The Sad Part Was Page 3

  “See that auntie? If you look with your bare eyes, just a passing glance, she’d appear to be a good-hearted lady – fond of her niece, makes an effort to get up early so the two of them can spend some time together, instilling healthy habits, etc.”

  Ei Ploang turned his face toward the sky as if to rest his eyes before he continued talking.

  “But in fact, you’d be quite mistaken. She’s a mean one, all right. I feel bad for the kid, having to hang around someone so temperamental this early in the morning.”

  “Do you know them?”

  Ei Ploang shook his head and stared into my eyes once more.

  “You’re a good person. I knew it from the first day I saw you. A little too lazy. A little too inclined to follow trends. You tend to do things half way, you’re not as focused as you should be. But, overall, a pretty decent guy.”

  I remained speechless for a long moment. Not because I was touched by his praise, but simply because I was mystified.

  “Look at that middle-aged man.”

  I snapped myself out of it and, following Ei Ploang’s cue, turned to look at the bald man running by. His face suggested one content with the quality of air in the park.

  Ei Ploang was tight-lipped, so I tried to guess his mind.

  “He looks happy, but he’s actually mean like that lady we just saw.” This was half statement, half question.

  Ei Ploang cracked a smile, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

  “It’s not always so tricky. Good can show itself in the face, too. You can still find it sometimes. That man’s as nice as his face would lead you to believe. He’s a lovely guy. Likes to help others. Loves peace.”

  “You come here every morning expressly for this? To see who’s good and who’s bad?”

  “It’s a convenient place for it; all I have to do is sit here, and all kinds of people pass by for me to look at. I don’t have to waste my energy traipsing around the streets.”

  “Some days I don’t see you looking at anyone.”

  “Hey, good and evil aren’t only present in humans. Sometimes I practice looking at other things. The difference is, the quantities of good and evil are never equal in humans, while other things have more of a balance. Good and evil don’t mean that much when they’re in balance. You don’t really need to look.”

  Ei Ploang nudged a pebble with the toe of his shoe, and it rolled forward two or three times. “That pebble has good and evil, too. But it’s meaningless to speak of a pebble being either good or evil, because its good and evil are so perfectly balanced as to be inconsequential. It’s doing a fine job of functioning as a pebble. If you kick it, it rolls over. But if I kicked you, you wouldn’t just roll over.”

  That morning, Ei Ploang’s special ability didn’t elicit much admiration from me. Instead, I thought what a weird guy he was; he must have some deep psychological issues. Wanting to sneak away from the bench, I pretended that I had to continue running. Ei Ploang responded with a smile and a nod. Before I was too far off, he tossed out a casual remark. “Don’t fear the good in yourself.”

  I may have thought he was mad, but his ideas stuck in my head for the whole rest of the day. When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself for almost half an hour, to the point that I lost track of who was doing the staring. In the end, I thought it more likely that my reflection was looking at me.

  Come to think of it, it’s laughable that I gave Ei Ploang any credence. In this day and age, we’re developed enough to understand that being a good or bad person doesn’t have meaning anymore. Even if you’re the most heinous person in history, there’ll be others who are cut from the same heinous cloth, allies who’ll go along with your beliefs and actions. In the eyes of people of the same ilk, good can still appear within evil. What’s the point of getting hung up about having to cede the moral high ground when there’s plenty of people to pal around with down below? Let those on the high ground gasp in the thin air. Let them get struck by lightning. What’s so great about that? Being close to the ground is so much safer.

  Evil is usually accompanied by ingenuity and resourcefulness in saving yourself, a talent for constantly getting out of scrapes and for pulling the wool over people’s eyes. A bad person can make himself appear good, but a good person will never truly understand evil. Everybody knows that human society can’t maintain its structures on good alone. It’s plain to see that evil is the key component in governing the world. If everyone were good, there would be no politicians, and if this world were free of politicians, human society would lack organisation, regulation, and ammunition, all crucial weapons for wiping out a mess in order to start over, for example, by pushing a button to erase all the previous wrongs and start wrongdoing all over again. Evil is the mother of opportunity. Good would never be that creative. Evil is art and entertainment; good is bland and boring.

  Why should I care if I’m going to heaven or hell? Both places are founded upon beliefs that are fading over time. Evil teaches people to stop being hung up on superstitions. It teaches us to learn to live life fully here on this earth. Even if you’re condemned to boil in hell’s cauldron or drag your naked body up the adulterers’ thorny tree, you’d be sharing in those activities with your fellow sinners. It’s no different from going on summer camp. Everyone would rather meet the Guardian of Hell than God, because the Guardian of Hell is humanity’s true teacher, covertly indoctrinating us from the cradle. He stands close by us when we want, when we hurt, when we ache, when we love, when we lust, when we hate, when we obsess, when we’re hungry, when we’re greedy, when we’re angry, when we’re vengeful.

  God only watches from afar. He never lends a helping hand.

  So why did Ei Ploang’s words strike such a chord with me?

  Why should I be proud of being a good person in his eyes?

  I’ve been searching for the answer ever since.

  Maybe good has a charm that evil doesn’t.

  Because good isn’t something that I’m acquainted with.

  After that, whenever I saw Ei Ploang sitting there judging people with nothing but his eyes, I couldn’t stop myself. I had to sit down and scan people along with him, and eventually I started going to Lumpini Park in my normal street clothes, expressly to sit and look at people with him. I’d completely forgotten about jogging.

  Ei Ploang never taught me how to judge people, and I never pressed him to.

  Once other business entered into my life, I didn’t go and sit with him as regularly as before. I went only on some Saturdays or Sundays when I had the time.

  It was on one such Saturday morning that Ei Ploang gave me the slip of paper permitting me to call him “Ei.” I’d deliberately got up early that day, to go to Lumpini Park and see him. I’d never made plans to meet up with him anywhere else or at any other time. I didn’t even have his phone number, this friend of mine. He wasn’t a part of my everyday life. One reason for this was that I feared his judging those close to me. I didn’t want to hear that my mother was evil, my father was bad, or my friend was a low-down good-for-nothing. Even if I had decided for myself that everybody in my circle was a good person, I had to admit that I didn’t have Ei Ploang’s unique gift. He might know better and see more deeply. So, naturally, I was worried.

  But Ei Ploang himself never asked about my life outside of the park. He said hi when he saw me. He said bye when I left. That was it.

  Ei Ploang never got up from the bench before I did. He never took leave of me first. I’ve never once seen him set foot beyond the bounds of Lumpini Park. Perhaps he lives right in there. I’ve never asked him about his home. Each morning, we were hard pressed as it was to keep up with the stream of people jogging or walking by. There wasn’t much time left to quiz each other on personal matters.

  Even though Ei Ploang gave me permission to call him “Ei,” I didn’t have many occasions to exercise my specia
l right. When we were face to face, there was no need for me to call him by name. When I was with other people, I rarely brought him up, because no one else knew him. Everyone I mentioned him to all thought he was my imaginary friend. No one paid much attention to his name. When I tell people at home that I was off to Lumpini Park to see Ei Ploang, they’d just respond with an ah-ha or an okay, or they’d ask me to pick up some food at the park. Nobody bothered to find out who Ei Ploang was.

  After I’d finished reading Ei Ploang’s permission slip, right down to his signature, I sat down to study people with him as usual. He pointed out this one and that one for me to look at, in the usual way he had. Good here, evil there, all mingled together.

  There were, of course, more bad people than good. In a group of a hundred, Ei Ploang saw fewer than twenty good ones.

  “Hey, how the hell do you know I’m a good guy?” I finally asked him the question I’d been putting off for ages, afraid that he wouldn’t answer. I purposely added “the hell” as a nod to his new “Ei” status.

  Ei Ploang didn’t smile as I’d expected he would. Nor did he turn to look at me, either.

  “I thought you’d have asked a long time ago,” he said softly.

  “I didn’t have the goddamned courage before. I was afraid you wouldn’t tell me.” I intentionally threw in the “goddamned” to match the “Ei” and the “hell” I’d just used.

  Ei Ploang let out a huge sigh. Huuuh.

  “Should I tell him?” Ei Ploang asked himself out loud.

  I watched joggers and walkers of all ages pass in front of us, from our left and from our right, heading in opposite directions. In just a few seconds, there were more than I could count on two hands.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I said to Ei Ploang without turning to look at him.

  I put his permission slip into my shirt pocket.

  Behind the piece of paper was the fabric of my shirt. Behind the fibres of the cloth was skin. Underneath the skin was a web of interconnected vessels. Within those little vessels was the liquid being pumped to sustain the body.

  Only a feeling tells you that it’s a manifestation of being.

  My eyes couldn’t see to that level of detail.

  I turned to look at my friend.

  Ei Ploang was resting his eyes.

  A Schoolgirl’s Diary

  1. Little Miss Tong-Jai in Other People’s Eyes; Little Miss Tong-Jai in Her Own Eyes

  Tong-Jai wants to have a heart attack.

  Because she’s heard that it’s the most sudden and least painful way to die.

  Tong-Jai is nine years old.

  Tong-Jai is in Fourth Grade, Section Three, whose form teacher is Ms. Bacon.

  Tong-Jai’s school has a gym teacher also named Bacon, but he is a man. The students refer to the female teacher as Ms. Bacon and the male teacher as Mr. Bacon, so there’s no confusion. The school has another female teacher named Bacon, but the other Ms. Bacon is a sixth-grade teacher and has a fuller figure, so the students call Tong-Jai’s form teacher Skinny Ms. Bacon and the sixth-grade teacher Fat Ms. Bacon.

  Some call them Ms. Bacon Four and Ms. Bacon Six, but Tong-Jai is not keen on those tags.

  Tong-Jai is not skilled at mathematics.

  She doesn’t understand one plus one.

  Ms. Karmen Rider is the fourth-grade math teacher. (The school has only one teacher named Rider, so there’s no need to add a qualifier to her name. Even so, Tong-Jai sometimes hears upper elementary pupils call her Ms. Rider X, which confounds Tong-Jai a great deal. Little Mr. Toey, Tong-Jai’s classmate in form 4/3, once explained his theory to Tong-Jai: the reason the upper elementary kids call Ms. Rider Ms. Rider X is because she’s a tough homework grader, who makes especially frequent use of the cross mark, X. Although Toey’s theory has enough evidence to be credible, Tong-Jai isn’t quite convinced. Her instincts tell her that the reason the older kids call the teacher Ms. Rider X has something to do with the X-rated size of her chest, which is unusually well-endowed.)

  Ms. Rider once threw a piece of chalk at Tong-Jai, because of Tong-Jai’s failure to understand one plus one.

  Tong-Jai’s one plus one equals either one or three.

  Why does one plus one equal one or three, Tong-Jai? Ms. Rider was baffled.

  Because I’m not sure which answer is more correct.

  They’re both wrong. Class, can you please tell Tong-Jai the right answer, loud and clear? What’s one plus one?

  One! Plus! One! Equals! Two!, the students in form 4/3 shouted.

  Correct. Very good. Did you hear that, Tong-Jai? Your classmates all know that one plus one is two. Two it is. Two, not one or three. Didn’t you already learn this in kindergarten?

  How does one plus one make two? Wait. If you have one, where does the other one come from? And why do they put themselves together? Just that is a knotty issue in itself. Suppose Dad is one, plus another one, Mom. That equals three, obviously, because when those two joined together, I was born, making three. Plus, suppose Mom and Dad’s combination doesn’t end here. If later on I have a little sibling, that makes four. Then if my little sibling gets a little sibling, that makes five. Suppose one is a tiger and another one is a rabbit. If you put them together, the tiger would eat the rabbit, so there’s only one left. Suppose one is mercury, and you add more mercury – mercury plus mercury makes one big chunk of mercury – that turns out to be one again.

  Tong-Jai doesn’t understand the number two.

  Where does two come from?

  Ms. Rider didn’t understand Tong-Jai. Ms. Rider couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed a piece of chalk from the blackboard and threw it at the girl, hitting her on the left cheek, just hard enough for it to cause a slight itch.

  Tong-Jai rubbed her cheek a little, but only because of the itch.

  No piece of chalk had struck Ms. Rider, but of the two of them, she looked the more in pain. Tears streamed down the apples of her cheeks.

  Ms. Rider approached Tong-Jai and crouched down to pick up the piece of chalk from the floor.

  I’m sorry, Tong-Jai. Please be a good girl. Believe me, one plus one is two.

  Tong-Jai stood still with her top and bottom lips sealed into one single, indivisible whole.

  She nodded just a fraction, in deference to an adult’s tears.

  Suppose a teardrop falls and combines with another teardrop, that makes one big teardrop…

  Tong-Jai summarised in her head:

  One plus one equals one sixty percent of the time. One plus one equals three or more forty percent of the time.

  Since that day, whenever an adult asked Tong-Jai what one plus one makes, she would answer two, unless the asker was a child or an elderly person, in which case she would say, greater or less than two.

  Tong-Jai concluded that answering in accordance with the opinion of the majority was a requisite for getting by in life.

  But answering in accordance to one’s own beliefs was a requisite for sleeping soundly at night.

  Tong-Jai further concluded that between the one who throws the projectile and the one who gets struck by it, the former feels the greater pain.

  Skinny Ms. Bacon thinks that Tong-Jai will probably grow up to be a sharp-tongued politician, because she has observed during school debates that Tong-Jai has a knack for tirelessly defending the arguments she comes up with. Even though Tong-Jai’s points often had nothing to do with the topic assigned, even though at times they clearly contradicted her own team’s position, Tong-Jai would argue and argue and argue her point until the last second. And in the end Tong-Jai would always lose, because she would confound the judges.

  Even so, Skinny Ms. Bacon is convinced that her pupil will grow up to be a star orator, one whose role in shaping the wisdom of the nation will be influential, whether large or small. But more likely large than small, if she had
to guess.

  Tong-Jai wants to grow up to be a female shot-put athlete.

  Sometimes Tong-Jai wants to grow up to be a stamp affixer at the post office.

  If her dreams come true and she gets to be a post-office worker, Tong-Jai would love to lick the customers’ stamps for them, feeling that if her saliva gets to travel to faraway places, sometimes even overseas, it’s like a part of her is travelling too. It would make her deliriously happy. The job sounds amazing, and challenging.

  The reason Tong-Jai wants to be a shot-put athlete is because she wants to hold an object with a lot of weight in her hands and then hurl it far, far away. The reason she wants to be a female shot-put athlete is because she’s female.

  Tong-Jai’s father wants her to be a dentist like him.

  Tong-Jai’s mother wants her daughter to be a dentist like her husband.

  Tong-Jai’s favorite subject is LES. LES stands for Life Experience Studies.

  Tong-Jai prefers to take in life from reading Life Experience Studies books than from drinking milk.

  In the morning, if Tong-Jai’s mother asks her:

  Have you drunk your milk, Tong-Jai?

  Tong-Jai will answer:

  There’s no need. I have LES today.

  Tong-Jai’s closest friend at school is Pui.

  The boys like to call her POO-ey and then laugh themselves into stitches.

  Tong-Jai doesn’t understand why it’s so funny.

  Tong-Jai and Pui always pair up to eat lunch. Pui’s grandmother is a great cook, but Tong-Jai’s favorites are the sweets that Pui brings with her every day, which are usually chocolates.

  Tong-Jai doesn’t get to eat chocolate much because her father’s a dentist. Dentists don’t like chocolate. But Tong-Jai likes chocolate a lot.

  Pui knows Tong-Jai likes chocolate, so she always brings some extra to share with her friend. Sometimes Tong-Jai and Pui top their rice with chocolate, instead of with stir fry or curry.

  Once, Skinny Ms. Bacon witnessed this and went over to lecture the girls on their conduct.