My Shame: A Novel of Thailand

By Jim Brewer

Taken from her tiny village on the edge of Thailand and Burma at the age of thirteen and forced into prostitution, a young girl fights for a better life amid a world of predators and shady characters intent on using her for their own twisted reasons. She yearns to find that one special man who will look past who she once was and love her for the woman she is today.

The story of Tang Noi's quest begins now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887317595

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Part 1

1

2

3

Part 2

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

About the Author

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My Shame

A Novel of Thailand

Jim Brewer

Copyright © 2023 Jim Brewer

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 979-8-88731-758-8 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88982-870-9 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88731-759-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Part 1

1

Although they did not know it, General Tsu-yen's bodyguards had taken my only weapon. My knife, Jade, so cleverly concealed in my bra, had gone when they had forced me to strip off all my clothes. Now I stood naked and shamed in front of my despised enemy, the monster who had bludgeoned into my little girl world and ruined my happy life. Was this to be my fate after all my planning and scheming—to be so close to finally having my revenge but instead, it seemed, to have only more degradation?

I had killed before but knew I would need a weapon to equalize the general's size and experience. My eyes jumped about the room, seeking anything I could use. There was nothing, not even a lamp or table. Should I just give him what his lustful eye was trying so hard to devour and wait until he was asleep? The very thought made my stomach queasy. After all, thanks to him, I was once no more than a common whore, my body for sale to anyone who had a few baht.

For some reason, two old women from my village forced their way into my thoughts. They had been staring at me when one said, It seems she is going to grow up to be as beautiful as her mother.

And the other said, But let us petition the gods she will not become such a whore.

But everyone knows, no matter how much you wash the piglet, it will scramble back into the muck with its sow.

They had been prophets. Thanks to the fiend sitting on the bed, eating up my body with his one good eye, their prediction had come true. I was like my mother. I thought back to when the general had come into my life, to that day, so long ago, when I was almost fourteen and full of innocence.

It seemed a lifetime ago. Was it only four years?

It had been like every other day in my small village on the edge of Thailand and Burma. I had been sitting on the veranda of my house, weaving bright cotton threads on my backstrap loom. I can even remember that I was going to surprise my papa, Tin Suean, with a new sarong.

Some women and children were transplanting rice not far away, so it had to have been near the beginning of monsoon season. I remember thinking they looked like so many colorful storks, bending over and stabbing a shoot into the mud with a forked tool, then moving a few inches and doing it again, over and over.

I had never envied them and their back-breaking work. It seemed endless, like trying to measure the water in the Salween River with a coconut bowl. On days like this, I realized how fortunate I was that my papa was the village intellectual, the only one who could read or write. I did not have to work in the fields because the monks paid him to keep the history and important records for the people. Thinking of him made me glance down the south road one more time to see if he was coming. He had taken our water buffalo cow, Babe, to another village to breed with a bull.

As it did every day, the deep tenor of the late morning gong of the Wat Pa Sak, or Teak Forest Temple, signaled the yellow-robed monks to begin their afternoon fast and sent dozens of birds screeching from the trees.

As its vibrating echo was swallowed by the dense foliage of the surrounding jungle, the first soldier popped into view. His tiger-striped fatigues and dark face camouflage had kept him invisible until he stepped out onto the dike that separated two rice paddies.

Another soldier had appeared, then another. They were in full combat gear: field pack, bedroll, pistol belt, canteen, entrenching tool, ammo pouches, bayonet, and an AK-47 with a banana clip locked in its receiver. Their camouflaged helmets had leaves and twigs stuck in the cover bands. They were dressed to impress the young men of our village whom they had come to recruit.

The women and children in the field straightened up to stare but were not afraid. The snowy egrets that had been following the planters to eat the aquatic insects stirred up by their bare feet, took flight, startled by their sudden movement. The women were not frightened, but I knew they would be worried. Men with guns always meant trouble to wives and mothers.

But they were a common sight in our area. My people, the Karen, had fought against the hated government in Rangoon for decades. I knew these soldiers were not Tatmadaw because they would have come in shooting, trying to kill every man, woman, and child in our village. I noticed one of the younger women, who was obviously pregnant, begin to rub the small of her back with a loud groan.

Daw, I could hear another say. You must quit. Everyone knows you are willing to do your part.

But I must help, she answered. Is it not our tradition that every farmer's family help with the planting, and the harvesting?

Yes, but it is also our tradition that a young woman with her first baby does not harm herself foolishly.

Besides, a silly-looking crone in a bright pink turban interjected, you must not tire yourself out. What if your strong young husband wants to make you cry out in the dark tonight?

She made lewd gestures with her hips that made the others giggle and me blush and look away.

I was at what my papa called an in-between age—not yet a woman but not a child anymore either. In the last few months, I had grown too tall, too skinny, and too clumsy. My teeth were too large for my face. My papa said not to worry, I would grow into them. But they gleamed like elephant tusks every time I smiled. I like to smile, at least I once did.

Everyone kept saying I was pretty, so I suppose I did have some nice features. My skin was tan and my hair black and shiny. I was half Thai and seemed to have been fortunate enough to have gotten the best from both races. My prettiest feature seemed to be my eyes. They were large and round in the Karen way, and I was told they were so light brown they were an unusual golden color. People liked to look into them, which made me feel good. My government name was Chairathbun Makarapong, but everyone called me Tang Noi, which meant little melon.

I was wakened from my daydreaming about myself, something I seemed to do a lot of lately, by the men moving out of the field. They had been preparing the next one for planting with a water buffalo-pulled harrow. The women and children joined them. We all headed toward the village meeting place, a piece of terra-cotta-colored earth tramped flat by thousands of bare feet. It was next to the tin-roofed taalat, an open-air market where the women went to buy their day's food.

As I moved to join the others coming out of the two dozen or so thatch-roofed houses on stilts, I thought of how strongly tradition guided our lives. The monks taught us we had come from the River of Golden Sand somewhere east of China thousands of years before the birth of the one named Christ.

We were a proud people who yearned to be free. This desire for freedom had caused our fight against the repressive government in Rangoon for generation after generation. Many Karen wives and mothers had cried for brave men who died seeking what seemed only a dream.

We did not claim to be Burmese, nor did we opt to be Thai. Most of our village rested in Burma, but all the fields were in Thailand. My papa said the people cleverly claimed citizenship to one country or the other, depending upon whose tax collector came by.

Perhaps this confusion was why so many of us spoke both languages and why Thai dresses and customs were intermixed with Burmese. For instance, I preferred a casual Thai sarong tucked under my left armpit over the more formal Karen dress. But it was always plain white cotton to show I was unmarried.

I took one last look down the road for my papa before the crowd mobbed me into its middle. The soldiers surrounded us. The last one to arrive was not dressed like the others. He wore a khaki uniform with rows of bright ribbons on his chest. Two silver stars gleamed on his epaulets, and a red one was in the center of his gray helmet.

Instead of a rifle, he had a black holster on a web belt. He gave a signal, and the other soldiers began mixing in with the crowd. Soon the silly older girls were making froggy eyes at them, but I knew the Karen were upright people and would not mix with those from the outside.

The obvious leader was crossing the road toward us. His head was down, and I could not see his face. Suddenly he raised his head. I fell back in terror along with the others. Evil eye. I could hear the whisper rushing through the crowd like fire through dry grass.

Do not look, I heard the pink-turbaned crone croak. One look into the eye of evil will give you a horrible lingering death and an afterlife as a black dog.

I covered my eyes with my hands and kept my nose pointed toward the ground.

Do not be afraid, my people, I heard the soldier say. I have covered it.

I could sense the bravest looking up. When they did not fall over, I dared to peek. The leader had covered the evil orb with a large black patch. I looked around sheepishly. The soldier lifted the patch to scratch at something white and ugly, and we all quailed.

I am called General Tsu-yen, he said. I am one of you, born in Mandalay. I have come to ask your help in raising a grand army, an army that will once and for all throw off the shackles that the evil junta in Rangoon has placed around our people. To long…

He droned on with his speech, and my mind wandered. I noticed he was eyeing a girl I did not like because she thought she was so pretty. She was wearing red parrot feathers for earrings and a white shift that was too tight. It showed too much of her big behind. I wondered what the soldier could see in her. I shook my head and made myself listen to what the general had to say.

And did you know the junta lives in a palace made of jade and diamonds or that they spend more in one day to feed their pet deer than you could make in ten lifetimes? And that—

That is not true. I recognized my papa's strong voice.

W-w-what? the general stuttered.

I said that is not true. I have been to Rangoon, and the palace is made of stone and plaster.

The others fell away from Tin Suean. The soldiers rushed in, pointing their rifles. I moved to stand proudly at my father's side.

And the only deer live in the zoo and belong to the people.

Red anger filled the soldier's face. His hand seemed to reach for his eye patch, then fell away. I could sense the rage he was fighting to control. Suddenly he drew a large gray pistol from his holster and chambered a round, pointing it straight at my papa's head.

I watched in horror as my tall straight father became small and bent. His legs began to tremble He sank to his knees. His lips quivered as he choked, Please do not kill me.

I jumped on him and hugged him in my arms. From the side of my eyes, I could see the soldier moving around, trying to get a clear shot. I moved my body. With an enraged scream, the general raised his pistol and shot Babe between the eyes.

The cow fell on his side, kicking her legs in one last futile attempt to run away. There was a stunned silence.

General Tsu-yen took a large knife from one of the soldiers and neatly slit the bull's throat.

Blood gushed onto his spit-shined boots. Gather some firewood. Dig a roasting pit. His voice seemed tiny after the shock of the gunshot.

The people busied themselves. I could tell by some of the looks the women gave me that they wanted to help my papa and me, but what could they do? Everyone knew all the breast-beating in the world would not put the canary back in its cage when the cat was already licking its claws.

We had no relatives in the village. My papa was an orphan. He had always thought that was why the monks had chosen him to go away to Thailand to attend their school and learn to read and write.

Five years later, he had come back holding hands with a Thai wife and leading Babe. My mother had been a beautiful but weak woman who had run away with one of her lovers when I was only two. My father almost never spoke of her. When he did, dark words like whore and slut filled the air. I did not speak her name either. It only brought up bad memories.

I was the only one to comfort my papa now, but I did not know what to do. I hugged him to my breast and sang the tune my amah sang to me when I had some little hurt. Do not cry, little monkey, or the birds will fly down from the trees to peck at your tears.

Do not cry little dove or…

My father finally sat up and looked around like someone waking from a deep sleep. He groaned when he saw people carrying away meat from Babe's carcass. I pulled on his hand. Do not cry, little crocodile, or the elephant will come from the jungle to tickle you with her trunk. He finally stood up, and I led him to our house.

The people were always ready for sanuk, or a good time, and I could hear them talking and laughing in the square between the houses. Soon there was the clinking of bottles. The laughter became louder. The monks said the people deserved a drink now and then because their lives were one long struggle to survive. I had always thought some of them must have struggled much more than others.

Sometime in the night, I could feel the mood of the party begin to change. The voices became mean and querulous. My villagers yelled. The soldiers yelled back. There were loud thuds and thunks and groans. Women screamed. The fighting continued for some time before it began to grow still. I recognized the voices of some of the older girls calling for help before it became completely quiet.

I had almost gone to sleep when the dreaded sound of soldier's boots clumped across our jaan, or veranda. Three of them barged in, followed by the general. Where are the books and papers? he demanded.

My father turned his face to the wall, but my betraying eyes strayed to the large chest in which he kept all the records and important papers of the village. The general strode to the trunk and threw open the lid. Take them to the fire and burn them, he ordered. Mao taught the written word was the greatest enemy of revolution and to take every opportunity to destroy it.

As the soldiers moved to obey, I tried to destroy the general with my glare. He spun around as if sensing a threatening enemy at his back. His one good eye locked on mine. I could feel his will trying to bend mine, trying to make me look away. I refused to waver.

Ah, I have made an enemy worthy of notice, he finally said. The one thing I have learned in my life is to never let a strong enemy go or someday you will pay for your mistake. Seize her.

One of the soldiers dropped his papers and seized my arm. My father had told me to never let anyone touch me if I did not want them to. I scratched his face. Surprised, the soldier stepped back. Then all three rushed in, hitting and kicking me. I was surprisingly strong and could throw most of the boys when we played wrestling; that was why they left me alone. But the soldiers were vicious. A blow to my face knocked me down, and the kicks to my ribs surely broke them.

Tie her hands, the general ordered. One grabbed my hair, and another jerked my arms behind my back and secured my hands with a rough rope.

Bring her, the general said, starting out the door. The one who had tied my hands threw another rope around my neck. I refused to be led around like a dog. I rammed my head into his stomach. They fell on me again, kneeing and hitting me until I curled up into a fetal position. I believe they would have beaten me to death if the general had not yelled, Stop!

He lifted me to my feet and loosened the rope that was choking off my breath. I admire your fighting spirit, he said. But you must give in now. You will only get hurt.

This time I followed docilely, fighting to keep from crying. The ribs on my right side felt like they had been crushed up against my lungs, and I could not draw a full breath. My tongue kept darting to the split in my lip, and my left eye throbbed.

The general led me into the deserted square where a single soldier sat on a log, staring into the embers of a fire. General Tsu-yen handed him his end of the rope. Watch her, Sergeant Blood, he said, turning to walk away. It was then I noticed the girl with red feathers for earrings waiting in the shadows.

B-but, she started to say something, but the general cut her off. It would be in your and everyone's best interest if you forgot about that girl.

The one called Sergeant Blood tied his end of the rope to the log he was sitting on and ignored me. I let the tears flow, trying not to sob out loud. I wished I could rub my aching side. I sank slowly to the ground. I was exhausted, but my mind kept racing and would not let blessed sleep come to me. The hard ground soon made my side feel like it was on fire. I gave up and stood up. I looked at the man staring into the fire.

He was without a doubt the ugliest person I have ever seen. I had seen artists' renderings of prehistoric men, and he looked like a throwback to that time. His high forehead sloped back from his prominent brow ridges to a head that was either completely bald or shaved. His huge ears flopped forward. He looked like an elephant staring at something that had startled it.

A wide scar ran down his right cheek to where his chin should have been. I wondered if he had been born without one or if the violence that left the scar had blown it away. His eyes constantly darted about as if seeking an approaching enemy. I could not know then that this ugly being would someday save my life more than once.

My legs began to tremble, and I sank back down, falling into a half-asleep, half-awake state. A one-eyed fiend haunted my dreams. He raised a huge cannon-like pistol and fired a shot that not only killed Babe but also my father and me.

Sometime in the night, my papa staggered out of our house and toward us. A large red welt on his left cheek glowed in the flickering light. Tang, where are you, daughter? he called.

I am here, Papa. My voice was hoarse in my dry throat.

Sergeant Blood came out of his trance and raised his rifle, pointing it at my father's head. Get away, he growled.

Tin Suean looked at me. He held his right hand out to me as if wanting me to run to him like I had done when I was a little girl. I could not. He staggered back to our house, shoulders slumped in defeat. Sergeant Blood chuckled and mumbled. He went back to staring at the fire. In the morning, I was not sure if it really happened or if I dreamed it.

I must have dozed because a kick to my sore ribs jerked me awake. The sun was just a distant promise in the east, but the soldiers were already assembled, eating leftover bull meat and drinking the dregs of the whiskey.

My mouth felt like a large rat had crawled into it and died. My neck ached where the rope was rubbing it raw, and my ribs were one throbbing red pain. I had to hold my right shoulder higher to breathe.

I looked around for the people of the village who were usually out working by sun up. The dusty streets were deserted. I noticed Sergeant Blood drinking from his canteen. I licked my dry lips. Sitting on the log beside him, I stared at the bright metal container in his hands, trying to bring it to my mouth. He grimaced at me, took another sip, and stuffed it back into his pack. I whimpered.

General Tsu-yen appeared out of the darkness. We had better get on the march. We were not supposed to be gone all night, and I'm sure the staff is worried. They have probably already dispatched a patrol to look for us.

The soldiers shouldered their packs and followed him down the trail, leaving Sergeant Blood and me alone in the clearing. The sergeant glanced from me to the general and back again. Indecision filled his ugly face. He untied the rope from the log and held it in his hands, staring at it as if it held the answer to his dilemma.

I held my breath when he seemed to be on the point of dropping it. With a shrug, he tied his end to a ring on the bottom of his pack and moved swiftly after the others.

I cried out as the rough rope cut into my neck and ran to keep up. With my hands tied behind, I could not ease the scratchy hemp away from the aching sore. I looked back at my village, feeling tears making rivulets through the dirt and soot on my face. My eyes jumped to every corner, every shadow, seeking my beloved papa. I knew then I would never see him again.

We moved down the trail at a swift pace. The women of my village had scared us with tales of ferocious animals waiting in the jungle to eat young tender children like us, and I had stayed far away from its dark green fringes. As we moved under the canopy of forty-five-foot-tall, trees it became cold, but I was too fascinated by the beauty of the forest to notice. Multicolored orchids and other flowers hung down from vines that twined through the trees, bright ferns filled open spaces and actually grew out of the tree trunks, and beautiful birds of every color sang in the branches.

Soon I was struggling to move my feet fast enough to keep up with Sergeant Blood and the rope from biting my neck. Pain and thirst throbbed in my mind. I licked my lips with my dry swollen tongue, and my eyes fell on the canteen bobbing up and down on the sergeant's right hip. I focused my thoughts like pinpoints of light, willing the lifesaving water inside to float up and out and back to my mouth. I daydreamed of cool water filling my mouth and slaking my parched throat.

My concentration was so great that I bumped into Sergeant Blood's right side when the general called for a short rest. I barely kept my balance when he shoved me and called me a stupid girl. My eyes remained locked on the canteen as I followed him to a log and sat by his side.

Hope filled me as he brought out the vessel of my desire. I swallowed my pride and pushed up against him with a croaking whimper. He looked at me in seeming surprise and pressed the canteen to my lips but jerked it away after my third gulp. Tears filled my eyes as I watched it disappear into its carrier.

Excited chatter ran through the soldiers just as we started to move on. Another patrol had come into sight and was moving down the trail. Their leader saluted the general. They conferred for a few minutes, then the other group turned and started back the way they had come. Our pace slowed considerably after meeting the search patrol.

We came to a wide river that I knew had to be the Salween. Boats were waiting at the bank. While we floated downriver, I slumped to the bottom of our boat, instantly falling asleep. When I was awakened, I saw we had landed at a short dock beside a teeming army camp. Several important-looking soldiers dressed like the general came out of a large wooden building and surrounded him.

I heard the sergeant mumble Sergeant Blood soldier, no babysitter before he pushed into their middle. I saw some turn angrily toward him as if to chastise him for his rudeness, but when they saw who it was, they turned away instead.

What about girl? Sergeant Blood demanded.

The general looked surprised, then stared at me for a long time. I was slumped against the air but raised my head to glare back.

Get rid of her, Sergeant Blood, he said with finality, turning and walking away.

The ugly soldier looked at me, and a dull flatness come into his eyes as he raised his rifle and pointed it at my chest. I awaited my death, too tired and beaten to care. The soldiers near us stopped, waiting to see the bullets tear into my body and end my life. After a few seconds, Sergeant Blood lowered his rifle and walked away, shaking his head and mumbling. I did not know why I followed him. Perhaps it was because I was a little girl and he had just spared my life.

We walked past several wooden barracks with tin roofs. I wondered if he was taking me someplace quiet to kill me, but I still followed, resigned to my fate. We came to a small thatch-roofed hut made of sticks and odd-sized boards. A gurgling stream ran beside it. I looked around, wondering if I should make my run for it now. But I had never made an important decision in my short life and could not make one now.

Sergeant Blood came out of his hut carrying a bayonet. Sergeant Blood good soldier. Always obey order, he mumbled.

He walked up to me with the long, flat knife held in the stab position. I tightened my stomach, wondering how much it would hurt. But he spun me around, cut the ropes off my hands, and walked back into the hut.

The breath I had been holding came out in a whoosh and my legs began to tremble. Suddenly I was sick to my stomach. Tears flowed as I looked around helplessly and followed him into the shack, taking the rope from around my neck.

Sergeant Blood was sitting at a wooden table that filled most of the space, gulping food from a white metal plate. He did not look up. There was not much in the small room. The only other furniture was a neatly made bunk. Against one wall was an open-faced cabinet resting on ammo cans. Beside it was a single ammo box on which rested a large black pot on an army stove.

I dried my tears and walked to the cabinet, getting a plate and spoon. I heaped my plate with the foul-looking mess, squatted beside the sergeant, and gulped it down. Even though it looked like swine vomit, I believe it was the best food I have ever eaten.

When he finished eating, the sergeant brought a tin of salve and set it in front of me. One sniff told me it was what the women in our village used to soothe our cuts, and I applied it liberally to my neck and wrists. Then I took our dishes to the stream to wash to pay for my food. I stared longingly at the cool water but did not want to take off my clothes to bathe with the sergeant watching me. Instead, I scooped water using one of the plates and washed as best I could.

Hope came back now that my stomach was full and my body almost clean. I looked for trails leading away from the hut but saw only thick impenetrable jungle. The stream seemed the only avenue of escape. I looked back over my shoulder and saw the sergeant staring at me; his rifle cradled in his arms.

He threw the rope over my head and pulled the noose tight as soon as I walked into the shack.

Please, I begged, I promise to not try to get away.

He grimaced at me. Sergeant Blood no fool. His mumbling was barely understandable. How many children Sergeant Blood kill? What difference one more? His roaming eyes fell on me, and I shuddered, seeing the spirit of death in them. He picked up the loose end of the rope and moved toward the door. Just as he entered the sunlight, his eyes seemed to be caught by the end of his rifle's barrel. He held it closer and turned it so the diffuse light could fall on it.

Rust? Sergeant Blood have rust? He dropped the rope and rushed to the cabinet. Getting out a small ammo can, he began taking the rifle apart, carefully laying each piece on the table.

Now, while his rifle was in pieces, would be a good time to escape, I thought. I began easing my hands up to the noose to jerk it off and make my run for it. Just as I reached for the rope, he grabbed his end, jerking so hard I fell on my stomach with a cry of pain. In an instant he was on me, kneeing my back and retying my hands. He smashed his fist into the side of my jaw when I struggled.

He went back to the table and began putting his rifle back together. Stupid girl. No one never escape Sergeant Blood.

I sat up and laid my aching head on the cot. My eyes would not focus, and my ribs had begun to ache again. I almost gave up in defeat. He tried the action several times, then locked in the clip and chambered a round. His eyes came to rest on me and traveled down my body. Useless girl. Why not older? Sergeant Blood need pok-pok. His attention seemed to focus on me, and he looked at me in a way I did not understand but did not like.