I Feel You Linger In The Air

Chapter 17 - Only You

The late-morning sunlight gleams through the half-shut double-door wooden window. The upper part of the door is a louvre, while the lower part is dark wood. It creates odd-pattern shadows on the polished plank floor.

I rest on my mattress in my room, watching Khun-Yai deliver his requests with my mouth shut. As soon as he knew I had a fever, he ordered other servants to prepare medicine and breakfast porridge with three side dishes, including a pitcher of hot water to sip during the day and a small basin with a towel to wipe me down, and bring them to the little house.

I drift in and out of sleep and sometimes just fix my eyes somewhere, not knowing what expression I should put on. Khun-Yai stands with his hands behind his back by the door, looking at Kesorn and another servant from the kitchen arranging things as he wishes. I know my condition is not serious. I am not suffering from an illness or disease. My body just aches and has a fever from the thrilling sensual activity that lasted almost all night. I am simply knackered and sleep-deprived, and a good rest will cure it. That is all.

Kesorn sets the basin and the towel beside my mattress, as Khun-Yai orders, and asks with thoughtfulness, "Can you get up, Nai-Jom? Do you want Ai-Yoi to wipe your body?"

They said Yoi is the other servant of the little house, a cook's son. Yoi and I had meals together several times, so we are pretty close. Before I decline, Khun-Yai cuts in.

"No need to." His voice is more blunt than usual. "Jom can do it himself."

Kesorn acknowledges it and backs away. Once she has left the little house, Khun-Yai steps closer. He sits on the mattress and touches my arm, his voice gentle. "Can you get up, Poh-Jom? Get up and take some medicine."

My body is too weak to get up because of him. I crack a faint smile as I sit up. Khun-Yai removes the lid from the ceramic bowl and holds it to my mouth. I study the murky liquid in the bowl. It must be herbal medicine made from plants that help reduce a fever. Wisdom of traditional medicine.

"It's Thai medicine," Khun-Yai says, reading my mind. "Do you prefer foreign medicine?"

"It's all right." I shake my head. I don't want to bother Khun-Yai any more than this. If he ordered someone to fetch pills at the great house, it would seem too much of a big deal. I am not that sick, and my fever is not high enough to require imported medicine. This decoction must be similar to that of Andrographis paniculata consumed to treat a fever or other infections.

I take a gulp and almost spit it out. The taste is unpalatable and bitter, as if designed to test how endurable our taste buds are. My mind is overwhelmed with the desire to knock the bowl away and scream for tablets of paracetamol 500 mg. Khun-Yai's worried and expectant expression stops me. I open my eyes and force myself to take two more gulps before pushing the rim of the bowl away. My eyes almost get teary. They say even vegetable broth tastes sweet when you are in love. What a lie.

Khun-Yai puts down the bowl and scoots over. He bends down and presses his cheek on mine. "You have a temperature," he says. I smile. If you check my temperature this way, you might get carried away and check the temperature of something else, too, Doc. His recently shaped stubble prickles my skin, but it kind of makes me happy.

"Let's wipe you down," says Doctor Yai. I slide the basin Kesorn brought closer. Instead of letting me wipe myself as he told Kesorn, Khun-Yai soaks the towel, squeezes it, and starts rubbing it on my forehead and cheek.

"Khun-Yai, I can do it." I hold his hand. I am not worried someone might see us since I heard it with my ears that Khun-Yai forbade everyone from coming to the little house today, as he needed to concentrate on studying. I can rest for the day. No need to work. If he doesn't call for anyone, no one must show up.

"You are being like this because of me," he says in a low, rich voice. "I will do it."

At a loss, I let him do as he wishes. Khun-Yai gently and carefully wipes my body. It feels weird to be treated like this when he is my boss. But since he now has two positions, my boss and lover, I have to let it slide.

After the wiping, it is time for breakfast that has been waiting. Khun-Yai removes the lid from the porridge bowl. Warm smoke puffs from the nicely boiled rice, with a mild scent of pandan leaves. Khun-Yai spoons the porridge, blows on it, and touches his lips to it. Aw, he even checks its temperature. If anyone poisoned me, Khun-Yai would die first.

He holds the spoon to my mouth, and I take the bite obediently, knowing it is no use declining it. It should be fine to indulge him a little. After two bites, I say. "Please let me eat by myself. It's more comfortable that way," I say plainly. I didn't plan to make him feed me the whole bowl anyway. I am not that sick. If I get too clingy, it will only worry him.

Khun-Yai accepts my request. He backs away and watches me. The deboned snakeskin gourami is delicious, meaty, has no bones, moderately salty, and perfect to eat with porridge. Stir-fried gurmar with eggs and spicy dried shrimp salad make the meal not too greasy or too strong.

Khun-Yai looks pleased to see me eat with gusto, unlike other sick people. "Eat a lot to gain back your strength. When you recover, I will take you to the theatre."

I almost laugh while chewing the food. "Khun-Yai, I'm not a kid. You don't need to lure me into finishing my meal with a theatre."

"How do I lure an adult such as you with, then..hmm?" His eyes sparkle. He keeps teasing me even though I am sick. I continue eating, saving my breath. I could suffer the consequences otherwise. I haven't fully recovered, so I don't want to wake the sleeping tiger.

Therefore, I am a young master lying in bed all day today. I don't have to work at all. Khun-Yai moves from the hall to study on the balcony under the shade of big trees casting their shadows down, and occasionally looks at me. The distinct music plays from the gramophone placed on the table in the hall. The melody is soothing. It must be a phonograph record that Khun-Sak, his brother-in-law, gave him as a gift from abroad. It is a foreign song I don't know.

"Do you need anything else, Poh-Jom?" A star and a moon. I want to say that just for fun, but the listener gets me anxious. If he takes it seriously, I will be in trouble. So, I ask for what I truly want, "Could you find me a casket or a small box tomorrow? One with a lock."

"Do you have something valuable to keep?"

"Yes. You will see it tomorrow...Oh, I prefer a plain box with no exquisite pattern. Just a strong, durable one."

"I will find you one."

At night, I get to sleep on Khun-Yai's bed again. He doesn't allow me to sleep on the floor or rest in my room. His excuse is to make sure my fever does not worsen overnight. My heart races as Khun-Yai lies down beside me. Will he go hard on me another round? I can't take it. Human bodies need repose. Let me sleep for a night, and I will obey him tomorrow.

I shut my eyes tightly with thrill as he hugs me. His embrace feels firm and warm, made of flesh and blood. I hesitate about my next move. Part of me wants to push him away in warning, but another part of me wants to respond. It is not like I don't want to make love with him. He is such a tempting and adorable person. To hell with my health? I won't die from another day of a fever.

"Get some sleep. I will not disturb you. I will only hug you," says Khun-Yai evenly. I open my eyes and look at him. The pale moonlight showers Khun-Yai's smiling face. He kisses my forehead and pulls me closer, and I lean on his chest and close my eyes again. If I had never thought to love him before, now I love him with all my heart.

The next day, my fever is gone. I wake up early and prepare things as usual, so energetic that Khun-Yai glances at me and smiles. He seems relieved that I have recovered. After getting dressed, Khun-Yai walks to the great house to have breakfast with the Luang as usual.

In the late morning, Khun-Yai returns to the little house with an object I asked for. "Is this one okay?" He sets a wooden box on his desk.

"Yes," I answer. No boxes will ever be as okay as this. I observe the rectangular wooden box, not over a foot long, in front of me. The lid above is made of thick wood, curving down to the lock. My chest suddenly swells as I know it would be this one. It is the same box I saw the day I opened the large trunk with Tan. I found it in there with several pictures I drew.

"Could you bring my phone?" Khun-Yai frowns, his eyes doubtful.

"I won't keep it," I say. "Also, could you lend me a piece of paper and a pen?" He agrees, then rises and heads to his bedroom. I shut my eyes with melancholy in my chest, pressing my lips together tightly to suppress my feelings. I open my eyes again and take a deep breath, hoping I will be strong enough.

Khun-Yai comes back shortly with my phone. He sits at his desk and fixes his eyes on me quietly, in need of an explanation.

"I want you to keep my phone and the letter I am going to write," I say. "Keep them in the box and make sure it is securely locked. Don't ever lose it." Khun-Yai still listens in silence, his face grave as he understands what I am telling him is immensely important to me.

"I suppose I won't ever have a chance to return home. I will write a letter to my parents." My voice trembles.

"Please keep this box and pass it on to the next generations. Keep it in this house until the set date. I want my parents to read it. I want them to know what happened to their son."

"Poh-Jom.."

"You don't know this, but I know you will keep some of my possessions for a long time until the era I was born. I saw them with my own eyes the day before I drove off into the river. You put my pictures in huge trunks, including this box."

"Did I do that?" he muses. I smile, feeling like crying. "Yes. For whatever reason, you kept a ton of my drawings."

Khun-Yai slightly nods. I think he begins to understand now. I am asking him to make a will for his family's future generations. No matter what possessions he will hand over to anyone, the huge wooden trunks will remain here in this little house for another hundred years.

"Could you promise me you will do it?"

"I promise," he replies firmly.

"Thank you," I murmur and position a piece of paper before me. I inhale and put the tip of the pen on the surface.

After writing a line, my tears fall. My hands and shoulders shake like my heart is about to rip. My parents and sister are the people I miss the most in the world I came from. The letter explains that I have moved to a faraway place. I am sorry that it is so sudden that I can't say goodbye in person. Don't wait or look for me. I didn't commit suicide or run away because of heartbreak or anything. The things I love are my family. I promise I will spend the rest of my life happily. Please don't worry about me in despair, and live happily the way I will. I shall say goodbye to you here.

I finish with the word of love that is squeezed from every tiny particle of my heart, each letter written firmly. My tears dribble on the hand gripping the pen. I fold the letter three times, careful that the creases will not overlap the paragraph, and seal it with a kiss that I hope will reach my beloved ones in another hundred years from now.

"I'll leave it to you." I wipe off my tears and pass the letter to Khun-Yai. He promises and places it in the box along with my phone. "I will keep my promise and take care of you as best I can."

The firm assurance from Khun-Yai's mouth soothes my heart and consoles me, pulling me out of sorrow. He then asks me about a couple of things regarding the trunks and his family's future. I tell him honestly that I don't know much. I only know the Luang will supposedly be promoted to a Phra and then a Phraya in succession before the democratisation, and the trunks are thick, heavy wooden chests. The shapes are typical, not standing out, but strong and securely locked.

"If you wish to keep them out of the thieves' eyes, the trunks should be as you describe. Fancy trunks will be inappropriate. As to the padlock of the little box, I will entrust it to a trustworthy person in writing. Don't worry."

In the afternoon, Khun-Yai asks me to go for a drive together, saying he needs to hit a stationery shop on Thapae Street. I think he actually wants to take me out to get some fresh air to lift my mood because when we are halfway there, Khun-Yai asks. "Is there any place you want to go?"

"You said you would take me to the theatre tomorrow night."

"I mean, for today."

"Oh...What about the stationery shop?"

"We can go there another day. I am not in a hurry."

I knew it, I think in my mind. Actually, I have brought my drawing board and pieces of paper. If Khun-Yai takes long, I can draw while waiting for him. "Then, could we visit the Chiang Mai Railway Station?"

Khun-Yai raises his eyebrow to inquire about my reason. "I want to see the real thing and draw it before it explodes and is rebuilt."

"Exploded?"

"Ah...In World War."

"I think you are mistaken. The war was over in B.E. 2461. It has been years."

"I mean the Second World War."

"I beg your pardon?" This time, he turns fully to me in disbelief.

"It will happen again. I know you half-believe everything I say, but it will definitely happen. The democratisation and World War II. I am telling you to beware."

"Do not go around mentioning the democratisation to anyone. I did learn from my father that someone is planning to execute it." His voice is seriously stern. 

"But you can't harp on things like this. It can get you in prison."

"Yes. I only tell you all of this. Don't share it with anyone, or they will think something is wrong with my brain."

His stern expression lifts. He now looks like he is stifling his smile. "Do you think I will?" Good grief. I warn him about everything out of worry, yet he is amused by the possibility of my being called crazy.

"As for capitalising the fruit gardens and building residences for rent, I am serious. Please don't see it as far-fetched. Numerous noble and wealthy families in this era will be negatively affected by democratisation and become poor. Their children and servants will go their separate ways, and they will need to sell their possessions to feed themselves. Tons of them will struggle to survive."

"Are you worried I will be poor?"

"Yes, I am truly worried. Don't joke about this, especially World War II. It will last around five to six years, the biggest loss in history. People in our country will suffer a great deal, trapped by famine. Even basic things like sugar and rice will be unaffordably expensive. Not to mention medicine."

"Rice and sugar?"

"Yes. They will be traded at gold prices. In addition to the effects of the war, there will be a major flood in the Capital and Thonburi at that time. Please keep in mind that you will need to be prepared around ten years later, so you won't have to struggle. Some people will conduct trade in the black market. It makes more money to sell goods to foreigners than to Thai people. Many of them will become millionaires in a short time."

"Selling our rice and sugar to foreigners instead of Thai folks and getting rich while our fellows suffer, how will I sleep at night?"

"No. I mean, you should stock it for yourself. Supply a lot for your family and relatives. That way, you won't be taken advantage of or fleeced."

Ugh... If I suggested he stock rice to sell it to Japanese soldiers that come to Thailand during that time, Khun-Yai would accuse me of persuading him to betray our country.

"Do you believe anything I've said?" He pauses for a long while, then he mumbles, "If I didn't listen to the one by my side, who would I listen to...?"'

I beam. This is good enough. I know he doesn't believe me wholeheartedly and undoubtedly. Khun-Yai is a reasonable person. It will take him some time to realise I have told the truth.

I drive along the Ping River to the intersection by the Nawarat Bridge. Instead of crossing the bridge to Thapae Street as first planned, I changed our course to the route heading to the Chiang Mai Railway Station. Fifteen minutes later, I stand on the open space of the Chiang Mai Railway Station. Around twenty meters from here, a gigantic reinforced concrete building stands, its style visibly influenced by Western architecture. The façade is thick, dark concrete, lined with long windows set inward into the wall. The roof is hipped, with small gable roofs over the two entrances.

"Now that I have seen it, I feel the great loss," I say, grabbing my pencil to sketch the building. Khun-Yai lets me fulfil my desire. I search for an angle that will give me a full shot of the front and side of the building, as well as the platform. When I have found it, I start drawing.

It takes me nearly an hour to sketch the whole building. The details must be collected as thoroughly as possible, as they aren't something to be added out of imagination. I can add lights and shadows later. The environment is roughly sketched. Khun-Yai hovers in the seat in our car, watching me draw and occasionally starting conversations.

Once I have drawn all significant parts, I say, "This is enough, Khun-Yai. I can complete the details later."

"Are you tired?" He brushes the locks of hair over my forehead.

"No." I smile. "Before we leave, can I take a look inside? I have never been here. I want to know what it is like."

Khun-Yai agrees. We walk side by side, stepping up the stairs and into the building. I have to say that no matter the year, the atmosphere of the railway station barely changes-the shooting steam from the tracks, the bustling crowd, the ickiness, the faint smell of sweat of the travellers, and indistinguishable conversations. The only differences are the clothes of the era and the language.

"Khun-Yai," I whisper when I spot a man selling something near the platform. His shoulder pole consists of dozens of bamboo tubes lined. "Is that palm wine?"

"No. It's palm juice," Khun-Yai corrects. 

"Juice from coconuts or palm fruits is called palm juice. If you ferment it with ebony or Resak tembaga, that will be palm wine. Do you want to try it?"

I smile as a response. Khun-Yai heads over to the man selling palm juice, knowing what I want. This is the perk of having a generous, rich boyfriend. I look around for a short while and exit the building as I feel sorry that Khun-Yai has to endure the sticky heat with me. We both return to our car, and I drink the palm juice from the bamboo tube. It is refreshingly aromatic and sweet.

"Is it sweet?" asks Khun-Yai.

I glance around. There is no one passing by. I have parked the car pretty far to find the right angle to draw the whole building. I turn my head back to Khun-Yai and lean over to give him a quick kiss on the lips. I smile at his eyes.

"Sweet?"

Khun-Yai is stunned for a moment, surprised, before his ears redden. His eyes gleam playfully. "You have just recovered from a fever. Goodness, I will punish you when we are home."

Despite the threat, a pleased grin paints on his face. Should I be scared? Well, I rested well last night. I will be fine if the punishment is not too harsh.

The weather is nicer than on our trip to the station. The sunlight fades, replaced by the breeze, as it is late afternoon. We drive past the ancient church established when the missionaries first arrived in Chiang Mai, and further along the road, flanked for kilometres by towering rows of rubber trees.

"Khun-Yai, can we pull over for a moment?" I ask, remembering something.

"What are you going to do?"

I want to draw this road. See, less than half of these rubber trees survive until my era."

"How is that possible?" He sounds unconvinced.

"These rubber trees have been grown since the Fifth Reign. Those planted before houses are tended by the families living there. If one is dead, it will be replaced in the same spot. Even so, they do not last?"

"No. Development came fast, the city evolved rapidly, and the population increased. Things developed too quickly for conscience to catch up. People in my generation did try to reserve them. They even planted Dendrobium lindleyi on the trunks of the rubber trees in the hope that its beauty would attract tourists and keep them coming for a long time. I don't know how long they will stand, though."

I pull over to the side of the road so I won't block other cars, though one appears only occasionally. I kill the engine and gaze out the window. The sight before me is created breathtakingly by the artist named nature. Rows of the white-grey trunks, too large to be held in the arms' length, stretch endlessly. The branches at the tops spread their shade, filtering the sunlight so the road isn't scalding. The cool breeze blows the fruits off the stems. Their wings spin and soften the landings.

"How beautiful. It feels like I am in the magic land."

"True as you said."

I turn to look at Khun-Yai's side profile facing the windshield. The cute moles dot the edge of his cheek near his jaw, making me want to give them a kiss.

Khun-Yai flicks his head and smiles at me, and my heart feels oddly warm. His eyes are big and sharp, the shapes wide and long. His jetty, dark eyes complement his charming face. I can't take my eyes off him. More than the deep affection in his eyes is the irreplaceable emotion. It is exceptional loyalty. It feels as if there were tens of thousands of questions in this world about his love, and all the answers would be me.

"Khun-Yai, you will be off to study abroad soon, won't you?"

Khun-Yai takes my hand and strokes it gently. "Will you miss me, Poh-Jom?" I smile. "Of course, I will miss you. You will be studying law. The Luang will be very proud when you come back."

"When I am back, I will take the exam to become a judge."

I will miss him dearly, probably more than he can imagine, and he will miss me a lot as well. I drop my gaze to my hand in his, my feeling unhesitantly clear.

"Khun-Yai, do you remember when you asked if I would wait until you graduate and return?" I raise my eyes at him. "I will. I will wait for you at the little house until you come back to me."

His eyes shimmer with joy, the joy filled with hope. He lifts my hands with both of his, and I engrave his next words with all my senses.

"I promise you right here that I will never change my mind. No matter how far, no matter how long, no one will ever sow my love from my heart, except you." He kisses my hands. "Only you."

I feel like my heart is melting. It would be great if it could actually melt, vaporise, and cling to him wherever he goes. I breathe in, suppressing my overflowing emotions, and say, "If you continue, I will cry for sure."

A soft laugh escapes his mouth, and it makes me laugh with him. If my tears fall, at least they will be tears of joy.

"I have an idea. How about this? You get out and lean on the car, and I'll go over there." I point at the row of rubber trees. "Let me draw you in my picture for once. When you go abroad, I can look at it when I miss you."

"I have to allow you, don't I?"

"Why? Are you afraid I won't draw you handsome?" I say with a laugh. "From that distance, you'll be handsome no matter what."

Khun-Yai steps down as asked. I chose a few pictures that haven't been put away in the little house, still clipped to the drawing board, for Khun-Yai to look at while being my model to kill his boredom. I walk to my preferred spot and turn around. From here, I can see tall rubber trees stretching out and curving behind our parked car. What a nice angle. I smile when Khun-Yai rolls up his sleeves to his elbows and studies my picture in earnest.

Photographs and drawings have distinct feelings. When Khun-Yai and I are apart, every time I look at this picture, I will recall the details of my current surroundings. It is a memory captured with my senses, sight, taste, smell, and hearing. I will see Khun-Yai, feel his kiss, and remember his voice uttering the word of love to me. I will remember his scent and the feeling of the wind dancing on my skin as I stay with him at this moment.

I lean against a rubber tree and adjust the drawing board to the right angle, getting ready to start sketching. I freeze when I glance at the road covered in falling rubber leaves. The branches and leaves high up on the rubber trees cast intricate patterns on the road. Even so, you can tell they are shadows of trees from the dark shade, unlike my shadow.

My shadow right now is dim, nearly invisible. It turns so pale, blending with the road, as if the light shines through me. The bewilderment changes into an immensely stronger feeling as something appears before my eyes. The fog.

My heart sinks, my hands and feet cold. The white fog hangs low, swirling like smoke past my ankles and the area around me. I look up instantly, my heart alarmingly thumping. Khun-Yai still admires my pictures by the car. He rests one of his arms on the hood and flips through each drawing.

I can't move my feet, not because of fear, but I literally can't do it. The fog pins me to the ground as though it has figured out I don't belong here. The force feels bizarre, both magnetising and pushing me away from here.

"Khun-Yai!" I shout in a quivering voice. Khun-Yai turns his head. He pauses for a second before widening his eyes in shock. Khun-Yai lets the drawings fall on the ground and runs as fast as he can towards me. But he's not fast enough.

The last sight of Khun-Yai before my eyes is his panicked face, his terrified eyes, and his arms reaching out to grasp me, but only seizing air. I will never forget the image for the rest of my life.

The gust of wind blows the leaves. The rubber fruits swish in the air. My body is yanked with the irresistible massive force.

The scene in front of me vanishes as though shut down. There is a cracking noise in my ears, followed by the long ringing, and then it stops. After that, there is darkness and infinite silence, the kind that deafens even the sound of my breath. My body sinks and drifts into the peculiar tide like when I was brought here.

The End of Part 1.