‘And what else do you want, when you’re already content with life the way it is?’
‘I didn’t say I wanted anything else. Or, to put it bluntly, as I guess you’d prefer, I didn’t say that I still desire love. I know I have no right to it. But I can’t know whether love will come into my life or not, nor guarantee that it won’t, even though I’m not looking for it. I may be content, it’s true. But please believe me, there can be contentment without love.’
‘And if love were to come along, what would you do?’
‘Oh, I don’t prepare answers to questions like that in advance because it may never happen. Dwelling on that kind of thing only makes you unhappy. There’s nothing sillier than worrying about some non-existent thing or some dream. Remember, “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”. Contentment without love is better than dreaming about love without contentment.’
‘And what about Chao Khun? Does he love you?’
‘I can’t answer for him. I know he’s fond of me. Perhaps he loves me in the way an adult loves a child. But that’s not love in the sense you mean, is it? I’ve already said I don’t believe in love between an old man and a young woman, so I don’t expect him to love me deeply.’
‘You mean he doesn’t want love, that he’s not looking for love, not even from his wife?’
‘That’s right. That is what I mean. And I believe that’s the truth.’
‘Why?’
‘Because his love has dried up with old age. His days of loving have passed. Now he doesn’t know how to love. He can’t love me because he has nothing to love with, to give me the love I dream of.’
‘But why does he seem so happy with you then?’
‘You’ve got a really bad memory. I’ve already told you that there can be contentment without love. He’s in the same position as I am.’
‘If it wasn’t for love, why did he marry you?’
‘He wanted contentment, just the same as others like him. Human beings crave contentment and will seek it right up until the last hour of their life, no matter how old they are. He married me because he believed it would bring him contentment.’
‘And what about you? Why did you marry him, since it wasn’t for love?’
‘You want to know why I married him? Oh, that’s a long story. There’s not time tonight.’ Mom Ratchawong Kirati stood up. ‘We’ve been out a long time, Nopporn. Chao Khun will be waiting.’ I got up and, as we started to walk back, she said, ‘You’ve asked me a lot of things tonight, Nopporn. I’ve answered a lot of questions that I shouldn’t have, but I thought you wanted to find out about these things.’
‘No,’ I replied quite openly. ‘I asked because I’m interested in your life.’
‘If I’d known that was why you were asking, I wouldn’t have answered a lot of your questions. You shouldn’t be taking an interest in my private life.’
‘You wouldn’t deny that we are very good friends.’
‘But that’s no reason for you to be taking an interest in my inner feelings.’
‘Well, I have taken an interest, and you’ve answered all my questions.’
‘Because I was tricked.’
‘You can be tricked by contentment.’
‘And you’re beginning to get on my nerves.’ Mom Ratchawong Kirati tugged my arm to make me walk faster. ‘A bit faster. I’m worried about Chao Khun.’
7
Our stay at Kamakura had been enjoyable, especially the Sunday, the last night. From our conversation in the garden of the Kaihin Hotel that night, you will have seen how far relations between Mom Ratchawong Kirati and myself had reached. You will probably have seen how close we were and you might guess what would happen before long. But whatever your guess, I believe that it would be only partly correct, because even I myself, who together with Mom Ratchawong Kirati played a major role in this story, completely miscalculated the outcome of this strange yet true tale. It was a miscalculation which has disturbed me right up to this very day. But let me continue with the story.
By the time we returned from Kamakura, the rapport between Mom Ratchawong Kirati and myself had blossomed. We both felt as if we had been the closest of friends for years. We forgot entirely that our friendship had been born and had matured within the span of a single summer. We had never imagined that autumn would arrive to see our friendship in full bloom. My initial position, which was merely as guide to Chao Khun and his wife when they went out on business or sightseeing, had rapidly changed. I had become an essential part of the day-to-day life of Mom Ratchawong Kirati, perhaps eventhemost essential. I do not mean to boast. I am merely telling the truth.
As far as I was concerned, I was increasingly aware that myown happiness had changed in a way that I could not understand. In the beginning I had been content merely to be of some use to Chao Khun on the grounds that he was a friend of the family. Subsequently, that satisfaction became a need to have as many opportunities as possible to be close to his wife. Latterly, I have to confess, the reason I gave up so much of my time to be with him and his wife was not out of consideration for him, but rather out of consideration for myself. But certainly, Chao Khun did not know this.
After returning from Kamakura, my need had reached the point where I asked myself how I would face up to it when the time came for Mom Ratchawong Kirati to leave Japan and return to Thailand. How would I face an existence without Mom Ratchawong Kirati? I was already certain that I would not be able to bear seeing her leave Tokyo Station, because the train would whisk her off so quickly, her tiny hand waving farewell to me as she disappeared from sight. I had already understood that I needed to be with her until the last minute. I would leave Tokyo with her when she went to catch the boat at Kobe. I would have at least an extra ten hours to be near her and a last chance to wave a lingering farewell to her from the quayside. The large ocean-going vessel would slowly and gradually carry her away into the distance, with none of the rapid, powerful movements of a train, which would have made it seem like she was being cruelly snatched from me. And I believed Mom Ratchawong Kirati would also wish our farewells to linger as long as possible.
By now, the Mom Ratchawong Kirati I had first met at Tokyo Station, who, despite her sweetness and gentleness, was rather serious and proper, had vanished from my mind. It was only by conscious effort that I could recall those first images of her. The image of Mom Ratchawong Kirati that passed most frequently through my mind was of a young woman who behaved just like a close friend, a friend who was both highly intelligent andextremely kind towards me. She was the nicest, sweetest woman I had ever known, someone who had brought so much joy to my empty life that it seemed almost impossible to think that she would have to leave me soon and I would have to remain in Japan for many years without her.
