I Feel You Linger In The Air

Chapter 10 - Poh-Jomkwan

I spent hours after that recalling the pictures I had seen in the trunks. Although I can't remember every drawing, the ones I do turn my face pale, my hands cold. The drawings of the waterfront pavilion, the front of the great house, the back balcony, the view of the Ping River, and several scenes from various angles, but I am not sure where they are.

Every picture hits as heavy fists hurled at me, reminding me that I will not be stuck in the past for a short time as expected. It will be a month or a year. Maybe years. My heart plummets when the other kind of answer I have never thought of before occurs to me. I might never be able to go back.

The thought is the final punch that knocks me down on my knees. I have no strength to stand, my arms going feeble, that I flop on the stairs of the little house after Khun-Lek has left. Everything I have just learned crushes my recent hope. Even if I had told myself I might be here longer than I thought, I never once believed that I would never make it back to my world. I have been hopeful for all this time. My hope was sometimes dim, sometimes bright, but never faded.

I glance around, a hollow in my chest. I like this place. I like the cool shade of tthe rees surrounding both teak houses. It is serene and pleasant. I like the warmth of the lantern at night. I like the faint smell of the burned wick that lingers even after the light is snuffed out and sleeping to the sound of bugs chirping at night. I like Khun-Yai and Khun-Lek, and I respect the Luang and his wife, Khun-Kae. But it shouldn't be like this.

I lean my head on the railing of the stairs in hopelessness and stay like that for some time. Khun-Yai comes back in the evening with Khun-Kae in their car, trailed by another one. I don't know whose car it is, but he seems to be an important guest or a close acquaintance of the family, considering how the whole family is out to welcome him delightedly

"Poh-Jom, prepare my attire," Khun-Yai says in a cheerful voice as he enters the little house. "After bathing, I suppose I have to go to the great house again."

"Yes. I saw another car pulling over. You have a guest?" I try to sound happy and pretend to be busy preparing a towel for him to avoid eye contact. Khun-Yai is observant. He will sense something wrong if he looks me straight in the face.

"It is my uncle. He came from the Capital," Khun-Yai answers. "He is a distant relative on my mother's side, but my father treats him as his close friend. Uncle is the one who gifted me the pocket watch you found. Do you remember?"

"I do," I reply. "Which clothes do you prefer?"

"A white shirt and a grey sweater," he says.

I collect them as I am told. After bathing and getting dressed, Khun-Yai walks over to the great house. My eyes trail after his broad back until he is out of sight, then I sit on the terrace and let out a deep sigh, trying to make peace with everything. Still, I know it is not something to get over so easily.

The night comes fast in winter. Soon, the sky turns gloomily dark blue. The air is cool. Khun-Yai is still getting together with his guest at the great house. I light up the lantern outside the terrace and wait for him to return.

The house has electricity like other residences of the high-ranking authorities and rich families in Chiang Mai that can afford generators, whereas poor commoners stick to lanterns. Nevertheless, I only turn on the lights in the areas Khun-Yai occupies and use a lantern in my bedroom. I don't want anyone saying I act as an equal to my boss.

A couple of hours later, Khun-Yai is back. I have prepared his nightclothes. Khun-Yai seems to have quite a few drinks. His eyes are unusually glazed and gleam like shiny jets.

"Poh-Jom, I think I am drunk." Khun-Yai's voice is lively. "Fetch me a basin of water and a towel. I'll wipe myself before going to bed."

Drunk, huh? How can a drunk man walk straight up the stairs like that? He doesn't even wobble. I guess he didn't drink that much, just enough to be tipsy.

I head downstairs to get a jug of water and a ceramic basin and carry them up as told. When I enter his bedroom, I spot him sinking into the chair with his eyes closed. I pick up a bottle of cologne 4711 from the table to mix it in the water for Khun-Yai to wash up with. The scent is classic and dreamily refreshing.

Since Khun-Kai is resting comfortably, 1 am reluctant whether to wake him up or let him sleep. But then, Khun-Yai opens his eyes. "Oh. It's my Poh-Jomkwan. I thought I was dreaming."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. If Khun-Yai drinks often, I will drown in sugar to death, as he is so sweet. Well, this is good. Being in a good mood when drunk is better than beating his servants.

"Can you wipe yourself? Do you need my help?"

"I need your help, Poh-Jom."

I step forward and unbutton his shirt. Khun-Yai slides his eyelids shut again, letting me wipe his face, neck, and down to his chest with a damp towel smelling of soft fragrance.

"Do you drink often?" I ask.

"No. I only drink when socialising."

For a second, I think of myself back when I was an architect. After getting off work, I would drink with other staff on occasion, and the engineers would sometimes join us. Those things feel like they happened forever ago, far away from here, and will never happen again. 

"Where is your mind wandering off to?" I snap back to reality when Khun-Yai holds my hand.

"Oh. It's nothing."

"Are you thinking of your lover in Mr Robert's place?"

His words draw a laugh out of me despite my sour mood. "I have no such things, only piglets."

"No one?"

"No..." I am about to deny it firmly, but something has changed my mind. "Well. had one. It ended long ago."

A soft sigh escapes my mouth, and I pull my hand back. "You seem really drunk."

"Even sober, I'm drunk with love's drink. What d' you think might put it aside? Mid-day cup dilutes morn' cup of wine, but love's wine keeps me drunk all the day."

Seeing him reciting a poem with such a bubbly face, as I have been cranky since noon, I can't help feeling irked. Unable to hold back, I say, "If you follow in the footsteps of Phra Sunthonwohan, you will have a dozen wives sooner or later."

Khun-Yai chuckles, taking no offence. He eyes me with a smile. "I only want one wife."

Wow...How smooth. If I were a female servant, I would definitely melt to the ground and strip for him right here. I respond by wiping his arm and keeping a straight face while cleaning other parts of his body.

Shortly after, I go downstairs to put away the basin and find other trivial things to do on purpose, stalling for time. Why? I have seen that Khun-Yai drank, and he was out all day. There is no way he is not depleted.

As expected, when I return to the bedroom, Khun-Yai has fallen asleep out of exhaustion, looking like a little kid. I unhook the curtains from the poles and quietly walk out, trying my best not to make a noise. I don't want to wake him up. When I arrive at my room, I heave a sigh and plop on my mattress. I place my arm on my head like a miserable person.

What do I do? Accept my fate without putting up a fight? Aside from being a question with no answer, it infuriatingly multiplies more questions. If I could put up a fight, who would I put up a fight against? An angel? Or the God of Wormholes? I don't even know who the culprit who sent me here is. Who can I even offend?

I shut my eyes and rub my brow with the knife-edge of my hand in distress and bitterness. Do I have to stay here and continue drawing those pictures until the end of my lifespan and die without my family in this era? How long will it be? There are more than ten pictures. Hold up....More than ten pictures?

I freeze, then spring up. It is not mistaken, there were over ten framed pictures in the trunks. If I had slowly drawn pictures throughout my life, there would have been more, not only the bunch I saw. There are two possibilities. First: I lived in the past in the span of time in which I drew all of those pictures, and then returned to my world somehow. Second: I lived here until old and had drawn countless pictures, but only over ten survived to the next generations until found during the renovation.

My heart beats fast at the thoughts. I don't know which one is right. Regardless, if there is no clear answer, it means I still have hope. I still have a chance, and the only way to prove my hypotheses is to draw all those pictures.

I inhale in excitement. Hope rushes in my chest. From tomorrow on, I have to find a way to get myself to draw those pictures. It shouldn't be beyond my abilities as long as I have Khun-Lek's support. Perhaps Khun-Lek will be the one framing those pictures and passing them on to his offspring. That is just my speculation. One thing is for sure: I should start drawing the pictures as soon as possible, every single one of them, so that I can find them in the huge trunks a hundred years from now.

I lie back on the mattress with my eyes still opening wide, my head full of plans to be executed. I hope I will not finish drawing those pictures and then get hit by a car.

In the morning, wake up refreshed and enthusiastic. I get up, open the window, and breathe in the fresh air, unbothered by the freezing temperature. I leave the room in high spirits and descend the stairs to take a walk on the lawn. As it will be a while before Khun-Yai is up, I amble to the waterfront pavilion and look for nice spots to draw pictures, no longer searching for the source of the strange fog.

When I come back to the little house and enter the hall, I halt. Khun-Yai is awake, washed up and dressed, sitting at the desk with a sullen face. "Poh-Jom cheated."

Several minutes later, I can only sit on the floor with my head down, my hands folded on my lap, and accept all accusations with no argument. Who would have thought he would wake up at dawn before I could prepare his necessities? I missed showing my face before he woke up and pretending to have spent the night in his room.

Here is the consequence of getting cunning and deceiving my boss. At first, Khun-Yai planned to have me sleep in his room for a night or two to make sure I didn't sleepwalk every night, as he believed. But now, I have to sleep in Khun-Yai's room until he is certain that I will never sleepwalk again. How many nights? He will tell me when he considers it is time. No matter how itching I am to argue, I don't dare to.

After that, Khun-Yai heads to the great house as usual, while I carry on with my tasks, not as depressed as yesterday. Khun-Yai is back in the afternoon. When he has finished his lunch, he orders me to prepare his things for his reading at the waterfront pavilion. I smile brightly and take care of everything as commanded so willingly to ease his anger towards me, tricking him.

The weather is nice today, with clear skies and warm sunlight. It is not as cold as the other days. Khun-Yai sits at the short table in the pavilion on the Persian carpet as the breeze carries the scent of Lantoms in the air.

"Would you like a glass of jasmine-infused water?" I offer.

Khun-Yai hums a response in his throat. I quickly pour the water from the pitcher into the cut glass, but he doesn't drink it yet. He gazes out at the river, looking at nothing in particular. Considering his sulky manner, I figure I need to step up my game. How do they make up with their bosses in this era? Will he stop being angry if I perform the elegant dance of Brahman? I glance at the stack of books on the table and have an idea.

"Would you like me to read for you? We were at chapter six last time. It was getting fun."

"Not today."

He keeps giving me short answers, and my cheerful expression drops. Noticing my gloomy face, Khun-Yai softens. He sips the water and shoots me a question.

"Lek showed me the pictures you drew yesterday. He kept bragging that he loved your drawings."

"Did you see them?" My eyes widen in surprise.

"You drew well. Where did you learn how to draw?"

Happy that he initiated the conversation without me trying to find the timing, I almost said the name of my college; I caught myself first, fortunately. "I learned through the back door. I saw them drawing at the temples and other places, so I observed and copied them."

"You are skilled as if you took lessons."

Good grief, Khun-Yai. Is he luring me into a trap? Why can't he let it slide like others? I know that if my answer is not more convincing, he will not stop interrogating me. I have no choice but to lie, "Back when I lived at my home, my neighbour was a painter. He used to paint backdrops in the theatre for a northern prince."

"Which prince? I might recall it."

"I don't remember." Don't think I will get caught so easily.

"What is your family background? Why don't you fill me in?"

I knew it would come to this. I repeat the same script that came up with since I was at Mr Robert's place that I have memorised well. My father is a Chinese man travelling here by boat to make a living in this region. My mother, a Thai woman, followed him here. She has a relative, Oui-Ta, who owed Mr Robert's money and subsequently had to send his daughter to serve him. His daughter ended up running away, so she was sent there in her stead. It is a lie with more details added as I go along.

"Do you like drawing?"

"I love drawing, but I hardly have a chance to do it. That's why I didn't hold back when Khun-Lek asked me to draw. I hope you don't mind that I sketch on paper."

"You can sketch on paper. I don't mind. But when you finish, show me the drawings. Don't let Lek take it all."

Aw, how kind. I will repay him with all my might. I will scratch his back as best I can so that he falls asleep just like that.

"Okay," I promise.

Khun-Yai picks up an English text and goes to the page he bookmarked. I look at him and think. Will it be Khun-Lek who keeps my drawings, or will it be Khun-Yai?

I gaze at Khun-Yai's face that tips down a little. His eyelashes are thick, and his skin is fair and clean. Two tiny moles dot the edge of his cheek above the shaved pale green stubble. My heart somewhat melts. I am not sure if it is due to the thought of him keeping my things or the thought of his reason for the action. I shake the thoughts off fast before they get wilder and focus on the other thing. After all, he is the one permitting me to draw as I wish.

"Thank you, Khun-Yai," I thank him with sincerity.

After that, the air around us feels lighter. Khun-Yai has seemingly stopped being mad at me and become a casual boss again. He allows me to draw while he reads, which makes me so happy that I almost spring up and scream. Once Khun-Yai has finished the book, he tells me to read him the Tale of Khun Chang Khun Phaen from where we left off. He listens to me narrating the story amid the cool air and the faint sunlight glistening on the ripples.

"Khun Chang is more reasonable than Plai Kaew. Even though his friend is getting married to the woman he loves, he forces himself to turn up to congratulate them," I comment when I reach the part where Plai Kaew marries Nang Pim. "Plai Kaew is the thoughtless one. When he was a monk wearing an orange robe, he sneaked into a woman's room. If he were my child or my nephew, I would give him a good beating. I wouldn't go along and hold a wedding for him as Nang Thongprasri does."

"If your child bowed and begged over your feet like that, would you be able to stay unyielding?"

"We have to be unyielding in this kind of situation. If you kept indulging them, they would become spoiled." Khun-Yai looks amused. "You are talking like adults. How old are you?"

"I am twenty-four," I answer honestly. "Old enough to have children."

There is a peculiar flicker in his eyes. He nods in acknowledgement and asks no more. But I am the one wanting to continue. "How old are you, by the way? I have never learned your age."

Khun-Yai stays quiet for a moment before replying, reluctantly so, "I turned fully eighteen a month ago."

I smile. He is six years younger than me. Despite his well-built figure, the noble air around him, and his personality that is more mature than his age, the result of being taught well etiquette as he is the eldest son of Luang Thep Nititham, he is a young boy. There must be times when he wants to act recklessly and mischievously like a boy of his age. I did catch him expressing the playful side of a young boy when other people weren't around.

"Don't forget to bring your ID card when you go to nightclubs." It slips out of my mouth as I think of him living in the same era as mine. He would have recently graduated from high school. Imagining him in a school uniform of a white shirt and blue shorts, ugh...how adorable.

"What did you say?"

"Don't eat only carbs. Eat some cabbage." I changed the sentence structure immediately despite knowing it would make me look crazy. 

"I remind myself at times that I need to eat more vegetables, not only rice."

"You don't eat vegetables. You are naughty like a child, Poh-Jom."

I try to stifle my smile. Why wouldn't I notice he was a bit let down by the fact that he is younger than me, and so he called me a child? He must have thought I would be younger. Actually, I am a lot younger than him. I was born around ninety years later. The thought is even more hilarious.

Right then, my eyes catch Khun-Yai's pocket watch lying near pieces of paper and the fountain pen, and the thing that has been bothering me pops up in my mind. I stare at the chain attached to the case and clip to hook the watch to the pockets of shirts or trousers to prevent it from falling.

I arrange the words in my head and speak carefully so my voice won't sound suspicious. "The watch is beautiful, Khun-Yai. What country is it from?"

Khun-Yai picks up the pocket watch and pushes the lid open, revealing the soft-coloured porcelain dial and seven striking rubies. "It's Elgin, made in the US."

"How exquisite. The watch looks durable, but the clip looks fragile. It seems easy to slip off."

"No. I have used it for ages. I never slipped off once."

"Not once?"

"No."

Something strikes Khun-Yai as he freezes. We hold each other's gazes in silence. Khun-Yai slightly presses his lips together, his eyes fixed on me. And he shuts the watch lid as if to end the conversation.

"You can stop reading. I am parched. Will you go to the kitchen to see if they have made hot honey lemon tea? If they have not, tell them to prepare a teapot for me."

Unbelievable. I gape despite myself. His action resembles when he diverted my attention to the Royal Poinciana tree out the window, the first day I lived here and caught a glimpse of his cunning eyes. For a second, and it was gone. Like he wanted to hide it so no one could read his thoughts. Wow...how wicked

Khun-Yai clears his throat, gazing at the river. "Um...The wind is strong. I am thirsty."

...Yeah.

I scoot out of the pavilion. He ordered me to fetch honey lemon tea when the pitcher of jasmine-infused water was right on the table. He could have sipped on it to hydrate his throat, but he wouldn't. I walk across the lawn to the kitchen as told, my mind occupied by the recent incident. Khun-Yai was exposed to the fact that he had dropped the watch on purpose, but wouldn't admit it. Unbelievable. Behind the innocent face is a pack of schemes.

..Why did Khun-Yai drop the watch on purpose, though? Did he hope I would collect it and return it to him? Did he test me to check if I would be honest or greedy? Or did he wish to develop our relationship aside from me crashing my boat against the pole of his waterfront pavilion?

I go stiff, realising what I am thinking about...Again. I shake my head in frustration, annoyed by my own delusion. I am back at the waterfront pavilion with honey lemon tea, but Khun-Yai is not there. I set the tray and look around reluctantly.

"A servant from the great house told him he had a guest," the gardener weeding the nearby area says. I decide to wait in the pavilion, in case Khun-Yai comes back soon.

After a while, I start fidgeting as there is nothing to do. I choose to pick up a piece of paper and a pencil. Since Khun-Yai permitted me and didn't order me to take his things back to the little house, it should be fine if I stay here drawing while waiting for him.

I shift to one side of the pavilion. From this angle, I can see the back balcony of the great house that will be ruined and rebuilt later in a different style. I adjust my position and begin sketching passionately, remembering it will be one of the framed pictures.

Time has passed for I don't know how long. I am totally focused on what I am doing until I hear a rustling sound near the riverbank. Turning around, I spot a boat stopping by the clumps of grass near the pavilion. A muscular, tan-skinned man is on the boat. He dips his chin, and his hands grip the paddle tightly as if he is weighing something. When he gazes up, my heart plummets.

…..Ohm!

I can only stare at him as he stutters.

"You used to serve the foreign boss, didn't you?"