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Fiction

Monopoly

By Duanwad Pimwana
Translated from Thai by Mui Poopoksakul
Duanwad Pimwana’s battling couple abandon their boy to the neighborhood.
Listen to Duanwad Pimwana read Monopoly in the original Thai.
 
 

Kampol Changsamran, a boy of five, was hanging around in front of Mrs. Tongjan’s tenement houses. His father had told him to wait: “You stay here. I’m taking your brother to Grandma’s. I’ll be back to get you in a bit.” Hearing these last three words, Kampol didn’t dare to wander far, worried his father wouldn’t spot him upon his return, so he paced back and forth, keeping a watch on the entrance to the community.

Something had gone down at his house a few days ago. His parents got into a nasty fight, and everyone knew it from all the yelling. His mother hurled the fan, breaking its neck. His father flung the kettle over her head, launching it outside the house. When night fell, his mother rolled up in a pickup truck, had it parked in front of the house, and loaded it with belongings until the house was bare. She left on a motorbike, riding ahead as the pickup truck crawled behind her. His father watched, arms akimbo, head slightly nodding. Kampol’s brother, two months shy of a year old, was screaming inside the house

Kampol waited for his father in front of their unit, which they had already surrendered to the landlady. He stood there sulking, two bags of his clothing lying next to him on the ground. At midday the grown-ups next door called him over, scooped him some rice, and fed him with questions nonstop.

The row houses of the tenement formed a little square, with a shady spot to sit under a poinciana tree, and the vantage point was prime for observing all kinds of things. Importantly, a general store was situated diagonally behind, and its customers routinely stopped by to exchange a few words with the people gathered under the poinciana.

Kampol was grilled with questions about his parents. He recounted the incident over and over again. Some people walked over to him; some waved him over. That afternoon someone gave him money to buy a treat at the store, and he was called over to the poinciana by six or seven adults as he walked by.

“Where’d your papa go, Boy?” Kampol didn’t have a nickname. Everyone called him “Boy,” as his father did.

“He took my brother to Grandma’s,” he answered as before.

“What about you? Why didn’t he take you?”

“He’s coming to get me soon, to go stay with him at the factory,” he replied, as he had when others had asked him the same question.

And where’d your mama go? What did they fight about, d’you know? Did your mama say who she was going to stay with? How often did they fight? Is your brother breastfed? Why didn’t you go with your mama? You poor thing, with parents like these. His father had nothing to do with this. His mother had an affair. That’s karma—his father had abandoned two or three wives.

Kampol held his snack woodenly, eyes glazed over as he stood listening to this person here and that person there. He was fed up, he hung his head. He missed his father, and he was dreaming of their new home, all the while exhausted and sleepy. In truth, Kampol didn’t know much—he just told them what he saw. The more he answered questions, the more he came to know about his parents in the process. He was growing irritated and indignant when some of the adults said his father might have abandoned him here and taken his brother to go live somewhere else. Some of them said he ought to go live with his mother. “With two kids, you have to split the burden. Since his father took the younger one, he probably meant to leave the older one for the mother.” Kampol was hurt, but he didn’t believe them. He started to resent the grown-ups. He stopped paying attention to them and instead craned his neck to look at the head of the path, refusing to break from his vigilance.

The group under the poinciana began to disperse after they had had more than their fill of the discussion. But one woman reignited it. She had gone to buy fish sauce and then stopped by.

“I feel bad, seeing him like this, so at lunchtime I called him to come over and eat.” She shot the kid a look of compassion, her remark prickling everybody. The woman was called Aoi. She was the wife of a motorbike cabbie.

“Yeah . . . I saw him sitting there staring at his bags, so I gave him some money to get a snack. Look there, he hasn’t eaten it all yet.” The speaker was On, the wife of a department-store security guard.

Then everyone fell silent. Nobody had ever thought of doing this sort of thing before. The wave of pity had created a certain wind that stirred a number of people.

Dum the tire-patcher spoke up in turn: “Yeah, I feel really sorry for him.” Then he called out, “Boy, you can stay at my place tonight if your papa still isn’t back.” And then he turned to the person next to him and said, “He’s just a little kid—there’s plenty of room to sleep.”

The boy declined without a word, his eyes still stuck on Dum. He wasn’t going to spend the night at anybody’s because soon his father was going to come for him. One woman got up and went to grab the child’s hand. “C’mon, Boy, come eat dinner first. Your papa isn’t going to show up so soon.” In a daze, Kampol was tugged along by the woman. He wasn’t hungry and didn’t want to go anywhere with anyone. He worried that his father wouldn’t see him when he arrived. As the others watched them go, the word among the crowd was that Tongbai’s behavior was in poor taste. “She’s showing off,” was what they said.

Yet by five o’clock in the evening, Tongbai was still in the kitchen. The rice in the pot still wasn’t cooked. Kampol, who was sitting there in a funk by his pile of bags, was led into the house of another kindly neighbor, who stuck in front of his face a plate of rice topped with a fragrant omelet. When the neighbor wasn’t paying attention, Boy took his plate outside, back to the spot where he had left his bags. He kept an eye on the path where he would be able see his father return. Tears were welling up and his lips began to pout. A moment later, Tongbai poked her head out to call him. When she saw the plate in the child’s hand, she came to inspect up close.

“Where’d you get the food?”

“Aunt Keow.”

Tongbai went back into her house and slammed the door.

After work let out, the road into the community started to fill with people and vehicles. Children were coming back from school, and workers were making their way home. Half an hour later, Kampol had managed to take only two bites of food. His eyes moist, he sniffled and whimpered. As people passed by, he would reply that his father hadn’t come for him yet. The more he repeated this, the harder he cried. All sorts of people came over to console him. “Your Grandma’s is far away. He’ll probably be back really late.” “If he doesn’t have a ride back, he’ll probably have to stay the night.” “Don’t cry. If your dad’s not back, tonight you can stay at my place.” “Hey, I already told you that you can stay with me this evening.”

The sky was growing darker. Kampol was brought to the store, and treats were put before him so he would stop crying. His bags were placed next to him. He continued to sob. Sympathetic folks stood around forming a crowd in the front of the store, as if this was a problem they had to help resolve. Most of them sounded off on the cause of what had put the child in this predicament. His mother shouldn’t have had an affair. The father shouldn’t have laid hands on her. The mother shouldn’t have run off just to save her own skin. What reason did his father have to take the baby brother alone? The child was bleary-eyed. His sniffling turned into hiccups and he fell asleep like that, still hiccuping, in somebody’s arms. Dum carried the kid’s two bags to his place. When he returned, the child was gone. A woman of a certain age named Rampeuy, the one who had comforted the boy until he fell asleep, had carried him to her place. With more than ten pairs of eyes looking on, she proudly offered to look after the child’s sleeping arrangements.

Late that night, Kampol began screeching, jolting all kinds of people awake. The boy started up from his mattress and felt his way in the dark. When people in the house got up to switch the lights on, the child made a dash for the door, flung it wide open, and ran out. He cried out for his father, his voice echoing down the street. The neighbors turned their lights on and opened their windows. Some cracked their doors open and stuck their faces out to see what was going on. The boy was running down the street, heading for the entrance to the community. Two adults went after him, grabbed him by the arms, and sat him down. They consoled him for a long while and then headed on home. In the calm of the night, the neighbors could make out a whimpering cry.

Early in the morning, Kampol left the house where he had spent the night. He staggered over to the store and looked around for his bags. He stood there quietly until the shop owner turned and saw him.

“Is my papa here yet, Hia Chong?” Kampol asked.

“I haven’t seen him,” Chong, with his arms akimbo, looked at the boy.

“My bags are gone. Yesterday they were right here,” the child pointed to the spot.

“Someone’s probably holding on to them for you. They’ll probably bring them back in a bit. Just sit there and wait.”

An instant later, Dum carried the two bags over to the store, put them down next to the boy, bought a pack of cigarettes, and went home. A succession of other people came to do their shopping, and as usual, they asked Kampol, “Your papa’s not back?” The child gave no answer, but the grown-ups didn’t pester him to say any more. They had started to get used to the Kampol situation, and it was losing its novelty. But that was not the case among the kids, some of whom were his classmates. As it was Saturday and there was no class, his friends brought him gossip from school. Kampol had a dance partner he had rehearsed with for weeks. When the day of the school fair arrived, the day before, Kampol hadn’t gone to school.

“She was all the way at the front. But when she found out you weren’t coming, she wouldn’t dance. She wanted to get off the stage. Her parents were clinging to the front of the stage and they were telling her, ‘Dance, sweetie, dance. You can just dance alone. I want to see you dance.’ So then she danced. When it got to the part where you had to lock arms and twirl, she just stood there looking around all confused and then she started bawling. And she was wearing a red skirt, too, and high heels. Her mama had to go and carry her, and on top of that she dropped her shoes. So then she full-on shrieked. It was hilarious. Tons of people were looking. Everyone was like, ‘You poor thing!’”

And there were games for the little kids, with prizes of toys and treats, and there was free ice cream. The bigger kids did comedy skits on stage, and the teachers put on a play. Our own Mr. Sunya played a kindergartener with pigtails, his friend laughed himself into stitches as he recounted the story. Without realizing, Kampol had forgotten about his father. Picturing the scene made him laugh along with his classmate. This friend of his was called Prasit. Kampol called him by his nickname, Oan.

Prasit ran on home when he heard his mother calling him from a distance. But he was back in a flash, with a plate of food in hand. With a single spoon, they took turns taking bites. They thought it was fun and tasty that way. When the food ran out, they went back for seconds. The two had a heart-to-heart about Kampol’s father as they sat watching TV in the general store.

At eleven o’clock the crew under the poinciana tree yelled to Kampol: His father was back. The child leaped out onto the street, screamed his father’s name, whimpering, and ran toward him as if they were in a big movie scene. All eyes were on them, but the picture was not perfect because of an extra—Prasit was chasing behind.

His father reeked. The son reeked, too. They wore the same clothes as when they had parted. Father and son rushed headlong toward each other.

“Have you eaten anything?” His father asked.

“He ate,” Prasit answered for him. “We ate together this morning.”

“What about yesterday? Did you get to eat?”

Kampol nodded.

“Who fed you, huh?”

“For lunch, Aunt Aoi called me in to eat. For dinner, Aunt Tongbai was going to have me eat at hers but the rice wasn’t done so Aunt Keow handed me food.”

“Good. Where’d you sleep last night?”

Kampol made a thinking face. “At Aunt Peuy’s.”

“Good, that’s good. That’s what I figured. Now come here, over here.”

The father and son evaded people’s glances as they disappeared around the curve of the wall of the adjoining property. Oan stubbornly followed them, but the pair didn’t pay him any mind.

“Listen: I still can’t find a place. At night I have to sleep in the front of the car. You’ve got to wait here another day or two. Then I’ll come take you to our new home.”

Kampol, face sour, shook his head. “I’m coming with you. I’ll sleep in the front of the car.”

“You can’t come. You’re better off here—there are people who take pity on you. You have a place to eat and sleep. It’s just two more days. Do you understand me?”

Kampol didn’t understand. He could only cry and cling tightly to his father. But his friend understood. His eyes lit up as he imagined the fun they could get up to.

“Sleep over at my place,” Prasit told him. “Have him stay with me, uncle.”

Kampol’s father saw Prasit only now. “What’s your name? Whose kid are you?”

“I’m Oan, Mawn’s son.”

“Mawn, the seamstress? Good, Oan, let your friend stay over for a couple of nights, all right? When it’s time to eat, get your friend, too. And let the other neighbors know that I’m leaving Boy here for a couple of days, and ask them to help look after him, you understand?”

Excited and proud, Oan enthusiastically accepted his charge.

“Boy, your papa’s going through a rough time. You’ve got to help me out. If you’re going to be a crybaby, then we’re in a real mess. I’m going to drive the day and the night shifts and ask the boss if I can stay in a boarding room at the factory. It’s just two days. Monday evening, I’ll come get you. Stay here with your friend, all right? Have fun. I’m going. Don’t cry. Aren’t you embarrassed in front of your friend? OK, I’m off.”

Kampol’s father came—and left—as if it were a dream. The neighbors hadn’t yet had a good look at him. When they saw the child walking back alone, the group under the poinciana all waved him over. They crowded around and pummeled questions at him. Kampol barely answered, but Prasit elaborated in full.

So it was clear and understood by all: Kampol was no longer Kampol; he had become everybody’s burden.

“It’s no big deal. It’s only two days. Dum, you have plenty of room, don’t you?”

Dum was caught off guard, briefly dumbstruck, but eventually managed to say, “Two days’s no problem. But what if his father bails? What if he takes advantage of the situation and ditches him? Then what are we going to do? I can’t take that on. Find someone else who’s willing. Who was it yesterday who let him spend the night?”

“It’s been no time, and you’re already saying this,” Rampeuy said. “His father asked everyone to pitch in, not for one person to take on all the responsibility alone. I helped out last night. Who’s going to volunteer for tonight?”

“But Dum has a point. What if his father bails?”

“Let it come to that first.”

“What’s wrong with thinking ahead?”

“Yeah, you all keep thinking. I’ve got work to do. I’m going.”

“See? Everyone’s already hightailing it. Look at all your sorry little faces. Who’s going to have a big enough heart to give him a place to eat and sleep?”

Prasit observed the scene, completely baffled. He tried to get a word in as well.

“Fine, lunch today at mine. Dinner’s fine, too, if no one’s going to feed him,” Tongbai said.

“Huh!—‘if no one’s going to feed him,’” someone fumed, “It’s just a plate of food, there’s no need to throw a cheap shot at other people.”

“Yeah, if you’re going to say that, why don’t you take on the burden yourself?”

“It’s none of my damn business. If it were my relatives, that’d be another thing. Whoever wants to show off can go ahead.”

“What did you say? Who’s showing off?”

“You all are.”

“Whoa there . . .”

It was approaching noon as they fought. Kampol and Prasit stood on the sideline, riveted. The performers outnumbered the audience, and there was an explosion of yelling and insults but one couldn’t make out the words. A jumble of blows ensued with no one making an attempt to untangle the fight, which went on unrelentingly for a good while, because everyone took one side or the other. Chong, the store proprietor, couldn’t bear watching any longer. He ran over to whisper something to Kampol and Prasit and then ran back to the store.

“The police are here!” the kids screamed. “Police! Police!”

It worked pretty well. Several people backed off and dove in to pull their crew away. Worn out as they were, they still had the energy to stand there cursing at each other awhile before they scattered, everyone back to their own home.

Kampol and Prasit reported to Chong why those people were fighting. Chong tried to listen with his full attention but still had a hard time piecing the plot together. All he understood was, they argued over the matter of Kampol, something along the lines of their fighting over who would get to look after the boy.

“But Boy already said he’s sleeping over at mine. His dad, too, told him to stay with me. I told them but they wouldn’t listen. They just kept arguing. Someone said, ‘You want to show off?’ Someone else said, ‘Who are you calling a show-off?’ And then, boom, the fists.”

The two boys carried Kampol’s bags over to Prasit’s house. When they poked in, they saw Prasit’s mother asleep, folded over the sewing machine. Across the room, a wardrobe stood blocking the view of his parents’ bed. A dark blue curtain separated the bed and the cushion on which their son slept, which was laid on the ground. Their food cupboard had its back along one side of the cushion. The kids put the bags down next to Prasit’s bedding and went into the kitchen to look for something to eat. They found two plates of rice and some leftovers from breakfast. Once full, they jumped on the cushion and went over who was dueling with whom and with what move. Then they played Monopoly until they fell asleep.

Mawn woke up in a panic at three in the afternoon. She was sitting down to resume working but ended up stumbling into the kitchen. She didn’t notice the two kids on the cushion. The kitchen had nothing left—the rice pot was empty and the food cupboard was cleaned out. She stood there dazed for a moment and then lit the gas stove, poured some water in the kettle, and placed it over the flame. Only when she stepped away from the kitchen did she catch sight of her son and another child spread out asleep. She glanced at them for a mere second and then turned away; she was in a bind over something and didn’t have time to pay anything else any mind. She headed over to the general store to buy a pack of instant noodles and hurried back to deal with lunch—all in the span of fifteen minutes. Then she took up her seat at the sewing machine again, her foot pumping, hands pressing, lips pursed, brows furrowed, and eyes focused as the machine whirred along.

Before five o’clock that afternoon, Mawn arranged the clothes into separate bags and hustled out of the house. Her husband had another sewing machine that was set up in front of the bank in the market. They patched and fixed all kinds of garments. Mawn took a portion of the jobs that people dropped off with her husband, worked on them at home, and brought them back at the agreed pickup time. She was so frantic that her hands were shaking, and yet it was too late. Two customers had shown up early for their clothes. Prasit’s father had asked them to wait a few moments, but the customers couldn’t stay. They made new appointments for the following day. Two others hadn’t turned up yet.

Mawn sighed and sat down, deflated. “And we’re out of money,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Two more people are supposed to pick up today. They’ll probably be here in a bit.”

The couple slowly packed up. They carried the sewing machine to leave it with the stir-fry-and-curry joint next to the bank and returned to wait for the customers.

“It’s almost six,” Mawn said.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s wait a little more.”

“Give me fifty now. I’ll go get food.”

“Where am I supposed to get that? Go home and get the rice ready. I’ll pick up the other food and follow along in a bit.”

When Mawn got home, she saw that they were out of rice, too. She went outside and sat in front of the house, sighing.

Prasit dashed over. “Mama, can I have money for sweets?” He had told Kampol he would treat him to some.

“Go shower right now,” she scolded. “And make sure you get the grime off the sides of your ears. Go!”

Prasit and Kampol showered together. They played to their hearts’ content before they emerged from the bathroom. They smeared their faces white with baby powder and then went into the kitchen and looked in the rice pot. Seeing no rice, they turned to open the food cupboard—nothing. The used bowls and plates were still soaking in the tub out back. Oan ran to the front of the house.

“Mama, we have to make rice.”

“Come here,” his mother called him. “Go to Hia Chong’s shop. Tell him your mama wants to buy a bag of rice.”

Prasit nodded, but then it occurred to his mother that they had nothing to eat the rice with either.

“Wait, Oan, come back here first. Ask Hia Chong for two packs of Mama noodles, too. Let’s eat instant noodles for this evening.”

“Can we get a pack for my friend?”

As soon as his mother nodded, the two ran full speed to Chong’s shop.

At the store, Dum was negotiating with Chong, but unsuccessfully. Chong only shook his head no, leaving Dum to grumble, as he went to attend to other customers. One person asked to get fish sauce and eggs on credit. When he saw that Chong allowed it, Dum threw even more of a tantrum. He made a lot of noise, all the while slurring his words and getting tongue-tied, and he stumbled and swayed as he tried to walk.

“C’mon, one last bottle,” Dum begged and followed Chong, who was going to grab something for a customer.

“Enough, Dum. I can’t give you another one,” Chong said.

“One more, c’mon.”

“Today’s already two bottles. I said enough is enough. You still owe two hundred from before, plus over a hundred today . . . . Wait, what are you doing? You can’t grab it yourself. Give it back. If you’re going to be like this, I’m going to quit playing nice.”

“C’mon, just this one. Other people can still put things on their tabs.”

“Hi kids, what would you two like?”

“My mama sent me for a bag of rice and three packs of Mama, on her tab.”

Chong smiled drably, shaking his head. He was fed up, but he obliged and turned to fetch the stuff for them. Rice he had, but Mama noodles were out.

“Tell your mother this is the last time. She’s got to settle the old tab before I’ll let her add more.”

“Look at that . . . Even kids you let buy on credit. I just want one more bottle.”

Chong perused the list of accounts in his register and let out several sighs. This morning he was still in a good mood. Given the unpaid balances, he had made a resolution that he wouldn’t give out any liquor, beer, or cigarettes on credit for the day—he would allow only the necessities. He got his wish all right: it seemed every wallet in the whole housing community was thin. It was true he moved a fair amount of inventory, but the sum of money that came into the store was meager. Still, he kept up his resolution: he let every customer buy everything on credit, except liquor, beer, and cigarettes. Alas, he eventually succumbed to Dum’s stubbornness.

Dum had stationed himself in front of the store for upward of an hour. He was fuming and distressed over how during the confusion of the brawl when you couldn’t tell who was who, someone tugged on the hair on his head and tore out a handful. In the middle of the crown of his head, which used to have a smattering of hair still attached, there was now only reddish scalp. He pleaded his case to get some liquor on credit by displaying his sore head to Chong, to show him how he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep that night if he didn’t have any alcohol to soothe his spirit. Chong gave in, handed him a bottle, and told him to go home. Less than an hour later, Dum was back again. He ranted for a while before Chong caved and let him have another bottle.

With his resolution broken twice over, Chong was in no mood to smile or kid around with anyone. When he spotted Dum’s face for the third time, he started to count in his head, waiting for the right moment to throw him out of the store. But when his eyes fell on Dum’s raw head, he contained himself. All around, everyone had it pretty rough today.

As for Tongbai, she went home still steaming and refused to cook or clean, on account of the scuffle with the others. When her husband got home, they had another round of quarrels. The husband announced that he wouldn’t give her any money, while the wife declared that she wouldn’t feed him. In the end, the husband ran over to buy a pack of Mama, and a minute later the wife followed to get some Mama on credit as well. Tongbai and her husband weren’t the only ones. The same drama set off at least two other familial spats, which could be heard all the way to the store.

“He’s out of Mama,” Prasit told his mother.

Mawn sighed once more. “Go back again. Get ten baht’s worth of eggs.”

“Hia Chong said before you can get anything more on credit, the old tab’s got to be paid off.”

Mawn slipped into the house without listening to the end. After she made rice, she came back out and sat, chin on palm, as before. The sky was losing its light. All her hope depended on her husband. After some time, another solution dawned on her. She went inside to rummage through the bag of clothes on the table. There was a pair of pants from a customer who lived in the vicinity. She could change the zipper in a heartbeat. Oan went into the kitchen, came out and told his mother that there was nothing to eat, only rice.

“Yeah, hold on. Don’t go anywhere. In a bit, go deliver these pants for me.”

It really was only in a bit—fifteen minutes and she was done. Visibly relieved, she put the pants in a bag.

“Take this to Aunt Tongbai. Tell her twenty baht. On the way back, get ten baht of eggs.”

The kids ran out and came back a short while later. “Aunt Tongbai and her husband are fighting. She told him, ‘Give me twenty for the zipper. That other time you got your pants patched, I paid for it.’ Her husband said, ‘Here’s my shin—you want it?’ So Aunt Tongbai said, ‘You two go back for now. I’ll go pay your mama in a bit.’”

Mawn didn’t say anything. She could only switch propping up her chin between hands, left to right.

Prasit began to worry that they wouldn’t have anything for his friend to eat. The two sat down, limp, next to Mawn.

“Hey, there’s only rice,” Oan told his friend. “My mama wanted to put eggs on her tab but Hia Chong said the old debt’s got to be paid off first.”

“If my papa were here, we could buy on credit no problem because my papa’s already paid off everything he owes,” Kampol said.

“I don’t owe anything, but I’m scared to go,” Oan said.

“I don’t owe anything either. Should we try?” Kampol rallied his friend. “We can tell Hia Chong that my papa’s going to pay on Monday.”

“Let’s give it a go. But you talk.”

The two got up and sheepishly made their way to the store. Mawn watched them go and her gaze hung inertly in their direction. Her husband, it was clear, was no longer any hope. By now he had probably put his stomach in the care of one friend or another.

It was only seven-thirty but Chong was getting ready to close up shop. After Dum walked by, booze in hand, he felt worn out and lost his will to keep the store open. He wanted this battered day to end swiftly so a new one could start over.

The last customers popped up before he locked the gate. Two pairs of gleaming eyes were on him.

Drooping, Chong went to grab four eggs and slipped the bag through the grille.

The children sprinted off, giggling, and the sound of them slowly faded.

From Changsamran, or Sunny Boy. © Duanwad Pimwana. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2016 by Mui Poopoksakul. All rights reserved.

English Thai (Original)

Kampol Changsamran, a boy of five, was hanging around in front of Mrs. Tongjan’s tenement houses. His father had told him to wait: “You stay here. I’m taking your brother to Grandma’s. I’ll be back to get you in a bit.” Hearing these last three words, Kampol didn’t dare to wander far, worried his father wouldn’t spot him upon his return, so he paced back and forth, keeping a watch on the entrance to the community.

Something had gone down at his house a few days ago. His parents got into a nasty fight, and everyone knew it from all the yelling. His mother hurled the fan, breaking its neck. His father flung the kettle over her head, launching it outside the house. When night fell, his mother rolled up in a pickup truck, had it parked in front of the house, and loaded it with belongings until the house was bare. She left on a motorbike, riding ahead as the pickup truck crawled behind her. His father watched, arms akimbo, head slightly nodding. Kampol’s brother, two months shy of a year old, was screaming inside the house

Kampol waited for his father in front of their unit, which they had already surrendered to the landlady. He stood there sulking, two bags of his clothing lying next to him on the ground. At midday the grown-ups next door called him over, scooped him some rice, and fed him with questions nonstop.

The row houses of the tenement formed a little square, with a shady spot to sit under a poinciana tree, and the vantage point was prime for observing all kinds of things. Importantly, a general store was situated diagonally behind, and its customers routinely stopped by to exchange a few words with the people gathered under the poinciana.

Kampol was grilled with questions about his parents. He recounted the incident over and over again. Some people walked over to him; some waved him over. That afternoon someone gave him money to buy a treat at the store, and he was called over to the poinciana by six or seven adults as he walked by.

“Where’d your papa go, Boy?” Kampol didn’t have a nickname. Everyone called him “Boy,” as his father did.

“He took my brother to Grandma’s,” he answered as before.

“What about you? Why didn’t he take you?”

“He’s coming to get me soon, to go stay with him at the factory,” he replied, as he had when others had asked him the same question.

And where’d your mama go? What did they fight about, d’you know? Did your mama say who she was going to stay with? How often did they fight? Is your brother breastfed? Why didn’t you go with your mama? You poor thing, with parents like these. His father had nothing to do with this. His mother had an affair. That’s karma—his father had abandoned two or three wives.

Kampol held his snack woodenly, eyes glazed over as he stood listening to this person here and that person there. He was fed up, he hung his head. He missed his father, and he was dreaming of their new home, all the while exhausted and sleepy. In truth, Kampol didn’t know much—he just told them what he saw. The more he answered questions, the more he came to know about his parents in the process. He was growing irritated and indignant when some of the adults said his father might have abandoned him here and taken his brother to go live somewhere else. Some of them said he ought to go live with his mother. “With two kids, you have to split the burden. Since his father took the younger one, he probably meant to leave the older one for the mother.” Kampol was hurt, but he didn’t believe them. He started to resent the grown-ups. He stopped paying attention to them and instead craned his neck to look at the head of the path, refusing to break from his vigilance.

The group under the poinciana began to disperse after they had had more than their fill of the discussion. But one woman reignited it. She had gone to buy fish sauce and then stopped by.

“I feel bad, seeing him like this, so at lunchtime I called him to come over and eat.” She shot the kid a look of compassion, her remark prickling everybody. The woman was called Aoi. She was the wife of a motorbike cabbie.

“Yeah . . . I saw him sitting there staring at his bags, so I gave him some money to get a snack. Look there, he hasn’t eaten it all yet.” The speaker was On, the wife of a department-store security guard.

Then everyone fell silent. Nobody had ever thought of doing this sort of thing before. The wave of pity had created a certain wind that stirred a number of people.

Dum the tire-patcher spoke up in turn: “Yeah, I feel really sorry for him.” Then he called out, “Boy, you can stay at my place tonight if your papa still isn’t back.” And then he turned to the person next to him and said, “He’s just a little kid—there’s plenty of room to sleep.”

The boy declined without a word, his eyes still stuck on Dum. He wasn’t going to spend the night at anybody’s because soon his father was going to come for him. One woman got up and went to grab the child’s hand. “C’mon, Boy, come eat dinner first. Your papa isn’t going to show up so soon.” In a daze, Kampol was tugged along by the woman. He wasn’t hungry and didn’t want to go anywhere with anyone. He worried that his father wouldn’t see him when he arrived. As the others watched them go, the word among the crowd was that Tongbai’s behavior was in poor taste. “She’s showing off,” was what they said.

Yet by five o’clock in the evening, Tongbai was still in the kitchen. The rice in the pot still wasn’t cooked. Kampol, who was sitting there in a funk by his pile of bags, was led into the house of another kindly neighbor, who stuck in front of his face a plate of rice topped with a fragrant omelet. When the neighbor wasn’t paying attention, Boy took his plate outside, back to the spot where he had left his bags. He kept an eye on the path where he would be able see his father return. Tears were welling up and his lips began to pout. A moment later, Tongbai poked her head out to call him. When she saw the plate in the child’s hand, she came to inspect up close.

“Where’d you get the food?”

“Aunt Keow.”

Tongbai went back into her house and slammed the door.

After work let out, the road into the community started to fill with people and vehicles. Children were coming back from school, and workers were making their way home. Half an hour later, Kampol had managed to take only two bites of food. His eyes moist, he sniffled and whimpered. As people passed by, he would reply that his father hadn’t come for him yet. The more he repeated this, the harder he cried. All sorts of people came over to console him. “Your Grandma’s is far away. He’ll probably be back really late.” “If he doesn’t have a ride back, he’ll probably have to stay the night.” “Don’t cry. If your dad’s not back, tonight you can stay at my place.” “Hey, I already told you that you can stay with me this evening.”

The sky was growing darker. Kampol was brought to the store, and treats were put before him so he would stop crying. His bags were placed next to him. He continued to sob. Sympathetic folks stood around forming a crowd in the front of the store, as if this was a problem they had to help resolve. Most of them sounded off on the cause of what had put the child in this predicament. His mother shouldn’t have had an affair. The father shouldn’t have laid hands on her. The mother shouldn’t have run off just to save her own skin. What reason did his father have to take the baby brother alone? The child was bleary-eyed. His sniffling turned into hiccups and he fell asleep like that, still hiccuping, in somebody’s arms. Dum carried the kid’s two bags to his place. When he returned, the child was gone. A woman of a certain age named Rampeuy, the one who had comforted the boy until he fell asleep, had carried him to her place. With more than ten pairs of eyes looking on, she proudly offered to look after the child’s sleeping arrangements.

Late that night, Kampol began screeching, jolting all kinds of people awake. The boy started up from his mattress and felt his way in the dark. When people in the house got up to switch the lights on, the child made a dash for the door, flung it wide open, and ran out. He cried out for his father, his voice echoing down the street. The neighbors turned their lights on and opened their windows. Some cracked their doors open and stuck their faces out to see what was going on. The boy was running down the street, heading for the entrance to the community. Two adults went after him, grabbed him by the arms, and sat him down. They consoled him for a long while and then headed on home. In the calm of the night, the neighbors could make out a whimpering cry.

Early in the morning, Kampol left the house where he had spent the night. He staggered over to the store and looked around for his bags. He stood there quietly until the shop owner turned and saw him.

“Is my papa here yet, Hia Chong?” Kampol asked.

“I haven’t seen him,” Chong, with his arms akimbo, looked at the boy.

“My bags are gone. Yesterday they were right here,” the child pointed to the spot.

“Someone’s probably holding on to them for you. They’ll probably bring them back in a bit. Just sit there and wait.”

An instant later, Dum carried the two bags over to the store, put them down next to the boy, bought a pack of cigarettes, and went home. A succession of other people came to do their shopping, and as usual, they asked Kampol, “Your papa’s not back?” The child gave no answer, but the grown-ups didn’t pester him to say any more. They had started to get used to the Kampol situation, and it was losing its novelty. But that was not the case among the kids, some of whom were his classmates. As it was Saturday and there was no class, his friends brought him gossip from school. Kampol had a dance partner he had rehearsed with for weeks. When the day of the school fair arrived, the day before, Kampol hadn’t gone to school.

“She was all the way at the front. But when she found out you weren’t coming, she wouldn’t dance. She wanted to get off the stage. Her parents were clinging to the front of the stage and they were telling her, ‘Dance, sweetie, dance. You can just dance alone. I want to see you dance.’ So then she danced. When it got to the part where you had to lock arms and twirl, she just stood there looking around all confused and then she started bawling. And she was wearing a red skirt, too, and high heels. Her mama had to go and carry her, and on top of that she dropped her shoes. So then she full-on shrieked. It was hilarious. Tons of people were looking. Everyone was like, ‘You poor thing!’”

And there were games for the little kids, with prizes of toys and treats, and there was free ice cream. The bigger kids did comedy skits on stage, and the teachers put on a play. Our own Mr. Sunya played a kindergartener with pigtails, his friend laughed himself into stitches as he recounted the story. Without realizing, Kampol had forgotten about his father. Picturing the scene made him laugh along with his classmate. This friend of his was called Prasit. Kampol called him by his nickname, Oan.

Prasit ran on home when he heard his mother calling him from a distance. But he was back in a flash, with a plate of food in hand. With a single spoon, they took turns taking bites. They thought it was fun and tasty that way. When the food ran out, they went back for seconds. The two had a heart-to-heart about Kampol’s father as they sat watching TV in the general store.

At eleven o’clock the crew under the poinciana tree yelled to Kampol: His father was back. The child leaped out onto the street, screamed his father’s name, whimpering, and ran toward him as if they were in a big movie scene. All eyes were on them, but the picture was not perfect because of an extra—Prasit was chasing behind.

His father reeked. The son reeked, too. They wore the same clothes as when they had parted. Father and son rushed headlong toward each other.

“Have you eaten anything?” His father asked.

“He ate,” Prasit answered for him. “We ate together this morning.”

“What about yesterday? Did you get to eat?”

Kampol nodded.

“Who fed you, huh?”

“For lunch, Aunt Aoi called me in to eat. For dinner, Aunt Tongbai was going to have me eat at hers but the rice wasn’t done so Aunt Keow handed me food.”

“Good. Where’d you sleep last night?”

Kampol made a thinking face. “At Aunt Peuy’s.”

“Good, that’s good. That’s what I figured. Now come here, over here.”

The father and son evaded people’s glances as they disappeared around the curve of the wall of the adjoining property. Oan stubbornly followed them, but the pair didn’t pay him any mind.

“Listen: I still can’t find a place. At night I have to sleep in the front of the car. You’ve got to wait here another day or two. Then I’ll come take you to our new home.”

Kampol, face sour, shook his head. “I’m coming with you. I’ll sleep in the front of the car.”

“You can’t come. You’re better off here—there are people who take pity on you. You have a place to eat and sleep. It’s just two more days. Do you understand me?”

Kampol didn’t understand. He could only cry and cling tightly to his father. But his friend understood. His eyes lit up as he imagined the fun they could get up to.

“Sleep over at my place,” Prasit told him. “Have him stay with me, uncle.”

Kampol’s father saw Prasit only now. “What’s your name? Whose kid are you?”

“I’m Oan, Mawn’s son.”

“Mawn, the seamstress? Good, Oan, let your friend stay over for a couple of nights, all right? When it’s time to eat, get your friend, too. And let the other neighbors know that I’m leaving Boy here for a couple of days, and ask them to help look after him, you understand?”

Excited and proud, Oan enthusiastically accepted his charge.

“Boy, your papa’s going through a rough time. You’ve got to help me out. If you’re going to be a crybaby, then we’re in a real mess. I’m going to drive the day and the night shifts and ask the boss if I can stay in a boarding room at the factory. It’s just two days. Monday evening, I’ll come get you. Stay here with your friend, all right? Have fun. I’m going. Don’t cry. Aren’t you embarrassed in front of your friend? OK, I’m off.”

Kampol’s father came—and left—as if it were a dream. The neighbors hadn’t yet had a good look at him. When they saw the child walking back alone, the group under the poinciana all waved him over. They crowded around and pummeled questions at him. Kampol barely answered, but Prasit elaborated in full.

So it was clear and understood by all: Kampol was no longer Kampol; he had become everybody’s burden.

“It’s no big deal. It’s only two days. Dum, you have plenty of room, don’t you?”

Dum was caught off guard, briefly dumbstruck, but eventually managed to say, “Two days’s no problem. But what if his father bails? What if he takes advantage of the situation and ditches him? Then what are we going to do? I can’t take that on. Find someone else who’s willing. Who was it yesterday who let him spend the night?”

“It’s been no time, and you’re already saying this,” Rampeuy said. “His father asked everyone to pitch in, not for one person to take on all the responsibility alone. I helped out last night. Who’s going to volunteer for tonight?”

“But Dum has a point. What if his father bails?”

“Let it come to that first.”

“What’s wrong with thinking ahead?”

“Yeah, you all keep thinking. I’ve got work to do. I’m going.”

“See? Everyone’s already hightailing it. Look at all your sorry little faces. Who’s going to have a big enough heart to give him a place to eat and sleep?”

Prasit observed the scene, completely baffled. He tried to get a word in as well.

“Fine, lunch today at mine. Dinner’s fine, too, if no one’s going to feed him,” Tongbai said.

“Huh!—‘if no one’s going to feed him,’” someone fumed, “It’s just a plate of food, there’s no need to throw a cheap shot at other people.”

“Yeah, if you’re going to say that, why don’t you take on the burden yourself?”

“It’s none of my damn business. If it were my relatives, that’d be another thing. Whoever wants to show off can go ahead.”

“What did you say? Who’s showing off?”

“You all are.”

“Whoa there . . .”

It was approaching noon as they fought. Kampol and Prasit stood on the sideline, riveted. The performers outnumbered the audience, and there was an explosion of yelling and insults but one couldn’t make out the words. A jumble of blows ensued with no one making an attempt to untangle the fight, which went on unrelentingly for a good while, because everyone took one side or the other. Chong, the store proprietor, couldn’t bear watching any longer. He ran over to whisper something to Kampol and Prasit and then ran back to the store.

“The police are here!” the kids screamed. “Police! Police!”

It worked pretty well. Several people backed off and dove in to pull their crew away. Worn out as they were, they still had the energy to stand there cursing at each other awhile before they scattered, everyone back to their own home.

Kampol and Prasit reported to Chong why those people were fighting. Chong tried to listen with his full attention but still had a hard time piecing the plot together. All he understood was, they argued over the matter of Kampol, something along the lines of their fighting over who would get to look after the boy.

“But Boy already said he’s sleeping over at mine. His dad, too, told him to stay with me. I told them but they wouldn’t listen. They just kept arguing. Someone said, ‘You want to show off?’ Someone else said, ‘Who are you calling a show-off?’ And then, boom, the fists.”

The two boys carried Kampol’s bags over to Prasit’s house. When they poked in, they saw Prasit’s mother asleep, folded over the sewing machine. Across the room, a wardrobe stood blocking the view of his parents’ bed. A dark blue curtain separated the bed and the cushion on which their son slept, which was laid on the ground. Their food cupboard had its back along one side of the cushion. The kids put the bags down next to Prasit’s bedding and went into the kitchen to look for something to eat. They found two plates of rice and some leftovers from breakfast. Once full, they jumped on the cushion and went over who was dueling with whom and with what move. Then they played Monopoly until they fell asleep.

Mawn woke up in a panic at three in the afternoon. She was sitting down to resume working but ended up stumbling into the kitchen. She didn’t notice the two kids on the cushion. The kitchen had nothing left—the rice pot was empty and the food cupboard was cleaned out. She stood there dazed for a moment and then lit the gas stove, poured some water in the kettle, and placed it over the flame. Only when she stepped away from the kitchen did she catch sight of her son and another child spread out asleep. She glanced at them for a mere second and then turned away; she was in a bind over something and didn’t have time to pay anything else any mind. She headed over to the general store to buy a pack of instant noodles and hurried back to deal with lunch—all in the span of fifteen minutes. Then she took up her seat at the sewing machine again, her foot pumping, hands pressing, lips pursed, brows furrowed, and eyes focused as the machine whirred along.

Before five o’clock that afternoon, Mawn arranged the clothes into separate bags and hustled out of the house. Her husband had another sewing machine that was set up in front of the bank in the market. They patched and fixed all kinds of garments. Mawn took a portion of the jobs that people dropped off with her husband, worked on them at home, and brought them back at the agreed pickup time. She was so frantic that her hands were shaking, and yet it was too late. Two customers had shown up early for their clothes. Prasit’s father had asked them to wait a few moments, but the customers couldn’t stay. They made new appointments for the following day. Two others hadn’t turned up yet.

Mawn sighed and sat down, deflated. “And we’re out of money,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Two more people are supposed to pick up today. They’ll probably be here in a bit.”

The couple slowly packed up. They carried the sewing machine to leave it with the stir-fry-and-curry joint next to the bank and returned to wait for the customers.

“It’s almost six,” Mawn said.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s wait a little more.”

“Give me fifty now. I’ll go get food.”

“Where am I supposed to get that? Go home and get the rice ready. I’ll pick up the other food and follow along in a bit.”

When Mawn got home, she saw that they were out of rice, too. She went outside and sat in front of the house, sighing.

Prasit dashed over. “Mama, can I have money for sweets?” He had told Kampol he would treat him to some.

“Go shower right now,” she scolded. “And make sure you get the grime off the sides of your ears. Go!”

Prasit and Kampol showered together. They played to their hearts’ content before they emerged from the bathroom. They smeared their faces white with baby powder and then went into the kitchen and looked in the rice pot. Seeing no rice, they turned to open the food cupboard—nothing. The used bowls and plates were still soaking in the tub out back. Oan ran to the front of the house.

“Mama, we have to make rice.”

“Come here,” his mother called him. “Go to Hia Chong’s shop. Tell him your mama wants to buy a bag of rice.”

Prasit nodded, but then it occurred to his mother that they had nothing to eat the rice with either.

“Wait, Oan, come back here first. Ask Hia Chong for two packs of Mama noodles, too. Let’s eat instant noodles for this evening.”

“Can we get a pack for my friend?”

As soon as his mother nodded, the two ran full speed to Chong’s shop.

At the store, Dum was negotiating with Chong, but unsuccessfully. Chong only shook his head no, leaving Dum to grumble, as he went to attend to other customers. One person asked to get fish sauce and eggs on credit. When he saw that Chong allowed it, Dum threw even more of a tantrum. He made a lot of noise, all the while slurring his words and getting tongue-tied, and he stumbled and swayed as he tried to walk.

“C’mon, one last bottle,” Dum begged and followed Chong, who was going to grab something for a customer.

“Enough, Dum. I can’t give you another one,” Chong said.

“One more, c’mon.”

“Today’s already two bottles. I said enough is enough. You still owe two hundred from before, plus over a hundred today . . . . Wait, what are you doing? You can’t grab it yourself. Give it back. If you’re going to be like this, I’m going to quit playing nice.”

“C’mon, just this one. Other people can still put things on their tabs.”

“Hi kids, what would you two like?”

“My mama sent me for a bag of rice and three packs of Mama, on her tab.”

Chong smiled drably, shaking his head. He was fed up, but he obliged and turned to fetch the stuff for them. Rice he had, but Mama noodles were out.

“Tell your mother this is the last time. She’s got to settle the old tab before I’ll let her add more.”

“Look at that . . . Even kids you let buy on credit. I just want one more bottle.”

Chong perused the list of accounts in his register and let out several sighs. This morning he was still in a good mood. Given the unpaid balances, he had made a resolution that he wouldn’t give out any liquor, beer, or cigarettes on credit for the day—he would allow only the necessities. He got his wish all right: it seemed every wallet in the whole housing community was thin. It was true he moved a fair amount of inventory, but the sum of money that came into the store was meager. Still, he kept up his resolution: he let every customer buy everything on credit, except liquor, beer, and cigarettes. Alas, he eventually succumbed to Dum’s stubbornness.

Dum had stationed himself in front of the store for upward of an hour. He was fuming and distressed over how during the confusion of the brawl when you couldn’t tell who was who, someone tugged on the hair on his head and tore out a handful. In the middle of the crown of his head, which used to have a smattering of hair still attached, there was now only reddish scalp. He pleaded his case to get some liquor on credit by displaying his sore head to Chong, to show him how he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep that night if he didn’t have any alcohol to soothe his spirit. Chong gave in, handed him a bottle, and told him to go home. Less than an hour later, Dum was back again. He ranted for a while before Chong caved and let him have another bottle.

With his resolution broken twice over, Chong was in no mood to smile or kid around with anyone. When he spotted Dum’s face for the third time, he started to count in his head, waiting for the right moment to throw him out of the store. But when his eyes fell on Dum’s raw head, he contained himself. All around, everyone had it pretty rough today.

As for Tongbai, she went home still steaming and refused to cook or clean, on account of the scuffle with the others. When her husband got home, they had another round of quarrels. The husband announced that he wouldn’t give her any money, while the wife declared that she wouldn’t feed him. In the end, the husband ran over to buy a pack of Mama, and a minute later the wife followed to get some Mama on credit as well. Tongbai and her husband weren’t the only ones. The same drama set off at least two other familial spats, which could be heard all the way to the store.

“He’s out of Mama,” Prasit told his mother.

Mawn sighed once more. “Go back again. Get ten baht’s worth of eggs.”

“Hia Chong said before you can get anything more on credit, the old tab’s got to be paid off.”

Mawn slipped into the house without listening to the end. After she made rice, she came back out and sat, chin on palm, as before. The sky was losing its light. All her hope depended on her husband. After some time, another solution dawned on her. She went inside to rummage through the bag of clothes on the table. There was a pair of pants from a customer who lived in the vicinity. She could change the zipper in a heartbeat. Oan went into the kitchen, came out and told his mother that there was nothing to eat, only rice.

“Yeah, hold on. Don’t go anywhere. In a bit, go deliver these pants for me.”

It really was only in a bit—fifteen minutes and she was done. Visibly relieved, she put the pants in a bag.

“Take this to Aunt Tongbai. Tell her twenty baht. On the way back, get ten baht of eggs.”

The kids ran out and came back a short while later. “Aunt Tongbai and her husband are fighting. She told him, ‘Give me twenty for the zipper. That other time you got your pants patched, I paid for it.’ Her husband said, ‘Here’s my shin—you want it?’ So Aunt Tongbai said, ‘You two go back for now. I’ll go pay your mama in a bit.’”

Mawn didn’t say anything. She could only switch propping up her chin between hands, left to right.

Prasit began to worry that they wouldn’t have anything for his friend to eat. The two sat down, limp, next to Mawn.

“Hey, there’s only rice,” Oan told his friend. “My mama wanted to put eggs on her tab but Hia Chong said the old debt’s got to be paid off first.”

“If my papa were here, we could buy on credit no problem because my papa’s already paid off everything he owes,” Kampol said.

“I don’t owe anything, but I’m scared to go,” Oan said.

“I don’t owe anything either. Should we try?” Kampol rallied his friend. “We can tell Hia Chong that my papa’s going to pay on Monday.”

“Let’s give it a go. But you talk.”

The two got up and sheepishly made their way to the store. Mawn watched them go and her gaze hung inertly in their direction. Her husband, it was clear, was no longer any hope. By now he had probably put his stomach in the care of one friend or another.

It was only seven-thirty but Chong was getting ready to close up shop. After Dum walked by, booze in hand, he felt worn out and lost his will to keep the store open. He wanted this battered day to end swiftly so a new one could start over.

The last customers popped up before he locked the gate. Two pairs of gleaming eyes were on him.

Drooping, Chong went to grab four eggs and slipped the bag through the grille.

The children sprinted off, giggling, and the sound of them slowly faded.

From Changsamran, or Sunny Boy. © Duanwad Pimwana. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2016 by Mui Poopoksakul. All rights reserved.

เกมเศรษฐี

เด็กชายกำพล ช่างสำราญ  อายุเพิ่งห้าขวบ  เดินเตร็ดเตร่อยู่บริเวณหน้าห้องแถวคุณแม่ทองจันทร์  พ่อสั่งให้เขาคอย  “เอ็ง อยู่นี่ พ่อเอาน้องไปให้ย่าเลี้ยง  เดี๋ยวจะกลับมารับ”  เพราะคำว่า ‘เดี๋ยว’ กำพลเลยไม่กล้าเดินไปไหนไกล  เกรงว่าพ่อกลับมาจะไม่เห็น  จึงวนเวียนคอยมองทางเข้าหมู่บ้านตลอด
หลายวันก่อนบ้านของกำพลเกิดเรื่อง  พ่อกับแม่ทะเลาะตบตีกันเสียงดังไปถึงไหนต่อไหน  แม่เหวี่ยงพัดลมคอหัก  พ่อโยนกระติกน้ำร้อนข้ามหัวแม่ออกไปนอกบ้าน  ตกกลางคืนแม่พารถกระบะมาจอดหน้าบ้าน  ขนข้าวของขึ้นรถจนบ้านโล่ง  แม่จากไปโดยขี่มอเตอร์ไซค์นำ  รถกระบะบรรทุกของคลานตามช้า ๆ  พ่อเท้าสะเอวมองผงกหัวหงึก ๆ น้องชายวัยอีกสองเดือนจะครบขวบของกำพลร้องไห้จ้าอยู่ในบ้าน
กำพลคอยพ่ออยู่หน้าห้องเช่าซึ่งบอกคืนเจ้าของไปแล้ว  จับเจ่าอยู่กับกระเป๋าเสื้อผ้าสองใบ  ตอนกลางวันผู้ใหญ่ที่อยู่ห้องติดกันเรียกกำพลเข้าไป  ตักข้าวให้กินและป้อนคำถามไม่ได้หยุด
ผู้ใหญ่เกือบทุกคนวางใจว่าเด็กยังอยู่ในอีกโลกหนึ่ง  ผู้ปลอดซึ่งภารกิจมีอยู่มากมาย  จัตุรัสเล็ก ๆ กลางหมู่บ้านมีที่นั่งแสนสบายใต้ร่มไม้  มุมนี้เหมาะเจาะเพราะมองเห็นอะไรต่อมิอะไรได้ถ้วนทั่ว  ที่สำคัญมีร้านค้าตั้งเยื้องอยู่ด้านหลัง  ผู้มาจับจ่ายข้าวของต้องแวะพูดคุยกับกลุ่มคนใต้ร่มไม้สักคำสองคำเสมอ
กำพลตอบคำถามเรื่องพ่อกับแม่ไม่หยุดหย่อน  เขาเล่าซ้ำแล้วซ้ำอีกถึงเหตุการณ์ที่เกิดขึ้น  บางรายเดินเข้ามาหา  บ้างกวักมือเรียก  ตอนบ่ายมีคนให้เงินไปซื้อขนมที่ร้านค้า  พอเดินผ่านเขาถูกเรียกเข้าไปใต้ร่มไม้  ผู้ใหญ่หกเจ็ดคนอยู่ที่นั่น
“พ่อไปไหนไอ้หนู”  กำพลไม่มีชื่อเล่น  ทุกคนเรียกไอ้หนู  เหมือนอย่างที่พ่อเขาเรียก
“เอาน้องไปให้ย่า”  กำพลตอบอย่างเคย
“แล้วเอ็งล่ะ ทำไมไม่พาไปด้วย”
“เดี๋ยวพ่อมารับไปอยู่โรงงาน”  กำพลตอบอย่างเคย
แล้วแม่ล่ะไปไหน  ทะเลาะกันเรื่องอะไรรู้มั้ย  แม่บอกหรือเปล่าจะไปอยู่กับใคร  ตีกันกี่ครั้งแล้ว  น้องกินนมแม่หรือเปล่า  ทำไมเราไม่ไปกับแม่  น่าสงสารจริงมีพ่อแม่อย่างนี้  พ่อมันไม่เกี่ยว  แม่มันมีชู้  เวรกรรมน่ะ  พ่อมันทิ้งเมียมาสองสามคนแล้ว
กำพลถือขนมค้างอยู่ในมือ  ตาลอยฟังคนนั้นพูดทีคนนี้พูดที  เขาเบื่อ  คอตก  คิดถึงพ่อและฝันถึงบ้านใหม่  ทั้งเหนื่อยและง่วงนอน  ความจริงกำพลไม่รู้เรื่องมากนัก  ได้แต่เล่าไปตามที่เห็น  ตอบคำถามมากเข้าเขาจึงรู้เรื่องของพ่อกับแม่มากขึ้นโดยไม่รู้ตัว  เขาเริ่มหงุดหงิดและโกรธเมื่อผู้ใหญ่บางคนบอกว่า  พ่ออาจทิ้งเขาไว้ที่นี่  พาน้องไปอยู่ที่อื่น  บางคนบอกว่าให้ถูกต้องเขาควรไปอยู่กับแม่  “ลูกสองคนต้องแบ่งกันเลี้ยง   พ่อเอาน้องไปแล้วคงตั้งใจทิ้งคนโตไว้ให้แม่”  กำพลใจเสีย  แต่ไม่เชื่อ  เริ่มเกลียดหน้าพวกผู้ใหญ่  เขาเลิกสนใจฟัง ชะเง้อมองต้นทางไม่วางตา
ผู้คนใต้ร่มไม้เตรียมตัวแยกย้ายเมื่อพูดคุยกันเสียจนอิ่มเอียน  แต่หญิงผู้หนึ่งจุดประกายขึ้นอีก  เธอมาซื้อน้ำปลาแล้วแวะเข้าใต้ร่มไม้
“เห็นแล้วสงสาร  เมื่อกลางวันเลยเรียกเข้าไปกินข้าว”  เธอส่งสายตาเอื้ออารีไปที่เด็ก   สร้างแรงสะเทือนต่อทุกคนอย่างถ้วนทั่ว  หญิงผู้นี้ชื่ออ้อยเป็นเมียของคนขับมอเตอร์ ไซค์รับจ้าง
“อืม… เห็นนั่งจ๋องเฝ้ากระเป๋าเลยให้เงินไปกินขนม  นั่นไงยังกินไม่หมดเลย”  ผู้พูดชื่ออ่อนเป็นเมียคนยามห้างสรรพสินค้า
ครั้นแล้วทุกคนเงียบ  ไม่มีใครคิดถึงการกระทำเยี่ยงนี้มาก่อน  คลื่นแห่งความอาทรนี้ก่อลมบางชนิดทำให้หลายคนปั่นป่วน
ลุงดำคนปะยางเอ่ยขึ้นบ้าง  “นั่นสิ เวทนามันแท้ ๆ”  แกส่งเสียงเรียก  “ไอ้หนู ถ้าพ่อยังไม่มาละก็คืนนี้ไปนอนบ้านลุงก็ได้”  และหันไปพูดกับคนข้าง ๆ “เด็กตัวนิดเดียว ที่นอนถมเถ”
ขณะกำพลมองลุงดำค้างอยู่  ไอ้หนูปฏิเสธโดยไม่ได้พูด  เขาไม่นอนกับใครเพราะประเดี๋ยวพ่อจะมารับ  หญิงผู้หนึ่งลุกขึ้น  เข้าไปจับมือเด็ก  “ไป ไอ้หนู กินข้าวเย็นซะก่อน พ่อยังไม่มาง่าย ๆ หรอก” กำพลงุนงง เดินตามแรงฉุดของหญิงผู้นั้น  เขายังไม่หิวข้าวและไม่อยากไปไหนกับใคร  กลัวว่าพ่อมาแล้วจะไม่เห็น  คนอื่น ๆ มองตาม  พูดกันว่านางทองใบทำน่าเกลียดเหลือเกิน ‘ทำอวดจะเอาหน้า’ ว่ากันอย่างนั้น
ทว่าจนห้าโมงเย็น  นางทองใบยังคงอยู่ในครัว  ข้าวในหม้อยังไม่สุก  กำพลซึ่งนั่งละห้อยอยู่กับกองกระเป๋าถูกเพื่อนบ้านใจดีอีกรายหนึ่งพาเข้าบ้าน  ยื่นจานข้าวโปะไข่เจียวหอมฉุยให้ตรงหน้า  ครั้นผู้ใหญ่เผลอ  ไอ้หนูยกจานข้าวเดินออกนอกบ้าน  กลับไปตรงที่วางกระเป๋า  เฝ้ามองยังหนทางที่จะเห็นพ่อกลับมา  น้ำตาเอ่อคลอและปากเริ่มเบะ  อีกครู่นางทองใบโผล่หน้าออกมาร้องเรียก  พอเห็นจานในมือเด็กนางเดินเข้ามาดูใกล้ ๆ
“ใครตักข้าวให้เอ็งหรือ”
“น้าเขียว”  กำพลบอกเสียงเครือ
นางทองใบกลับเข้าบ้าน  ปิดประตูเสียงดังปังใหญ่
หลังเวลาเลิกงาน  ถนนเข้าหมู่บ้านทั้งคนและรถเริ่มหนาตา  เด็กกลับจากโรงเรียน  คนงานทยอยกลับบ้าน  ครึ่งชั่วโมงแล้วกำพลเพิ่งกินข้าวได้แค่สองคำ  นัยน์ตาฉ่ำสะอื้นกระซิก  พอคนเดินผ่านเขาจะตอบว่าพ่อยังไม่มา  ตอบหนักเข้าเขายิ่งร้องไห้หนักขึ้น  ใครต่อใครพากันเข้ามาปลอบโยน  “บ้านของย่าอยู่ไกล คงมาถึงดึกโน่นละ”  “ถ้าไม่มีรถกลับก็คงต้องค้างคืนสักคืน”  “ไม่ต้องร้องไห้  ถ้าพ่อไม่มาคืนนี้นอนกับป้าก็ได้”  “อ้าว  ลุงบอกแล้วว่าคืนนี้นอนกับลุง”
ฟ้ามืดลงทุกที  กำพลถูกพามาที่ร้านค้า  ขนมถูกยื่นมาตรงหน้าเพื่อให้เขาหยุดร้องไห้  กระเป๋าถูกยกมาวางข้าง ๆ กำพลสะอื้นหนัก  ผู้โอบอ้อมอารียืนออกันจนเต็มหน้าร้านค้า  ทำนองว่าเป็นปัญหาที่ตนต้องร่วมแก้ไข  ส่วนใหญ่วิจารณ์กันถึงต้นเหตุที่ทำให้เด็กต้องตกอยู่ในสภาพเช่นนี้  แม่ไม่น่ามีชู้  พ่อไม่น่าลงมือตบตี   แม่ไม่ควรหนีเอาตัวรอด  พ่อมีเหตุผลอะไรจึงเอาน้องไปคนเดียว  เด็กตาปรือสะลึมสะลือ  อาการ สะอื้นเปลี่ยนเป็นสะอึก  และแล้วไอ้หนูหลับทั้งยังสะอึกอยู่อย่างนั้นในอ้อมกอดของใครคนหนึ่ง  ลุงดำยกกระเป๋าสองใบของเด็กไปที่ห้องเช่าของตน  ครั้นกลับมาเด็กหายไปเสียแล้ว  สาวใหญ่ชื่อรำเพยคนที่ปลอบจนเด็กหลับอุ้มกลับไปห้องเช่าของตัวเอง  ท่ามกลางสายตาของคนนับสิบ  หล่อนอาสาดูแลเรื่องที่หลับที่นอนให้เด็กด้วยความปลาบปลื้ม
ตกดึก  เสียงร้องไห้จ้าของกำพลปลุกใครต่อใครให้สะดุ้งตื่น ไอ้หนูผวาจากที่นอนคลำอยู่ในความมืด  พอคนในบ้านลุกขึ้นเปิดไฟเด็กถลาไปที่ประตู  เปิดและวิ่งออกไป  ร้องเรียกหาพ่อดังก้องไปตามถนน   เพื่อนบ้านเปิดไฟเปิดหน้าต่าง  บางคนแง้มประตูโผล่หน้าออกมาดู  เด็กวิ่งอยู่บนถนน  ตรงไปยังทางเข้าหมู่บ้าน  ผู้ใหญ่สองคนตามออกมา  คว้าแขนและนั่งลงปลอบอยู่พักใหญ่จึงพากันเดินกลับ  เสียงสะอื้นไห้แว่วอยู่ในความสงัด
กำพลออกจากบ้านที่อาศัยนอนแต่เช้า  เดินโผเผมาที่ร้านค้ามองหากระเป๋าเสื้อผ้า  เขามายืนเงียบ ๆ จนเจ้าของร้านหันมาเห็น
“พ่อมารึยังเฮียชง”  กำพลถาม
“ไม่เห็นเลยนะ”  นายชงเท้าสะเอวมองเด็ก
“กระเป๋าผมหาย  เมื่อวานวางอยู่ตรงนี้”  เด็กชี้
“คงมีคนหิ้วไปเก็บไว้ให้กระมัง   ประเดี๋ยวคงเอามาคืนนั่งรอตรงนี้แหละ”
ครู่เดียวเท่านั้นเอง  ลุงดำหิ้วกระเป๋าสองใบมาที่ร้านค้า  วางลงข้างเด็ก  ซื้อบุหรี่หนึ่งซองแล้วกลับบ้าน  คนอื่น ๆ ทยอยกันมาจับจ่ายข้าวของ  และเหมือนเคยพวกเขาถามกำพล  “พ่อยังไม่มาหรือ”  เด็กไม่ตอบแต่ผู้ใหญ่ไม่เซ้าซี้  เรื่องของกำพลเริ่มเป็นที่ชาชินและหมดสนุก  ทว่าสำหรับเด็กด้วยกันไม่เป็นเช่นนั้น  บางคนเป็นเพื่อนร่วมชั้นเรียน  วันนี้วันเสาร์โรงเรียนหยุดเพื่อนนำข่าวจากโรงเรียนมาบอก  คู่เต้นของกำพลซึ่งซ้อมเต้นร่วมกันมาเป็นสัปดาห์  ครั้นถึงวันงานของโรงเรียนเมื่อวานนี้  กำพลไม่ได้ไปโรงเรียน
“มันอยู่หน้าสุดเลย  พอรู้ว่าแกไม่ไปมันไม่ยอมเต้น  จะลงจากเวที  พ่อกับแม่มันเข้ามายืนเกาะหน้าเวทีแล้วบอก  เต้นเถอะลูก  เต้นเถอะ  เต้นคนเดียวก็ได้แม่อยากดู  มันเลยยอมเต้น  ทีนี้พอถึงตอนที่คล้องแขนกันหมุนมันก็ยืนเฉย  หันไปหันมาแล้วก็ร้องไห้  ใส่กระโปรงสีแดงด้วยนะ  รองเท้าส้นสูงด้วย  แม่มันเข้ามาอุ้มแล้วทำรองเท้าหล่นอีก  ทีนี้เลยแหกปากลั่น  ขำจะตายคนมองกันเพียบ  คนนั้นก็  โถ น่าสงสาร คนนี้ก็ โถ น่าสงสาร”
ยังมีเกมสำหรับเด็กเล็ก  แจกรางวัลเป็นของเล่นกับขนม  มีไอศกรีมกินฟรี  พวกเด็กโตขึ้นไปเล่นตลกและคุณครูก็เล่นละคร  ครูสัญญาของเราเล่นเป็นเด็กอนุบาลมัดผมจุก  เพื่อนเล่าไปก็หัวเราะจนหน้าคว่ำหน้าหงาย  กำพลลืมพ่อไปโดยไม่รู้ตัว  นึกภาพแล้วเผลอหัวเราะตามเพื่อน  เพื่อนคนนี้ชื่อประสิทธิ์  กำพลเรียกไอ้อ้นชื่อเล่นของเขา
เสียงแม่เรียกดังแว่ว  ประสิทธิ์วิ่งกลับบ้าน  แต่ครู่เดียวเขากลับมาอีก  ถือจานข้าวมาด้วย  ช้อนคันเดียวผลัดกันตักคนละคำ  พวกเขาสนุกแต่คิดว่าอร่อย  หมดแล้วกลับไปตักเพิ่มอีกจาน  สองคนปรับทุกข์เรื่องพ่อของกำพล  นั่งดูทีวีกันอยู่ที่ร้านค้านั่นเอง
สิบเอ็ดโมงกลุ่มคนใต้ร่มไม้พากันร้องเรียก—พ่อของกำพลกลับมาแล้ว  เด็กกระโจนออกไปที่ถนน เรียกพ่อเสียงหลง  และวิ่งเข้าหาราวกับฉากใหญ่ในภาพยนตร์  ผู้คนมองกันเป็นตาเดียว  ทว่าภาพไม่สมบูรณ์ เพราะมีส่วนเกินตรงที่ประสิทธิ์วิ่งตามไปด้วย
พ่อตัวเหม็น  ลูกก็ตัวเหม็น  เสื้อผ้ายังเป็นชุดเดิมที่จากกันไป  ต่างโผเข้าหากัน
“ได้กินอะไรบ้างหรือเปล่า”  พ่อถาม
“กินแล้ว”  ประสิทธิ์ตอบแทน  “เมื่อเช้ากินข้าวด้วยกัน”
“เมื่อวานล่ะ ได้กินหรือเปล่า”
กำพลพยักหน้า
“ใครให้ข้าวเอ็งกิน หือ”
“ตอนกลางวันน้าอ้อยเรียกไปกิน  ตอนเย็นป้าทองใบจะพาไปกินแต่ข้าวยังไม่สุกน้าเขียวเลยตักให้กิน”
“เออ ดีแล้ว  เมื่อคืนล่ะนอนกับใคร”
กำพลทำท่านึก “บ้านป้าเพย”
“ดี  ดีแล้วนะ  พ่อคิดไว้แล้ว  ทีนี้มานี่  มาตรงนี้”
สองพ่อลูกพากันหลบสายตาผู้คนหายไปตรงทางโค้งมุมกำแพง  ไอ้อ้นตามไปไม่ลดละ  แต่สองพ่อลูกมิได้ใส่ใจ
“ฟังนะ—  พ่อยังหาบ้านไม่ได้  ตอนกลางคืนต้องนอนหน้ารถ  เอ็งต้องคอยอยู่นี่อีกวันสองวัน  แล้วพ่อจะมารับไปอยู่บ้านใหม่”
กำพลส่ายหัวหน้าเบ้  “หนูไปด้วย  นอนหน้ารถก็ได้”
“ไปไม่ได้  เอ็งอยู่ที่นี่สบายกว่า  มีคนสงสาร  มีที่กินที่นอน  อีกสองวันเท่านั้นเข้าใจมั้ย”
กำพลไม่เข้าใจ  เอาแต่ร้องไห้เกาะพ่อไว้แน่น  แต่เพื่อนเข้าใจ  ตาวาวและนึกสนุก
“นอนกับข้า”  ประสิทธิ์บอก  “ให้อยู่กับผมสิลุง”
พ่อของกำพลเพิ่งเห็นประสิทธิ์  “เอ็งชื่อไร ลูกใคร”
“ชื่ออ้น  ลูกแม่หมอน”
“หมอนปะกางเกงใช่มั้ย  ดีละ ไอ้อ้น ให้เพื่อนนอนด้วยสองคืนนะ  เวลากินข้าวเรียกเพื่อนกินด้วย บอกเพื่อนบ้านคนอื่น ๆ ด้วยนะ ลุงฝากไอ้หนูสองวัน ช่วยกันดูแลหน่อย เข้าใจมั้ย”
ไอ้อ้นรับคำมั่นเหมาะ  ทั้งตื่นเต้นและภาคภูมิ
“ไอ้หนูพ่อกำลังลำบากเอ็งต้องช่วยพ่อนะ  ถ้าเอ็งงอแงเป็นเด็กเราแย่แน่  แค่สองวันเท่านั้น พ่อจะวิ่งรถทั้งวันทั้งคืนแล้วขอเถ้าแก่อยู่ห้องพักในโรงงาน  วันจันทร์ตอนเย็นพ่อมารับ  อยู่กับเพื่อนนะ เล่นกันให้สนุกเลย  พ่อไปละ อย่าร้องสิไม่อายเพื่อนรึ  ไปนะ”
พ่อของกำพลมาแล้ว  และไปแล้ว  ราวกับฝันไป  เพื่อนบ้านยังมองเห็นไม่เต็มตา   พอเห็นเด็กเดินกลับมาตามลำพังกลุ่มคนใต้ร่มไม้ต่างกวักมือเรียก  มุงถามกันเซ็งแซ่  กำพลไม่ค่อยได้ตอบ  ส่วนประสิทธิ์เล่าเสียละเอียดยิบ
เป็นอันว่าชัดเจน  เข้าใจกันแล้วอย่างถ้วนทั่ว  กำพลไม่ ใช่กำพลอีกต่อไป  กลับกลายเป็นก้อนแห่งภาระของทุกคน
“จะเป็นไรไป  แค่สองวัน  ลุงดำมีที่นอนถมเถไม่ใช่รึ”
ลุงดำอึ้งไปครู่หนึ่ง  ไม่ได้เตรียมรับสถานการณ์  แต่ก็เอ่ยออกมาจนได้  “ไม่มีปัญหาหรอกสองวันน่ะ  แต่ถ้าพ่อมันเบี้ยวล่ะ ฉวยโอกาสทิ้งไปเลยจะทำไง  ข้าไม่ไหวหรอกนา  เอาคนที่เขาเต็มใจซี่  เมื่อคืนนี้ใครล่ะที่พามันไปนอนด้วย”
“ยังไม่ทันไรพูดแบบนี้ซะแล้ว”  รำเพยว่า  “พ่อมันฝากให้ช่วยกันดูแล ไม่ใช่จะเหมาให้ใครรับไปคนเดียว  เมื่อคืนฉันก็ช่วยแล้ว  คืนนี้ใครจะรับอาสาล่ะ”
“แต่ลุงดำพูดถูกนะ เกิดพ่อมันเบี้ยวล่ะ”
“ให้ถึงเวลานั้นก่อนเถอะ”
“ก็ควรจะคิดไว้ก่อน ไม่เสียหายอะไรนี่”
“เออ  คิดกันไปเถอะ ข้ามีงานการต้องทำ  ไปละ”
“เห็นมั้ยล่ะ ไม่ทันไรก็แจวอ้าว  ดูน้ำหน้าซิใครจะมีน้ำใจให้ที่อยู่ที่กิน”
ประสิทธิ์มองและฟังอย่างสงสัยเต็มแก่   พยายามหาโอกาสพูดบ้าง
“เอาละ กลางวันนี้ไปกินข้าวที่บ้านข้า  มื้อเย็นด้วยก็ได้ถ้าไม่มีใครให้กิน”  นางทองใบพูด
“ชะ ถ้าไม่มีใครให้กิน”  ใครคนหนึ่งฉุนเฉียว  “กะข้าวมื้อเดียวไม่เห็นจะต้องพูดแดกคนอื่น”
“นั่นสิ  พูดอย่างนี้รับภาระคนเดียวได้หรือเปล่า”
“ไม่ใช่ธุระโว้ย  ลูกหลานก็ว่าไปอย่าง  ใครอยากอวดเอาหน้าก็เชิญ”
“ว่าไงนะ ใครอวดเอาหน้า”
“ทั้งนั้นแหละ”
“อ้าว…”
ตอนที่พวกเขาตีกันนั้นใกล้เที่ยงแล้ว  กำพลกับประสิทธิ์ยืนดูด้วยความตื่นเต้นเป็นล้นพ้น  ผู้ชมมีน้อยกว่าผู้แสดง  เสียงเอ็ดตะโรด่าทอกันดังสนั่นทว่าฟังไม่ได้ศัพท์  ซัดกันนัวเนียอยู่พักใหญ่โดยไม่มีใครห้าม  เพราะต่างก็มีฝักฝ่ายของตน  นายชงเจ้าของร้านค้าทนดูอยู่ไม่ไหว  วิ่งเข้ามากระซิบบอกกำพลกับประสิทธิ์แล้ววิ่งกลับเข้าร้าน
“ตำรวจมา”  เด็กช่วยกันตะโกน  “ตำรวจมา ตำรวจมา”
ได้ผลเหมือนกัน  หลายคนยอมหยุดและเข้าไปแยกพรรคพวกของตนออกมา  ทั้งที่เหน็ดเหนื่อย  แต่ยังมีแรงด่าทอกันอีกเนิ่นนานกว่าจะแยกย้ายบ้านใครบ้านมัน
กำพลกับเพื่อนรายงานให้นายชงฟังว่า  คนพวกนั้นตีกันด้วยเหตุใด  นายชงพยายามฟังอย่างเต็มที่ทว่าจับความได้ยากเหลือเกิน  รู้แต่ว่าพวกเขาเถียงกันเรื่องของกำพล  ทำนองว่าแย่งกันเป็นผู้ดูแลเด็ก
“แต่ไอ้หนูบอกแล้วว่ามันจะนอนกับผม  พ่อมันก็สั่งให้นอนกับผม  ผมบอกพวกนั้นแล้วเขาไม่ยอมฟัง  เถียงกันอยู่นั่นแหละ  คนนั้นบอก… จะเอาหน้าหรือไง  อีกคนบอก… มึงว่าใครเอาหน้า  แล้วก็ เปรี้ยง ซัดกันเลย”
สองคนช่วยกันหิ้วกระเป๋าสองใบไปที่บ้านของประสิทธิ์  โผล่เข้าไปเห็นแม่ของประสิทธิ์ฟุบหลับอยู่กับจักรเย็บผ้า  ตู้เสื้อผ้าตั้งขวางบังเตียงนอนของพ่อกับแม่  มีม่านสีน้ำเงินเข้มกั้นระหว่างเตียงกับที่นอนของลูกซึ่งปูไว้กับพื้น  ตู้กับข้าวหันหลังขนาบที่นอนไว้   เด็กวางกระเป๋าลงข้างที่นอน  เข้าครัวหาของกิน มีข้าวเหลืออยู่สองจาน  กับข้าวเหลือจากมื้อเช้า  พออิ่มก็กระโจนขึ้นบนที่นอน  ทบทวนกันว่าใครตีกับใครท่าไหน  จากนั้นเล่นเกมเศรษฐีกันจนหลับไป
นางหมอนสะดุ้งตื่นตอนบ่ายสาม  ตั้งท่าจะทำงานต่อแต่กลับลุกเดินโผเผเข้าไปในครัว  นางไม่ได้สังเกตเห็นเด็กสองคนบนที่นอน  ในครัวไม่มีอะไรเหลือ  ข้าวหมดหม้อ  กับข้าวเกลี้ยงตู้  นางหมอนยืนงงอยู่ครู่หนึ่งจึงติดไฟแก๊ส  ตักน้ำใส่กายกขึ้นตั้ง  ออกจากครัวจึงสังเกตเห็นลูกชายกับเด็กอีกคนนอนแผ่หลา   นางมองแค่แวบเดียวก็ผละไป  อะไรบางอย่างบีบรัดนางไว้จนไม่มีเวลาใส่ใจเรื่องอื่น  นางไปที่ร้านค้าซื้อบะหมี่สำเร็จรูปหนึ่งซอง  รีบกลับมาจัดการกับอาหารกลางวัน  สิบห้านาทีทุกอย่างก็เสร็จสิ้น  นางหมอนกลับมานั่งตรงหน้าจักรเย็บผ้า  ตีนถีบ  มือจับเกร็ง  ปากเม้ม  คิ้วขมวดและนัยน์ตาจ้องเขม็ง  ฝีจักรวิ่งดังครืนๆ เรื่อยไป
ก่อนห้าโมงเย็น  นางหมอนจัดผ้าแยกใส่ถุงผลุนผลันออกจากบ้าน  ผัวของนางมีจักรเย็บผ้าอีกเครื่องตั้งอยู่หน้าธนาคารในตลาด  รับปะชุนซ่อมแซมเสื้อผ้าทุกชนิด  นางหมอนแบ่งงานที่ผัวรับไว้กลับมาทำที่บ้าน  เสร็จแล้วเอากลับไปส่งตามกำหนดเวลา  นางรีบเสียจนมือไม้สั่น  กระนั้นก็ยังไม่ทันการ  ลูกค้าสองคนมารับผ้าก่อนเวลานัด  พ่อของประสิทธิ์ให้รอสักครู่  แต่ลูกค้ารอไม่ได้นัดใหม่วันพรุ่งนี้  เหลืออีกสองรายยังไม่มา
นางหมอนถอนใจทรุดลงนั่ง “เงินหมดแล้วด้วย”  นางบอก
“เออน่า  อีกสองคนนัดวันนี้เหมือนกัน  เดี๋ยวคงมาแหละ”
ผัวเมียทยอยเก็บของ  ยกจักรไปฝากร้านข้าวแกงข้างธนาคารแล้วกลับมานั่งรอลูกค้า
“จะหกโมงแล้ว” นางหมอนพูด

เออน่า  รออีกเดี๋ยว”
“พ่อเอามาก่อนห้าสิบ  ซื้อกับข้าว”
“มีที่ไหนเล่า  กลับไปหุงข้าวไว้ก่อน  เดี๋ยวซื้อกับข้าวตามไป”
ครั้นกลับถึงบ้านจึงเห็นว่าข้าวสารก็หมด  นางออกมานั่งถอนใจอยู่หน้าบ้าน
ประสิทธิ์ถลาเข้ามา  “แม่ขอเงินกินขนม”  เขาบอกกำพลไว้ว่าจะเลี้ยงขนม
“ไปอาบน้ำเดี๋ยวนี้”  นางตวาด  “ถูขี้ไคลข้างหูด้วย  ไป”
ประสิทธิ์กับกำพลอาบน้ำด้วยกัน  เล่นกันจนหายอยากจึงออกจากห้องน้ำ  ประแป้งหน้าขาววอกแล้วเข้าครัวเปิดหม้อข้าว  พอเห็นไม่มีข้าวก็หันมาเปิดตู้กับข้าว  ไม่มีอะไรเลย  ถ้วยชามเก่าค้างแช่อยู่ในอ่างหลังบ้าน  ไอ้อ้นวิ่งไปหน้าบ้าน
“แม่  ข้าวยังไม่ได้หุง”
“มานี่ซิ”  แม่เรียก  “ไปร้านเฮียชงนะ  บอกว่าแม่เชื่อข้าวหนึ่งถุง”
ประสิทธิ์พยักหน้า  แต่แม่นึกได้อีกว่ากับข้าวก็ไม่มี
“เดี๋ยว ไอ้อ้น มานี่ก่อน บอกเฮียชงเอามาม่าสองห่อด้วย  เย็นนี้เรากินมาม่ากันก่อน”
“ให้เพื่อนห่อหนึ่งนะ”
พอแม่พยักหน้าสองคนวิ่งอ้าวไปร้านนายชง
ที่ร้านค้า  ลุงดำกำลังต่อรองอยู่กับนายชง  แต่ไม่ประสบผล  นายชงส่ายหน้าไม่ยอมท่าเดียว  ปล่อยให้ลุงดำยืนพล่าม  ผละไปขายของให้ลูกค้าอื่น  คนหนึ่งขอเชื่อน้ำปลากับไข่  ครั้นเห็นว่านายชงยอมลุงดำยิ่งโวยวายหนัก  เสียงดังก็จริงทว่าอ้อแอ้ลิ้นพันกันระรัว  พอขยับเดินก็ส่ายโอนเอน
“อีกขวดเดียวน่า”  ลุงดำตามตื๊อนายชงซึ่งกำลังเดินไปหยิบของให้ลูกค้า
“พอแล้วลุง  ผมให้อีกไม่ได้แล้ว”  นายชงบอก
“อีกขวดเดียวน่า”
“วันนี้สองขวดไปแล้วนะลุง  บอกว่าพอก็พอ  ของเก่าลุงยังค้างอยู่สองร้อย  วันนี้อีกร้อยกว่า… อ้าว จะทำอะไรน่ะ หยิบเองได้ยังไง  เอามานี่  ทำอย่างนี้เดี๋ยวผมไม่เกรงใจนะ”
“อีกขวดเดียวน่า  คนอื่นยังเชื่อได้นี่นา”
“ว่าไงไอ้หนู  สองคนจะเอาอะไร”
“แม่ให้มาเชื่อข้าวหนึ่งถุง  กับมาม่าสามห่อ”
นายชงยิ้มแห้งส่ายหน้า  เขาส่ายหน้าด้วยความระอา  ทว่ายอมให้เชื่อ หันไปหยิบของให้  มีแต่ข้าวสาร มาม่าหมดเสียแล้ว  “บอกแม่นะว่าครั้งสุดท้าย  ต้องใช้หนี้เก่าให้หมดก่อนถึงจะเชื่อใหม่ได้”
“น่าน… เด็กก็ยังให้เชื่อ  ลุงขออีกขวดเดียว”
นายชงจ้องมองรายชื่อในสมุดบัญชีแล้วถอนใจหลายเฮือก  ตอนเช้าเขายังอารมณ์ดีอยู่  ดูจากจำนวนหนี้ที่คั่งค้าง วันนี้นายชงตั้งใจไว้ว่าจะงดให้เชื่อเหล้า  เบียร์ และบุหรี่  จะยอมให้แต่เฉพาะของกินของใช้ที่จำเป็นเท่านั้น  สมความตั้งใจแท้ ๆ ดูเหมือนกระเป๋าสตางค์ของผู้คนทั้งหมู่บ้านจะแฟบแบนเหมือนกันหมด   เป็นความจริงว่าเขาขายสินค้าออกไปไม่ใช่น้อย  แต่เงินเข้าร้านเพียงนิดหน่อยเท่านั้น  ถึงอย่างไรความตั้งใจยังดีอยู่   เขายอมให้ลูกค้าเชื่อสินค้าได้ทุกคนทุกอย่าง  ยกเว้นเหล้า  เบียร์  บุหรี่  ทว่าสุดท้ายก็พ่ายต่อความดื้อดึงของลุงดำ
ลุงดำมานั่งก่นอยู่หน้าร้านนานนับชั่วโมง  แกฉุนเฉียว  และเจ็บอกเจ็บใจว่าตอนที่ตะลุมบอนไม่รู้ใครเป็นใครนั้น  ใครคนหนึ่งทึ้งผมบนหัวของแกและกระชากติดมือไปเป็นกระจุก  ตรงกลางกระหม่อมซึ่งเคยมีผมเหลือติดอยู่เพียงบาง ๆ บัดนี้เห็นแต่หนังศีรษะแดง ๆ ลุงดำอ้อนวอนขอเชื่อเหล้าโดยยื่นศีรษะอันเจ็บแสบให้นายชงดูว่าคืนนี้แกคงนอนไม่หลับถ้าไม่ได้เหล้าย้อมใจ  นายชงยอมหยิบเหล้าให้และบอกให้กลับ
บ้าน  ยังไม่ถึงหนึ่งชั่วโมงลุงดำกลับมาอีก  เอ็ดตะโรอยู่สักพักนายชงก็ใจอ่อนยอมให้อีกหนึ่งขวด
ความตั้งใจของนายชงจบเห่เข้าขั้นติดลบ  ไม่มีอารมณ์จะยิ้มแย้มเล่นหัวกับใคร  พอเห็นหน้าลุงดำเป็นรอบที่สามเขาเริ่มนับอยู่ในใจ  รอจังหวะจะโยนแกออกจากร้าน  ทว่าพอเหลือบไปเห็นกระหม่อมแดง ๆ ของแกเข้าก็อดใจไว้ได้  ใครต่อใครในวันนี้ต่างก็โดนเล่นงานกันเสียพอแรง
นางทองใบนั่นค่าที่ไปมีเรื่องตบตีกับคนอื่น  กลับเข้าบ้านอารมณ์ยังคงคุกรุ่นจึงไม่ยอมหุงข้าวทำงานบ้าน  ผัวกลับมาจึงทะเลาะตบตีกันอีกรอบ  ผัวประกาศไม่ให้เงินและเมียก็ว่าจะไม่หุงหาให้กิน  สุดท้ายผัววิ่งมาซื้อมาม่าและอีกเดี๋ยวเมียก็ตามมาเชื่อมาม่าเช่นกัน  ไม่ใช่นางทองใบคนเดียว  อย่างน้อยอีกสองครอบครัวที่เสียงด่าทอดังแว่วมาถึงร้านค้าอันเนื่องมาแต่มูลเหตุเดียวกัน
“มาม่าหมด”  ประสิทธิ์บอก
นางหมอนถอนใจอีกรอบ  “ไปอีกที  เอาไข่มาสิบบาท”
“เฮียชงบอกว่า  ใช้หนี้เก่าให้หมดก่อนแล้วค่อยไปเชื่อใหม่”
นางหมอนฟังไม่ทันจบก็ผลุบเข้าบ้าน  หุงข้าวเสร็จก็ออกมานั่งเท้าคางเช่นเคย  ฟ้ามืดลงทุกที ความหวังอยู่ที่ผัวของนาง  นั่งอยู่สักพักนางก็นึกออกอีกหนทางหนึ่ง  เข้าไปค้นถุงผ้าบนโต๊ะ  มีกางเกงของลูกค้าละแวกนี้ค้างอยู่หนึ่งตัว  แค่เปลี่ยนซิปประเดี๋ยวเดียวเท่านั้น  ไอ้อ้นเข้าไปในครัวแล้วออกมาบอกแม่ว่าไม่มีอะไรกินเลย มีแต่ข้าว
“เออ รอเดี๋ยว  อย่าไปไหนนะ  เดี๋ยวเอาผ้าไปส่งลูกค้าให้แม่ที”
ประเดี๋ยวเดียวจริง ๆ  สิบห้านาทีก็เสร็จ  นางเอาผ้าใส่ถุง  สีหน้าโล่งอก
“เอาไปให้ป้าทองใบ  บอกว่ายี่สิบบาท  ขากลับซื้อไข่มาสิบบาท”
เด็กวิ่งออกไปชั่วครู่เดียวก็กลับมา  “ป้าทองใบกับผัวทะเลาะกัน  แกบอก ‘เอามายี่สิบค่าซิปกางเกง ตอนนั้นค่าปะกางเกงของมึงกูก็ออกให้’  ผัวแกบอก ‘หน้าแข้งนี่ไงจะเอามั้ย’  ป้าทองใบเลยว่า ‘พวกมึงกลับไปก่อน  เดี๋ยวกูไปจ่ายกับแม่มึงเอง’”
นางหมอนไม่ได้พูดอะไรเลย  ได้แต่เปลี่ยนมือที่เท้าคางจากซ้ายเป็นขวา
ประสิทธิ์เริ่มกังวลว่าจะไม่มีอะไรให้เพื่อนกิน  ทั้งสองลงนั่งหงอย ๆ ข้างนางหมอน
“มีแต่ข้าวว่ะ”  ไอ้อ้นบอกเพื่อน  “แม่ข้าจะเชื่อไข่แต่เฮียชงบอกว่าต้องใช้หนี้เก่าให้หมดก่อน”
“ถ้าพ่อข้าอยู่ละก็เชื่อได้สบาย   เพราะพ่อข้าใช้หนี้เก่าหมดแล้ว”  กำพลบอก
“ข้าก็ไม่มีหนี้ แต่ไม่กล้าไปว่ะ” ไอ้อ้นบอก
“ข้าก็ไม่มี  ลองไปดูมั้ย”  กำพลชวน “บอกเฮียชงว่าพ่อข้าจะจ่ายให้วันจันทร์”
“ลองก็ได้  แต่แกพูดเองนะ”
ทั้งสองลุกขึ้นเดินเหนียม ๆ ไปทางร้านค้า  นางหมอนมองตามและมองค้างอยู่อย่างนั้น  ผัวของนางนั้นเป็นอันรู้กันว่าหมดหวังไปแล้ว  ป่านนี้คงกำลังฝากท้องกับเพื่อนคนใดคนหนึ่ง
แค่ทุ่มครึ่งเท่านั้นเอง  แต่นายชงกำลังเตรียมตัวปิดร้าน  หลังจากลุงดำถือขวดเหล้าเดินคล้อยหลัง  เขารู้สึกระโหย  หมดแก่ใจจะขายต่อ  อยากให้วันอันชอกช้ำนี้จบลงไว ๆ จะได้เริ่มวันใหม่เสียที  ลูกค้ารายสุดท้ายโผล่มาก่อนที่เขาจะล็อกประตู  ตาวาว ๆ สองคู่จ้องมองมาที่นายชง
ด้วยอิริยาบถอันห่อเหี่ยวเหลือประมาณ  นายชงเดินไปหยิบไข่สี่ฟอง  ส่งถุงไข่ลอดช่องประตูออกไป  เสียงเด็กหัวเราะคิกคักและเสียงฝีเท้าวิ่งอ้าว—แว่วหาย.

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