By now I had been let into almost all of Mom Ratchawong Kirati’s secrets, and if there was anything further that I wished to know, I could find out quite easily. There was nothing I could not ask her and nothing she would not tell me. This situation continued until the day we went alone together to Mitake. Several days prior to that, I had begun to feel that my mind was frequently slipping away from my body and into another world. It was a new world, which I saw for the first time in my life, a world glowing with beauty and happiness. The strangeness of this world seized my mind and filled it with such joy that I almost completely forgot my past. At first, I tried to prevent my thoughts from straying into this unfamiliar world. I was afraid I might find something frightening hidden there. But then I gave up trying, telling myself that there was nothing I could do to stop myself. I was incapable of resisting the allure and excitement of this new world. I had to give my heart full rein. Finally, the day came when I stepped into that world myself, the day when my real life touched that world: I reached the summit of Everest in my relationship with Mom Ratchawong Kirati. I do not know how I managed it. I do not even know whether I meant to or not. I do not think I did. This moment of passion and intensity occurred at Mitake, in the cool, gentle breeze of autumn, amid the lovely surroundings of nature. You probably recall the name ‘Mitake’. You probably remember the painting I described. An ordinary-looking painting with nothing very striking about it at all. But now you are about to encounter the true story behind that painting.
8
It was a Sunday. Chao Khun had been invited to a reception by the Ambassador, and so on the Saturday, Mom Ratchawong Kirati had asked his permission to go and visit Mitake with me. She arranged that I should go round and meet her at seven o’clock in the morning, which was before Chao Khun was up. Together we packed some food in a basket and one or two other things we might need. Mom Ratchawong Kirati took great pleasure in the preparations. We left the house at half past eight, Mom Ratchawong Kirati not neglecting to say goodbye to Chao Khun in his bedroom once more. She came out smiling.
‘He’s just waking up,’ she said. ‘He said he was going to come and help us prepare the food and hadn’t realized we’d be running away from him before daybreak. “What do you mean,before daybreak? It’s gone eight o’clock,” I said to him. But we weren’t meaning to sneak away, were we, Nopporn?’ she said, laughing.
When we reached Shinjuku Station, it was crowded with men and women and noisy children, all waiting for the train. Mom Ratchawong Kirati had never travelled any distance by train on a Sunday, so when she saw the crowds looking as if they were going to some big public festival, she was most surprised. I explained that it was always like this at the main stations on a Sunday morning, because the Japanese loved to get out to the countryside. As a result, there were within both a short distance and further afielddozens of beautiful destinations, both naturally occurring and artificially created by the authorities, which people might choose to visit, depending on their taste and means. When Sundays and public holidays came round, husbands and wives, young couples and parents with children would all go off on outings to various such places.
‘I think that finding a way for people to occupy their free time in a constructive way is one of the main factors in making Japan a strong nation,’ I remarked eventually. ‘The government makes it possible for people to enjoy worthwhile leisure like this at the lowest cost, with every facility provided. Even those on low incomes have the chance to enjoy themselves according to their means. When I first came to Japan, I didn’t really think about it, but now that I’ve been here several years I’m very well aware of the benefits. Most Japanese know their country well; they work hard, and their children are neither lazy nor dull, because they occupy themselves in their leisure time in a useful way.’
When the train drew into the station, the waiting crowds thronged into the carriages and the seats were all filled in a moment. I had no wish to let Mom Ratchawong Kirati join them in the scramble for seats.
‘It’s better to wait for the next one,’ I told her. ‘It won’t be so crowded.’
‘How many hours will we have to wait? It’s a nuisance.’
‘In Japan you don’t have to wait hours for a train. There’ll be another one along in five minutes.’
Mom Ratchawong Kirati straightened out her dress, and by the time she had applied her make-up, another one had arrived. This time we managed to get seats, but only just, and there were others who had to wait for the one after that. We sat next to each other on a seat for two. The Japanese on the train stared at us out of curiosity, for one thing because we were foreignersand for another, no doubt, because of the poise and beauty of Mom Ratchawong Kirati. There were lots of children running up and down the carriage, chattering away incessantly to their parents.
‘I’m exhausted, but happy,’ she said as the train moved off a moment later. ‘I like the way the Japanese know how to use their leisure time, as you said. I hope that when you return to Thailand, you’ll make it possible for Thais to use their free time in an enjoyable and useful way. I believe you could because you’ve been educated abroad. Most people have great faith in the ideas of those who’ve studied abroad.’
‘So I’ve heard. That’s what I thought when I was still in Thailand. But when I became an overseas student myself and saw what my fellow students here were like, I felt people praised us too much. We have better opportunities than students in our own country, in that we see a model of progress that we don’t have in Thailand. But if we don’t take advantage of this great opportunity, then we don’t have any special qualities to back up any claim we may have to being better than others. Apart from that, we are more likely to come to grief than students in Thailand. The more prosperous a country is, the more distractions it has to lead you down the path to ruin. And as you see, we live here without any supervision. We have to battle against many distractions on our own. You can see how easy it would be for us to lose that struggle. We don’t all come out winners. There are winners. And there are many losers, too. And if we are losers, what special qualities will we have, what special rights, to march out, head held high, as if we’re more special than anyone else in Thai society?’
‘What you say is very true, Nopporn. I don’t know very much about overseas-educated students myself. I only go by what I’ve heard. But since I’ve got to know you, I have sincere faith in students who study abroad. I measure such students by you.’
‘You praise me too much. To tell you the truth, I don’t like people to be too nice to us, nor to hope for too much from us, because if they’re disappointed, they might blame us for deceiving them. Even though, the truth is, you’ve already seen that I’ve never thought of deceiving you.’
Mom Ratchawong Kirati laughed with delight. We chatted on about these problems for a while, and then moved on to other things and admiring the scenery on either side of our route. Our journey took about an hour and a half, a journey which Mom Ratchawong Kirati said was not in the least bit boring.
About half of the passengers, ourselves included, alighted at Takae Station. As we left the station and approached the main road, we could see how enchanting the scenery was. There was a broad stream and a rocky slope, and our eyes were taken up by the green of dense vegetation. Mom Ratchawong Kirati seemed very happy. We walked around admiring the scenery and looking at the shops for a while and then stopped at one for a rest and a drink. I told Mom Ratchawong Kirati that it was rather crowded there and that I would take her on further by bus, which would run parallel to the stream until it reached the slopes of Mount Mitake. There we would be alone together in the peaceful surroundings of nature. That was the destination we headed for in happy anticipation that day.
When we had rested and seen enough, we continued on our way by bus for another forty minutes or so. The bus ran alongside the stream, where the water was so sparkling and clear that you could see jagged rocks lying beneath the surface. On the other side of the road, the slopes were bright green with the foliage of many different kinds of tree, both large and small. The bus drove past ordinary people who were willing to walk the whole way. There were elderly people, young men and girls and little children, all enjoying the journey.
We reached our destination a little after midday. Few peoplehad decided to come this far as there were stop-off points with magnificent views all along the route. So when we got off the bus and walked down the evenly sloping path, there were only two people who followed us, a middle-aged man and his son of about twelve. Whether he had come along to keep his son company, or whether he had brought his son along to keep him company, we did not know.
The path descended until eventually it reached the stream. We came to a waterfall which was the source of the wide stream we had passed earlier. The water poured down on to the rocks and then flowed, with a strong current in places, a trickle in others, down into the stream, which gradually widened. The path we took was surrounded by steep slopes that were bright green with different kinds of vegetation. We went down and stood on the rocks so that the water flowed right past our shoes. Mom Ratchawong Kirati and I were like children as we played about, jumping from one rock to another. We could enjoy ourselves in complete freedom because there, you could almost say, we had come to a new world, where our only companions were the stream, the rocks and the woods. The sun warmed us without being too hot. The middle-aged man and his son had disappeared from sight. Occasionally a couple would pass through our world, but they never stopped for long. Thus, we were like Adam and Eve in that small world. I picked a purple flower and asked if I could pin it in her hair, and she picked a different kind, a red one, and stuck it in the buttonhole of my jacket. She told me that she was really glad that I had brought her to a place so full of the sweet scent of tranquillity and natural beauty, and I told her I was really glad to have had a part in making her happy; or rather, bringing her to a place where she was happy.
I can still vividly recall my feelings that day. That I was happy and in high spirits goes without saying. But even so, certain feelings disturbed my happiness, causing my heart to beat faster inapprehension that something quite beyond my control would occur. Hour after hour these feelings churned up and down in my heart. It seemed I tried to suppress them, but I felt it was almost beyond me. All I could do was wait. I was both exhausted and happy.
9
After lunch and a rest, we set off along the main path, which led steadily up the hillside. There were no houses along the way. Far ahead, high up on the top of the hill, there were four or five huts, indicating that people lived there, raising crops for their living. That little piece of land at the top of the hill was their world. We reached our destination at the summit of the hill without encountering a single tourist on the way. We sat down to rest in the shade of the spreading boughs of a cedar tree.
I shall not describe in detail how we passed our time there. I shall only describe part of a conversation which revealed very clearly everything about Mom Ratchawong Kirati’s life. Once again, I brought up the subject of our conversation in the gardens of the Kaihin Hotel.
‘I’d like to know what your reasons were for deciding to marry Chao Khun.’
‘You seem very interested in the business of marriage. Is it something you’re getting yourself ready for?’
‘No, no,’ I hastened to reply. ‘I certainly wasn’t thinking about getting ready for my own marriage. And I’m not interested in the business of marriage in general. It’s just you I’m interested in.’
‘And why do you have to be interested in my personal affairs, which are, after all, private?’
‘Didn’t you say you regarded me as one of your very closest friends, of whom there seems to be only one?’
‘But why do you want to know?’ she asked wearily. ‘My life is one of misfortune. My reasons for getting married were those of a woman who has been most unfortunate in love. There’s no example for you to take note of, and it may make you feel sad, or feel pity, or feel that my misfortune served me right. There wasn’t anything very enjoyable about it. You’ve got to know me under my present circumstances, which is fine and should be enough. You shouldn’t know too much about my life in the past. It might spoil your happiness.’
