'Iodine, the Red Panacea' a short story by Anchin Panchapan

If you want to open a grocery store in a mining area, you have to stock up on a lot of liquor. In my area, alcohol sells better than vitamins. What should also not be missing in the store are inhalers against colds; they are sold more often than umbrellas. Why miners prefer to walk in the rain instead of sheltering under an umbrella is easy to explain: a nasal sniffer that you can use several times only costs one baht. An umbrella costs seven baht and the better Penang umbrellas can cost as much as 25 baht.

A round of the market meant for me that I ended up in the pub. From there I had, so to speak, acquired my knowledge of economics. I had learned there that coffee was sold so well that the innkeeper never thought to wash the cotton coffee filter. New coffee just went through the old sludge. 

And iodine?

We miners couldn't give enough credit to that red stuff. If we got a wound during work, we treated it with a handful of 'oil' from a tank. The bleeding immediately stopped and the wound healed. In every pub that also served as a shop there was a box of iodine in the glass case on which the innkeeper had written 'red stuff for wounds': iodine. The stuff was of poor quality.

I remember a joke when I worked in the mines. There was a knock on the door in the middle of the night. A worker stood at the door panting and said he needed help: he had been hit on the head. I opened the door and looked at him: head and shirt covered in blood. I shone around with the lamp but saw no one. Then I smelled iodine! I took a closer look and also saw iodine. 

Yes, that's how mining works. You're taking someone seriously. Sucking iodine in a leaf stalk and hitting someone on the head in the dark: the victim thinks of blood, looks for light and also sees blood…. And you can hear this for years to come….

At the innkeeper there were very old bottles of iodine and I asked him 'When are you going to throw away that iodine?' "Why, throw it away?" he asks in surprise. "Well, it's long past its shelf life." "Yes, well, and then?"

He gave me a grim look for sticking my nose in his business like a medical officer. I let it continue. But one night the innkeeper told me: 'It's already sold!' "What's sold?" “Well, that red iodine. Someone bought the whole box.' "Which blind man bought that?"

'No, not blind. This iodine is not against blindness but for wounds. Of course that person bought that for healing.' 'Shame, don't make me laugh, for wounds? Did that stuff look like iodine for wounds? Whoever uses that gets tetanus.'

'Tell me, act normal!' 'Should I explain this then? Get a branded item of iodine for sale.' "I lost them all anyway." "Who bought that?" 'Forest people. A hill tribe living in the forest behind the hill.'

'Yes, they don't know anything about medicines. They speak unintelligibly. How can you rip such people off with your stuff, swindler?' "I didn't drop anyone off. They came here and asked for a remedy for injuries. I sold them that.' “These forest people are crazy. Why don't they take their wounded to the doctor?'

“That's just how it is with these people. Everything stays in the clan and they don't let the authorities know. They are afraid of the police. They don't know anything about the world outside their home area.' “And now they have become your prey. How much did you loot them for?' "They don't have any money!"

"So how did the sale go?" 'Barter. I traded the medication for corn.” "For how much then?" "Half a bag." "Good heavens" I exclaimed. "For the old iodine junk you managed to ask for half a sack of corn?"

“I could also get ten bags. They plant a lot of maize, even for pig feed.' "Why didn't you ask for ten right away?" "They couldn't bear that," he replied wittily. “You are a greedy crook. You're going to hell again' I cursed him. "For a merchant there is no heaven and no hell," he laughed. He started to teach me. "A merchant knows only profit and loss."

I turned in contempt, took my glass and drank. He continued. “The forest people have promised to bring the corn tonight. It's already dark; they will come soon.' 

He took the kerosene lamp, refilled it and lit it. Then he pumped air into it. The bright light pushed the darkness out of this pub. I thought of the forest people who had to walk a long way and carry the sack of corn according to the agreement. I hoped they would cheat the innkeeper. I didn't like that businessman cheating these primitive and stupid people. Then cheat a city dweller like me!

The forest people

I had already tried to visit the village of the forest people, but I had not succeeded. The road there was bad. You have to walk through water and over mountains very far away as if the village was outside of Thailand. That circumstance held back progress for them. They lived closed off from the world and intermarried only between the ten families. Corn, potatoes and pigs were their means of livelihood. Every now and then they bring the pigs to the market to exchange for rice and salt. These people know little about the outside world. And those are the very people you sell old iodine bottles to?

The forest man carried in a sack of corn. He was alone. His body was shiny and dripping with sweat. These people were not wearing shirts. They sewed burlap sacks into a cloth around their bodies. The innkeeper has the sack carried inside and checks if the corn is fresh. "Picked up from the field today, sir," and he dumps the corn on the ground and neatly folds the sack.

"Where was the sick person injured?" I ask him. He was startled. Apparently he had agreed with the innkeeper not to tell anyone about it. But the innkeeper repeats my question.

'On an arm. The bleeding has already stopped. Your iodine was really good, it worked fine.' The innkeeper looked at me victoriously, but I kept asking. "Did the bleeding stop right after you put the iodine on it?"

"Yes, we put a bottle on the wound and he drank the other completely." 'What? Did you make him drink that iodine?' "Yes, apply and drink at the same time so that it works well," he said.

I almost choked on my drink. I thought I had drunk iodine myself. Talking about old iodine was pointless now. I pictured the image of a perforated bowel by old iodine. Oh dear, that must be terribly painful.

The forest man was gone and the innkeeper finally repented. 'What a dirty place to sell such rubbish' I said to myself. 'The bottle also didn't say whether you should rub it in or take it. It wouldn't have mattered either because those people can't read,' said the innkeeper. 

"Why didn't you forbid them to drink that stuff?" 'I forgot.' 'Fumbling! Now you will surely go to hell.' He sighed, stood up, took an incense stick from a packet and lit it. I blamed him again. "Yes, you're afraid of some mosquitoes, but you let another one die." "Who says I'm afraid of mosquitoes?" "Don't you light it to scare away mosquitoes?"

He went to the idol and put the incense stick in the altar. Then he folded his hands and prayed. Then he asked, "Do you know what I prayed for?" "Yeah, probably you won't end up in jail." "No, I asked God to take the strength out of that iodine."

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

Author Anchin Panchapan (1926) was a popular writer. He achieved his great success with a collection of short stories (1966) about the hard life in the mining region in southern Thailand. It has been shortened due to its length.