you also know that His Highness always invites us to join him for lunch and each time treats us thirsty beggars to
a peg of brandy, or even two if we’re in luck. This time, once we’re through with his brandy, we’ll sneak out to drink
our own, and let him figure out which is the smell of his brandy and which of my pickled longan. They’ll be mixing
happily in our stomachs anyway.”
“Enough said. Let’s meet later today and then we can celebrate to the fullest.”
Prince Niphon Wannasarn was another member of the aristocracy who had had to change his occupation as part of
the transformations involved in developing the country to keep it abreast of the evolution of the rest of the world. As he
was past middle age, he had witnessed and experienced many of the twists and turns of human life and thus was
strong enough to face any kind of contingency. He had ended up as general manager of the Siracha Lumber &
Sawmill Co Ltd, which was the biggest concern in the wood trade in East Asia at the time, matched in size only by
similar concerns operating in the north of the United States.
Being the younger brother of the wife of Prince Worrawong-Watthana, the major shareholder as well as managing
director of the company, may have been an important factor in his promotion, but in all fairness, he was perfectly
suited to his work and was loved and respected by the people of Siracha and by all those who had the opportunity to
approach him. He was now forty-eight years old, but considerably more energetic than was common at his age. His
previous occupation had led him to travel all over Europe, America, Asia and many other places round the world. He
would go back to his homeland only once in a while and, after a brief visit, take off again; and this had been the
pattern of his life for as long as he had held his former position. Thus, it was not surprising that this aristocrat was
hardly known in his own country. Nonetheless, when he had to return to Thailand for good, he behaved with the
kindness and rectitude of a real Thai. He knew how to adapt and turn his experiences to his advantage, especially in
the work now in his responsibility. He kept a cool composure and knew how to handle people, which were most
important qualifications in his line of work, since he had to supervise thousands of subordinates from all walks of life,
ranging from Northern Thai labourers to a German railway foreman, who once had run the Railways Department.
On the day the prince came to inspect the new bridge at the Khlong Yai site, he was informed by the
superintendent that one of the workers was seriously ill and should be taken in his tramcar to Siracha for treatment,
and was further acquainted by Mr. Suwan Sirichai with the peculiar manner in which he had come to the forest. True
to form, he decided to leave for Siracha earlier than expected so as not to expose the sick man to the cold evening winds
on the way. As for Mr. Suwan, for some reason, he argued against returning to Muenjit with the general manager, and
won his case.
The tramcar the prince was using that day was a small one with three rows of two seats each. The front row was for
the driver and his assistant, and the gearbox between the footrests in front of it made it unpractical for the sick man to
lie there. Spare parts from a broken hauling machine that needed to be sent for urgent repairs at the company’s lathe
factory took up the back seats. The general manager thus had the sick man placed in a half sitting half supine position
across the footrest area of the middle row where he himself sat. He had Mr. Pin, the housekeeper of the Siracha
Company and his valet, sit down beside him and help support the body.
His attempt to reach Siracha before dark was foiled because the log convoy from Muenjit had just set off ahead of
him and the officials at the Kho-but crossing were notified of the change in the general manager’s schedule too late to
be able to stop the convoy. His tramcar thus had to follow the locomotive pulling more than thirty logs at an annoying
slow pace. Time after time, it would stop to allow the convoy to get ahead and when it caught up with it again, stop
and wait some more. At this pace, it would take two hours for it to finally overtake the convoy at Nongkhor.
The sun had already sunk beyond the treetops, but in the open spaces at the edge of the jungle there was enough
light to recognize the features of a face. From the top of the mountain, a cold wind swept down the whole length of the
railroad, which cut through thick jungle, and it made even healthy people shiver. Once, while the tramcar stopped and
waited, the manager noticed that the sick man was quivering, so he had Mr. Pin tightly wrap three blankets round his
body. He also told him to take off his shirt and wrap it round the man’s neck and head. Mr. Pin, unseen, made a wry
face, but did as he was told.
On another occasion when the tramcar had stopped and the convoy had gone so far ahead it was out of earshot, in
the ensuing silence the general manager heard the patient mumble something, so he said, “Listen, Pin. What’s he
saying?”
“It seems he’s speaking in some foreign language, Your Highness. Something like ‘suria-suria-needorraphin’. He’s
delirious. I don’t think there’s anything he wants.”
Mr. Pin, who was only fluent in French because he had lived in France for more than twenty years, knew only two
words in the royal version of his own mother tongue, and these were the equivalents of “sir” and “I”.
As soon as he had finished speaking, the voice of the sick man rose and spoke clearly, as though to protest that he
wasn’t in a delirium: “Orraphin... Orraphin... Suriya is back.” The sounds died down in his throat, and again:
“Orraphin... Suriya will always win.”
“What! How can that be?” exclaimed His Highness, utterly thrilled.
“Junior, Little Jiu, come, come and sit astride my chest. When you grow up, you must be a cavalryman. Practice on
Daddy’s chest first, my Little Jiu, Suriya Junior...”
“Pin, Pin, quick! Shine your flashlight on his face. Hurry up!”
Under the moustache and beard and a thick layer of grime and dry sweat, the face looked so drawn and battered
by weather, liquor and disease that it was hard to figure out what the man really looked like. After a while, His
Highness recalled that, though he did of course know the woman named Orraphin and had seen Kamon-Suriya or
“Little Jiu” a couple of times, he had never met Prince Suriya in the flesh but merely seen photographs of him taken
several years ago. So, how could he know for certain that this was Prince Suriya-Yiamsakon, whom all Bangkok
believed had lost his life at sea?
The sick man was now mumbling now shaking his head, and it was obvious that he was half unconscious due to
high fever. His Highness, who had some knowledge of severe attacks of malaria, urged Mr. Pin to make sure that the
blankets remained tightly wrapped round the man’s abnormally cold body. At the same time, he kept mumbling to
himself while brooding over this difficult problem and trying unsuccessfully to suppress his anxiety over the symptoms
shown by the sick man, until the tramcar came to a stop in front of a large mansion in Siracha.
“Pin, don’t send this man to the hospital. Tell the driver to help you carry him to the room at the back of the dining
room.” His Highness turned to another valet who was running towards him to welcome him and said, “Lek, go fetch
the doctor right away. Tell him I want him to come here urgently. Pin, it will be your duty to look after the sick man.
Tell the cook to boil some water and have my two hot-water bottles filled and placed under the man’s blankets.
Whenever you have to go out, tell the cook’s wife to look after him instead.”
Pin looked at his master with a puzzled expression, then set out to perform his duty as earnestly as usual.
That evening, the general manager did not go upstairs as soon as he had finished his dinner, but remained on the
veranda adjoining the room at the back of the dining room until the doctor arrived from the hospital, and he waited
for him to complete the examination.
“I can’t give any opinion right now, Your Highness. His condition is still subnormal. His temperature is down to
below thirty-six degrees centigrade. It’s fortunate you had hot-water bottles placed on him. I’ve injected him with
quinine and a heart stimulant but the bottles must be changed often, and Mr. Pin should take his temperature every
four hours. If it drops even further, I must be called immediately.”
“Thank you very much, Doctor. I have my own reasons for having him treated here. Please attend to him to the
best of your ability. At what time should I send the car to pick you up?”
“No need, Your Highness, I have my bicycle. If there’s no change tonight, I’ll call early tomorrow morning on my
way to the hospital.”
After that, the Siracha Hospital doctor, a kind man who enjoyed the respect of everyone in town, walked away
scratching his head repeatedly. He had thought that the aberration of His Highness taking a simple labourer for
treatment in his own residence would be explained to him once he had reported the nature of the ailment. It turned
out, however, that he was left as baffled as before. As a practitioner strictly bound by the code of ethics of his calling,
he had no business digging up other people’s secrets when they were not forthcoming. Pushing his bicycle and
whistling merrily, he walked all the way to the coffee-shop at the marketplace, and when he was asked what had
happened, he smiled and remained silent. Those who knew his turn of mind went on to talk about something else.
The next morning, the patient’s symptoms hadn’t changed in any way. His body was as cold as before and he was
as delirious as the previous evening, thus the doctor had nothing new to report. That morning, the general manager
went to his office at eight o’clock, which was one hour earlier than he normally did. Luckily, several senior members of
the staff were already at their desks.
“Chat, place a call to Muenjit and get me Suwan on the line.”
It took Mr. Chat, the chief accountant, nearly half an hour to raise Muenjit and when he finally had Mr. Suwan on
the line, he connected him to the desk of the general manager.
“Is that Suwan? Suwan, can you remember the exact date on which the man named Phueak arrived at Siracha?”
There was a silence for a while. Mr. Suwan held the receiver with one hand, and with the other made the same
gesture as the doctor had the night before. ‘Why in heaven’s name does he want to know the exact date? With no
record, how can one remember what happened a couple of years ago? A record, hey? Did I record it? Oh, I know!’
“I can’t remember the exact date, Your Highness, but I think you can check with the office. I do remember that this
man arrived here four days before I left to survey the site in Rayong. If you ask Mr. Chat to search for his records of
my expenses for that trip, you should get the information you want. Please tell him it was some time between one year
and ten months to two years ago.”
“Good. Thank you and goodbye, Suwan. Chat, please find Mr. Suwan’s invoice for his trip to Rayong one year and
ten months to two years ago.”
“Begging your pardon, we only keep all receipts and account books here for one year. After that, they are kept at
the main office in Bangkok.”
“Then, send a telegram to the main office asking for the exact date Mr. Suwan left for Rayong. Tell them I want a
reply today. One more thing, Chat. Send another telegram to my elder sister. Tell her to ask Orraphin on which day
Prince Suriya disappeared two years ago. I want a reply by telegram today as well.”
At dusk that same day, the general manager was on the veranda at the back of the dining room. On the table, there
was a tray with a bottle of whiskey, a bottle of soda and a few clean crystal glasses on saucers of silver. One of the
glasses had a touch of whiskey-soda at the bottom, indicating that His Highness had been drinking on his own for
some time. Next to the tray were three pieces of paper – two telegrams and a thick card twice the size of a postcard.
The general manager sipped his whiskey as he perused the three sheets one at a time. Then his eyes went back to
the first one and he began reading them one by one once again. He frowned as if deep in thought about some problem
too difficult for him to solve.
One telegram said, “SURIYA STOP PHANURANGSEE STOP BETWEEN RAYONG AND ESTUARY STOP
NEWS KNOWN ON BOARD MORNING DECEMBER FIFTH 19– STOP”
The other said, “MR. SUWAN LEFT FOR RAYONG FOREST ASSESSMENT DECEMBER NINTH 19–
STOP”
As for the thick card, it was an invitation to the water-pouring ceremony for the wedding of Prince Worrawong-
Watthana’s son, Prince Worrawat – His Highness’s own nephew – and Morm Orraphin, former wife of Prince Suriya-
Yiamsakon, who was dead in the eyes of the law. The royally sponsored wedding ceremony would be held at
Amphorn Palace, to be followed by an informal reception for family members at the palace of Prince Worrawat’s
father, and the event was due to take place on January 14th, twelve days hence.
From one end of the veranda came some noise. When he raised his head and looked up, His Highness saw the
doctor walking out of the sick man’s room. He moved a glass and a saucer to the side of the table where the doctor was
to sit and said, “Do help yourself. How is the patient?”
While mixing himself a drink, the doctor reported: “His temperature has risen slightly. It’s obvious he used to enjoy
excellent health and must have led a comfortable life before his body deteriorated due to alcohol, bad food and general
neglect for some time. But his former strength has helped save his life, and I am now confident that he will recover.”
“Has he come round yet?”
“Not yet, Your Highness.”
“When will he regain consciousness?”
“I cannot say for sure yet. Probably in the next three days.”
“Oh! As long as that, really? After he regains consciousness, how many days will it be before he has sufficiently
recovered to be able to talk about a most important matter in his life?”
The doctor was quiet for a long while. He finally replied: “I really can’t say. It’ll depend on his own will to recover
and on the nursing care he gets.”
“Don’t worry about nursing care. Please attend to him to the best of your ability so that he has recovered enough to
talk about something of the utmost importance within one week – I mean seven days from now. Can you promise me
that much?”
The more he was pressed, the more evasive the doctor was.
“The only thing I can promise is that I’ll try my very best.”
“That’s good enough, and I thank you. I have a most compelling reason to keep asking and pressing you, but I
can’t reveal it just now. If he is going to die, he can do so any time and this won’t create any trouble for anyone, but if
he is going to go on living, he has to be conscious and healthy enough to talk about a most significant matter in his life
and in the life of others no later than the twelfth of this month. Do you understand, doctor?”
“I understand, Your Highness.”
That same evening, as he was pushing his bicycle through the market on his way back to the hospital, the good
doctor was scratching his bald patch and mumbling to himself, “I don’t understand, I don’t understand, I don’t
understand at all!”
Prince Niphon Wannasarn had to admit to himself that, though he had travelled all around the world and seen
many aspects of life, for the first time in his existence he had come in the Siracha forestry concession upon a secret he
himself qualified as ‘distressing’. It was a secret which, as long as it lasted, even if it were only a matter of hours, stifled
him so much that he found it difficult to breathe.
This was because he was now certain beyond doubt that the patient under his care, whom the people in the Siracha
forest knew under the name of Phueak, was none other than Prince Suriya-Yiamsakon, the lawful husband of Morm
Orraphin, who was about to marry Prince Worrawat, his own nephew, ten to twelve days from now.
In such a queer and oppressive situation, what should he do? Inform Bangkok and have the wedding cancelled,
which had been the first idea to come to his mind? That was the right and proper thing to do, but then, when he went
beyond mere appearances and considered the problem in depth, he had to stop and ask himself anew, “Is it
appropriate?”
Prince Suriya-Yiamsakon’s father was a blue-blooded high official whose dedication to the nation had become part
of Thai history. Prince Suriya was his only son and, as such, the rightful heir to the family’s huge estate. Thus, the
news of his disappearance and the pronouncement of his death had spread like wildfire both through the press and by
word of mouth, as befitted the importance of the man in the news himself. For this reason, it was hard to believe that
the rumour would not have reached him. If he was aware of it – through the afore-mentioned means – or even if he
was not, there seemed to be no reason which could explain why he had gone into hiding for the past two years and
deceived the whole world, and especially Orraphin, his beloved wife, to the point that she was about to marry again.
To his knowledge, the relationship between Prince Suriya and Orraphin before their last parting had shown no sign of
falling out or disagreement.
Prince Suriya was a well-educated man who had demonstrated strong determination in the past. So, this time, he
must have had valid and sufficient reasons of his own for not clearing up the general misunderstanding about his
demise by revealing his true identity. To poke one’s nose into the prince’s life and perhaps go against his will before
finding out from him what his true motives were might be tantamount to premature action and have adverse
repercussions not only on Prince Suriya’s life but on the lives of Orraphin, Worrawat and many others as well.
Prince Niphon prided himself on always upholding righteousness. He was well aware that Orraphin and Prince
Worrawat, his nephew, were smitten with each other. Theirs was an old flame rekindled, which had first glowed in
their youth but had died down when they had had to live on separate continents. Now, however, for the first time,
Suriya had been found. Were he confident he was doing the right thing, His Highness would not have hesitated to tell
Bangkok the truth so that the wedding be postponed or discreetly cancelled. But his uncertainty as to the proper
course of action he should follow was what made his secret so distressing, and his distress increased with every glance
he stole at the clock and at the calendar, to the point that he could hardly breathe normally any longer.
5
The first day had passed, and the second day was almost over. The condition of the patient was improving, but not as
quickly as Prince Niphon would have wished, because each day that went by brought the date of the wedding that
much closer. How would his elder sister and His Serene Highness react if they knew that he was keeping a secret as
powerful as a bomb, only to have it explode – if it ever came to that – close to the wedding day? He dared not even to
think about it. In any case, his hands were tied and he could do nothing until he had had a talk with Suriya to dispel
all the doubts he entertained, because that secret was Prince Suriya’s alone and no one else’s, not even Orraphin’s.
Pin was the one who had, to some extent, to share Prince Niphon’s annoyance and oppression without knowing the
real ins and outs of the situation, as he had been put in charge of nursing the patient with the assistance of the cook
and the cook’s wife. Although he had never performed this task before, it was not a difficult assignment for him
because the prince helped by supervising the nursing from the outside, as it were. Whatever he thought might improve
the comfort of the patient, Prince Niphon would order Mr. Pin to provide forthwith. Every meal prepared for the
patient had to be brought to the prince first for approval. After Mr. Pin had spoon-fed the patient, he had to report
how much of the meal had been partaken. Prince Niphon could not have paid greater attention to the patient if he had
been one of his closest relatives. He supervised the nursing himself without respite and without a thought to his own
exhaustion, so much so that once, the doctor whispered with a smile to the chief mechanic of the sawmill: “Look at
your old master. He wants me to cure a bad case of malaria overnight, just as you would turn your sawing machine on
full steam.”
Nevertheless, thanks to the superior ability of the doctor, who ran the hospital, in which more than ninety percent of
the patients were being treated for malaria, and thanks to the nursing provided by the general manager, the patient’s
condition gradually improved. On the third day after being taken out of the forest, he opened his eyes, which were no
longer hazy and had lost the gleaming rictus of high fever.
He glanced round the room and felt totally bewildered, because he could remember that the last time he had been
conscious he had lain on an old mattress covered with a sheet so dirty that it was hard to tell that it had once been
white – but then, what else could be expected of Mr. Mui, a log-loading labourer at the Khlong Yai forestry
concession? How was it that he now found himself lying on a spotlessly clean bed, beneath a fine mosquito net? The
more he thought, the dizzier he felt. Utterly devoid of strength, he fell asleep again. It was a deep slumber with steady
breathing, unlike his laboured gasping for breath up until then, and the doctor pronounced it a good sign.
On the fourth day, the patient woke up feeling rather cheerful. He could eat a little, and move a little on his own.
Then he began to ask questions about what puzzled him, such as, Was this a hospital? Who had brought him here?
Did every worker in the forest receive this kind of treatment? But Mr. Pin, complying to the letter with the general
manager’s instructions, would only answer, “The doctor forbids you to speak. Keep your questions for when you’re
better in the next few days.” The patient got so bored with such an answer that he soon stopped asking and fell asleep
again.
For as long as the patient had been delirious, the general manager had supervised the nursing closely, but he was
happy to take a back seat and stay out of sight as soon as the patient was conscious again. He ordered the man in
charge of the nursing, and beseeched the doctor, not to answer any of the patient’s queries but merely to press him to
rest in order for him to recover his strength and eat as much as he could. Even though the prince himself was so restive
that he could hardly stay still, he took great pains to control himself because he realized that the patient was still in no
condition to stand the shock of learning things that were bound to hurt him.
Thanks to the special medical and nursing attention already mentioned, the patient, whose condition had been so
critical that the doctor at first had been unwilling to vouch for his recovery, was able to sit up and recline on the bed by
the sixth day.
By then, he had discarded his filthy clothes and was dressed in a shirt and silk trousers from the general manager’s
wardrobe. Although his skin was still weather-beaten, the man now wearing loose but clean clothes looked entirely
different from the patient that the doctor had seen when he had just woken up and recovered from his fever. When the
doctor visited him that evening, the man raised his hands in respectful greeting, smiled and said, “I’m all right now.
There’s almost no need to bother you any longer.”
“Very good, but you should try to sleep more and eat more as well. After you get your sense of taste back,
tomorrow or the day after I’m sure, Pin will need more than his own two hands to bring you food.”
“Well, you see, I...”
The doctor raised his hand and pulled him up short, as he was aware of what he was going to say next. “Don’t
forget that I still don’t allow you to talk more than necessary. Don’t exhaust yourself by asking or thinking too much.
Eat when you’re told to and sleep as long as you can. There’ll be plenty of time for you to talk when you’re back in
shape. For the time being, I only allow you to speak to ask for food or water and to tell me your symptoms.”
The patient had a wry smile. “Can I ask for a drink as well, doctor?”
The doctor stared at the speaker with flashing eyes.
“You should wait for at least another three months before thinking of having a drink. Let me warn you: if you value
life, you’d better not drink a drop of alcohol in the next two or three weeks. If...” He hesitated a little, then came to a
decision. “You have become addicted to alcohol. During your convalescence, you’ll be craving for it, especially at meal
time, but let me emphasize that you must not give in. Drinking alcohol is extremely dangerous when you are
recuperating from a high fever, because it will bring the fever back. Many lives have been lost this way.”
That evening, the doctor stopped by to report on the progress of his treatment to the general manager, who was
watching officials from various departments playing tennis.
“His condition has much improved, Your Highness. He should be able to hold a conversation three days from now.
But a most important point is alcohol. He just asked me whether he could drink. That’s absolutely out of the question.
Please tell Mr. Pin to see to it that he doesn’t, as it is very dangerous.”
“Three days from now... three days from now...” the general manager repeated between his teeth, as if talking to
himself. “What date is it today? The seventh, isn’t it? The seventh – three days from now will be the tenth. The
wedding is on the fourteenth. At the latest, I must leave on the eleventh, and three days from now is the tenth. Ah,
good! Thank you, doctor, thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome. Please instruct Mr. Pin about drinking. Tell him to be very careful because it may be fatal to the
patient, whom I have warned already.”
On the tenth day, Prince Niphon received a telegram from his elder sister urging him to leave ahead of time to help
with the wedding preparations, yet he still hesitated because, despite the gradual improvement in the patient’s health,
it was obvious that he was still far from strong enough to endure the most devastating torment of his life. But the
wedding day, which seemed to be winging in alarmingly fast, forced him to disregard the man’s weakness. The
patient might be shocked and hurt, but he himself had to figure out on this very day whether he should send a
telegram to cancel the wedding ceremony or let the event take place as if nothing extraordinary had happened. At this
point in his reflections, Prince Niphon had to admit to himself that, if things turned out in the latter manner, he would
have to remain the sole possessor of such a dangerous secret.
In any case, he ordered Mr. Pin to place a deck chair on the veranda outside of the dining room, which was his
favourite place, and requested him to take the patient there when he woke up in the afternoon.
A few days of good food, deep sleep and clean clothes had given the patient a new radiance. Even though his
complexion was still sallow, it was not difficult by then to notice that he was no ordinary worker of the Siracha forest or
any other forest in the world.
He walked out of the bedroom on weak legs, holding to Mr. Pin’s arm. This was the first time he found himself in
front of the general manager, yet he raised his hands to his face and bowed respectfully before easing himself into the
deck chair in a way which showed how utterly weak he was.
“Ah! So you do know me?” The general manager spoke first.
“I once saw you on an inspection tour in the forest, from a distance.”
“Pin, bring a glass of water or orange juice to your patient.”
“Yessah,” Pin responded earnestly as was his nature and hurried away.
The general manager sat still staring at the patient for a while, then said, “I wonder whether you are strong enough
to discuss something of the greatest import.”
“I am all right now, and I’d actually like to ask...”
The manager waved his hand to stop the other party speaking. Right then, Pin, whose handling of his duties was
always impeccable, brought in not only a glass of orange juice, but a whiskey tray for his master as well. After he had
placed each item in its proper place, he hurried out of the room as a good servant should. The manager then resumed
the conversation.
“It seems you misunderstand the words ‘of the greatest import’.”
“I am puzzled that the company would provide such good medical care to a worker like...”
Prince Niphon, again, waved his hand to cut him up short.
“This is a trifling matter. What we have to talk about is a big issue of the utmost importance to you. Moreover, you
should try to compose yourself and be brave.”
“Oh, then you must know that we are – that I am from Bangkok?”
“Let us be straight with each other. We do not have much time. I am asking you to be brave. I think I know a lot
more about you than your mere lapse into high language right now gives away. I have known for quite some time.”
“That we are – that I am a member of the aristocracy?”
“Please compose yourself, Suriya. Excuse me.”
Even though he had been forewarned, the patient was startled. He clasped the arms of the chair so tightly that his
hands blanched. He remained silent for a while. The manager lowered his head as he mixed himself a whiskey soda.
Having found the concoction to his satisfaction, he asked succinctly: “Why did you do it, Suriya?”
His interlocutor was examining his fingernails, which had just been cut and scoured clean for the first time in two
years. As no answer was forthcoming, Prince Niphon probed further: “I beg your pardon. If my question intrudes on
your privacy, you do not have to answer it.”
“Not at all. It isn’t like that. The thing is, er...”
“Think matters out carefully first. You do not have to tell me what is on your mind, but if you think you should,
then be assured that everything you tell me will rest in the strictest confidence.”
“Your Highness still misunderstands me. There is nothing complicated about my story. It begins and ends with
only one word – ‘alcohol’.” Prince Niphon noticed that the speaker was now talking forcefully. “I cannot stop
drinking. It is self-destructive, and then – and then, I just was not callous enough to see the best and loveliest wife on
earth suffer in silence because I have become a slave to alcohol.”
“Ah, this is what I would like to discuss with you presently. Talking in terms of kinship, I am your uncle, but in
terms of age, I think I have the right to ask you whether you were justified, whether you had enough reasons to let
Orraphin think that you were dead?”
“Dead?”
“What! Don’t tell me you don’t know that the rest of the world has pronounced you dead at sea? The news made
headlines in all the newspapers.”
The other man could only shake his head in sheer astonishment.
“How could people think otherwise, since you disappeared for two years?”
“Two years, that’s right. And for these two years, I have been drunk to the point of completely forsaking home, son
and wife. Look at me, Your Highness! Finding someone as bad as me in this world would be rather difficult, I daresay.
No later than last night, I was having an argument with your Mr. Pin because he wouldn’t let me have a drink. Amen!
The One Above hasn’t let me down, since he let me fall sick only to have Your Highness nurse me back to health. Have
you sent word to Orraphin yet?”
Prince Niphon Wannasarn got up with a start. His hand brushed against the glass of whiskey, which almost fell off
the table. He said something that ended with “...getting damn complicated!” then paced back and forth, drawing
furiously on his cigarette. He went on like this for a long time then planted himself firmly in front of Suriya.
“No, I have not told Orraphin. I have not told anyone so far. Apart from you and me, no one in the world knows
that you are still alive. Why have I been keeping quiet? This question has been vexing me for the whole week you have
been sick here. How was I to know that you did not have some overwhelming reason for not showing yourself during
the past two years? Perhaps you had your own secret, which made it imperative for you to cut yourself off from your
relatives and friends and the world in general, and let even your wife believe that you were dead. So, I have had to
refrain from telling anyone anything until I received your permission to do so, although... although...”
Prince Niphon did not pursue his line of argument but instead resumed his pacing back and forth, and after a long
while said without breaking his stride, “Why didn’t you think things through? Why?”
Hardly had Suriya thought of an answer when Prince Niphon went on speaking.
“Suriya, in what we have said so far, there is nothing that can be considered as really important. You must now
brace yourself to listen to another matter which is much more significant.”
The other party stared at the speaker in puzzlement.
“Has it never dawned on you, Suriya, that your disappearance, by making people think you were dead, would
bring about some changes within the circle of your close acquaintances?”
After puzzling the question over for a while, Suriya answered: “To my own shame, I must admit I never gave it a
thought. When I told you I have been a drunkard for the past two years, I was hardly exaggerating. In late afternoon,
even before work was over, I would tank up again like the others, and with what was already in my stomach waiting
to get me high any time, it took very little to get drunk right away. When I woke up in the morning, I felt weak, so I
had to go for a new dose, which, added to the leftover alcohol in my veins, kept me going till evening. There were times
when I sobered up, in the middle of the day, when I was so taken up with my work that I forgot to drink. But when I
thought too much, I had to get myself a drink to stop the funk right away. I had to prevent myself from thinking
about what I didn’t want to think about, and letting my thoughts drift into some innocuous topic was welcome
inasmuch as it prevented me from those other thoughts. That’s how those two years passed unawares. Yet, all along, I
have genuinely been telling myself I would return home one day.”
“Why didn’t you ever think that one day it might be too late?”
Hearing this, the patient slowly hoisted himself up into a sitting position. He frowned and stared at Prince Niphon,
who had now turned to face him.
“‘Too late’, ‘It might be too late’. What do you mean by this?”
The older man replied slowly: “Orraphin is still young, and with everyone believing you dead...”
“I see!” The words came out like a soft groan in his throat.
Right now, neither man was looking the other in the face. Each was busy staring at a junk cutting with taut sails
through the dazzle lit by the setting sun over the water of the Gulf. After he reckoned Suriya had had enough time to
compose himself, the general manager went on: “Actually, Orraphin is the one to be sorry for.”
“Nobody realizes this better than I do. It is not Orraphin’s fault at all. Who with, Your Highness?”
“Prince Worrawat. It seems they used to feel for each other in the past.”
“Since they were little. This much I know, but I understood it was all over a long time ago. Are they very much in
love?”
Prince Niphon had to turn his gaze away towards the beautiful seascape again, because he could no longer stand
the sight of the man’s sorrow-stricken, frowning face, especially now that he had to answer him with the truth, which
was like stabbing him in the heart with a dagger.
“I understand this is so, because it is something that grew between the two of them, and their elders merely
extended their approval. But I am absolutely sure that Orraphin is still attached to you. If she had the merest notion
that you were still alive, she would not...”
“Of this, I am even more certain than you are, Your Highness. When did they become husband and wife?”
“Oh, I am so sorry! Very sorry indeed. It isn’t too late. At the moment, they are only engaged. In my confusion I
misled you grievously. The wedding will take place at Amphorn Palace on the fourteenth, that is, four days from now.
According to my former schedule, I should have left Siracha to go help with the preparations three or four days ago.
Since I came upon you, I have been feeling uneasy. I could not send a telegram to cancel the ceremony without
knowing what your intentions were, lest it should interfere with someone’s secret and happiness. So, I had to wait and
seize the first opportunity to sound you out even though you are not well enough. Nevertheless, you can rest assured
that, though Worrawat is my nephew, I will do but the right thing. With your permission, I shall send a telegram
immediately to cancel the wedding. The cancellation should not be delayed, because it is a royal ceremony. The closer
to the wedding date, the greater the uproar it will create. As for you, looking on the bright side, it so happens that
sickness is keeping you away from your old foe, alcohol. The doctor has strenuously reiterated that, if you drink again
within the next couple of weeks, he cannot vouch for anything. It might be fatal. Once you have gone without alcohol
for a while, you should give it up for good and go back to providing love and warmth to your son and to your wife...
“...Who is in love with Worrawat, her old sweetheart.”
Suriya had sat listening to Prince Niphon’s admonition attentively, but at the word “wife” he could not refrain from
interrupting. He pretended to smile, but it was such a dry and lifeless smile that it made the man watching him wince.
Then he went on speaking musingly: “If you send a telegram to cancel the wedding, then the news that I am still
alive will be all over town.”
“I am afraid this is inevitable. Theirs is a royally sponsored ceremony to which royalty and all senior officials in
town are invited. To have it cancelled at the last minute because the bride’s former husband is discovered to be alive –
doesn’t it sound like a cheap novel? And – and the newspapers will feast on it. But what else can we do?”
“Orraphin will be a victim of our blue-blooded gossips. That lot has never done anything useful for the nation; they
only know how to pry into other people’s affairs. To them, Suriya was either a joker or evil incarnate, and his death a
relief. But as soon as his wife and son are about to enjoy life, he contrives to make a come back to thwart the happy
union of Orraphin and Worrawat, a well-matched couple who have rekindled the old flame from their youth. Maybe
he will go back to drinking and being the Number-One Drunkard in town once again, spoiling the dignity and
prestige of his relatives and close acquaintances, and setting the worst possible example for his Little Jiu. Talking about
Jiu, how is he, Your Highness?”
“Healthy, clever and cute. Orraphin has brought him up very well. She has taught him to respect his father. He
keeps asking about you. She has forbidden everyone to tell him about his father’s – er, shortcomings. When he grows
up, he will be a cavalryman like his father. He does not like to play with anything but a set of toy weapons and horses.
It seems that it was him who brought Orraphin and Worrawat together again. Worrawat loves children. When he was
abroad, he studied about child education and upon his return, opened a kindergarten and welcomed children of all
backgrounds. In the evening, he takes them in his car and drives them to the countryside to treat them to local sweets
and candies. Little Jiu is his favourite by far, and this has helped pick up the threads of the past.”
“Indeed! Jiu must be delighted with Worrawat.”
“Suriya, you must stop thinking at random. Just set your heart on giving up drinking, then go back to your wife
and to your son. Well, I shall go right away and send that telegram telling them to cancel the wedding, and tonight I
shall return to Bangkok to give them a full explanation.”
“Wait! Not yet, not just now, please, Your Highness.”
“What! What do you mean ‘not yet’? The wedding day is approaching. The ship leaves at midnight tonight, and
this is the last trip for me to get there in time, so I can no longer linger here.”
“Please give me some time to think the matter over, at least until this evening.”
“That’s fine with me, but don’t leave it too late, as it would make it difficult to send a telegram. Now, I shall go and
watch a game of tennis. We shall meet again in the early evening. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to call
Mr. Pin.”
Prince Niphon Wannasarn did not send the telegram to Bangkok to cancel the wedding ceremony as he intended
because, after he finished watching the game of tennis and returned to the veranda, he found his patient slumped in
the deck chair, his chin stuck to the lapel of his shirt, saliva drooling from his mouth, and the smell that emanated from
him revealed the cause of his alarming condition.
Prince Niphon turned to look at the bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label, of which he had only drunk about a
quarter. Now, it was hard to find even a single drop at the bottom – and that was the definite answer from Prince
Suriya-Yiamsakon, as befitted his resolute, doggedly stubborn character.
After the doctor had finished examining the patient, whom the general manager himself had carried back to his
room with the help of Mr. Pin, he shook his head hopelessly.
“I warned him most explicitly that even a drop of it could be like poison in his condition. And there he goes and
downs...”
“There isn’t any hope, is there, doctor?”
“From what I can see now, none, but I will try to bring him round. He might improve, but I doubt it.”
“Oh, no! What a shame! I warned him about an hour ago that you absolutely forbade him to drink.”
“In that case, it means that...”
“He drank intentionally, but keep this to yourself. Pin had taken the opportunity to go to the market and that was
how it happened. Do try your very best, doctor. The situation is frightfully complicated. I have to leave tonight and
must place his life in your hands altogether. One more thing, doctor. Please listen to me carefully. When he comes to, if
his condition is critical or bound for the worse despite your very best efforts, then let things take their course, but if by
the evening of the thirteenth of this month it looks like he might recover, please inform me at once by telegram and
report in detail both his condition and your opinion. Can you promise that you will do this, doctor?”
The poor doctor raised a perplexed head, but then gave his word as usual.
“I can, Your Highness.”
6
The wedding of Prince Worrawat and Morm Orraphin took place according to schedule.
Morm Orraphin, the erstwhile spouse of Prince Suriya-Yiamsakon, went through the marriage ceremony with
Prince Worrawat exactly as had been planned, but Suriya was not dead as the doctor had forecast and people at large
still understood. It was as if he had lost the only thing that gave meaning to his life by providing it with a sense of
purpose. Nonetheless, this life of his now devoid of a glimmer of hope struggled to reassert itself, and even though he
still had to recover from the grief and bitterness of his thoughts and memories, his body began to recreate its strength
as the natural healing process ordained.
It is not difficult at all to guess how much on edge Prince Niphon’s nerves were during the couple of days leading to
the wedding. The closer it came to the deadline he had given the doctor, the less he could sit still. His relatives and
friends were amazed to see him doing nothing but pace back and forth, sipping whiskey and frantically drawing on
the cigarette that was perpetually dangling from between his lips, but after the thirteenth had gone by without a
telegram, he was left with indescribably mixed feelings which hovered between relief from worry and a vague, if
inescapable, sadness and disappointment.
It must be stated that Prince Niphon did not reveal Suriya’s secret to anyone in Bangkok. He tried to suppress the
anxiety in his heart until the appointed time had passed. The more he convinced himself that Suriya was dead, the
more he saw no point in opening old wounds, and thus he took the secret back with him to its place of origin.
As soon as he stepped onto the bridge of Koh Loy, however, he learned from Mr. Pin that his patient had come
round in the evening of the fourteenth. Since it was past the agreed date, the doctor had decided not to send a telegram
to inform the prince. The patient was recovering quite rapidly as is usually the case with those who survive malaria.
Prince Niphon knew in his heart that the news filled him with true elation, but being an adult who was used to
keeping his emotions under control, he did not express his feelings, for fear of bewildering the people around him.
Yet, in the evening, Mr. Pin was thrilled when his master placed a ten-baht bank note in his palm and told him: “I
had no time to buy you a present in Bangkok. So, take this and buy yourself something.”
The human instinct for survival is held by the best minds to be a strong fortification sheltering and guiding our lives
more securely than any other force. Suriya’s case was yet another example of the validity of this belief.
Although Suriya’s life and soul had noticeably withered since the day he had come to, his body, which was now free
from disease, was gradually yet constantly on the mend, without setbacks or signs of relapse. Previously, he had been
a difficult patient asking all manner of questions as he was anxious to know and understand what was happening
around him, but this time round, he annoyed those who nursed him by taking no interest in anything. It was almost
like he did not know who he was and whether he was still alive. He ate food and did everything out of sheer habit, like
a machine not operated by a brain.
However, his instinct for survival was mightier than the indifference in his heart, and this instinct insisted on
restoring his physical strength, overriding the inner demands of his heart. Within two weeks, his body and all of his
organs, which had been well nurtured since childhood, recovered their former strength.
All this time, Prince Niphon did his best to provide happiness to the patient by seeing to his physical comfort and
offering him words of consolation whenever suitable, but his well-wishing was only effective in terms of physical
health, as it seemed the patient had put on a suit of armour for self-protection. Thus, words of consolation or kindly
remarks could not reach into the depths of the man’s heart as they may have done in the past. He heard the voices, he
listened to the words, but he paid no attention to the meaning of what was being said.
So, when he was healthy enough and eager to return to the forest, at first the general manager tried to dissuade him
to leave, but after he had reflected that Suriya would be happier if he stayed in the forest, which was a good way of
healing, he finally yielded. He reorganized the job structure in the forest by promoting Suriya, or Mr. Phueak as he
was known, to the position of assistant superintendent and chief operator of the hauling machines, making him
responsible for the six hauling machines of the Khlong Yai concession.
“I think,” the general manager said as he was having a heart-to-heart talk with Suriya the evening before the latter
was due back to the forest, “I think that, despite our long discussion, you still do not really understand what I have
said. So, let me say it again. I should be held partly responsible...”
The other man raised his hand and waved it in protest, but Prince Niphon continued as if nothing had happened.
“...Because I have only good wishes to all parties concerned.”
“The fault is with me for not dying when I should have. Things would have been simpler. You should not idly
blame yourself like that. How could you know I would not die, when the doctor himself had already given up hope?”
“Let us stop arguing over this useless point. I only want you to understand that from now on and for as long as you
will do as you intend, that is, refrain from showing yourself to claim Orraphin or the property you are entitled to, I
shall consider it my duty to take responsibility for your welfare and make sure that you are not in want – wait, Suriya,
hear me out – and if I die before you do, there will be a clause in my will instructing that one portion of my estate be
given to Mr. Phueak, a company worker, for his sustenance. I have no offspring. When I die, my property, which
cannot compare to yours but is enough for three or four people to live comfortably on, will be divided amongst my
younger siblings and their children, some of whom do not deserve anything but will still get something from me
because they are my relatives; cutting them off would lead to too many grudges. Therefore, let me beseech you to give
in on this point for my sake. Ever since I have known about you, I have not been able to find any peace of mind. Will
you allow me to die in peace, Suriya, with the feeling that, at least, I have paid back part of the debt I feel I owe you
because of my overwhelming sense of responsibility?”
Realizing that he was cornered with no room for manoeuvre, Suriya could only shake his head and remain silent.
After a time, he answered: “I cannot forbid you to add anything to your will or protest about it in any way. This being
said, may I just ask for the salary the company would normally pay for this kind of work?”
Prince Suriya-Yiamsakon’s brilliant then bitter life, which had been rekindled for a while, had come to a complete and
absolute end. From then on, it would only slide further and further into oblivion, even from the memory of his closest
intimates. In its stead, the life of Phueak resumed at the Khlong Yai forestry concession of the Siracha Company.
Assuredly, all the workers and villagers in the area, who had loved and respected Phueak in the past, heartily
welcomed him back and jostled with one another to congratulate him, but, from the moment they saw their Phueak
again, even though they lived in the forest, far away from all those places which are said to be kept warm by the glow
of civilization and progress, they all realized without a doubt that their Phueak had changed a great deal. It was not
because his new position as assistant superintendent drove a wedge between him and the common people. It was not
because their Phueak intended to wield his power to distance himself from the easy-going relationship they had
enjoyed. Their Phueak was still cool-headed, and kindly to those who were in trouble, but it seemed that he acted out
of habit rather than out of his true feelings: he looked indifferent these days, and he wore a stern expression at all times.
His flair for small talk and for promoting solidarity and putting people at ease, which had helped defuse tense
situations and conflict and had earned him the respect and the love of the workers in the past, was now completely
gone. To be honest, it looked as though he was trying to avoid human beings altogether, preferring the company of his
liquor and ... of the elephant named Maliwan.
And talking of liquor, Mr. Phueak had resumed drinking with a vengeance, so much so that the local brew had
become tame, that is to say, he could drink as much of it as he wanted without becoming drunk to the point of losing
consciousness or being unable to work. Yet, there was never a single moment when he was really sober, either in the
daytime or however late at night. He would join any drinking circle and keep on drinking throughout his waking
hours, but he preferred to get drunk alone. So, whenever he could not find friendly human beings to drink with, he
would turn to his old friend, who had always shown him an indefectible amity – Maliwan.
The main reason why he had difficulty finding friends to drink with, besides his stern face and cold behaviour
which hardly appealed to the people around him, was that Maliwan did everything to prevent his dear Phueak from
being approached by any of his friends of a human persuasion.
Born and raised amongst human beings, Maliwan had cleverly adopted some positive traits of man, as well as a
negative one, a jealous possessiveness in the things and people he loved. No one in the Siracha forest had the slightest
suspicion then that Maliwan loved Phueak to such an extent. Anyone who showed himself overly friendly with Phueak
in the presence of Maliwan instantly made himself a four-legged enemy who was as clever as any human being.
Maliwan would hide his displeasure until such time as the person forgot himself and allowed him to get near. Then and
there his long-repressed resentment would explode with dire results for the person’s life. He would be punished, he
would be confined in the Muenjit concession, but he always managed to break loose and find his way back to his
beloved friend. Finally, the company, which did not want to lose such a valuable asset as Maliwan, had to admit defeat
and had him transferred to live with his friend in the Khlong Yai concession, but this had for effect to restrict Phueak in
his contact with his human friends, which seemed to correspond to Phueak’s own wishes as well.
Thus, before long, Phueak had completely isolated himself from his human peers and stayed in the company of the
local moonshine and of Maliwan.
His life went on in this fashion for almost two years. Had not The One Above ordained otherwise, the days of
Phueak or Prince Suriya-Yiamsakon would have come to an end at this very place after untold years, and his life
would have blended into the way of life of the forest people, which could not have been more different from his
previous one if he had been living on another planet.
When Prince Worrawat returned to Thailand after having spent nearly two years with his wife on a honeymoon
during which time they admired the wonders of Europe and exhibitions in New York museums, his father, His Serene
Highness Worrawong-Watthana, decided that it was time for him to hand some of his charges over to his son. The first
position he entrusted him with was that of managing director of the Siracha Company, working out of the head office
in Bangkok. As a person holding such a position should have some knowledge of logging and sawmilling operations,
His Highness decided to have his son gain this experience by taking his family by sea to Siracha, without informing
Prince Niphon beforehand, as he saw no point in doing so.
Moreover, when his motor boat arrived at Siracha in the morning and he was informed by local company officials
that Prince Niphon had already left for the forest on an inspection tour, he forbade them to try to reach him by
telephone and instead ordered that a tramcar be put at his and his party’s disposal to go after the general manager,
saying, “I’ll find old Niphon myself.”
One of the senior officials disregarded the order, however, and made a call to the superintendent’s servant, telling
him to go and report the news of the impending visit to the general manager, who happened to be at a site deep inside
the forest where the hauling machines were operating. As there was no telephone there, the messenger had to travel by
foot, cutting through the dense jungle for about ten kilometres from his quarters. Thus, by the time the general
manager was informed, the train was about to reach its destination, according to the schedule reported by the worthy
senior official, who also supplied the names of all the members of the visiting party, which included Prince Worrawat,
Morm Orraphin and her little son, Kamon- Suriya.
After reading the message taken down over the telephone and brought to him by his servant, Prince Niphon looked
up and stared vacantly at the horizon beyond the treetops. A long while later, he lowered his gaze, trying to control the
turmoil of his thoughts because – because some two-hundred metres away, he could see his Mr. Phueak leaning
against one of Maliwan’s front legs and stroking the elephant’s knee playfully. Although his moustache, beard and
hair were unkempt and his shirt and trousers filthy, there was no denying that the body and soul hiding beneath the
dirty appearance were still those of Prince Suriya- Yiamsakon, the very Prince Suriya-Yiamsakon who had sacrificed
himself by consenting to endure all kinds of hardships for the sake of Orraphin’s peace of mind and happiness. But by
what peculiar whim had the sacred beings of the universe decided to make those who should have been kept apart in
different corners of the world meet each other again right here in the deepest jungle? Phueak could have been
operating the hauling machines at any of the other five locations. Orraphin should have been enjoying her wealth and
worldly happiness in Bangkok, and he should have made himself available to welcome His Serene Highness in
Siracha. Some things had happened too slowly, and some too quickly. There were more than ninety-nine chances out
of a hundred that these two human beings would never meet again, but no, the right and proper course was not to be
followed. It had to be the slim chance of less than one in a hundred, as if Fate had decreed that Suriya should drink the
bitter brew of his misery to the last dreg. He had already renounced everything which few ordinary men would be
willing to relinquish, and thus more than deserved mercy and compassion to keep on living to the very end with no
additional mental suffering. This was the opinion of a mere mortal, and it was impossible for Prince Niphon to fathom
the real intentions of the heavenly powers, so he did not even try. He looked at Suriya with compassion when he
thought of the circumstances that seemed to conspire to force him to witness the bliss of his beloved wife in the
company of her lover.
The general manager stepped down from the hauling machine, raised his hand to signal to the other officials not to
follow him, then walked along the feed rail*, which, soon after going past the gantry crane in front of the hauling
machine, went down the gentle slope to the foot of the hillock and then went up again. At the top of the second hillock,
Phueak was standing listlessly with Maliwan beside an empty freight car, which a wooden plank wedged between
wheel and rail prevented from sliding back down the slope for as long as it was idle.
Halfway up the hillock, His Highness gestured for Phueak to come down, because like everyone else he could not
get too near Maliwan. Phueak gently slapped Maliwan on the jowl twice to pacify him before he slowly stepped down
the steel track, showing neither excitement nor wonder that the general manager had come out on his own for the
specific purpose of meeting him in full view of all of his officials, so much so that by the time he came to him, Prince
Niphon was still tongue-tied. Phueak began to sense that there was something wrong.
“Suriya!” Since he had left the general manager’s residence for the forest, this was the first time that someone had
called him by his former name.
“Suriya, what neither of us ever dreamt would happen is about to happen.”

The other man stared at the speaker in utter confusion.
“Orraphin will be here within half an hour if her train is not delayed. I had no time to prevent it or explain
anything, but if you don’t want to stay here, then get yourself on Maliwan’s back and off through the track at the
back of the winch.”
Whatever Prince Niphon was going to add would have been lost on Suriya. Orraphin was coming! Orraphin was
coming! He needed no further explanation. To mount Maliwan and flee through the track behind the winch? Even if a
chain were put around his neck and Maliwan made to drag him away, he still would not go. A mere glance at
Orraphin’s face before he died, and he would die happy. Just hearing the name “Orraphin”, and the love and
nostalgia which he had always felt certain were dead and gone forever flared inside him anew.
“... had said for a long time he would relinquish his position of managing director in Bangkok to his son. Worrawat
is probably here to get some experience of forestry work. I may have to change ...”
‘Worrawat! Worrawat! Yes, right, Worrawat – Orraphin’s new mate! It won’t be long before I see them billing and
cooing as in the first days of our... Oh, that’s crazy! How can my thoughts go wild like this? But soon they will be here
hand in hand, grinding my heart to pieces.’ But when he had thought it over, the splitting pain in his heart was mixed
with the gratification felt by all those who made sacrifices willingly.
“But then, of course, if you want to see Little Jiu, you can watch him at a distance from behind a tree before you
go.”
“Little Jiu! If he is here, then how can I go away?”
“I fancy you have not heard the half of what I have been telling you!”
“I have never asked any favour from Your Highness. But this time, if you could see to it that I got a chance of
holding Little Jiu in my arms for only ten minutes, I would be grateful to you till the day I die. I can assure you that I
am still in full control of myself and that I will do nothing that might make him suspicious of me.”
At that moment, he looked positively vivacious and quite unlike the thoroughly lethargic Phueak of a couple of
moments ago. Prince Niphon gazed at his face with utmost compassion and then forgot himself. To the utter
amazement of the officials who stood around the hauling machine watching, the general manager held out his hand,
which Phueak seized, squeezed and shook in utter delight – even though they could not hear what the prince was
saying: “I shall try my best. But no matter what happens, even if you cannot suppress your love for Orraphin today,
always keep in mind that I understand you and – and I shall always be on your side.”
7
“Oh, look, an elephant! An elephant! Mummy, Mummy, look at that elephant over there. It’s a wild elephant, isn’t it?”
The clear, high-pitched little voice of a plump boy dressed in neat clothes dominated the hoarse drone of Prince
Niphon, who was explaining how logs were transported. It made all the adults in the group turn to look in the
direction in which the boy, who could not have been more than six years old, pointed his cute little index finger. What
they saw was Maliwan, the company’s prized elephant, standing majestically on the top of a small hillock next to an
empty freight car, and a man half hidden by nearby bushes.
The man’s behaviour, when observed from a distance, was like that of villagers everywhere, who liked to take a
peep at those they called “the masters” and did so by skulking at a safe distance half in fear, half in embarrassment.
As they took a walk around the hauling machine to relieve their numbness after sitting packed tight in the narrow
tramcar for hours on end, neither Orraphin nor Worrawat had the slightest notion of how much the way she clung to
his arm to avoid stumps and potholes upset the man on the hillock.
“Your Lordship, sir, is he very fierce?” The little fellow was still curious about his “wild” elephant.
“Very much so, my nephew.” Prince Niphon turned round to give a brief history of Maliwan.
“Does he bite men?”
“He – he...” Right then, he saw the opportunity to keep his promise. “Jiu, would you like to have a closer look?
Someone will take you to him if you want.”
“Didn’t you just say he is fierce?” His Serene Highness remonstrated. “She has only one tot, you know.”
“There is no danger, Your Serene Highness. They are having their break now, so he has been chained to a big tree
by the roadside. As for the man you see standing beside him, Maliwan is willing to die for him any time.”
Seeing his opportunity, the little boy rushed up to Prince Niphon and clung to his arm. Then the two of them
walked down the tracks of the cutting and when they had almost reached the foot of the hillock, the old man motioned
for Phueak to come over. At first, he intended to say a few words to introduce them to each other, but when he stood in
front of Phueak, words failed him. He did not even dare to look the man in the face. The only thing he managed to do
was pat him on the shoulder as a token of his feelings.
Little Kamon-Suriya sensed the adults’ unease and was puzzled, but, thanks to his blue blood and the impeccable
breeding he had received since his very early days, he unconsciously helped relieve the tension by extending his arm to
shake Phueak’s hand and saying, “I’d like to have a close look at that elephant”.
Phueak stooped down and pressed the little body against his chest without saying a word, but his muscles were
tense as though he were using his great physical strength to steady his own inner shaking. The way the little boy
extended his hand to clasp the arms of an unknown worker, whose filth could be noticed even from afar, did not
escape the attention of those who cared for him.
“How strange!” Orraphin exclaimed. “Little Jiu is willing to be held tight by that man. Maybe he is afraid of the
elephant. I have tried for so long to get him to overcome his shyness.”
Prince Niphon was back just in time to hear Orraphin’s exclamation. He protested in his mind: ‘It isn’t strange at
all, because they share the same blood. If Jiu hadn’t allowed him to do so, that would have been strange. They haven’t
seen each other for three or four years; but even if ten years had gone by, there would still be something drawing them
to each other. The ways of nature sometimes catch us unawares.’
Maliwan knelt down, raised his trunk in devotion to Siva and performed all the other tricks in his repertoire, and yet
the little boy was not over his excitement at being close to a real elephant for the first time and hearing the fantastic
true stories of him killing so many people. He sat on the empty log car gazing in rapture at Maliwan, while Phueak,
his carer, stood staring at the boy’s radiant face with deep longing.
All along, the child’s father endeavoured to restrain himself from saying anything that was not related to Maliwan’s
history because he was afraid that, if he touched on private matters, he would find it very difficult to control himself.
But even so, he was only flesh and blood, and when the little boy ran out of questions, Suriya could not help but ask:
“Who did you come with, Master Jiu?”
“I came with Mummy, Uncle and His Serene Highness. When the elephant sleeps, does he lie down? Has he got a
big bed?”
“Elephants don’t lie down.”
“Don’t they feel sleepy?”
“At night, they eat grass; in the daytime, they have to work. How about your uncle? Is he a nice man?”
“Very nice. He bought me a small horse to practise riding. He says when I grow up I’ll ride horses very well like
Father. Mummy says Father’s even nicer than Uncle. Do horses and elephants bite each other?”
The man bowed his hand and stood still, grinding his teeth, then answered without thinking: “N-n-n-no, they don’t
bite each other. Don’t you know your father at all?”
The little boy shook his head slowly, with a sad face and absent eyes, either because he was still wondering about
elephants and horses or because he was missing his father. But the man who was his father felt a sharp pain sear his
heart. He thought about his responsibility for this little child. He had the right to do anything with his own life, but if
by doing something he made the little boy lose confidence in his father, he had to ask himself whether such an action
was fair on the child. Almost every boy at this age sets up his father as his hero. Other people, however much they love
and care for the child, can really never replace his father or mother.
“Where is your father then?”
The little fellow’s face went blank for a while before he answered: “I don’t know. They say he went to heaven. Do
you know where that is?”
But the adult went back to asking evasively: “Wouldn’t you like to see your father?”
“Oh yes, very much. I’d like to have a father. Chaichana’s got one, Suphalak too. When the school’s over, they
come and fetch ’em in their cars. Thanit’s father’s got racing horses. When they win, he boasts about it at school. And
Phichit’s father’s good at tennis. Phichit says he’s got lotsa cups – what are they for, do you know?” And, without
waiting for an answer: “Yan- yong’s father is director general, so they had to move to a new building in Bang Kapi.
What does a director general do?”
The adult almost groaned aloud, because the child’s innocent words showed as plainly as if they had been spelled
out that he felt disappointed he had no father to boast about to his friends at school.
“Have you ever seen a picture of your father?”
“Yes. Mummy’s hung a big picture of Father at the head of my bed.”
“The one in a military uniform and a helmet with hair like a horse’s tail, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and an officer’s badge, and a sword also, and lotsa things stuck on the breast pocket.”
Phueak extended his hand and broke off a small branch, stuck it across the top of his worn-out helmet and put it on
his head, stretched himself erect and, grabbing his walking stick, asked the child who was his very own son: “Does he
look the same – the same as me now?”
The little child scrutinized the face hidden behind a bushy beard. His own face brightened but only briefly.
“The same, yes, the same, but Father hasn’t got a beard and also I don’t think he’s dirty.”
If the little fellow was only three years older and able to use his powers of observation, the picture of that adult face
which had lit up only to dim along with his own would have stayed with him until the day he died – the picture of a
man who fully realized that, even if the blood in his veins had let him know right then that he was his father, he
probably would not have been proud of him at all. On the contrary, he would have felt sorry for having to lose face
with his friends because his father was a dissolute man. He had to thank Orraphin and the other relatives a great deal
that they had not taught the child to despise the author of his days, as he had seen so often in the case of divorced
parents. Anyway, Suriya forced himself to probe further and asked with a hoarse voice: “Why don’t you boast about
your uncle at school?”
The little fellow twisted his neck for a little while before answering: “I don’t hear anybody talking about their
uncles.”
“Do you love your uncle very much?”
“Oh yes.”
“Whom do you love most, your uncle or your father?”
This time, the little child stayed quiet and thought for a long time, the frown on his face reflecting the turmoil in his
heart.
“I really don’t know. I’ve never seen Father, but Mummy says Father is a good and handsome man, a gentleman
just like Uncle, because they are both kind, they are the same in everything, but maybe I love him more, because
everybody must love their father, right?”
After he had spoken, he kept sitting still, as if he had been forced to think about something difficult for the first time
in his young life. As for the man who was his father, the slight he had felt a moment ago had been dispelled by his
son’s clever answer. He was now certain that this sapling of his, though still a child, was quick-witted and wise, and
with the good education he was receiving from a reputable school, it was beyond doubt that he would restore and
uphold the good reputation of the family in the future. This was the first opportunity he had to assess the cleverness
and manners of his progeny, who had been only two years old when he had left him behind, and for the first time,
Prince Suriya-Yiamsakon felt relieved in the knowledge that his family line was secure.
By then, His Serene Highness’s valet had already set the dishes out for lunch in the shade of a large tree near the
hauling machine. The group of adults then remembered little Kamon-Suriya, and the general manager walked to the
front of the machine to motion to Phueak to bring the child back.
Normally, we cannot fathom the reactions of beasts, but in the case of elephants, we tend to believe that they are
special animals, more intelligent and better able to understand human language and emotions than most other species.
Besides, as already mentioned, Maliwan had been born and raised amongst men. As he had been gifted since birth
with cleverness, he was sometimes able to figure out what was happening in the world of men and think and feel as
men did. Thus, we can assume that the causes of the tragedy that happened next were first, his jealousy and
possessiveness, and second, his antipathy for the little son of a man.
Maliwan probably saw his beloved Phueak protecting this little human being with the utmost care as if he was
afraid that he would get bruised or burst into pieces at the merest touch if his hand was not there to protect him.
Maliwan probably did notice the love and longing radiating out of the eyes and attitude of his dear Phueak, who was
prepared to protect the small body at all times with every movement he made, in a way Maliwan had never seen
human beings demonstrate to each other. All the time that his dear Phueak had forced him to do this or that for the
entertainment of the little man, he had not once turned to look compassionately at him as he never failed to do every
time he gave him an order. On the contrary, his master had only been watching the face of the little man with a look
that showed the deepest love – a sight which had pierced Maliwan to the bone. Other men had merely tried to befriend
his Phueak on their own and Maliwan had been able to get rid of them thanks to his cleverness and enormous
strength, but now it was his Phueak who was hankering for this puny creature as if he was to worship him over
anyone else, including himself. Could he possibly stand for this? His quietness seemed to indicate that he might, and in
any case, so long as the little man was near his Phueak, whom he, too, loved, respected and worshipped above anyone
else, he was not going to do anything that might endanger him. Furthermore, in anger, love, greed and infatuation,
Maliwan could hold his own with any human being, but he was superior to most human beings in that he knew the
danger of his feelings and he knew how to control his own temper until he found the right time and the right
opportunity to give vent to his anger – he had never let an occasion go by without making full use of this ability.
Maliwan saw the man on the other hillock gesture and saw his dear Phueak intently watching the face and body of
the little son-of-a-man as if to draw one last picture of him and keep it etched in his heart for ever. His master sighed
deeply and brought the little boy to his chest. He very slowly lowered his head, as if he was going to kiss the boy’s
ruddy cheeks, then drew back and heaved a sigh so loud that even though the elephant stood some ten metres away,
he was able to hear it. But instead of moving him to pity for the man he loved, the scene triggered in Maliwan a surfeit
of angry resentment.
Maliwan’s eyes followed his dear Phueak as he slowly walked down the hillock, carrying off the despicable creature,
and saw him stop half-way down the tracks of the cutting and say a few words to the ugly sonofaman. Then the little
one went ahead on his own. His short legs found it difficult to get over the steel crossties bolted to the rails at regular
intervals, so he progressed quite slowly but with a child’s jaunty zest for this novel way of walking.
Maliwan’s eyes even saw how his Phueak was shifting slightly, as if his body was moving along with that of the
hateful brat. Though they seemed to progress along a formidable obstacle course, the little legs and feet kept inching
forward as though of their own volition. When the boy had almost reached the foot of the hill, the man checked
himself, looked round with a bewildered expression, then went to hide behind a bush by the side of the tracks to
prevent the people on the lower hill ahead from having a clear view of him, thus letting the little boy totter his clumsy
way along the tracks all by himself.
Because Maliwan could not speak, we have no way of knowing when his humanoid thinking began and when it
ended, yet we can guess that the way Suriya had made as if to run after the boy, as though the diminutive creature
had rendered him totally oblivious of the forest and of everything else, including Maliwan himself, was the final factor
that brought his rage to bursting point, and burst it did the moment he had both the means and the opportunity to
take his revenge.
Maliwan used the tip of his trunk to whisk away the wedge stuck between a wheel of the empty log freight car and
the iron rail, then drew up his forelegs and smartly pushed the oil container of one of the car axles. The empty car,
gathering speed under its own weight, hurtled down the tracks, headed for little Kamon- Suriya, who was stumbling
between the lines of rail at the foot of the hillock.
At the grating of the iron wheels on the rails, a short glance combined with his experience of forest work was
enough for Phueak to realize in terror the mortal danger his child was in. In the same instant, he searched around for a
log or a rock, anything to derail the car with before it could reach Little Jiu. But, alas! there was nothing to be found
and the heavy car was about to rush past him.
... His own flesh and blood, who was to carry on the family line and grow up amidst the high and mighty of the
land. ... His own life had long outlasted its usefulness. What better way to end it than to save the flesh of his flesh?
As the freight car was about to reach him, Suriya threw himself between wheels and rails. The empty car shot up,
overturned and fell back on top of the lifeless body of Suriya, a man who had been resolute to the point of obduracy
from the first to the last day of his life.
Orraphin was shaken and stunned. She was trembling all over as she held her little child, who was still alive thanks
to the sacrifice of someone’s life. There was no doubt in her mind: she had seen with her own eyes the worker throw
himself to certain death to save her son. Yet, Prince Niphon, who had rushed to scoop Little Jiu off the tracks and had
been closest to the scene, insisted that the deceased had merely “tried to slow the freight car down” (With his bare
hands! Had she been in her right mind then, Orraphin would have seen through this tall tale.), but unfortunately, the
man had tripped over some root and hence, properly speaking, his death was but “an accident”.
Anyway, Prince Niphon, whose wry face looked very close to tears, suggested that His Serene Highness return to
Siracha forthwith and strictly forbade any officials or workers to do anything with the wreck until they received
further instructions.
Orraphin, still thoroughly shaken, walked back in the embrace of her husband to the waiting car, which they were
last to board. As she went past Prince Niphon before entering the car, she extended two-hundred-baht worth of bank
notes to him and said, “Your Highness, whether the man died because he threw himself at the freight car or stumbled
over a root is a moot point. Still, my little Jiu owes his life to this man’s death. So, may I request that you spend this
money on his funeral? Did he have a wife and children? I’d like to help support them”.
When Prince Niphon, whose face already betrayed an inordinate inner agitation, heard the inquiry about the man’s
family, his eyes bulged and his features clouded over, in a startling departure from his usually benign countenance,
and he replied in a booming voice: “Wife and children? Yes, Mr. Phueak had a wife, but she has already forgotten him
because she is having the time of her life in the arms of her lover. Keep your money, Orraphin. If you feel like making
merit and dedicating it to him, you may make a donation to the Siracha Hospital as a memorial to supreme love and
sacrifice.”
Having said, he turned round and stalked mumbling to himself towards the forest, leaving behind a dumbfounded
couple whose eyes followed him then turned to each other wondering what had possessed the old man. Unable to
fathom an answer, they put their arms round each other’s waists and walked up to the car.
From top officials to workers and even to forest people, everyone always complied strictly with the instructions of
the general manager. But this time, even assuming someone had decided to disregard his orders to leave the wreckage
alone, it would have been impossible, because ...
... when Maliwan saw that the outcome of his action was the opposite of what he had intended, he went wild with
guilt and grief, broke free from the thick tree trunk he was chained to and, writhing in agony, hobbled his way on
three legs down the hillock to kneel by the wrecked freight car, where he kept vigil, sending out unremitting, pitiful
groans and cries of distress and allowing no man near that monument to fatherly love and sacrifice – his beloved
Phueak.
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Postscript
Rare photographs of Thanorm Maha-paoraya show a plain face with honest eyes, an upturned nose and a generous
mouth with a thick upper lip – the kind of face that gives credence to the eulogies she received at her death, which
stressed her openness, masculine straightforwardness, sense of fun and love of life. She was “smart, funny, reserved,
soft-spoken or hard-hitting as the occasion demanded,” said one friend. “Very active all the time and she spoke like a
man,” said another. “A compassionate woman who loved and understood life,” added a third.
Little is known about Thanorm, who wrote eight novellas and dozens of short stories, mostly between 1942 and
1955. Did her outspoken nature scare away people who admired her work? Or was it that this office worker wasn’t
deemed to have a proper attitude to literary creation? Thanorm considered writing a hobby, which she indulged in
when the mood took her or when she needed extra cash. Professional biographers have so much more to say about her
husband, Theip Maha-paoraya, a journalist and short-story writer whose main claim to fame in Thailand was the
translation into English of one of his stories, “Jampoon”, twenty years after his death.
The eldest of two daughters of Mom Luang* Anuthanakarntruat (Thom Orrachunka) and Mrs Mueang [or
Nueang], Thanorm was born in the heart of Bangkok, at Nang Leung [then Ee Leung], in the house of her maternal
grandfather, Mom Ratchavongse Borribarnsukphacha. As a scion of the aristocracy, she had access to the Back Palace
boarding school for girls. She returned home on weekends and would save every satang to buy books and movie
magazines (western movies were the latest craze in the early 1920s). She is said to have hated every minute of her
boarding life. In her fourth year of secondary studies, she left school to avoid being punished for bad behaviour and
applied for a job at the Louis T. Leonowens trading company. She was one of the very first girls to be employed by the
firm, and it was there that she met Theip, who also shared her passion for fiction. He lent her romantic novels, they
discussed them, and soon they were spinning their own romance: they married in 1927, when Theip was 24 and
Thanorm 19.
One year later, she wrote her first short story, which was swiftly published. Theip and Thanorm continued reading,
and writing short stories. Thanorm, with her husband’s help, also translated Boccaccio’s Decameron (from the English
version) as well as Nehru’s Letters from a father to his daughter (written while in prison to daughter Indira) and a few
other works.
In 1932, as Siam turned from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy, the Maha-paorayas had their first son,
Thammanoon (who would be a founding member of The Nation daily newspaper in the 1970s), and they moved to
Siracha, where Theip went to work for a lumber company. It was during this time that Thanorm gathered the material
on the lumber business that was to provide the background of Maliwan.
The family later returned to Bangkok and Thanorm gave birth to another son and to a daughter. On 31 December
1942, her husband died of tuberculosis.
Left with three young children, Thanorm began to write in earnest – under her full name rather than the pen names
“Thanorm” and “Orrachun” she had been using until then – while working at a war-time government department
overseeing Japanese property and interests. In 1946, she joined the staff of the Thai Farmers Bank, which had been set
up by the Lamsam family. After a while, she left the bank for a stint at another trading company, Yip Insoi Co, only to
return to the bank later as executive secretary. She stayed there until the end of 1960, when she was diagnosed with
cancer, which took her life in July 1961.
Her short stories and novels are reportedly based on her experiences and observations. Her realistic style is
exemplified in Maliwan, and, together with the subtlety with which she analyzes human psychology, it puts her, as a
writer, a cut above nearly all of her contemporaries.
An elephant named Maliwan is an unusual variation on the eternal love triangle theme – here, a drunkard, a child and
an elephant.
This novel holds a special place in Thai literature, not least because, being required reading for secondary school
students, it is routinely dismissed by most adult Thai readers as “kids’ stuff”, and its long-dead author has been
‘buried’ under benign neglect – she has never rated a decent biography and, with the exception of Maliwan, none of
her works have been available for decades. Until recently, it seemed that, even in the academic world, nobody knew
when the novel was first published.
Written, as we now know*, during the Second World War, a couple of months before the mother of three was
stricken by the untimely death of her 39-year-old husband, this gem of a novel stands in sharp contrast to, and clearly
above, most Thai novels published until then. In Thailand, these were still early days for the genre, the first work of
note having been published only fourteen years earlier.**
Over and above an abundant and growing production of cheap, honey-dripping romances penned mostly by
women, and of cock-and-bull, kiss-and-kill adventure stories concocted by men, the best fiction of the intervening
period was of two kinds: on the one hand, moralizing tales firmly anchored in the pre-1932 glitzy world of absolute
monarchy, as exemplified by the works of “Dorkmai Sot”, in particular in her most accomplished novel, A person of
quality (Phoo Dee), published in 1937; and on the other, a few novels which sought to draw a realistic and more or less
openly critical picture of society – “K Surangkhanang” ’s Woman of easy virtue* (1937), and the works of
“Seeboorapha”, a major progressive novelist, thinker and activist, who, ironically, only achieved excellence with one of
the least politically charged of his novels, a romantic love story, Behind the picture**, also published in 1937.
In common with most of the best works of the period, An elephant named Maliwan harks back to the days of
aristocratic rule, has aristocrats as its main characters, and presents sacrifice as the foremost redemptory virtue for the
aristocracy of the heart. Remarkably, however, unlike the edifying tales of “Dorkmai Sot” and “K Surangkhanang”,
Thanorm’s masterpiece is totally free of moralizing. Furthermore, its realistic depiction of the life of common country
people, far superior to those to be found in The woman of easy virtue, seems to pave the way for the best of what Marlai
Choophinit will offer, more than a decade later, in his saga of upcountry life, The field of the great (Thung Maha-rart)
(1954), and in his other major novels with social settings and concerns.
What makes An elephant named Maliwan outstanding, besides the ingenuity of its extraordinary plot, is first, its
rigorous composition of often unrelated scenes leading to an inevitable ending, complete with an anticlimax (Orraphin
handing over money and being undeservedly rebuked by Prince Niphon) and a final, unforgettable, intense close-up
on the bereaved elephant; and second, the contrast between the playful tone of most of the story, which shifts from
jocularity to mild criticism to humour, and the matter-of-fact, clinically cool, heart-stopping account of the climax. The
psychology of each of the main protagonists, including the elephant, is given equally sympathetic treatment, and the
understanding and empathy we feel for them makes the ending even more poignant.
For all its qualities, however, the novel suffers from two weaknesses.
The plot has one flaw. Prince Suriya’s alleged “death at sea” is credible. However, the two-year gap between his
flight to Khlong Yai and the sudden appearance of Maliwan by his side strains the reader’s imagination. Although
such a delay is needed for Suriya’s “widow” to get over her loss and marry again, no reason is given as to why
Maliwan has waited so long to find his beloved Phueak. Perhaps it was because he had sensed Phueak’s life was in
danger – but this isn’t even hinted at.
The other weakness is the style, which is for the most part consistently elegant, at times sparkling, yet on occasion
needlessly contrived, obscure, or downright ungrammatical. The weaknesses of Thanorm’s style are compounded in
the Thai version we worked on (the standard 1991 cheap edition with which Thai schoolchildren today are supposed to
improve their knowledge of their mother tongue) by scandalously incompetent editing. The edition offers a rare
selection of misprints, misspellings, missing words, wrong spacing, erratic, unnecessary foreign punctuation, and the
like, besides leaving uncorrected the most obvious factual errors of the original, such as when Prince Worrawong-
Watthana, introduced as “the major shareholder as well as managing director” [pratharn kammakarn] of the Siracha
company, is being referred to later in the story as its “general manager” [phoojatkarn yai], which is actually Prince
Niphon’s position. Well, we spruced up the copy a bit, and made choices, hopefully for the better, whenever a plain
translation simply would not do. Traduttore, editore...
If, as a stylist, Thanorm is no match to her more famous contemporaries, as a storyteller, she compares very well and
deserves far more recognition than she has received so far.
The starting point of Maliwan is a play on the word phueak, which, in mainstream Thai, means ‘albino’ or ‘white’
when applied to elephant or buffalo, but designates ‘bootlegged rice wine’ in the dialect of the Siracha area, southeast
of Bangkok. That Prince Suriya, who loves both, calls himself Phueak is absolutely fitting and subtly ironical – at once
self-deprecating and endearing.
Unlike most Thai novels, this short and tragic tale has precise, realistic character descriptions, with careful
psychological profiles of the protagonists, who are both men of the best blood – Prince Suriya and Prince Niphon –
though the hero of the story is, arguably, the white elephant.
Maliwan, a combination of brute force, primitive instincts and shrewd yet pathetically blind calculation, is an
extraordinary creation, presented in such a way that we pity and like him and forget altogether that he occasionally
kills his mahouts. If anything, as we close the book, we still pity him for the tragedy he has brought upon himself. His
obsessive love is the antithesis of his master’s, which is unselfish and compassionate. The message of the tale lies in their
fates.
Suriya’s wife, Orraphin, although well sketched as a dutiful, loving spouse who suffers without complaining and
hopes against hope her husband will reform himself, remains a quiet background figure almost to the end, when,
trying to do the right thing according to the lights of her class, she is unjustly treated by a thoroughly tried Prince
Niphon. Her puzzlement adds a semi-comic dimension to the tragic absurdity of the disaster.
Prince Suriya-Yiamsakon, alias Phueak, a destitute yet unpretentious aristocrat, is a moving character. Despite his
self-destructive addiction to drink, he is redeemed by his compassionate love, which leads him to a double sacrifice: by
staying away from the woman he loves but can only hurt, and by sacrificing his life in order to save his son. Ironically,
the same compassion (and their common weakness for alcohol) links him to Maliwan, his nemesis.
Equally sensitive is the portrait of Prince Niphon Wannasarn*, an old-fashioned aristocrat who embodies all the
qualities of the well-bred: an upright man of honour concerned with the welfare of his fellow (gentle) man, yet a man
without illusion. Used to the ways of the world, he is resigned to the unavoidable injustice of life (for example, he
accepts that much of his wealth will be inherited by undeserving nephews) but goes out of his way to rectify the
wrongs which are within his power to correct, never expecting reward or praise for his good deeds.
Both men are a cut above everyone else; they are “natural” leaders, especially Suriya who, despite his destitute state,
is loved and respected by the people around him.
The author neatly contrasts the sense of hospitality and gratitude of country folk with the selfishness of Bangkok
aristocrats. In the forest, everyone works hard, drinks hard and pays little attention to tradition; yet, for all their
coarseness, these simple men and women accept a stranger and do not desert him when his money has run out.
An outstanding element of the novel is the life-like portrayal of what alcohol does to a man. The mischievous
drinking of the managers of the two forestry concessions (the one in Muenjit, near Siracha, the other in Khlong Yai) is
a subtle contrast to Suriya’s desperate, even suicidal, drinking – just as the easygoing friendship between these two
men contrasts with the torments of Maliwan’s morbidly jealous friendship for his “beloved Phueak”.
The world described here is a world of men; that the author is a woman makes the story even more remarkable.
MARCEL BARANG Bangkok 10 October 1995
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* A cheap, popular district of Bangkok

* Narrow rails bolted to crossties made of thin slabs of steel about ten metres wide and laid out at regular intervals, forming a temporary storage tract for the rails used
to connect the main railway line and the logging areas deeper into the forest. (Author’s note.)
* Mom Luang (M L) and Mom Ratchavongse (M R – pr. morm rar.cha.wong) are titles denoting respectively third- and second-generation royal origins. They are
usually, if improperly, translated as Prince.
* According to bookworm Prawit Wongweera, the first instalment of Phlai Maliwan appeared in the first five issues of Sinlapin (Artist), starting in July 1942 and
signed “Thanorm”. The monthly magazine went under after six issues. The story was first published as a book in M arch 1946.
** The circus of life by Arkartdamkeung Rapheephat, 1929
* Ying Khon Chua. Translated by David Smyth as The Prostitute, 1994, Oxford University Press.
** Khang-lang Pharp. Translated by David Smyth as Behind the Painting and Other Stories, 1990, Oxford University Press.
* The name implies literary ancestry (niphon means ‘writing, literary work’; wannasarn, ‘science of composition’) and yet, nothing in the novel suggests such a
leaning, except perhaps the choice of such a name may signify that the prince, by rescuing Suriya, reassigning him into the forest and bringing his own son to him, is
the real instigator of the whole drama – a fact which he is feeling most guilty about.

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4/27/13 An elephant named Maliwan, Thanom Mahaphaoraya

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A 1942 novel translated from the Thai by

First published in Thai as a book, Phlai Maliwan, 1946

“What was he doing?”

previous one if he had been living on another planet.

“Suriya, what neither of us ever dreamt would happen is about to happen.”

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MARCEL BARANG Bangkok 10 October 1995

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* A cheap, popular district of Bangkok

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