Siam , livre ebook

A LSO BY L ILY T UCK
Interviewing Matisse
or the Woman Who Died Standing Up
The Woman Who Walked on Water
Copyright
Although this book contains material from the world in which we live and references to actual people and events, it must be read as a work of fiction.
First published in the United States in 1999 by
The Overlook Press, Peter Mayer Publishers, Inc.
141 Wooster Street
New York, NY 10012
www.overlookpress.com
For bulk and special sales contact sales@overlookny.com
Copyright 1999 by Lily Tuck
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.
Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following for permission to reprint previously published material:
Selections from The New York Times , copyright 1967 by The New York Times Co. Reprinted by permission.
Lyric excerpts from Getting to Know You , Shall We Dance? and Happy Talk by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II copyright 1949, 1951 by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. Copyright renewed. Williamson Music owner of publication and allied rights throughout the world. International Copyright secured. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission.
Excerpt from Thai Style by William Warren, copyright 1989 by William Warren. Reprinted courtesy of Rizzoli Publishers.
ISBN 978-1-46830-463-3
Contents
ALSO BY LILY TUCK
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
EPILOGUE
Praise for Lily Tuck s Siam
To Josiah, Dana, and Matthew Emery
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For generosity in various forms I thank Frances Kiernan.
I am also most grateful to the Sewanee Writers Series made possible by the Walter E. Dakin Memorial Fund established by the estate of Tennessee Williams.
Innocence always calls mutely for protection when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it; innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.
-G RAHAM G REENE , The Quiet American
We wish the School Mastress to be with us in this place or nearest vicinity hereof to save us from trouble of conveying such the lady to and fro almost every day also it is not pleasant to us if the School Mastress much morely endeavour to convert the scholars to Christianity than teaching language and literature etc. etc. like American Missionaries here because our proposed expense is for knowledge of the important language and literature which will be useful for affairs of country not for the religion which is yet disbelieved by Siamese scholars in general sense.
-from a letter K ING M ONGKUT wrote to Anna Leonowens
PROLOGUE


C LAIRE AND J AMES FLEW FROM B OSTON TO Bangkok on their wedding night. The flight took nearly twenty-four hours, and since they were flying at night, west, the plane never caught up with the sun. The whole time it stayed dark.
The plane, an old Air America turboprop, was filled with soldiers. Not all fighting men, James had explained to Claire, but men like himself who worked for JUSMAAG, for USOM and USAID, men who were affiliated with a branch of the armed forces or who had contracts with government agencies. Except for the stewardesses, Claire was the only woman on the plane.
Somewhere over the Pacific, Claire could not say at what time exactly-each time they landed to refuel, she had to keep putting her watch forward, first two hours, then three, then three more-or in what place exactly-maybe over the island of Wake or further south, over the island of Guam-James pulled out the armrest between their seats, covered them both with blankets, and made love to her. Afraid that a soldier seated across from them or a stewardess walking up and down the aisle might see them, Claire did not move. James appeared not to notice-it excited him to do things differently.
No sooner had James and Claire met, no sooner had they finished their first meal together than they were in bed. Claire had the impression that she was swallowing the last morsel of food, wiping her chin, digesting still. From then on, too, it seemed as if they were always in bed: in the backseat of a car, in a locked toilet, pressed up against clothes and scattering shoes in a closet, once on Claire s parents antique four-poster while Claire s parents were away. Several times a day Claire raised her skirt, dropped her pants. Her fingers, too, learned to unzip, to unbutton with the swiftness and skill of a lacemaker. It was not how Claire had imagined it, but there was hardly time for anything else.
Coincidentally, James and Claire met on an airplane. Is this seat taken?
Absorbed in her book, Claire barely looked up. During the short flight she could feel James watching her. Although nearly spring, it was still winter in New England where Claire lived, and James was remarkably tanned.
What s your book about? he finally asked.
Claire blushed. She was reading The Wilder Shores of Love .
Basically I m a soldier, James told her. Joint United States Military Assistance Advisory Group. I m lucky, Thailand s not a bad place to live. Everyone s so friendly, everyone s always smiling. And you should see my house-hot and cold running servants, a pool, a garden filled with-
But isn t it dangerous? I ve read that Chinese commu- Claire s voice was vague, her words drowned out by the noise of the landing gear being lowered. She did not even know where Thailand was.
It s pronounced tie not thigh land. James reached over and touched Claire s lightly. And the Thais are on our side. His voice was naturally loud. Besides the word thai means free. Speaking of free-how about you? Are you free for dinner?
Claire hesitated. She clutched her book. She was not used to making quick decisions.
Come on, James said, taking her arm. Where s your spirit of adventure?
When at last the plane landed in Bangkok, it was bright day. They had crossed the international date line; they had lost a day entirely.
James put his arm around Claire s shoulder. Despite the long flight, he appeared rested. We made it, he said.
Thighland.
No. Tieland.
Claire had hardly slept, and her feet were so swollen that she could not put her new red shoes back on. She had to walk barefoot across the hot Thai tarmac holding the new red shoes in one hand. Looking up at the blue sky, she half expected to see the lost day, resting on a bank of clouds, float slowly away and out of her reach.
We ve lost our first married day, she told James.
The lost day was Thursday, March 9, 1967. The same day on which Prime Minister Thanom Kittikachorn first announced to the Thai people that United States aircraft were bombing North Vietnam from bases in Thailand.
1
D O YOU KNOW P RAJNAPARAMITA ? J IM T HOMPSON held up a small bronze statue with a dozen arms. He spoke as if he were introducing Claire to one of his close friends. She s the goddess of wisdom. And this is Chanda-li. Jim Thompson picked up another bronze statue from his desk and handed it to Claire. She s a goddess, too, a yogini. She s the destroyer of ignorance.
The statues were solid bronze and heavier than they looked. Claire held a statue in each hand, weighing them. Of the two, Chanda-li has the harder job, she said.
You re quite right, Jim Thompson answered, taking Claire s arm to guide her back to rejoin his guests.
In the drawing room, the sofas, the chairs, the cushions, the low carved Thai teak bed-which served as both table and seat-were covered in silk: yellow, green, orange, red, violet, blue silks. On the side tables, delicate lacquer bowls held macadamia nuts, pistachios, sunflower seeds. Bencharong vases were brimming with jasmine, roses, and tuberoses. Their sweet scent filled the air.
Dressed in a bright sarong, a barefoot servant walked quickly past on the polished wood floor; he was balancing a tray of drinks-iced water, whiskey, champagne.
The house is open to the public twice a week, like a museum, Claire overheard a woman say.
I ve heard that Jim s collection of Southeast Asian art is one of- someone else started to answer as Claire moved away.
The drawing room opened onto the terrace. Past the garden of long-leaf mangoes, arching rain trees, fragrant frangipani bushes, on the other side of the canal, like a lit-up scene set in a play-a play performed expressly for them-Claire could see the silk weavers spinning and dyeing their bright skeins of threads. Intent on their work, the weavers did not look up.
Beautiful, isn t it? Claire said when James came up and put his arm around her. Jim Thompson told me that when he first arrived in Thailand there were only about a dozen silk weavers-just a cottage industry, he said.
Yeah, and it s been profitable for him, too. James squeezed Claire more tightly to him. James was broad shouldered and strong. He had curly red hair. Every morning, he combed it down with water, but by afternoon his hair had sprung back into bunches of tight curls-worse, in Bangkok, James said, because of the humidity. What do they call him? The Thai silk king.
Claire was seated next to a Thai prince and a brigadier general. The brigadier general was the first to speak. Tell me, how long have you two been married, Claire? He hesitated slightly when he said her name.
Two weeks. Claire blushed.
This must be quite a change for a pretty young woman like you. Have you known Jim Thompson long?
Just tonight.
Ji