The Thai Amulet (7 page)

Yutai, the family secretary, came over to say hello and to ask about my day, before I was introduced to another couple, Sompom and his wife, Wannee, a rather large woman in a silk sari, and their daughter, Nu. A young woman named Busakorn was introduced as a friend of the family. She was rather plain, it must be said, but she looked very nice in a red and gold version of the
phasin,
much like Wongvipa’s. She was accompanied by her father, Khun Wichai, a rather handsome man who I gathered was a business associate of Thaksin’s. All, even little Fatty, spoke English, to my great relief.

Dinner was at a table set for twelve, but which could easily have accommodated twice that number. The table was low, Asian-style, but with an artfully concealed depression beneath, which allowed us to sit Western style, something for which my middle-aged bones were most grateful. We sat on gold silk cushions, with
mon kwang,
or pyramid-shaped cushions, also in gold silk, as arm- and backrests. An antique silk runner in red and gold ran the length of the table, on which were placed banana leaves, each topped with a single red lotus blossom, with orchids and gardenias strewn about the bases. Sprigs of jasmine had been twisted in little chains, which served as napkin rings. The places were set with brass rather than silver flatwear, gold-rimmed crystal, and china in a lovely red, green, and gold Bencharong. The rim was decorated with a stylized lotus blossom, really lovely, and it was all I could do not to turn one of the plates over to read the manufacturer in hopes of finding some to import for McClintoch & Swain.

“I see you are admiring the china,” Yutai, to my left, said. “It is designed by Khun Wongvipa herself. The pattern is called Chaiwong, and for the use of the family only.” So much for the shop, but I did think Khun Wongvipa and I just might be able to do business if this was the sort of thing she came up with. “She also did the floral arrangements herself this afternoon.”

“Khun Wongvipa is obviously an extraordinarily talented person,” I said. I was quite envious really, of everything: her obvious talents, her home, her antiques, her life of wealth although obviously not leisure. So enchanted was I by everything I saw, it took me a minute or two to notice that Khun Wongvipa and Busakorn matched the table. I’m all for the perfect table setting, but this, if deliberate, and I was reasonably sure it was, was over the top, and there was something vaguely unsettling about it. Busakorn was seated in an honored position at Khun Thaksin’s right, and next to Chat, while Jennifer was down the length of the table from her beau, seated between Sompom and Wannee. Wichai, Busakorn’s father, had the other position of honor, to Wong-vipa’s right. Jennifer seemed to have recovered from her earlier stage fright, however, and was talking in an animated fashion to Sompom. I was seated to Thaksin’s left, and while Busakorn sat across the table from me, she rarely spoke to me. Indeed, she rarely seemed to speak at all.

Yutai sat on my left. “How long have you worked for the family?” I asked him, as my opening conversational gambit, prosaic though it might have been.

“Eight years,” he said. “I worked as a clerk at Ayutthaya Trading at first, but Khun Wongvipa discovered me, I suppose you might say, and offered me the office manager’s position at Ayutthaya, and then later the position here. Khun Wongvipa is most generous and kind, as are the others, and I feel I am treated almost as one of the family.”

“I don’t suppose the name William Beauchamp means anything to you,” I said.

There was a perceptible pause before he answered. “I do not believe so,” he replied. “Should it?”

“Not really, I suppose. It’s just that he rented space from Ayutthaya Trading, but when I went to his shop, it was closed. He is a fellow antique dealer from Toronto, and I was hoping to drop in to see him while I was here. I was wondering if there was any chance you would know where he’d moved.”

“I don’t believe the name is familiar. Ayutthaya Trading has so many properties, I’m afraid. But perhaps tomorrow I could look in the files and see what I could find. The name is not familiar to me.”

“Who are you looking for?” Khun Thaksin, at the head of the table to my right, asked. He seemed a little hard of hearing and cupped his ear in my direction.

“William Beauchamp,” I said, a little more loudly than I might otherwise. Heads turned in my direction. I wasn’t sure, but the name seemed to be a source of interest.

“Certainly,” Khun Thaksin said. “We know Mr. William. He has been in our home. You remember him, Yutai.”

“That was a long time ago,” Khun Wongvipa said, down the length of the table, before Yutai was required to reply.

“I suppose it was,” Thaksin said. “But he was here. Pleasant fellow. I can’t recall why he was here. Do you?” he said, looking at his wife.

“I think he was interested in some of our antiques,” she said.

“That’s right,” he said. “Antique dealer, wasn’t he?”

“I suppose he was,” Wongvipa said. “Now, I hope everyone will enjoy the meal.”

“I hope you like Thai food,” Thaksin said. I was sorely disappointed to have the conversation turn away from Beau-champ, but politesse was required. Indeed, I do like Thai food, and the meal was a rare culinary experience. “In this part of Thailand we really have two types of cuisine,” Yutai, who apparently had taken on the responsibility for my education in all things Thai, said. “One is what I suppose you would call the cooking for the everyday. The other is what we call palace cooking, I suppose, or perhaps royal cuisine would be a better name for it. It is much more elaborate and at one time would have been made only for the royal court. Now we have it on special occasions. This evening Khun Wongvipa has planned a royal meal in your honor.”

Dish after dish flowed from somewhere mysterious. There was soup, chicken and coconut scented delicately with lemongrass. There was a spicy green papaya salad, a really elaborate dish called
mee grop
made with very thin and crispy rice noodles served with shrimp, some lovely little pancakes stuffed with pork that are called
kai yaht sai,
grilled whole fish flavored with lemongrass and basil, a couple of curries, vegetables of all sorts, mounds of steaming, fragrant rice, and much more. Each platter was decorated with exquisitely carved fruits and vegetables. I wondered if Wongvipa had carved the melons into roses herself, and if she’d consider showing me how to do it. It would certainly add a certain elan to the meals I served at home.

“Jennifer was telling me you have been in Chiang Mai the last few days,” I said to Khun Thaksin in an attempt to make small talk. “I’ve heard it is a most interesting city, with a great deal of history.”

“It is, but I suppose when one is there on business, one doesn’t appreciate the surroundings,” he said. “Even at my age there is a requirement to deal with business problems, putting out fires, I believe would be your expression. Unfortunately, there have been a number of fires in our Chiang Mai office of late. A problem with a supplier. Khun Wichai has been helping me resolve the problem. I notice, though, you have been looking at the prang of Wat Chai Watthan-aram,” he said, changing the subject and gesturing to the window. “It looks rather splendid against the night sky doesn’t it?”

“Is that what it is?” I said. “I wondered.”

“It is a world heritage site now,” Thaksin said. “But once Ayutthaya was a powerful kingdom that ruled over much of what is now Thailand, and also part of Cambodia. It was founded in the thirteenth century and ruled until it was defeated and destroyed, burned to the ground, by the Burmese in 1767. We have still not forgotten, nor forgiven, them for that. I suppose coming from such a young country you find that extraordinary, holding a grudge for centuries. I think we Thais see the reign of Ayutthaya as a golden age, really. You must go and see it. It is in ruins but still evocative, I think, of that time. You can sense the great power that it once held.”

“Perhaps,” Chat said, turning from his conversation with Busakorn, “we ignore the fact that it was a time of almost constant warfare, terrible disease, slavery, autocratic rulers who believed they were god, who marched the common people back and forth across the country as the spoils of war, to say nothing of the fact that during that golden age, as you call it, women’s status, once considered equal in the Sukhothai period, deteriorated to the point they were barely considered human.”

“Please,” Wongvipa said. “No politics during dinner.”

“My idealistic son,” Thaksin said. “And so serious. Sometimes I worry about him, that he will be hurt by life’s disappointments.”

“Chat is quite right,” Sompom said. “In many respects it was not the best of times. However, to offset that, we should remember it was also a golden age for the arts. Music, dance, the decorative arts, all flourished, supported by the royal court. Some of the most beautiful temples and palaces in all the world were constructed during that time.”

“My team won our cricket match,” Dusit said.

“Dusit is an excellent sportsman,” Wongvipa said, smiling indulgently at her younger son. Fatty started throwing little balls of sticky rice at her brother.

“My other idealistic son,” Thaksin said.

“Dusit?” I said. That young man didn’t strike me as idealistic at all.
Spoiled
was the word that immediately sprang to mind.

“Sompom,” Thaksin said. “My eldest. He is a professor at Chulalongkorn University. I wanted him to take over the business, but he has chosen the academic life and the arts over more material goals. He is something of an expert, apparently, in a form of dance we call Khon. It probably developed in the royal court of Ayutthaya, but was lost when the Burmese burned the city. The National Theater puts on Khon performances from time to time. You should take one in if you get the chance. Rather esoteric, I’m afraid, but interesting nonetheless.”

I looked at Sompom, who had touches of gray at his temples and a daughter, Nu, who was maybe thirty-five.

“So Wongvipa is…” I said, then stopped. When in a foreign country, don’t ask too many personal questions would be a good general rule.

“My first wife died many years ago,” Thaksin said answering my unfinished question. “I am fortunate to have a second family. I met Wongvipa shortly after I lost my first wife.”

“Khun Wongvipa worked in the office of Ayutthaya Trading,” Sompom’s wife, Wannee, said. “Packing boxes, I believe. That is where my father-in-law met her.” I heard a rather sharp intake of breath from Yutai, beside me, and a brief hint of displeasure crossed Wongvipa’s face. I thought I saw the faintest hint of a smile flit across Khun Wichai’s face, but I couldn’t swear to it, and when I looked a second later it was gone. Thaksin, however, seemed to have missed the remark entirely.

“We will have tea and coffee in the living room,” Wongvipa said. Her tone had an edge to it. We all climbed out of our seats.

“I know Mr. William,” Nu said very quietly as the beverages were served. “I do not know where he has gone, but I would be very happy to talk to you about him.” She looked as if she was going to give me her business card, but stopped. I looked up to see Khun Wongvipa coming toward us. “I was just offering to show Ms. Lara around the ruins of Ayut-thaya,” Nu said before she moved quickly away to sit by her mother.

“That will not be necessary, Nu,” Wongvipa said. “We will see to it that Ms. Lara is shown the sights. Yutai is well steeped in our history and would be delighted to show her around. Now, I see you looking at some of the objects in the room. Is there anything I can tell you about them?” she said, leading me away from Nu.

“I think everything is so beautiful,” I said, making appreciative noises as Wongvipa pointed out a few of her possessions to me. “Who are the people in the portraits?” I asked, peering more closely at them. “Family? That’s Khun Thaksin, is it not?” I asked pointing to a portrait of two relatively young men, dressed in very formal Thai clothes. Both men were dressed in high-collared white jackets, what we might call Nehru style, dark, short pants I suppose we would call pantaloons, and what the Thai call
chong kaben,
white kneesocks and black shoes. Both wore brightly colored sashes, chunky silver rings and bracelets, and one of them, who reminded me of Chat, held a sword.

The portrait was very detailed and quite extraordinary.

Thaksin looked rather determined and serious, the other young man rather more relaxed, distracted might be a better word. The artist had captured with his careful brushstrokes something very fundamental, I thought, about his two subjects.

“Yes,” she said. “My husband, many years ago, of course, and his brother, Virat. Virat unfortunately died shortly after this was painted. It was a great tragedy for the family.”

“And this?” I asked, pointing to the second portrait. It showed a woman in a rather luxe dress of gold-printed silk. It was a combination of Thai fabrics and Western dress and looked unbelievably opulent. The woman was standing with one hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy, who was dressed like a little Siamese prince in heavily embroidered fabric and a gold, pointed headdress.

“That, if you can believe it, is Sompom,” Wongvipa said. “With his mother. My husband’s first wife,” she added, in case I’d forgotten. “Rather grand, isn’t it?” She abruptly turned away and went back to the group.

“Rather unusual portraits, aren’t they?” Khun Wichai said, coming up behind me and studying them closely. “A moment in time, and a certain social status captured forever.”

“They are very interesting,” I agreed. My companion was taller than the average Thai, and he had lovely almond-colored eyes, which seemed to take some amusement from everything he saw.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Thailand,” he said graciously.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure I will.” I found myself wanting to talk to him more, but it was clear Wongvipa had other plans. She was signaling me to rejoin the group.

As I turned to do so, I had a sense the woman in the portrait was watching me.
I wonder,
I thought, and went back to check for a signature. It was there, Robert Fitzgerald, signed with something of a flourish.