'A Mother's Will' – a short story by Suwanni Sukhontha 

Her son, who died of drugs, is remembered in a collection of stories, including 'a mother's will', as if he were still alive. Touching.

To my dear son Nampoe,

Because you are my only son besides three daughters, and also the only man in the house, I rely on you, I raised you differently and I keep track of your education differently than your sisters.

You can see the difference between a son and a daughter around the age of six. Of course that only applies to my children; this perception is absolutely no norm for others. I noticed this in your different use of words and the way you showed emotions at that age. If I asked a daughter in a fit of motherly feelings, "Honey, do you love father or mother more?" then all the daughters would answer 'We love mother more!' But then you said "I don't know." You never mentioned such unimportant things, even when someone insisted.

Your school time

When you grew up and went to school I naturally wanted to know who your boyfriend was, how things went at school and what children were talking about at school. My daughters told me about things like that every day. 'That child has big teeth; the other one has a lot of money…' But when I asked you that for the umpteenth time, you said reluctantly and very slowly '…Well, one girl's name is Suwannie just like you. I like that one!' You then looked at me briefly and said very indifferently 'I like those who are not too fat….'

I was sure that when you grow up you wouldn't ramble as much as all those stupid women I've met. Women who just talked nonsense and who told me about all their 'good qualities': they are obviously better than everyone else and their children are real sweethearts. Or all those men who told me that their wives are the prettiest, and honest and good as a noble lady.

You often come across such men. But I definitely didn't want you to become such a man. On the other hand, it's good that such guys exist. Sometimes, when I have time, I just enjoy listening to their ramblings. You experience their 'deep' feelings and thoughts. You don't lose anything because they tell everything automatically. But you have to listen wisely.

That's why I want to give you something else: everyone likes to be heard, but someone who really listens is hard to find. If you learn how to listen carefully and only open your mouth at the right time, you will become a man people like to talk to.

This doesn't mean I want to raise you to be someone who doesn't say anything. If you never say anything, everyone will think you're stupid. If it seems to be going in that direction, you have to look for the right answer and it doesn't have to be elaborate. With that answer, your interlocutor can no longer continue and the conversation is over. Look, of course I didn't tell my daughters that.

Your sisters grew as fast as bamboo shoots in the monsoon. But you grew very slowly as if strength had to be built up first. If you take a daughter by the hand, everything feels soft. But you had strong muscles, big fingers and hard hands. Very different from daughters: both in the nature of the person and in the development of your body, as if you were plants of another family. That's the way it is supposed to be. It confirms that I have a real son and not three daughters and a transvestite. I think it is a blessing that I have a son who can assist me later as a buddy. 

If I can give you one thing: study as much as possible. Excuse me for constantly urging you to learn a lot. Other children get a lot of time for playing and having fun, but I would like to instill in you a love of regular reading so that you get to know the fun of reading as you get older. Then the desire to really know things naturally grows in you.

No, I don't know much myself. In other words, I have no real knowledge. My mind is as small as a tadpole. Feel free to laugh about it later. I won't blame you because someone who knows a lot has a right to laugh at people who know little. But don't laugh too hard because there is bound to be someone else who knows more than you. That's why I want you to learn and read a lot. You learn an incredible amount from reading.

Like other women, I am superstitious. I believe in predictions, in astrology and in palmistry. In your hand I see faint lines from which I cannot read whether you will later choose writing as a profession. I'd be happy if it did. But I tell you now that I will not ask you to choose a profession according to my preference. Just choose something later you want, whether doctor, lawyer, artist or merchant: I am not against anything.

About writers

I've written some myself. Short stories, and novels. But I only did that to earn money to feed my children. The importance of my books is not worth attention; yes, I'm a little embarrassed to say that. I have read stories by a young writer and all his stories were well written. In one passage he talks about 'prostitution writers'. I was shocked when I read that and thought I was getting a slap in the ear. That's because I never intended to be a writer or a poet. I already said it: knowledge and brains like a tadpole. In the end I can give the readers nothing but a prostitute writer: I write as if I were selling my body and my soul.

If I had a choice, I wish you weren't born as my children because I'm so poor. I can do nothing better than my soul and my whole to support my children ik to sell. Sometimes I even ask myself: why am I even writing? No, not for fame but just for money; money for the children so that they can grow up, later flourish through their education, through good food and decent clothes.

If I were alone, without children, I might have developed into a writer who doesn't write for money. Would I try to create true art or: l'Art pour l'art. If I didn't have food then I would starve on my own. I could deal with that poverty and no one would blame me for that. But I couldn't bear it if my children went hungry or couldn't go to school.

It is what it is. Still, people may ask why I don't choose another profession. Then I would answer: can I actually do something else? I once studied fine arts; I can draw a little and maybe sell a print. But I'm not good enough for a real work of art. Look: what I can do I can't do well. That's why you sell your own soul even though you don't really want to. 

What if I tempt fate and become a saleswoman? When I think of that I have to say… yes, one day… then yes! Wait until I have some money of my own. Then I start a small place that sells curry with rice and then I become a real saleswoman. A seller of curry and rice is certainly a better profession than a seller of letters or pseudo-art. 

I hope that if that day ever comes, you will not resent me, your mother, who has become a seller of curry and rice. The public will certainly not criticize me like a saleswoman of print. You know, a writer's wage in Thailand is lower than a girl in a nightclub. Perhaps people say now that I mock the matter. I do not care!

For a short story by someone who is already a little known you only get 200 baht. Then we worked our butts off to come up with the story. In addition, we spend two to three days working until it is ready. When it comes to the money, I'd be better off as a whore, if I didn't have kids yet and was young, not old like now.

Are you asking about my salary as a civil servant? That is 1.200 baht per month. Of that I have to pay 150 baht rent for the land; luckily we don't have to pay rent. Our help costs 200 baht and electricity and water cost 100 baht. That is already 450 baht together. The rice, 2,5 buckets every month, costs 135 baht at today's price. Now we are almost at 600 baht.

Then comes charcoal, oil, washing powder, soap, toothpaste, medicines, also a 100 baht. That is already 700. That leaves 500 baht for food, school and pocket money for the children, clothes and the rest. You see, no one can live on that, even if an angel comes from heaven to make that clear to me. In addition, my role in society plays tricks on me. How the world looks at me as a single woman with 4 kids is hard to bear. 

So I have to remain a 'prostitution' writer/poet and sell cliché work as a painter, although the wages for this are much lower than for a real whore.

Can I blame anyone for the bad copyright law in Thailand? When you ask the price of a book, do you judge the publisher? No, you have to accuse everyone from writer to reader. Thai people have an anomaly: they don't like to buy a book. They'd rather borrow that from someone. That is why the number of books sold is so low. And that again means a low fee for the author. And as far as the writer is concerned: if you write well, your work will be bought. So, if you write badly, you can't expect me to spend money for you, can you?

I sometimes feel sad that I have so many children. Because no matter what I do, I always see obstacles because I'm afraid that my children will starve. Fortunately I have good children who don't ask for better food and a better life. You can eat anything and are not fussy or demanding. Are you used to going to a fancy restaurant every day? No. You have also never complained about expensive toys because I am unable to buy them for you. I thank you for that.

You have not demanded much from me, but on the contrary made me very happy. You have been my friends and, when I was sad, my chatting buddies, who, though you were immature, could amuse and cheer me up so that I forgot what I wanted to forget.

Before I finish this letter, I want to say something about my wealth. I have already said that you can sell the house if you run out of money. You have an older and two younger sisters. If you have to sell it and divide the money, you have to think about how much everyone gets. Take no more and no less than anyone else. You are a man and not allowed to rip off women. This applies not only to your sisters but to all the women you will know in the future.

You know well what I mean. We have always understood each other well. I don't need to write about that anymore.

Your mom

1967

Source: Kurzgeschichten aus Thailand. Translation and editing Erik Kuijpers. 

Writer Suwanni Sukhontha (More information, 1932-1984), was an author and founder in 1972 of the women's magazine Lalana ("Girls"). She was murdered.

'The will' is part of the collection published in 1974 in memory of her son Namp(h)oe, who died of drugs. It depicts the life of a Thai woman in the 70s. The text has been shortened.