Amity สัมพันธภาพ

THE DUMB’S CAFE “I think so, too.” “That’s because you’ve within you the spirit of a good seller.” “I hope I’ll learn something new in this training.” “Monday you can start. The company will pay for the expenses, all. Don’t worry! I’ll have my secretary make a reservation for you. This time, they accept a limited number of participants.” I thanked my boss and left his office. I liked him. He was not really aloof, and instead was ready to talk about anything with his subordinates. Yet, he could be resolute when it came to making decisions. On Saturday, before the Monday that I was supposed to take the training course, I got to the Dumb’s Cafe as early as 2 p.m. I went in, no awkward feeling. Those already there paid little attention to me. They were drinking and conversing away using their sign language. Some showed by an expression, I mean the eyes, that I was familiar to them, much as they were to me. The same waitress placed a glass of cold water on the table for me and went back to the counter without asking any questions. By this time she knew that if I ever needed to order anything, I’d walk on over to the counter and order it myself. I’d point to the thing I wanted, put down a one-hundred-bath note and wait for my change. I particularly liked the popcorn. If only they’d have • 101 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE it in some other normal cafes as well, a bowl could probably get the mouth of some brats stuck up for many minutes. I didn’t know how to order the popcorn because after flipping through the menu it was not listed there. Neither was it in the cabinet. Looking around, it was not on some other tables either. Nobody was eating any. There must have been something very special about the popcorn. I had seen last year, in the South, a place where they had some lamps made from beer bottles. But the place was noisy. The people eating there shouted to some others across the tables. Real nuisance. I remembered it well because during that trip I ran into an old high-school classmate of mine. He had got a job around there. We hadn’t met for some ten years. We smiled at each other. His hand touching mine, his arm around my shoulders, he asked, “You got married?” “I did! And you?” I faked a lie. “Me too. Got kids?” he asked. “Yeah, three years old. Cute age.” “A boy or a girl?” “Same as his dad,” I answered. I was about to invite him to go somewhere for a drink and a chat. I thought the shop I had just seen looked okay. Getting to see an old friend on a rare occasion like this – booze really should be overflowing. • 102 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE All of sudden he asked me, “Ever thought of having some life insurance for yourself ?” I was dumbstruck, forged a smile. My friend started a sales deal so fast. I felt like being stuffed with another couple of bowls of durian sticky rice in coconut milk that I myself was selling and had just eaten only five minutes ago, and then somebody was forcing more down my throat again. “Never gave it a thought,” I told him, avoiding his eyes. He continued with his sales pitch.“Just think about it. Anything happened to you, and your kid wouldn’t be in bad shape.” I quickly cut it short, not wanting the conversation to drag on and on. “I’ve got something to do, some quick errands. I’ll see you later.” He clutched my hand tight. “Here, take my business card, take one.” I took it, and just glanced at it to be courteous. I found out that he was the training department head of a certain insurance company’s provincial branch. A salesman’s job. I sometimes saw myself being like a spirit going around knocking on people’s doors, scaring the hell out of them. But in that plain daylight, I myself was being menaced by my fellow ghost. He was thrusting on me so hard I could hardly cope. “Thanks a lot,” I said. • 103 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE “Got a business card,” he asked. “Sorry, I don’t. You’re based here, right?” “Yup, in case you need any help, come on over or just give me a call.” The good feelings towards a friend that you had accumulated over those past ten years had vanished within a couple of minutes. I felt that the friendship lost was a pity. Such a pity. If ever I saw him again, I’d be quick to avoid him. I certainly was scared to meet someone whose heartbeat was totally that of a professional salesman. My friend had succeeded in pointing out to me how disgusting sales people were. He had clipped my faith in this profession of mine, but which I still had to bear with. With the beer mug in my hand, I came back to my usual seat. The light from outside shining in through the transparent window enabled me to see a young girl sitting just right there. She was facing me. It was the first time I really saw her, or perhaps I hadn’t noticed her before. I sipped my beer and at the same time stole a look at her. Her face looking down, she was quiet. Her long hair fell down, partly covering her chest. It looked as if she was unhappy. Or was she waiting for a friend? I didn’t see her greeting anybody here; nobody greeted her either. The dumb customers at the other tables were conversing. Their hand gestures were all flying about up and down, up and down. Their fingers were bending, • 104 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE fluttering back and forth. Some were talking across the tables, but it didn’t look like bad manners. I was sitting there looking intently at the girl in her early twenties. I could hear my heart beating in my chest. The beer was finished although I had been husbanding it. I walked over to get another one. Good then, because I very much wanted to go closer for a good look at her face at least once. I got back to my seat. My heart was pounding. My whole body was weakened. Our eyes met so directly and we both turned our face away. She was beautiful. Oval face. Pointed nose. Thin lips like those of a talkative person. Such a pity, I felt, that she was a dumb person. A dumb was normally a deaf too, couldn’t hear a thing. The more I thought about this, the more my heart shrank. A young girl like her shouldn’t have had to endure such misfortune. But, on second thoughts, she was quite fortunate not having to speak with anybody, not having to force herself to talk about something she didn’t like, not having to listen to what she didn’t want to hear – silly, annoying nonsense passing through the ears and getting into the head. So there was a beauty in this cafe for the dumb. A quiet beauty. Serene and reserved. No fluttering, walking around in affected manners, saying hello to this person here, greeting that person there, confident of her beauty and popularity, • 105 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE then seizing the opportunity to sit down at one table, ordering some light beer or soft drink, and after a few sips, excusing herself and moving on to another table. Like a fly laying its eggs. And those that she had greeted so were just left with nothing but the bills for the booze and the drink, in exchange for her having so graciously come by. Overwhelmed they felt, those who bore the costs. I had seen ... oh so many people like that. I found this place so pleasant to the ears – no phone calls in or out. Nobody was pressing the buttons to inform a friend about a certain business deal worth fifty million. No women were acting like noble ladies chatting about their overseas trip to Switzerland. No Western songs for drinkers to sing along. No singers to be showered with lump sums of money by some rich blokes always waiting there to win a favor. I was really beginning to like this place. I loved to look at the young lady. I just enjoyed looking at my young lady, in this kind of dumb, quiet atmosphere where there was no other means of communication except by stealing a glance at each other, particularly when she herself probably believed that I was a dumb just like her. Two men walked into the cafe, those two that I had followed on the first day I came here. They had their usual table in front of the counter. Heavy beer drinkers they were. • 106 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE As soon as they got in, the cafe owner switched on another light above their table in order to facilitate their chatting – by hand. The two were really engrossed in their conversation, like they hadn’t met each other for a long time. I couldn’t understand what they were talking about or whether they were gossiping about some friends. Finally I was able to come up with some conclusion about some practices observed at this place: two men come in; a few more lights are turned on; the waitress passes out the free popcorn to every table occupied by guests. I raised my wrist to look at the time; the hands were showing 6 p.m. The procedures I came to understand were that at 6 p.m., the two men’s arrival time, free popcorn was served, my favorite popcorn. It was a gift to every table. So at last my query about the popcorn was answered. It was quite a good while that I was kept busy with the two men’s story and the conclusion reached. When I turned back to the young girl’s table, she was gone. Gone to the ladies or home? I wondered. Then I got surprisingly more anxious. If she had really gone back, would she come back here again, my young lady, a young lady who was exactly the opposite of so many women I was familiar with? Those who could tell so realistically, with all the details, stories they only had heard about. Those that talked about things for their own good. Those that could gab on and on – sheer nonsensical stuff and • 107 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE most annoying. Those women who should have been born dumb. My young lady not being there, I felt as if I had lost something. I couldn’t continue sitting for long, so decided to leave and go home. On Monday morning, I attended the training course as had been my boss’ wish. The training room in this first-class hotel had nicely cool air conditioning. The room had once been a large banquet hall, but now that it was partitioned it didn’t look too grand. There were about a hundred participants. Mostly acquaintances. Very few I hadn’t known before. We get to know these people and we become closer during our trips to the provinces staying at the same hotels, or going out together for some fun, eating and drinking. I greeted a few friends before the training started. It started with a first-rate marketing expert analysing the present marketing trends. He pointed out to us the country’s economic problems, all the way to meeting with the general public, agricultural problems and on to exports. I didn’t try to remember anything, actually I was feeling real bored. I didn’t want to open up some new markets, not wanting to do the same, same things over and over again like what I was doing. No more sales proposals. I had been doing these things for many years. I was bored with talking about the same old stuff. I was bored with using the same old psychology to convince • 108 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE our clients. I wanted to say things simple and straight forward. I was bored with my own voice, with negotiating and bargaining, which always ended with both parties being satisfied. Both sides always knew too well when an argument and a deal could be concluded. But somehow they had to go through the stupid negotiations. I felt saturated with this job of mine. I thought of the young lady. I was more interested in her than in the marketing expert. Her face was drifting around me. Her face was pale, sunken, and her eyes weary. Yesterday, Sunday, I had met her again. She got there before I did. She looked up at me and quickly turned away, avoiding my eyes. I sat at the same table, my table. I went there because I missed her so. I longed so much to see her. Seeing her face instantly took away my feeling of tiredness – gone completely. My heart was expanding in my chest. She must have been a member here, a regular customer like some ten other dumb persons, whose faces and characters I was beginning to somewhat recognise. There, a fat woman, around thirty, with short hair, got here by 4 p.m. She had a square-shaped rattan handbag which she opened and closed, opened and closed repeatedly all the time she was there. There, a man of about 35, medium-build, fair-skinned, wearing jeans and a sport shirt with its end hanging loose. He was sharing the • 109 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE table with the fat woman. They started their conversation cautiously, and quite compromisingly. It was my own idea that the two were probably in love, or were courting. I wondered how dumb people thought about love. When they mentioned love, did they think about a red, long, very straight line, or a pink curved line, or the typical small pink heart like the one in most people’s mind? Another one I could remember was a rather pump guy, in his forties, sitting lonely in another corner. Perhaps he was thinking of what people called music, sweet like a frog’s jump in some fresh, dew-soaked, bright green grass. I looked at the young lady, and my heart was basking in happiness. The minute she turned towards me, I’d send her a smile. But when she really did turn, I could smile but an awkward smile, and was feeling all hot in my face. She probably had this opinion that the bloke in that dark corner was too cheeky and shouldn’t be associated with. She got up, walked to the counter and pointed. It suddenly occurred to me that I too gestured by pointing, the way she was doing. The fact that she was always sitting there alone, no noisy gestures, with her hands simply resting still on the table or sometimes raised to touch or play with her own hair – she probably was not a dumb! The applause of the participants woke me up from my • 110 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE reverie. The marketing expert apparently had just finished his lecture. I pointlessly clapped a few times to be courteous, and then stood up. The officer in charge invited us out for a twenty-minute coffee break. I didn’t want to do so. But I did want to go to the cafe. I’d rather go and watch the young lady. I believed she wouldn’t teach me the tricks of how to do better than my opponents, like what I was supposed to hear in the afternoon session. She was probably waiting for me at the moment. I was really beginning to become curious. What was her name? Where did she live? The young lady of quiet beauty. If only Nutchari would half as much hold back her tongue – she needed not be a dumb – I’d have married her. After three years of seeing each other she had revealed the depth of all her hidden desires. Actually she should have married a more ambitious fellow, then she’d have been a driving force that would push him to wage battles against his rivals. Her energy, amazingly, never was exhausted. As long as her yearning for a house, a car, a washing machine and many other things was not satisfied or came to an end, she’d certainly push him even harder to fight the wars until victories were won and brought home to her. I could close my eyes and see that fellow running, his legs tripping over, in and out of many offices, making meal appointments with his clients, spending hours and hours • 111 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE negotiating. His head was bombarded with numbers, his ears pounded with phone calls. He ate only dried packed or fast food, perhaps having to resort to taking food tablets so that he could easily open the packets, put some in his mouth and swallow, followed by a glass of water, his tongue not tasting any flavour and his digestive juice not functioning properly. Those were my nightmares. Only my boss was enough to push me like that. Actually he did so because he wanted me to grow bigger in the company, which meant that I’d have to roam the streets, talk about the same things time and again, and put up with all the ruses of the crooked. I, nevertheless, had yet to thank both of them for having helped me to save some money, though not a very big sum, which, if I could cut down on some unnecessary expenses, would enable me to easily stay idle, unemployed, for at least two years. The taxi driver pulled the cab over. I got out feeling relieved like never before. I had taken off my tie while in the cab, packed my suitcase, and had my sleeves rolled up to the elbows. I quietly pushed the cafe door inward. My heart was beating fast. My young lady was sitting there drifting away in her thoughts. She turned her face away the minute she saw me. I felt some strange happiness within me. The long blooming pink plastic flower in my heart became freshened up. The hard petals lost their hardness and became soft. And then it became a natural flower, glowing fresh, full of life, on • 112 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE its fresh green stem. I put my suitcase on the table and walked slowly to the counter. I felt like having a glass of iced coffee, some cold drink to quench my thirst. On her table there was a glass of orange juice. Almost half of it was finished. The bended white drinking straw was conveniently resting between her lips. I walked past her feeling shy and awkward. I picked up the menu and pointed to the iced coffee in it. Then I thought ... at this moment all the participants already in their seats must be listening to the speaker selling his academic knowledge. While those people were concentrating on the tactics of how to overcome their competitors, I myself became a new person. One who was so happy just watching the young lady, the deaf and dumb lady. Happy in this small world of ours, where no communication was made through voices and noises. I paid for the iced coffee, took the glass and walked back to my usual seat. Bliss once again was filling me up, making it difficult for me to control my body movement, just like when I was starting a business deal with someone. I tripped the leg of a chair behind the young lady, lost my balance and bumped into her seat. She looked up at me. I could see the fright in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said, as per habit. • 113 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE The young lady looked at me intently and slightly opened her mouth to say, “That’s all right.” I could hardly believe my ears. Having said so, she quickly looked down, her right hand covered her mouth. The one hand of mine carrying the glass was trembling. My lips, too. Sweat was oozing from my body all over, I was feeling real hot. I gathered my strength and said, “So you really can speak?” She didn’t answer me, simply shook her head, which meant she heard what I had just said. Oh ... so she wasn’t a dumb. She was a normal person. Why then did she come and sit so quiet in this cafe for the dumb? I became even more doubtful. I was about to sit down with her to solve the enigma, but then she got up and left just like that, without looking back at me, not even once. My young lady, if from the very beginning you had believed that I was deaf and dumb, then it was a big mistake. That I myself understood you were deaf and dumb was also a big mistake. Did something happen to you? Would you come back here again tomorrow? I was so carried away that I forgot to drink my iced coffee. Full of doubt still, I went home. I felt sad that she had left prematurely. But I was also glad that she was not what I had believed her to be. Actually I was happier the more I realised • 114 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE that she was a normal person. She certainly was seeking some solitude. She wanted to be in a quiet world just like me. I tossed and turned in my bed, heaved big sighs because I missed her so. I wanted the day to dawn soon so that I could go to the cafe. Enough of the training sessions. Tomorrow or a couple of days from now at the latest, I’d submit my resignation to the company. I woke up feeling fresh and great. Thinking so much of her, I got to the Dumb’s Cafe before noontime. I gave the door a harsh push. In the silent world nobody accused me of being discourteous. No customers were disturbed by the noise, and not a single one looked at me. There, four persons were sitting. I glanced around to see if my young lady was present. Nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t there yet. I sat down and waited for her, with so much hope. I looked at the entrance, time and again, especially when the waitress started passing around popcorn bowls. I had asked everybody at home to answer phone calls for me and to say that I’d be upcountry for two weeks. Mum and dad and the others seemed perplexed, but no one asked any questions, I wouldn’t give up easily. Tomorrow I’d go there again to see her ... until I finally found her one day. I woke up early as usual. Dad asked, “Aren’t you going to work?” My reply was “I’m taking a training course.” • 115 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE He looked doubtfully at me, seeing the too casual clothes I had donned. “In this kind of outfit?” “Something casual like this is okay,” I told him. Dad stood there looking at me a little longer, then got in his car and drove off. Mum came closer to ask, “What did he say?” “Nothing much really, Mum,” I replied softly. Her eyes seemed to look right through my soul. She didn’t believe me. Tenderly to me she said, “I know all that’s in your heart, son.” “I’ve had enough of my job, what I’m doing everyday, Mum.” I told her the truth. “Oh, is that so? You’ve been doing it for so many years, how could you be bored with it?” She looked at me with doubtful eyes. “So your dad didn’t say anything about you getting married? I often hear him sort of grumble. Well then, where are you off to this early?” I took a step back from her and said rather brusquely, “Got some business out there.” Obviously I’d have to go and sit long hours waiting for her at the Dumb’s Cafe. A couple of days later, I tended my resignation to the company. My boss was totally taken aback. He tried to talk me out of it. • 116 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE “The company would regard your leaving us a big loss. So difficult to get a replacement. Not having you around, I’d be in a bad shape, too. I won’t report to the boss up there about you not attending the training, if you change your mind.” “Thank you, boss. But my decision is final.” The boss looked at me, very still, his eyes begging. “I wish you luck, Khun Kriangkrai. Please remember to call me sometimes.” He clutched my hand tightly. With his left hand he patted me softly on the shoulder, still looking at me the way one looks at a friend about to depart on a very long journey. “Thank you, sir.” After I finally had quit the company, everyday I’d be strolling or catching a bus on my way to the Dumb’s Cafe. There my young lady was waiting for me. She had left me for just one day, and returned the next day. Since that day she never again has been absent from the coffee shop. I could briefly say that we are learning the sign language together, using the texts we both help to get. We have memorised real fast the language used in the silent world. We had our teachers sitting at the tables around us. I moved from my usual table to hers. What happened before this – I told her a brief story of what I had been doing before coming here. She, in exchange, told me her own story and asked me to keep it to myself. • 117 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE My young lady’s most recent past was being employed as an operator in a big hotel, working eight hours a day speaking to the people – most of these she almost never had a chance even to see their faces. She was yelled at, verbally and rudely harassed, several times a day. She had held the job for over three years. That was more than enough for a girl as fragile as her. I went home after 9 every evening. I tried to avoid dad who questioned me as if I were but a young boy. Luckily mum treated me as a grown up so she didn’t keep after me all that much. Nutchari heard from the company that I had quit. She came to my place after work. That was the same time I was practising my sign language in the coffee shop. She tried hard to see me, and every time that happened I simply remained silent. My youngest brother told her that I had gone dumb. She flew into a rage and went home crying. I became, happily, a dumb person. So did my young lady. We agreed to the idea we both helped to foster that in the next few years even if we really wouldn’t hear a single thing we wouldn’t miss all that much useful stuff. We therefore decided to live in the world of the dumb together. Almost two months went by. I spent the time at the coffee shop with my young lady. All the people there got accustomed to us, as we were to them. She and I would say • 118 •

THE DUMB’S CAFE that if a normal person happened to be in there, he or she would probably believe that both of us were deaf and dumb. And because of this she and I had to find a subtle way of talking about our love using only a single two-syllable word. We refused to use the real sign language for it for fear that those genuinely dumb people who were watching us would understand. And if we were seen by a normal person, he or she was supposed to understand that we were only the tongue-tied type of dumb whose sense of hearing was okay. A lot of people are this kind of dumb. Oh yes, it has been exactly two months since I discovered the Dumb’s Cafe. Today I got here at 1 p.m. A few friends are already here. They greet me using some simple sign language, My young lady arrived ten minutes after me. She comes in loose jeans and a purple T-shirt. With a sweet smile at me, she sat across the table from me. I smile at her. Our eyes meet. We see the expression in each other’s eyes. I say “Beh, Beh” to her. She lowers her face shyly, slowly, opens her lips and says “Beh, Beh” to me. The two of us agree: the meaning of that is “I love you”. • 119 •

CHAMLONG FANGCHONLACHIT Chamlong Fangchonlachit was born on 2 March 1954 in Nakhon Si Thammarat, and gave up his study of Law at Ramkhamhaeng University to become a teacher, a hotel employee and a freelance writer. For more than thirty years, he has consistently produced short stories which are painstakingly crafted and which mostly deal with common people and common problems in daily life. In 1999, 2000 and 2005, various collections of his short stories made it to the short list of the S.E.A. Write Award for those years. Nevertheless, Chamlong carries on with his writing, occasionally trying new forms of metafiction narration. VORANUT TANSAKUL In 2007, Voranut was one of the translators for a book, Truth Globalize : Sastera Thai-Malaysia : Thai-Malaysian Literary Relations, published by Thai Writers’ Association (During the chairmanship of Khun Chamaiporn Sangkrajang) with the support of Office of Contemporary Art and Culture, Ministry of Culture. • 120 •

Back in 1984, she was one of the translators for a 1974 book of Studs Terkel, Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do. The Thai version was published by O.S.Printing Group, Bangkok. She was a batch#33 B.A. graduate of Faculty of Arts, Chulalongkorn University, in English major, and French minor, and also got an M.A., English, from University of Hawai’i. Current Work: Head of Education and Training Section, Office of Academic Affairs, Chulabhorn Research Institute. • 121 •



THE CENTURY PAVILION by Wanit Charungkit-anan Translated by Bancha Suvannanonda • 123 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION Several people were involved in this story, but one can “make the charge” that the culprit was the foreign-educated architect who initiated the idea after the project had been assigned to him. It was to build the most extravagant riverside restaurant in Bangkok. It would be wrong to blame him as the sole culprit, though, because another person who played a major role in the whole issue might be the project owner himself – a fifty- year-old business tycoon with deep pockets. The tycoon felt that he had too much money lying around and therefore he wanted to invest in some good and tasteful projects. After discussing with his friends about the investment prospects, he decided on opening a restaurant – a riverside Thai-food restaurant – with some parts of the building jutting out into the Chao Phraya River. The tycoon called in his architect and explained his idea and project to him. It was concluded that the fund would be unlimited, provided the location was the right one and everything went as he desired. So, one day they went on a house-hunting expedition – a river cruise along the Chao Phraya River. They found a big riverside mansion. It was a dull green, old building which, even if viewed from afar, from midstream of the river, was an enormous building. It was a European-style building of the • 124 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION type that had been popular during the reign of King Rama V. Everyone on the boat seemed to be of the same mind and, therefore, the boatman steered the vessel towards that house... The owner of the house no longer lived there, but the team learned that it belonged to a Chao Phraya1 and that it had been built no less than sixty years ago. It was a mansion with all its woodwork of teak. The fretwork that decorated the vents featured a beautiful design. It ran throughout the vents underneath the roofs of the verandas that surrounded the house on all sides. The building was used as an office in which three or four persons of Chinese extraction were working. Further inquiry revealed that the rice mill nearby rented the place as an office. The survey team entered the house to look around the place and was satisfied with the finding: the building was in good condition. Dumped in a heap of discarded wood in the compound were a trishaw and a horse-drawn cart, which had seen better days and bespoke the glorious days of the master of the house. The mansion had twelve rooms, excluding the pavilion and the veranda space. All of its rooms were spacious. The architect made rough calculations and concluded that the 1 Chao Phraya, the fifth or highest rank of Siamese civil nobility before 1932, the others in ascending order beingKhun, Luang, Phra and Phraya. [Editor’s note] • 125 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION main building alone could already accommodate, if it were transformed into a restaurant, no fewer than one hundred guests. An old man walked up to the team and introduced himself as the caretaker of the building. The team asked about how to contact the owner. The project had a good start, and the story should begin now – at this point, when they were able to contact the descendant of the Chao Phraya, the original master of the mansion. Although the purchase offer failed to come through, a long-term lease was agreed upon satisfactorily. The tycoon’s pet project was materialising. The foreign-educated architect returned to the place several times for further surveys and examinations. He clearly envisioned a marble riverside terrace and saw in his mind’s eye how the large green building (which was later called the Green Mansion) would look like after renovation and redecoration. Still, he felt that this was not enough – not as spectacularly extravagant as he had in mind. He was happy with the large green building. He could visualise its lively atmosphere in its heyday and he dreamed of replicating an exact copy of that glorious past. Still, he felt that something was missing – no, this was not • 126 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION enough. It needed something complementary to it in order to fulfill his vision. The architect spent days before concluding that a large Thai-style building was needed. For this, one could point the finger at the architect. The architect did not want a traditional Thai-style building that was newly built. He wanted an old, vintage one. He respected the nostalgic ambience and old-world charm of the Green Mansion, which reflected its pedigree. He did not want visitors to have a jarring experience by installing a traditional Thai-style house that had been newly built, which would indicate lack of good taste. This traditional Thai-style building must have different characteristics from the traditional Thai-style house which would be unsuitable to be turned into a restaurant. Instead, it should be a building of the sermon pavilion type, a sala kanprian2 – spacious and open. He would have the Thai pavilion built to the left of the Green Mansion. A part of the pavilion would jut out into the ditch that had served as the boatyard of the master of the house. How clear and beautiful his vision was! The tycoon agreed with the architect’s idea. Scouts were sent to hunt for an old Thai-style building of the Central Plain 2 Sala kanprian : an edifice in the style of a pavilion where devotees assemble to listen to sermons and lectures delivered by Buddhist monks. [Editor’s note] • 127 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION stype. They scouted the central provinces of Ang Thong, Ayutthaya and Suphan Buri but failed to find the right one. Someone pointed out that only in monasteries would they find the type of Thai buildings that they were looking for. “Which monastery?” No one could answer the tycoon. During this period, the architect visited the northern region of the country. He was riding in the car driven by his friend and they were passing an old monastery when his eyes fell on an old, decrepit building in the traditional northern Thai style inside. He requested his friend to drive into the temple ground. The architect told himself that this was exactly what he was looking for. The building was a pavilion with no walls. It had been used by monks as a pavilion to deliver sermons, conduct religious services and perform ceremonies for the laypeople, although it was somewhat smaller in size than sermon halls in general and, unlike the sermon pavilions in the central region, its floor was not elevated. It looked rickety but its outwardly decrepit appearance was deceiving. The architect walked around to examine the pavilion for a while and realised that it was still in good shape and strong, despite its rickety appearance and some gaping holes in its roof. • 128 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION What impressed him tremendously about the pavilion, besides its beautiful proportions and its spaciousness, were the ornate gables with their floral motif and the lotus capital pillars. The fretwork that decorated the other sections of the pavilion was also exquisite. Most striking of all, it was a teak pavilion that had been meticulously crafted. The architect asked to see the abbot and the elderly monk told him that the pavilion had been built together with the monastery over a century ago and therefore people called it, in the northern vernacular, Sala Hoi Khao – the Century Pavilion. The architect commented on the danger of the wooden pavilion crumbling down on the congregation during their merit-making activities. The abbot agreed but could do nothing because of lack of funding for a new pavilion. The architect could precisely read the old and feeble abbot’s mind. He bade farewell and came down from the abbot’s living quarters to take photographs of the pavilion from every angle, as well as of the details of its decorative carved woodwork and fretwork. The architect returned to Bangkok sooner than he had planned. He had enlarged photographs printed, then he submitted them to the tycoon and concerned persons for consideration. He described the beauty and the old age of • 129 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION the wooden pavilion. He made some sketches to show how it would look when it would be installed next to the Green Mansion. It was clear that the Sala Hoi Khao – the Century Pavilion – would form part of the Green Mansion complex – the luxuriously spectacular riverside restaurant. They decided that they would perform phatikam3 – offer compensation to the monastery for its property – in other words, buy the edifice from the monastery. The object to be “compensated for” would be the one-hundred-year-old Hoi Khao Pavilion. To say that money can buy everything might not be an overstatement, although it does not apply to every case or situation. The attempt to “pay compensation” to the monastery for the decrepit wooden pavilion was not as easy as it might have seemed at first. There were some villagers who were not blind to the beauty and architectural value of the old edifice. After three or four visits by the architect together with his team, some villagers began to voice objections. A staunch objection came from Master In, whom the villagers called In Jang – In Chang in the central vernacular. “In” was his personal name, while “Jang” like “Chang” – an epithet that means craftsman – revealed his profession as a house builder. 3 Phatikam, the act of exchanging a new thing for an old one. [Editor’s note] • 130 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION It was strange that no one called him sala – “master craftsman” in the northern vernacular. In Jang was over sixty years old. He had his reasons to protest against the “compensation”. His grandfather had built the pavilion, and he had seen it since his childhood. He had often taken a rest in that pavilion, had sat in it, had walked past it and had worked on it. His life had revolved around it. He loved and felt emotionally bonded to the pavilion more than he did to his own house. “The pavilion was built by your grandfather,” his father had often repeated to him. “The Lord Governor of the province ordered your grandfather to build it.” This was his grandfather’s creation. It had been the pride, the soul of his father. The pavilion had played a part in steering In Jang into the house building profession like his father and grandfather. His father had often told him since his childhood that the pavilion was his grandfather’s creation, his grandfather’s work. In Jang had lived his whole life alongside the Hoi Khao Pavilion. He knew every pillar, wooden plank and decorative motif of this pavilion. He alone had been responsible, during all these years, for repair work – a little fix here and a little patch there. He had done what he could, but the pavilion still appeared rickety. “What if it tumbles down? What if people get killed? What then?” the abbot, speaking in the northern vernacular, asked In Jang. • 131 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION “I can repair the pavilion, Venerable Father, it won’t tumble down,” In Jang affirmed. “Wouldn’t it cost a lot of money? Where to find the money?” In Jang was unable to answer these two questions. The other five or six villagers also failed to find the answer. Repair works required money. Where would the money come from? Money alone might not buy everything, but once it was brought to the monastery by the provincial governor, everything went smoothly. The provincial governor was a friend of the tycoon. A few days later, the architect’s design for the new and bigger pavilion was framed and hung on the wall of the abbot’s living quarters. It was beautifully rendered in colours. The provincial governor called a meeting of the villagers. He referred to the state of decrepitude that the pavilion had fallen into and assured the meeting that as soon as the Century Pavilion was disassembled and removed, a new and bigger pavilion would be erected in its place and it would be completed within three months. A big statue of the Buddha would be installed in it as an added bonus. The villagers were satisfied. In Jang turned his face the other way to wipe his tears. The architect brought in his disassembling team from • 132 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION Bangkok. No one wondered why he did not contract a local team. No one questioned him about it, but in his heart the architect was well aware of the reason. He did not want to risk any error. If he would use a team of local workers to disassemble the pavilion, that local team should be contracted to reassemble the pavilion in Bangkok. Since he brought in his team to dismantle the pavilion, his team would reassemble it. Nails had not been used in erecting the pavilion and, therefore, the task should not be difficult. Another reason for the architect’s reluctance to contract a local team was his prior acquaintance with In Jang personally, thus having got to know who that man was. He had been aware of In Jang’s bitter regret for the loss. Then, on the day that his team came to disassemble and remove the sections of the pavilion, he saw the local builder’s eyes brimming with tears. He tried to pay no attention and avoided looking at the builder. If he contracted the local team, In Jang would have been included in the team, naturally. The architect’s fellow feeling also told him that to do so would have caused too much pain to a naive country bumpkin like In Jang. No one thought of the difference between chang prung ruean and jang paeng huean – both terms mean “house builder”; however, the first is from the central vernacular, the second from the northern vernacular. • 133 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION No one. Not even In Jang. The pavilion was methodically disassembled with meticulous care. All the pieces and sections were securely packed in wooden crates and transported on three lorries to Bangkok. Not one piece of the pavilion was discarded – even those parts that already had rotted were packed in special crates for repair or replication. Only the tiles were left scattered in heaps because the architect had already taken some samples to a ceramic factory for replication in exactly the same shape and colour. One month later, the Hoi Khao Pavilion took shape at its new location by the Chao Phraya River. It astounded the neighborhood residents and river commuters. In Bangkok, it was only this establishment – this restaurant among others in Bangkok – that boasted a vintage, authentic, century-old pavilion of perfect proportion in northern-style architecture. How magnificent and exquisite! The architect could not help congratulating himself. The age-old charm uncannily complemented the ambiance of the Green Mansion. The white marble terrace that stretched out from the pavilion onto the river added to the majestic elegance of both edifices. Although the new owner might not understand the meaning of the northern vernacular Hoi Khao, the pavilion • 134 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION retained the original name that the villagers had been using. The architectural structure of the Hoi Khao Pavilion resembled in some aspects the standard prescribed for a consecrated assembly hall by the Department of Religious Affairs, except that the pavilion was wider, lower and somewhat square. It did not look overly ornate despite its battery of fretwork. It featured a two-tiered roof. The tua lamyong – the gable windbreak’s sloping edges in decorative design of a mythical serpent-like creature called the naga or nak – was of the smooth or straight line type called the nak ruai – similar to those at the Chana Songkhram monastery in Bangkok. They were not of the wavy line type of nak sadung, which is found in most monasteries of Thailand’s Central Plains. The windbreaks were carved woodwork. The four horn-like finials on the ridges of the two-tiered roofs, which in the architectural term of the Central Plainsare called chofa, were typical of the architectural style of the North. These carved wooden finials represented the heads of the naga. On the pavilion, they rose sharply straight up in a perpendicular line, not in a curved slant like the type of chofa that could typically be found in the monasteries of Bangkok. They looked severe and sharp but elegant. When the pavilion was viewed directly from the front or the back, one would see a row of four pillars. The two inner • 135 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION pillars, which supported the gable structures and the ornate gables or tympana, were bigger than the two outer ones. These inner pillars were the main ones and there were two pairs of them – one at the front and the other at the back of the pavilion. These main pillars were made of teak, similar to the other smaller pillars of the pavilion. They were round and large – their circumference could fit within the circle of a person’s arms. Each main pillar was made of one single log and was free of any blemish. The architect often came to look at these four pillars and touched them admiringly in high spirits. They were the four most beautiful teak pillars he had ever seen – age-old, burnished and nicely round. The lotus capital on the top end of each pillar was carved out of the single log of wood that made up the pillar itself. As he touched and caressed these pillars, he sometimes had goose bumps. The architect even felt like joining his hands in veneration – not to the pillars, but to the master builders and craftsmen who had shaped and carved them. The four pillars appeared exactly similar to one another in their texture, color, roundness, smooth surface and size. The media hyped in their publicity campaign for the new restaurant. The construction of the Century Pavilion • 136 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION was completed. The gable, the right-triangular side panels that hid the roof structure and the fretwork that decorated the pavilion at regular intervals – all featured several gilded floral motifs that glittered as if the pavilion were adorned with glimmering golden flowers. The bright red paint of the projecting roof structure enhanced the golden gleam. The golden yellow tiles glistened so brightly in the sunlight because they were new. Under moonlight, the silvery moonbeam was reflected in a shimmering, large patch which became sparkling bright on a full-moon night. The architect, the tycoon and the involved parties were all proud of the pavilion. It took pride of place and the Green Mansion, grand as it was, seemed to pale in comparison. Journalists began to cover the restaurant. They came to make interviews, take photographs and sample the food. Everyone was excited and impressed. They poured praise on it. What a worthwhile investment it was! The tycoon was most proud. He was glowing with elation. This was what he wanted from life – from its remaining part. He was not after money but honour and prestige – to be celebrated as a person who cared about preserving architectural gems from disintegration and neglect. The launch night was celebrated with much fanfare. Certainly, the Century Pavilion must be the centre of • 137 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION attention. All the honoured guests desired a table in the pavilion. To go along with the theme and the ambience, traditional fingernail dances of the North were performed in alternation with sueng recitals.4 Traditional Thai music and dance drama were performed in the Green Mansion. High-society people gathered in droves. Trishaws and horse-drawn carts were arranged to bring the guests from the car park area further away, behind the restaurant, to the riverside front area. The launch party for the grandest and most prestigious restaurant on the Chao Phraya River progressed with much gaiety. The architect stole the limelight. He tirelessly answered all the questions about the pavilion. While the party was progressing, strange noises were heard and the pavilion seemed to shake slightly, although few people could feel the tremor and hardly anyone paid any attention. One person thought that the noises were made by the sueng players as they tuned their instruments. Several people thought that the tremor was caused by some river turbulence lapping against the building’s pillars or perhaps by some lorries that passed by behind the restaurant. Guests were so engrossed in the entertaining atmosphere and conversation that no one had the presence of mind to 4 Sueng: a plucked lute made from hardwood, with either four or six strings made of steel wire and nine raised frets. [Editor’s note] • 138 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION ask themselves what waves could have shaken such a large pavilion and what lorries would be running behind the restaurant, at the site of the parking lot full of cars, at the time. The party went well, and the riverside restaurant – a grand and luxurious establishment – became the talk of the town and well-patronised as expected. About a month passed. Still, no one at the executive level had any inkling of the unusual occurrences that were taking place there, but the employees who stayed on after the closing time began to experience strange phenomena. In the dead of night when all was quiet, they would often hear creaking and cracking noises similar to those from squeaky wooden floors during the cold season. No one paid any attention at first, but when this happened often, they began to look one another in the eyes. They were uncertain as to where these shrill, high- pitched noises came from, because they resonated through the pavilion and the Green Mansion. The pavilion often shook, but everyone thought that it was because the pavilion jutted out into the river. No one seemed to realise that the underwater foundation posts which supported the pavilion were of reinforced concrete that was far too firm to be affected by some turbulence in the water. In the dead of one night, while the employees were checking the place before leaving, they heard shrill creaks. • 139 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION They definitely came from the pavilion. This time they could be heard loud and clear. It sounded like large blocks of wood being twisted and cracked, and suddenly thunderous noises followed – long, high-pitched shrieking noises. The pavilion trembled as if shaken by a giant hand. Dozens of roof tiles fell down and broke to smithereens on the ground. The Green Mansion also trembled. After a short while, everything calmed down. All who were present during the incident felt shaken. At first they thought that it was an earthquake, but they found it strange that the tremor was limited to the pavilion only. Roof repair was not complicated, and no other part of the structure had suffered any damage. All the employees were ordered to keep mum and never to leak the story to outsiders. Monks were invited to chant the sacred prayer to exorcise evil spirits. The mysterious noises, however, continued to haunt the place unabatedly. Fortunately, they recurred after the restaurant closed for the night, but they happened more frequently as time went by. Eventually the architect and the tycoon decided to stay overnight in the pavilion to verify the story, as the noises frightened the employees so badly that some began to neglect their duties and hurriedly left for home as soon as the restaurant closed each night. • 140 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION The loud creaking sound did return that night. The noises and the strong shaking sent the tycoon and the architect running out of the pavilion for fear that it might tumble down. One night, a witch doctor from Ayutthaya Province came to the pavilion after the Hoi Khao Restaurant had closed. It seemed that this was the only solution the architect could think of after he had thoroughly checked the entire structure and had found no defects, errors or anomalies. The witch doctor’s ritual lasted hours in the spooky, spine- chilling atmosphere. As he lighted a handful of joss sticks and recited his mantras, long wails were heard. They were the same sound that the employees had so often heard before – like the cracking sound of wood – but they lasted for a very long time, twice the time it would take a person to wail before losing his breath. The witch doctor said that these noises were the voice of Nang Takhian – a female spirit which is believed to dwell in the Malabar ironwood tree. He said that she dwelled in one of the four main pillars – the beautiful, round teak pillars that supported the gables at the front and back of the building. His explanation scared everyone, as it seemed to fit the situation. Near dawn, the noises subsided and stopped. The witch doctor claimed that he had caught Nang Takhian. With his • 141 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION bag over his shoulder, he left with his fees and the earthenware pot that purportedly contained the captured spirit. Everyone felt relieved to a certain degree. The employees, however, still enjoyed chatting about the spooky story. Meanwhile, the new pavilion that replaced the Hoi Khao Pavilion had been completed. It was a large pavilion in concrete which was not freely accessible from all sides, unlike the old one. Iron lattices painted silvery were installed on all sides. Metal lattice work was everywhere. Both sides of the pavilion were decorated with lattices depicting thep phanom, the motif of the deity with hands raised and joined in veneration; the front and the back featured the motif of thewaban, the protector deity. They were framed by lattices in krachang pracham yam, the intermittent quadrifoil motif, and ta oi, the sugarcane node motif. In Jang looked at the new pavilion in desolate gloom. He missed the Hoi Khao Pavilion – his grandfather’s creation, his father’s pride, and a building that remained close to his heart. The new pavilion was foreign to him – alien and unwelcome. After the witch doctor had caught, according to his claim, the Nang Takhian spirit, of which he had also said that he would release her somewhere in the woods in Ayutthaya Province, the eerie sound was not heard for two • 142 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION nights. Everyone’s morale was bolstered, and the architect felt relieved to a certain degree, since he had been annoyed by the rumours about the persistent manifestation of the supernatural power of the spirit in the Hoi Khao Pavilion. The ghost story did not spread much because the tycoon pulled strings and resorted to several tactics to cover it up. On the third day after the witch doctor had left, a major incident of supernatural provenance took place. This time it happened at the inopportune moment. It was nine o’clock on a Friday night. The pavilion and the mansion were packed with diners. Waiters and waitresses were bustling about as they were taking and delivering orders. Suddenly, a loud and long creaking sound erupted and was heard above the restaurant’s din. The guests as well as the waiters looked up at the ceiling where the sound seemed to have come from. People stopped talking, and the buzz died down. Even the guests in the Green Mansion could hear the creaking sound; they too went quiet. Everyone was all ears. Several people had goose bumps on their arms which they were unconsciously rubbing. The creaking sound stopped. As someone was about to scoff at the alarmed silence, the shrilly noise thundered so loud it seemed the pavilion was about to collapse. The four main pillars twisted and leaned precariously. The front and the back tympana and gable structures sent out loud cracking • 143 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION noises as if they were being pulled apart by elephants. People were alarmed as the noise continued to thunder louder and louder. The pavilion began to sink and lean to the left. Chairs and tables tumbled over noisily. People cried out in panic. Women shrieked. Several diners jumped into the water. People in the Green Mansion also panicked. They all ran to the marble terrace or the parking lot at the back. Several stumbled and fell, unable to get back on their feet in the stampede. Tiles dropped down from the roof of the pavilion as if they were scraped off by a giant hand. In noisy clanks, they broke to smithereens. Several people were shouting that there was an earthquake. Perhaps so, but why did it happen only at the Hoi Khao Pavilion? The Green Mansion trembled a little, but all parts of the mansion remained intact and undamaged. No one was killed in the incident, but dozens were injured, some seriously. The restaurant closed down. The front and back sides of the pavilion twisted and turned in towards each other, probably because the two main pillars leaned towards the building. The left side of the pavilion sank dangerously. The collapse pulled at the smaller pillars that surrounded the edifice, twisting several of them and making • 144 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION them lean to one side. Strangely, not one piece of the wooden structure or woodwork broke or fell down, while the roof lost almost all its tiles. It was spooky to find that the eerie noises continued to be heard occasionally, and at times they sounded like sobs. A meeting was held and it was decided that the pavilion must be dismantled. Another witch doctor and a medium took turns to perform their rituals, but they failed to bring about a satisfactory result. This second witch doctor insisted that there was no evil spirit dwelling in the pavilion or the Green Mansion. The medium called on the spirit that haunted the pavilion to communicate with him, but no spirit responded. He tried again and again and somehow – no one understood why – he eventually got a reaction from the spirit of a boy who had drowned in the river in front of a mill. After a long chat, it was learned that the boy knew nothing about the pavilion. It was sad that the pavilion had to be dismantled, but they no longer knew what else to do. It could not be left standing in that precarious position. One day before the pavilion was to be dismantled, In Jang and some three or four villagers accompanied the abbot to Bangkok to buy a Buddha statue to be placed in the new pavilion. The money was from the “compensation” for the Hoi Khao Pavilion. • 145 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION In Jang saw a photograph of the Hoi Khao Pavilion in a newspaper. “We should visit and take a look at our pavilion,” he said to the abbot. “It’s rumoured to be haunted by a spirit and is about to be dismantled because it might be tumbling down.” The abbot and the villagers were reluctant to pay a visit. They were concerned that it might embarrass the present owner. The abbot himself felt guilty, as if he had taken advantage of the buyer, who had built them a new and majestic pavilion in exchange for the dilapidated, rickety one that was about to be demolished. However, In Jang was persistent in his desire to visit the pavilion. Deep in his heart he wanted to see his pavilion, the pavilion of his grandfather and his father which was dear to his heart and soul. He wanted to see with his own eyes and learn what was happening to it and why it was damaged. He missed his Hoi Khao Pavilion and he loved to think that it missed him, too. No one dared to go against his firm determination. The abbot also felt very much obliged to In Jang regarding the sale of the pavilion. They arrived at the restaurant in the afternoon when the demolition crew was examining the pavilion to find out the best way to dismantle it. The architect and the tycoon were • 146 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION there, too, and both felt awkward when they saw the abbot and In Jang arriving with the villagers. They felt ashamed but they could not spell out exactly why and could not tell whether it was the abbot or In Jang that made them feel so. The abbot was invited to sit down and recount the pavilion’s history. In Jang stared gloomily at the pavilion – the object where his heart and soul dwelt. It wouldn’t have come to this, had it remained at the monastery; it wouldn’t have become twisted and wrecked like this. In Jang walked around the pavilion and touched every pillar and fretwork that his hand could reach. He felt so sorry for the pavilion. His eyes brimmed with tears as he was consumed by emotion. He thought of his grandfather and his father. They had touched it. He had touched it and had bonded with it – with every pillar, wooden plank, panel and decorative motif. They were like his friends or senior relatives. Now it’ll be gone forever. They’ll tear it down and they probably won’t reassemble it ever again. In Jang walked around the pavilion, eyes brimming with tears. He stroked the pillars and was deep in thought. As he touched one pillar of the main pair at the front of the pavilion, which leaned precariously, he noticed an anomaly. He walked around to the back of the pavilion and touched another one of the rear main pair, which was also • 147 •

THE CENTURY PAVILION twisted and leaned one side. He stroked the pillar for a while, then turned back an walked briskly to the abbot. “The two pairs of pillars were mismatched, Venerable Father!” Excitedly, In Jang explained to the abbot what was wrong. The architect couldn’t grasp clearly the meaning of the words spoken in the northern dialect. He understood how the local builder from the North felt, since he was in the same profession and respected In Jang for being a folk house builder. He never looked down at folk craftsmen. At this particular moment, In Jang made him feel more ashamed than the abbot had. “We’re dismantling it, my friend,” the architect told In Jang in a sad voice. He didn’t know what else to say to the house, builder from the North. “Do it,” In Jang told the architect in the northern vemac “and put the parts back together again with the main pillars in the right places.” “Why? Were the pillars mismatched? What has that got do with anything,” the architect asked excitedly. “They had been paired together for over a century. We should never have separated them, causing a mismatch.” In Jang spoke in a trembling voice as he turned tow the Hoi Khao Pavilion. Unshed tears eventually ran down his chin as he felt deeply sorry for his beloved pavilion. • 148 •

WANIT CHARUNGKIT-ANAN Wanit Charungkit-anan was born on 9 August 1948 in Pla Ma District, Suphan Buri Province, the third of five siblings. His father worked in a sawmill, his mother made sweets for sale. Wanit graduated in Fine Arts from Silpakorn University and came back from Long Beach with an M.A. from the University of California. He stepped into the world of literature doing editorial work for the women’s magazine SatriSan and artwork for Prachathipatai Daily, not counting outside assignments. Long a freelance writer, he eventually became a resident writer of the Matichon group. His main works were crowned with national prizes, especially Mae Bia (translated as a Thai Modern Classics as Cobra) and Soi Diaokan (In The Same Lane), a collection of short stories which received the S.E.A. Write Award in 1984. One of his short stories was translated into English by Ben Anderson as “The Michigan Test”. Several of his stories have been turned into films or TV plays. Wanit Charungkit-anan died of acute leukaemia on 16 May 2010. BANCHA SUVANNANONDA Bancha was a batch#41 B.A. graduate of Faculty of Arts, Chulalongkorn University, and a nominee to the 2015 • 149 •

Surintharacha Award presented by the Thai Translators and Interpreters of Thailand. His works include translations of several world renowned novels like George Orwell’s Animal Farm, Burmese Days, and Down and Out in Paris and London, Paul Gallico’s Flowers for Mrs Harris, Philip Roth’s The Breast. Before he diverted his focus to translation, originally he used to be a pioneer on contemporary western dancing art nationally, and in particular internationally acclaimed for his talent in ballet in the past. He was the first Thai citizen who got a scholarship to study at Krupskaya Cultural Institute in Leningrad, followed by further study at the Royal Academy of Dancing in London. He also used to be editor for magazines and publishers, and editor-in-chief for hardcopy books in Thailand for Reader’s Digest. In addition, he did translation works on Thai short stories and novels, as well as in technical writings on arts, culture, western philosophy, architecture, and sciences. He once showed his proficiency in French-to-English translation for an art exibition by H.S.H. Princess Marsi Sukhumbhand Paribatra (Marsi). His other works include translations of screenplays, textbooks, news, and features. He also teaches and writes books about translation for many universities, and writes the Principle of Criticism for the Thailand Research Fund. • 150 •