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The sun blazed as if determined to crisp every living thing in the broad fields. Now and again the tall, straight, isolated sabang and payom trees let go some of their dirty yellow leaves. He sank exhausted against a tree trunk with his dark blue shirt wet with sweat. The expanse around him expressed total dryness. He stared at the tufts of dull grass and bits of straw spun in a column to the sky. The brown earth sucked up into the air cast a dark pall over everything. A whirlwind. He recalled the old people had told him this was the portent of drought, want, disaster and death, and he was afraid. He was now anxious to get home; he could see the tips of bamboo thickets surrounding the house far ahead looking like blades of grass. Bur he hesitated. A moment before reaching the shade of the tree he felt his ears buzz and his eyes blur and knew it meant giddiness and sunstroke. He looked at the soles of his feet blistered from the burning sandy ground and became indescribably angry – angry with the weather capable of such endless torture. In the morning the cold had pierced his bones, but now it was so hot he felt his head would break into bits and pieces. As he remembered the biting cold of the morning, he thought again of his little son.

That same morning he and two of his small children went out into the dry paddy fields near the house to look for frogs for the morning meal. The air was so chilly the two children on either side of him shivered as they stopped to look for frogs hiding in the cracks of the parched earth. Each time they saw two bright eyes in a deep crack, they would shout, “Pa, here’s another one. Pa, this crack has two. Gold-legged ones! Hurry, Pa.”

He dashed from place to place as the voices called him, prying up the dry clods with his hoe. He caught some of the frogs immediately, but a few jumped away as soon as he began digging. It was the children’s job to chase and pounce on them. Many got away. Some jumped into different fissures obliging him to pry up a new cake of earth. If his luck was good, besides the frog, he would find a land snail or a razor clam buried waiting for the rains. He would take these as well.

The air was warming and already he had enough frogs to eat with the morning rice. The sound of drumming, the village chief’s call for a meeting, sounded faintly from the village. Vague anger again spilled over as his thoughts returned to that moment. If only he had gone home then the poor child would be all right now. It was really the last crack. As soon as he poked it, the ground broke apart. A fully grown gold-legged frog as big as a thumb leaped past the bigger child. The younger raced after it for about twelve yards when it dodged into the deep hoofprint of a water buffalo. The child groped after it. And then he was shocked almost senseless by the trembling cry of his boy, “Pa, a snake, a snake bit my hand.”

A cobra spread its hood, hissing. When finally able to act, the father with all his strenght brought the handle of his hoe three times down on the back of the serpent leaving its tail twitching. He carried his child and the basket of frogs home without forgetting to tell the other to drag the snake along as well.

On the way back his son cried softly and moaned, beating his chest with his fists and complaining he could not breathe. At home, the father summoned all the faith-healers and herbalists whose names he could think of and the turmoil began.

“Chop up a frog, roast it, and put it on the wound,” a neighbour called out.

When another shouted, “Give him the toasted liver of the snake to eat,” he hurriedly slit open the snake to look for the liver while his wife sat by crying.

The later it got, the bigger the crowd. On hearing the news, all the neighbours attending the village chief’s meeting joined the others. One of them told him he had to go to the District Office in town that day because the village chief told them it was the day the government was going to hand out money to those with five or more children, and he was one who had just five. It was a new shock.

“Can’t you see my boy’s gasping out his life? How can I go?”

“What difference will it make? You’ve called in a lot of doctors, all of them expert.”

“Go, you fool. It’s two hundret baht they’re giving. You’ve never had that much in your life-time. Two hundred!”

“Leave this for a bit,” another added. “If the boy dies, you’ll be out, that’s all.”

“I won’t go,” he yelled. “My child can’t breathe and you tell me to go. Why can’t they give it out some other day? It’s true I’ve never had two hundred baht since I was born, but I’m not going. I’m not going.”

“Jail,” another interjected. “If you don’t go, you simply go to jail. Whoever disobeyed the authorities? If they decided to give, you have to take, if not, jail.”

The word “jail” repeated like that affected him, but still, he resisted.

“Whatever it is, I said I’m not going. I don’t want it. How can I leave him when he’s dying?” He raised his voice. “I’m not going.”

“You go. Don’t go against the government. We’re subjects.” He turned to find the village chief standing grimly at his side. His voice dried up immediately.

“If I don’t go, will it really be jail?” he asked.

“For sure,” the village chief replied sternly. “Maybe for life.”

That was all there was to it. Dazed, he asked the faith-healers and neighbours to take care of his son and left the house.

He reached the District Office almost at eleven and he found a group of his neighbours who had also come for the money sitting in a group. They told him to address the old deputy district officer which he did.

“I am Mr. Nark Na-ngarm, sir, I have come for money, the many children money.”

The deputy district officer raised his fat face to stare at him for a moment then spoke heavily. “Idiot, don’t you have eyes to see people are working. Get out! Get out and wait outside.”

“Bur sir, my child is dying.” But he cut himself short when he thought perhaps if the official suspected that his child had died there would be trouble. The deputy officer looked down at his paper and went on scribbling. Nark dejectedly joined the group outside. “All one does is suffer, born a rice farmer and a subject,” he thought. “Poor and helpless, one’s mouth stained from eating roots when the rice has run out, at the end of one’s tether, you turn to the authorities only to be put down.” The official continued to write as if there were no groups of peasants waiting anxiously. A few minutes after twelve, he strode from the office but had the kindness to say a few words.

“It’s noon already. Time for a break. Come back at one o’clock for it.”

Nark and his neighbours sat there waiting till one o’clock. The taciturn deputy on returning called them all to sit on the floor near him. He began by asking each of them why they had so many children. The awkward replies of the peasant brought guffaws from the other officials who turned to listen to the embarrassing answers. At last it had to be his turn.

“Who is Mr. Nark Na-ngarm?”

“I am, sir,” he responded with humility.

“And now why do we have such a lot of children?”

Several people tittered.

“Oh, when you’re poor, sir…,” he burst out, his exasperation uncontrollable.

“What the hell’s it got to do with being poor?” the deputy officer questioned in a voice that showed disappointment with the answer.

“So poor and no money to buy a blanket. The kids just keep coming.”

Instead of laughter, dead silence, finally broken by the dry voice of the blank-faced deputy, “Bah! This joker uses his wife for a blanket.”

The wind gusted again. The sabang and payom trees threw off a lot of leaves. The spears of sunlight still dazzled him. The whirlwind still hummed in the middle of the empty ricefield ahead. Nark left the shade of the tall tree and went through the flaming afternoon sunshine heading for his village.

“Hey, Nark…” The voice came from a group of villagers still some distance away. It was topped by another.

“You sure are lucky.” The words raised his spirits. He smiled a little before repeating expectantly, “How was I lucky, how?”

“The two hundred baht. You got it, didn’t you?”

“I got it. It’s right here.” He patted his pocket.

“What luck! You sure have good luck, Nark. One more day and you’d have been out by two hundred baht.”