Bar Girl (9 page)

When she had walked in her village she had known everyone. Every face she saw she knew. Even on Buddha days, when the whole village gathered together to visit the temple, she knew every face. Recognised every person. Some to talk to, others just to say hello to, some to be afraid of. It didn’t matter how many people turned up, and sometimes there seemed like hundreds, she knew everyone.

In this town there were thousands of people. Tens of thousands. She knew none of them. Not one face stood out from the crowds for her. Not one. She was alone. For the first time in her life, she was truly alone.

Walking aimlessly down through the crowded streets she felt tired. Her legs ached from their long walk. She was hot, sticky and dirty. She wanted a shower. Something to eat. A good nights sleep in her little bed. It was that last thought that saved her.

The thought of her little, safe and comfortable bed, saved her from giving up. Saved her from crying and being afraid. Stopped her from being the little frightened girl that she almost allowed herself to become.

That little bed. Where she would lie and listen to her father. Hear his drunken rants. Hear the sound of her mother crying. Waiting anxiously, hoping that Bak wouldn’t come to her. No. The thought of that bed filled her with revulsion. Her mother had condemned her. There would be no more tears.

With a shrug of resolve, she hefted her small bundle of clothes over her shoulder and, more determined than ever, continued her walk into the centre of the town. Whatever happened now, whatever happened in the future, she was going to be the one in control.

She looked into the shop windows as she walked. So many beautiful things. Clothes. Jewellery. Ornaments. Of every size, shape and colour. The sights made her realise how shabby she must look. Her worn jeans, faded tee shirt, old sandals. Her hair was dirty and hung across her face. Her skin felt as though it were caked in dirt. She felt unclean. Inside and out.

It was dark by the time she arrived at the park in the centre of the town. The garish street lights made the shadows look real. More alive than the objects that made them. There were still people about. Motorbikes zipped past her, their drivers, sometimes their passengers, cast her a glance. No smiles. No signs of recognition.

She sat down on the grass bank that enclosed the central lake of the park and watched as people walked by. So many people. Out for an evening stroll. Some with partners. Some alone. They all walked by.

She bent down towards the water. Scooped some in her hands and rinsed her face and arms. A couple walking by, paused to watch, then walked on, laughing. Siswan didn’t mind. At least they had seen her. Made a comment concerning her existence. She had begun to think that perhaps she had become invisible. She rinsed the water through her hair. Pulled her fingers through it. Tried for a semblance of normality.

She collected her thoughts. She needed to eat and sleep somewhere. The small street cafes over the road may be able to help. There must be something she could do to earn a bed for the night.

Crossing the road, she looked along the row of small eating areas. They were nothing more than rattan mats spread out over the pavement. The customers sat cross legged on cushions as they ate the meals prepared on small charcoal grilles. Siswan wandered up to the first and stood looking at the meats being slowly grilled by an old woman.

‘Yes?’ The old woman was looking at her expectantly.

‘Hello.’ Siswan gave her a wai. The old woman smiled in reply.

‘Do you want to eat?’ she asked.

‘Can I work for you?’ Siswan asked, in all innocence.

The old woman cackled. She revealed black stumps of teeth and a yellow coated tongue.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘I have nowhere to go. I need a bed, somewhere to shower. Food,’ Siswan told her.

‘So do I,’ the old woman cackled again. ‘No. No work here.’

Siswan left her and wandered down the road to the next. The story was the same. No work. No bed. No food. She tried every cafe along that road and then the next. Nothing. No work. No help. No pity offered and none expected.

By the time she got back to the park, the street cafes were closing. There were less people about. The old woman with the black teeth was collecting her cushions. She looked crooked, old and frail as she bent to pick them up and load them into the trailer attached to her old motorbike. Siswan wandered over and started to roll up the rattan mats.

‘I told you before. No work. Not here,’ the old woman told her.

‘I know. I heard you. I’m only helping you, that’s all,’ Siswan replied.

‘So you think I’ll take pity on you, is that it?’

‘No. I’m just helping. You don’t have to talk.’ Siswan bent and rolled another mat.

‘I won’t, you know,’ the old woman said, as she took the mats. ‘I’ve already told you.’

Siswan didn’t reply. She just collected the rest of the mats, stored them in the old trailer, and then wandered back across the street to the park.

She guessed she could sleep there for the night. It didn’t look like it was going to rain. She heard the old woman start the motorbike behind her. Heard it pull away from the kerb.

‘Here.’ The shout came from behind her.

Siswan turned. The old woman had driven across the road and was sat on her bike holding one of the mats out.

‘Make sure you bring it back tomorrow.’

‘I will. Thank you,’ Siswan said and took the proffered mat.

It was the first act of kindness she had seen since leaving home. She was grateful for the mat. She gave a wai to the old woman who, after looking at her a moment longer, drove off down the road.

That night, Siswan lay on the rattan mat in the park. She had made her bed under the branches of a big old blossom tree that stood to one side of the small lake. She used her small bundle of clothes as a pillow. In her hand she held the small knife. The blade was very sharp and she made sure she didn’t cut herself in her sleep.

She spent a total of eight nights sleeping in the park before having to move on. Eight nights alone in the dark. She had been disturbed only once. A brown rat, one of the dozens that came out at night to scavenge for food, ventured too close. Siswan had cut it almost in half and thrown its bloody carcass far out into the waters of the lake. A rat was nothing compared to a scorpion.

During the days she wandered from one business to the next, looking for work. She discovered a large restaurant that threw out food at the end of the day and she managed to get enough from the big green bins to keep her going.

As she drove off the dogs that threatened to bite her, she remembered how easy it had been to get food in her village. A short stroll into the fields and you could eat your fill of fresh vegetables and fruit. This wasn’t her village. Nothing grew around here. Just buildings. Concrete buildings.

Every night she helped the old woman roll up her mats and every night she was rewarded with the loan of one to sleep on.

Apart from the fact that she couldn’t wash properly, Siswan felt she was doing okay. Alone in the world, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, she struggled on. Her mind was unchanged. It was better than the village. Better than hearing her mother cry.

It was on the ninth night that her luck changed. She washed, as usual, in the waters of the small lake. She ran her fingers through her hair and, out of sight of the road, washed and changed her clothes as best she could.

As she rolled out the mat under the branches of the big blossom tree she heard voices coming toward her. Laughter. Shouts. A group of boys came into view as they crossed the small footbridge that led into the park. Siswan rolled up the mat quietly and ducked behind the tree. She didn’t want to be seen alone. Not at night. Not by men.

The four boys walked the small path that led towards her. She ducked back into the shadow of the tree and they moved past without seeing her. They were loud. Excited. One of them carried a plastic bag. Siswan heard the chink of glass on glass as they walked further away.

She didn’t stay where she was. When they had drunk their beers they would wander back this way, she thought. She would skirt around them and head over to the far side. She’d be safe there.

As she walked around the edge of the lake she could hear their shouts and laughter as they consumed the beer. Young boys seeking some fun. That was okay. She would avoid them. She would never understand how men thought fun could only be found in alcohol, but it didn’t matter. As long as she kept out of their way, she’d be all right.

Finding a spot on the other side of the park was easy. She rolled out her mat under another tree that had branches falling almost to the ground. Inside their canopy it was like a small room. Hardly noticeable from the path or the road, she lay her head down on her small bundle and fell asleep clutching her knife.

Hardly an hour passed before she was shaken awake. Rough hands were grabbing her shoulders. The smell of whiskey was the first thing she noticed. Still half asleep she thought of Bak. He was there. Waking her up. Touching her. She moved instinctively. The knife moved like a blur in the dark. The blade caught what little light reached under the canopy of branches. A yell. Almost a scream. Then silence. Except for heavy breathing. She pulled herself awake. Into a sitting position. Ready to stand and run.

‘You’ll pay for that.’ A voice. Slurred. Old. The smell of whiskey.

She felt sudden pain in her arm. He had lashed out at her face and she had raised her arm instinctively, in expectation of the blow. She fought to get to her feet. To run.

Hands grabbed at her. Caught her by the hair. Pulled her down. Another pain, this time in the face. He had hit her. She tasted the blood from inside her nose as it ran down her throat. She was stunned. Shocked by the sudden violence that interrupted her sleep. Couldn’t think. She needed more time but was offered none.

She lashed out once more with the knife. Missed. Her arm flailed against nothing. It was held. A strong grip. She couldn’t bring the knife back into play. She tried to kick, to pull away, but the grip was too strong.

She felt the small knife being wrenched out of her hand. Felt another flash of pain as he struck her again, across the cheek this time. She stopped fighting. Stopped struggling. The pain raced across her vision. Her head span and reeled in the dark. Hands pulled at her clothes. She heard the raw sound of the cloth being ripped. Her tee shirt was torn apart. Hands touching. Feeling. Rubbing against her bare flesh. The front of her jeans were pulled open. The smell of whiskey. Overpowering. She fought for clarity. She could still taste the blood. Her mind struggled to hold onto something. Something real. Tried to concentrate. Her head span. She stopped it. The pain still throbbed in her face. She blocked it out. Her vision was blurred. She blinked it clear. What was happening to her was wrong. It would be her fault. She knew it would all be her fault. It didn’t matter. What was happening was still wrong. Her mother had condemned her. She could hear her voice.

A calmness overtook her. A curtain fell on the pain. The panic left her. She concentrated. The child within her could no longer be heard. This had to stop. It had to stop now.

‘No!’ She shouted and thrust her knees up as hard as she could. It worked. She felt the contact. Heard the sudden intake of air. The groan as he slipped from above her to the side.

She reacted at once. She rolled away from him, onto her front. Clambered to her knees. To her feet. Ran forward, away from where he lay. Through the low branches as they tried to prevent her escape. Tangled in her hair. She pulled free. Fought to get away. A hand grabbed her ankle. Pulled her back. She fell. Turning onto her back she lashed out with the other foot. Kicking and yelling as loud as she could. She felt a contact again. Kicked once more. Heard the gasp of wind. Kicked again. She would not allow this to happen. She didn’t deserve it. No matter what her mother said she didn’t deserve any of it.

She leant forward. She felt with her hands. With her fingers. She wanted to feel his face. To check where he was. She wanted to scratch. Dig her fingers into his eyes. To fight back. To remove his sting. Take away his venom.

A shock of pain ripped into her forearm. The knife. He had used her knife. She pulled back quickly. The blade cut into her, dragged its way down through the flesh of her arm. She felt the hot searing pain as it made its way to her wrist. No! She didn’t deserve this!

She kicked again. Felt her heel crunch into his face. His nose. She heard his bones break. The yell of pain. The sudden release. He had pulled away. The knife was no longer in her arm. Her legs were free. The hot blood ran down her hand. Sticky. Wet.

She turned, stood and ran. She ran through the branches, across the path. She didn’t chose a direction. She hadn’t the time.

The blood flowed freely from her arm. She glanced down at it. Saw the blood pumping out. She felt faint. The cut ran all the way down her forearm. From the inside of her elbow to the inside of her wrist. She could see inside her own arm. It made her dizzy. Made her feel faint. Light headed. She had to get help.

She ran straight into the group of boys returning from their midnight drinking excursion. Too tired and weak to do anything about it she fell at their feet. Fell upon their mercy. Put herself under their control.