The house, built in traditional Thai style, had twin roofs that met in the middle, leaving an airy, shady space between the two sets of rooms of the upper floor.
When for the first time I ventured into that middle section, I found the place cool and dark and made out the dim, imposing figure of Grandpa, who sat alone on a high veranda on one side. When my eyes got used to the poor light, I noticed how wide the space crisscrossed by a tangle of beams under the tapering roofs was. My first impression was that I had entered a prayer hall made entirely of wood. As for Grandpa, whose figure I now saw clearly, he reminded me of one of those senior officials of the old regime with high-sounding titles such as Jao Phraya Phra Sadeit and others I can’t remember. He had a big body, broad, muscular shoulders and a square face with a wide forehead and prominent jaws. A shock of grey hair parted in the middle looked like wings above his closely cropped nape. Bushy eyebrows arched over harsh eyes. His fine moustache was still black, unlike his eyebrows and hair. He sat cross-legged among his paraphernalia, while I stood staring at him from the central landing below.
“Come here, Jan.” There was a strange note of kindness in his gruff voice. I climbed the high wooden steps and went to sit at the same level, then crawled to him and prostrated myself at his feet.
“Hmm…” he said, while looking at me closely. “You’re fully grown now, son of my niece Darra.”
This delightfully quaint address made me feel so deeply elated I almost burst into tears.
“We have much to talk about,” he went on. “Your Aunt Waht left it to me to decide about your position in this house. People around here, including the man who brought you in, don’t know who you are. I never thought you’d be forced to come here. But since you’re already with us, I think you’d better stay in such a way no one knows who you are, because I want everyone in this house to forget all about what