Chapter 15
After that, Mom Ratchawong Kirati and I continued to write to each other.
As time passed by, the pain of missing her, for several reasons, gradually diminished.
In the first place, however much I loved her and however much I missed her, there was nothing I could do about it.
Soon the tenseness I had felt began to ease, and when the time came for me to devote myself to my studies, the need to use all my powers of concentration was another factor which brought my mind back from the realm of passionate love to its former state.
Having suppressed my feelings once, it seemed as if I could do so perpetually.
Following the first two letters, which were full of an outpouring of love and passion for her, I continued in the next few letters to describe my longing for her.
But when I considered Mom Ratchawong Kirati’s advice and the utter emotional exhaustion I had experienced when she first left, my passion eased of its own accord.
Thus, in subsequent letters, I made no mention of longing for her, as I had at the beginning, and the intervals between writing grew longer, until the time came when my mind had found its former equilibrium.
Writing to her became almost completely painless, as if I were simply writing to a close friend.
And that was the way Mom Ratchawong Kirati wished it, as I understood at the time.
I had told her of my love and begged her in several letters to answer me in just one word.
But no matter how pleasing her replies were, she never, ever mentioned love.
I became convinced that Mom Ratchawong Kirati really did want to forget what there had been between the two of us, or at least the incident on Mount Mitake, where I had given vent to my feelings for her and pressed my lips up against hers.
That kiss still simmered in my heart. I had not forgotten it.
Yet the memory was beginning to fade for the various reasons I have already mentioned.
After two years, communication between Mom Ratchawong Kirati and myself had become so infrequent that scarcely a trace of the past remained in my heart.
My letters, which I had written to her every month without fail, became less frequent, and it seems that in that second year, I wrote to her only three times.
In fact, I was increasingly burdened with my studies, and as I had recovered my mental equilibrium, I immersed myself in my books and plans for my future career.
Looking back at the way I felt then, I am still surprised and at a loss to explain why Mom Ratchawong Kirati so quickly ceased to be important to me.
I had been so besotted with her and had regarded her as the most important person in my life.
She had been a woman I could not separate from my own life, because if she had been, my life would no longer have been complete.
After the passage of two years, all I knew was that she was just one of many close friends I had in Bangkok.
About six months later, I received news from Mom Ratchawong Kirati that Chao Khun had passed away as a result of kidney disease.
I shared her sorrow at the news and quickly wrote back offering my condolences.
After that, life went on as usual. Chao Khun’s death did not for one moment prompt me to consider that I might become involved with Mom Ratchawong Kirati in a way that might impact both of our lives.
It should have made me think of the former relationship between us.
It should have done, yes, but I do not know what devil it was that blocked it from my mind.
It is most surprising that, having learned the news of Chao Khun’s death, I allowed things to carry on as usual.
I had no inkling that an event of little significance to me was of the utmost importance to someone else. Such is life.
After a further two years I successfully completed my studies.
As my graduation approached, I communicated more with my family in Bangkok.
My brothers and sisters had heard I was doing well and that I would graduate soon and return home.
They all wrote to express their delight, as did the girl to whom I was engaged.
My father must surely have suggested she write as a means of tying me down and warning me that there was already a girl waiting to marry me in Bangkok, and that I should not get involved with any other woman in Japan.
Truly, no one need have worried about me on that score.
At the time, I was more preoccupied with advancing my own career than anything else.
I was not going to waste my time on women.
I had hardly given a thought even to my own fiancée.
I had no time for such things. I was older now, it was true; but this had not focused my thoughts on choosing a spouse.
It seemed as though the older I got, the more I kept away from the female sex.
Indeed, now that I was mature, I avoided all such situations and concentrated entirely on my work.
The letter from my fiancée unsettled my peace of mind and turned my thoughts to marriage.
But it was not something I considered with any great excitement.
I did not know whether I would love her, because we did not know each other well enough to be able to be fully committed to love.
But then what was marriage? I was not very clear about it at the time.
I thought vaguely that she must be a suitable enough partner.
Otherwise, why would my father have chosen her, for he was no fool?
At an appropriate time after my return to Bangkok, he would probably arrange our marriage, and I would raise no objections.
Even though the marriage would not be built upon a basis of mutual love, I would gradually become close to her, and before long would feel fondness and love for her.
She would look after the home, and I would go out to work and struggle against all the obstacles to advancement in my career.
There was not much more to marriage than this.
That was the rather vague idea I had at the time.
I did not think about it very seriously. I wrote a friendly letter back to her.
When I finished my studies, instead of returning home immediately, I began training at a bank.
During that time, I wrote to Mom Ratchawong Kirati, telling her how I was getting on.
I did not write at any length. The truth was, latterly, I was no longer very good at writing her long letters.
Once I had said what I wanted to, I could hardly think of anything else to write.
How strangely time changes our feelings.
So that you will know how Mom Ratchawong Kirati felt about me, more than four years after we had parted, I would like to show you one of her letters from that time. ‘My dear Nopporn’ – that was how she always, without fail, began her letters. This is what she wrote:
I’ve received your letter telling me of your success.
How can I tell you how thoroughly delighted I am?
Had you an elder sister, her pleasure at your success would scarcely compare with that which I feel.
You know just how eager I’ve been for you to succeed throughout the many long years when we’ve not seen each other.
So if I boast of my happiness a little too much, even though I’m not exaggerating, you surely won’t be cross with me.
I’m even more delighted to learn that you’re going to stay over there and work for a year before returning to Thailand.
In fact, that was your original plan, I was told when I was in Tokyo, so it just shows how firm you are in your resolve.
I expect you show the same resolve in everything, not just your studies.
Even though the things men such as you achieve are beyond the capabilities of most people, they are well within your grasp. My praise is meant quite sincerely.
Another year until you come to Thailand and we meet again.
You’ll no longer be the young Nopporn I used to know.
It will have been almost six years since we parted.
You were twenty-two then, so you’ll be twenty-eight.
My Nopporn will be quite grown up, no longer a boy like before.
You’re bound to be very different, but it will be the difference which comes with maturing and thriving.
Quite the opposite to me, whom you will think different, too.
But different in the sense of being on the decline.
However, we’ll surely recognize each other because we share certain memories we can never forget.
It’s strange how, lately, contact between us has become so infrequent.
Two years ago, I still remember, I didn’t hear from you more than three times throughout the whole year.
But, in fact, it was my own wish that you should have all your time for studying without having to worry about keeping up a regular correspondence, so what you did was correct.
Nearly five years have passed without any great hardship.
One year will go much more quickly and smoothly.
I haven’t any further words of advice because you’re your own master, and it looks as if you can manage better than me, even.
I await your return, my dear, to see with my own eyes the progress in life my young friend has made.
Thinking of you always,
Kirati
I read her letter with no emotion. Of course, I felt a sense of gratitude towards her, as if she were my older sister.
She had given me advice and encouragement which had always been of great value to me.
But the feeling of passion had died. Time had swept away my infatuation with her without me being conscious of it.
I did not notice, nor was I aware, that Mom Ratchawong Kirati had concealed the depth of her feelings in that letter.
Subtlety and discretion were, at that time, beyond my comprehension.