'Before you reach the stars', short story by Wat Wanlayangkun

This short story is set in 1975 when right-wing groups chanted “Kill the communists!” opened the attack on protesting farmers, workers and students. The writer experienced this personally.

Wat Wanlayangkun was a prolific and purified writer of novels, short stories and poetry. At the same time he fought for more democracy in Thailand. After the massacre at Thammasat University on October 6, 1976, he, like so many others, fled for several years to the communist uprising in the Phu Phan mountains near Sakon Nakhorn. After General Prayut's coup in 2014, he was ordered to report to the police. He fled to Laos where in 2019 he saw other refugees being murdered as their bodies washed up on the banks of the Mekong in Thailand. He decided to apply for asylum in France where he died in 2022. Read the two articles below as a reminder of his life

 'Before you reach the stars'

The mother walked slowly away from the abbot's home, past the sandy courtyard under the shade of a Pikun tree, towards the back of the central shrine. She carefully carried a bowl of water in one hand and in the other a basket containing the things necessary for making merit. An owl wailed softly from under the eaves of the sanctuary. The sweet scent of the flowers frangipani tree blew towards her through the flowering grass. The mother sank wearily in front of the morgue where the body of her dead son had been laid out. It looked like a coffin, except it was made of cement, the smell of fresh cement still hanging in the air. There were more similar morgues in a long row. The houses looked like dark caves. And next to the morgues were small stupas surrounding the shrine, their white walls crumbling from their sheer age.

The mother carefully put the tray down. She placed white porcelain bowls filled with rice on top kaeng som phak krajiap, with fried salty fish. The smell of the fish brought back memories of him, her son, that brought tears to her eyes. Roy loved this dish since he was young, especially the fried salt fish, and he ate it like no other. The layers of red sticky rice looked like blood. That's what Roy said at the time. Sobs formed a choking lump in her throat. She never imagined that her son's life would end with two bullets piercing his tender flesh. Roy must have suffered, but her suffering was even worse. An invisible pain, felt in the heart, a pain especially for a mother. She could not understand why some people could be so cruel as to take away the flesh and blood of their fellow man. The mother called his name softly. “Son, come and eat this meal.” Then she pushed the water pitcher forward, dipped her index finger in it and murmured prayers. And as she slowly closed her eyes, tears trickled down her wrinkled cheeks.

Before she rowed the boat away from the landing site, the abbot was kind enough to tell her something about her son. The words still rang in her ears: “Roy was a good boy, dear lady, calm and serious. Who could do such a thing to them? People have become so cruel these days.”

Mother heard these words of praise since Roy's childhood. Hearing it again, she couldn't help feeling proud and happy. When Roy grew up and left for Bangkok to continue his education, he remained her own, sweet son, unchanged. When she noted that students did not have to have long hairstyles, he cut his hair short. She started to doubt whether she could still reprimand him. If she wanted to give him some advice, she thought about it long and carefully before bringing it up. Ro, her youngest son, teased her by saying that she had a saint for a son.

There was only one thing she couldn't stop him from doing – when he told her that he most likely wouldn't be able to finish college in four years because he had to spend his time on “activities.” Mother only understood late that these “activities” were related to politics.

“I don't really do politics. I use my study time to learn more about the poor people who are so much poorer than us, who cannot afford three meals a day, and who do hard work as laborers, hiring themselves out for low wages. When they ask for a just wage and beg for help, how can you, mother, ask me to do nothing? And when the farmers ask for justice, and sometimes have to demonstrate for it, I cannot possibly remain quietly on the sidelines. I am concerned with our poor, and not with politics. But politics interferes with me. We cannot escape it.”

But whatever reasons he gave, Mother loved him too much to accept them. The word “demonstration” pierced her to the depths of her heart. She couldn't bring herself to look at the photos of the young men and women gunned down in the street on October 14, 1973. Worse still, her thoughts were flying in all directions. Suppose someone threw a bomb, rows of people would be killed or injured. She urged him to finish his studies and find work like his older brothers and sisters to calm down so she wouldn't have to worry anymore. But Roy couldn't explain it further to his mother in the hope that she could accept his motives. Therefore he remained silent and listened quietly to her advice. But as the days passed, she realized with a sigh that he was not following her advice. After that, Roy gradually withdrew from his mother. He only came back to their house on the river once in a while, even though it was really not far from Bangkok. Mother was very happy that Roy finally graduated, although it took longer than usual. She wrote to congratulate him. But in the letter she used the words “stubborn child”. She remained as concerned as before and strongly advised him to find a job.

“It won't take long for Ro to finish high school and we would like him to continue his studies in Bangkok. If you have a job with a salary that matches your studies, you can start living your own life and you are no longer a burden to your uncle. Your brother can then rely on you, and I don't have to worry anymore. Now that you have graduated, you will no longer participate in the demonstrations, I hope? It was fine when you were a student. I'm sure it won't take more than a few years for someone like you, Roy, to start living a regular life. It's much better if you focus on that now. I have never been disappointed in your older brothers and sisters. They are doing well, everyone is doing well. A few weeks ago, your older brother Rong bought me a tape recorder, bragging that he bought it in Japan. I think his company sent him there, his boss likes him and I'm very happy for him. Ro listens to it day and night and I had to stand my ground”

Mother tied the boat to the bridge and scooped up water to cleanse her face of dirt and dust from her grief. The sanun tree at the water's edge began to change its leaves to welcome the cool season. Little Ro was wearing only khaki shorts and was lying on the landing reading a newspaper. Next to him was the new tape recorder playing a song.

“Is there any news today?” mother asked as she took her betel bowl out of the basket.

“They say Roy's case is still a mystery. They still have to question people who were close to it, but they have not yet been able to track them down. And the bullets in his body couldn't solve the mystery. Another newspaper said it all had to do with a love affair with some women. They also said he was an extremist and a troublemaker. I didn't buy that newspaper. I was afraid you would get upset.”

She was speechless. She sighed and shook her head without saying a word.

A little later she asked her youngest son to get the cassette, saying softly, “I want to hear it again. I miss him so much".

She remembered very well the letter in which Roy congratulated Roy on his graduation and urged him to settle somewhere quickly. She didn't hear from him again after that. He seemed to disappear as quietly as a needle dropped into the sea until he sent the two cassettes to her in the mail. The one with a pigeon on it only contained some songs, the other contained a conversation for her from Roy.

“Dear respected mother, I received your letter a long time ago. Just because I waited so long to answer doesn't mean I don't care about my family, it just means I was very busy with work. When I heard that my older brother Rong had bought you a tape recorder, I waited until I had saved enough money to buy a few cassettes. One has songs for Ro and the other a message for you.

“I understand your love and concern and I have thought long and hard about how I can best express myself so that we can truly understand each other. Right now I'm a journalist for a small newspaper. The salary is not that high but I am satisfied because the newspaper tells the truth. It advocates for the poor and attacks those who take advantage of the common people and sell out our country and its people. The truth is, I had this job before I graduated, but I was afraid to tell you. I hope you're not upset or angry. Mother! If I had waited until after graduation to join the justice movement, I would have proven that I was only thinking about myself and it would have been too late. That's why I joined before finishing school. It was a wonderful opportunity for someone who believes that we are born into this world to do good. Yes, it is certainly a bit dangerous, especially for investigative journalists. I have seen poor peasants being murdered, one after another, like fallen leaves. I have seen working women bravely resisting the cabal of barbarian savages. Sometimes they were shot mercilessly. If you had met them, if you had seen them, if you had understood them, you wouldn't have been able to bear it either, mother.

“Your love for your child may be so great that you cannot see things as they really are. You are afraid that your child will be injured, hit by a firebomb or shot. I feel a deep warmth in my heart when I think of your loving care. But I want to tell you something a friend of mine who works here once said. He said that death is a very common thing that happens to everyone. Before we die we have a choice of three ways to spend our lives. The first is to simply walk along aimlessly, thinking only of your own safety and then die in oblivion. The second option is to search for meaning in life, to fight against the oppression of the many by the few, to work with a heart full of good intentions for our fellow man, not as a sacrifice but as a duty. And the last way is to live by taking everything we see, living without conscience, wallowing in selfish pleasure over the blood and tears of others, and dying under the curses of others. Mother, which path do you want your son to take?

“Therefore, it is no wonder that we are sometimes in danger. I am now investigating a case where Thais in collusion with Americans are defrauding our people to take away vast amounts of our priceless livelihoods, a destruction that should benefit our people. Those accomplices of the farang are all powerful figures with a high degree of political and bureaucratic influence. Their profits are so enormous that we imagine that our attempt to expose them will certainly be blocked. A small step could be the closure of the publishing houses, so that the public can no longer read newspapers. The decisive step could be the shedding of blood. We are already receiving death threats on the phone. But I will not choose money or bullets because I have already made my own good choice. If such persecution happens, do not be afraid, mother, but be proud that your son has not lived in vain.

“Please tell Ro that the songs I sent have real value because they tell of the great numbers of people living in darkness and utter despair. I'm sure Ro will like the first song. The words are a kind of promise by one who is ready to sacrifice even his life to ensure peace and happiness for his fellow human beings.

We ask to always be bodies

         which are stacked on top of each other like a staircase

        high enough to reach the sky

        and bring the stars to earth

        If we can make this world beautiful

        and the people happy and equal

        then this world will be like a shining star….

  "Mother, you have found some happiness in your life. You had enough money left over to feed the monks every morning while so many others had nothing, not even food. They were drowning in the rising tide of debt. If you had really experienced this yourself, I am sure that with your sense of justice you would not have been able to simply accept it and you would certainly have seen the need to join the fight.

“I tried to share my ideas with the woman I loved. I tried to make her understand my work. But she left me. I think it's a shame, but it couldn't have been avoided. We always went our separate ways. She loved no one else, not even the poor and hungry. She only saw me and herself. She tried to enter the group I was escaping from. I have already lost a person I loved. Don't let me lose you too, mother"

The days passed like the flow of water in a stream. Every evening when her youngest son jumped out of the riverboat, she immediately asked if there was any news about Roy. She experienced the selling of lies in the newspapers every day. The more she asked Ro to buy every newspaper with news about Roy, the more she could draw comparisons, starting with researching Roy's background. There were two magazines that tried to show that Roy had a mean character with a deep inferiority complex. There was also an interview with a police officer who said her son was involved in “the ideology of the other side.” Furthermore, there was almost no interest in the unsolved murder - while the newspaper that had often vilified Roy said that his exposure of the tin mining scandal had damaged the national economy, deterred foreign investment, increased unemployment and led to chaos, in the trace of the “ideology of the other side”.

The mother put the rice bowl and pan back in the basket. She knelt respectfully before the abbot and took her leave. She glanced at yesterday's newspaper lying on the edge of the abbot's veranda. When she saw the color of the front page she shuddered in disgust. The abbot spoke:

“Are you in a hurry to feed your son?” She confirmed softly, and he continued:

“When Roy was young, your son seemed like such a nice guy. Only now do I know how I was wrong. Who would have thought that he would grow up to become such an extremist who is destroying the country. Horrible! Maybe he was hanging out with some nice friends,” the abbot added sarcastically. “That's why extremists don't live long. Pay close attention to little Ro, so that he does not follow in his older brother's footsteps. Ah, those young people of today are worth nothing anymore.” And he shook his head.

Mother's face turned burning red, her heart beat violently and her forehead was bathed in sweat. She quickly said goodbye and did not want to pour any more water to commemorate the death of her son. But she didn't want to blame the abbot either.

If anyone had walked past the shrine later that morning, they would have seen Mother sitting with her head dropped on her arms and knees. Blood dripped from a wrist. In the other hand she held her betel-cutting knife tightly, with traces of blood.

The withered body still breathed softly. It paid no attention to the emaciated dog that had followed her from the abbot's house and was busy eating the rice from the bowl on the platter in front of her.

Source:

Benedict Anderson, In The Mirror, Literature and Politics in Siam in the American Era, 1985

Read these two stories about Wat's life:

Activist, Writer, Wat Wanlayangkoon Dies After 7 Years in Exile (khaosodenglish.com)

Bangkok Post – Dissidents are Thai too