The Duckling
1964
A verdant garden ringed with shrubs and glittering lights.
A gentle breeze stirred the blossoms, bringing a welcome freshness to the reception for newly commissioned pilot officers of the Royal Thai Air Force.
Yet in that moment, the entire scene seemed to fall under a spell. Among the young officers, mouths hung slightly open, every gaze transfixed upon the pair who had just made their entrance together.
Pilot Officer M.R. Thajet Akkharakarn…with a lady on his arm.
The reaction was sharpest among their fellow officers—ardent partisans of the two most distinguished graduates. Thajet, a nobleman of the Akkharakarn lineage, and Thas Manasnet, son of a minister—a man of common birth risen on merit.
The two air force tigers had come to embody a rivalry between the dignity of old aristocratic blood and the heir of nouveau riche, alternating between first and second place in academics, flight training, the sports field, and masculine grace.
Still in one regard, there was no contest: the effortless charm they held over women’s hearts.
The commissioning celebration became yet another arena for rivalry. Throughout the cohort, men had already begun to take quiet sides. Whose lady would shine brightest tonight?
Yet the mere sight of the companion on M.R. Thajet’s arm drew a murmur of astonishment from the crowd.
“Oh…”
Friends on Khun Chai’s side grumbled. How had Thajet yielded to Thas with such disconcerting ease? Even in defeat, it ought to have been a close match—neither side able to claim a decisive triumph.
But this… this was a rout, no need to count the score.
All eyes drifted back to Thas’s companion. Clad in black silk satin, she set pulses racing. The strapless bodice trimmed with a fine fringe of feathers lent the evening a lavish glamour.
The sleek lines traced the contours of her figure as she moved. The high slit rose along her thigh—scandalously ahead of its time—yet she carried it with such poise that the audacity resolved into allure.
From the moment the foreign-educated beauty entered on Pilot Officer Thas Manasnet’s arm, she had outshone all others as the evening’s most dazzling star.
Of all those present, none was more taken aback than his rival.
Thas swept his gaze across his fellow officers before it settled on a slight, timid figure in ivory white at Thajet’s side.
Dear me… Are there no women left in all of Bangkok that one must dress up a mere child for an evening affair?
The slender frame might, at a glance, be mistaken for someone scarcely past girlhood. Head bowed, shoulders drawn in, she clung to his sturdy arm as the young officer held his head high and strode forward with crisp, assured steps, leaving her to trail behind.
Her diminished figure seemed less a partner at his side than something attached to him.
“Old aristocratic stock—the rumored fiancé. A royal descendant, they say… bears the same honorary title of Mom Rajawong as he does.”
Somyot’s voice carried across the group. The curiosity in Thas’s eyes faded as he recalled, in passing, the so-called…
Legend of the Two Palaces.
“An old vow, it seems, binds the houses of Akkharakarn and Wimukmas—three generations, so the story goes.”
A pilot—or a court chronicler?
Thas glanced from Somyot back to the pair. The young nobleman gently disengaged the little lady’s grip on his arm before stepping away toward the refreshment pavilion. He reached over and lightly touched the stem of his escort’s nearly empty glass.
Then he headed across the lawn, draping an arm over Thajet’s shoulders as his friend selected a drink.
“Hey, that little duckling of yours…your fiancée-to-be?”
Thajet’s brow furrowed, then smoothed before anyone might remark. The old jibe wore on him, almost more than he could swallow.
Yet he had grown accustomed to this peculiar lot, and Thas never missed a chance to pile on.
He picked up a glass of ruby-red fruit punch—at least the small duty of fetching a drink for his companion gave him a brief moment of relief.
It would give the youngest daughter of the Wimukmas household something to occupy her hands; she would loosen her hold on him.
“People of pedigree—behaving as though they were in a folk opera.”
Thas lifted a flute of champagne.
“Antiquated, honestly.”
Khun Chai Thajet was too irritated to engage in conversation and turned to take his leave.
His roguish friend moved off in the same direction, so he veered off another way.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Thas flashing a devious grin, a voice calling after him.
“Quack, quack, quack!”
After teasing Thajet, Thas turned back to his companion, attending to her with the courtesy of a gentleman.
Yet for some reason, his gaze kept straying over the crowd in search of his rival’s woman—and found her gone from where he had last seen her.
The crowd passed before him. He had always relished the atmosphere of such gatherings, where people from different circles came together.
Some of his friends’ companions exuded the polished air of the highborn, well-bred on both sides; others hailed from ordinary provincial backgrounds.
The women these friends brought along often appeared demure and reserved in dresses that looked like their own handiwork. There was an endearing charm in their shy unfamiliarity with glamorous affairs.
Yet that one seemed oddly at odds with the rest—her dress hung loosely on her frame, as though a little girl had put on her mother’s evening gown.
And there, at last—he spotted her, half-hidden behind a pillar, peeking out.
As the evening wore on, the party grew livelier. The honorees mingled at their leisure in the garden, savoring food, drinks, and animated conversation.
Threading his way through the guests, Thas took in the scene: wherever Thajet happened to be, the duckling drifted within his orbit; whenever she drew near, he subtly shifted, keeping a careful distance.
It appeared to be working.
For now, with a sullen expression, the girl hovered by the drinks table, choosing at random—some of the prettily colored cocktails were deceptively strong.
She took a sip of one and winced at the bitterness. If she were to try things, then as her escort, Thajet ought to have taken some care in guiding her toward what was suitable—lest she lose her footing altogether.
Strange… On first impression, the young nobleman was every inch the gentleman with his escort. On closer inspection, his icy aloofness felt somewhat excessive.
The dancing was opened.
The Commandant and his wife led the first measure. Thereafter, the newly commissioned officers brought their partners forward in turn, with Pilot Officer Thas stepping out alongside the evening’s star. Beneath a clear sky strewn with stars, couples changed partners and moved in high spirits.
One song gave way to the next… Khun Chai Thajet alone had yet to step out to dance.
With each new tune, Thas’s attention strayed toward the duckling—she edged a little closer, her head inclined toward her companion, waiting.
Yet each time, Thajet remained impassive, leaving her to grow more awkward. Before long, with quiet efficiency, he withdrew from her company.
Now and then, when his gaze flickered there, Thas Manasnet caught a glimpse of a lost child craning in search of Khun Chai Thajet, seeking shelter under the eaves—no longer the young lady accompanying a Pilot Officer, someone all too easily turned into a figure of ridicule.
He found himself lingering on her, willing her on.
That young lady with the royal title—what was her name…?
Seizing the moment while Thajet had slipped away to greet an acquaintance among the musicians, Thas circled back, his mischief unmistakable, with that gentleman very much in mind.
“Well then, Khun Chai, have you no inclination to take the floor for a dance or two? And here you are, standing as though you’ve just been pecked by a duck—quack, quack.”
Thajet offered no reply.
“Understandable, I suppose. Were I to find that a betrothed since childhood has grown into a duck, I should not merely retreat to the edge of the bandstand. I might very well fly a plane to the ends of the earth.”
“Thas, that is hardly fair.”
Pilot Officer Noradet Setthasena had withdrawn from the dance and come to stand beside Thajet.
“Consider it—an upset most unexpected. You must admit, Thajet’s partner eclipsed every other woman with room to spare.”
He lifted a brow toward the opposing camp.
“What do you say, Thas?”
“Mm. Hard to argue with that.”
“Quite so!”
He let out a chuckle.
“Khun Chai Thajet’s lady is truly striking—the undisputed star of the evening. I dare say not a gentleman present could boast a companion to rival her tonight—least of all our dear Khun Chai Thajet.”
Noradet, of Thajet’s own circle and son of the Honourable Chao Khun Sri, joined in the ribbing.
Thajet sipped his cocktail, listening to them laugh. One misstep, and he was neatly outmaneuvered.
These fellows… newly bestowed with their swords, were still much the same as when they first entered the barracks as cadets.
“Come now…”
Thas gave the young nobleman a firm clap on the shoulder.
“Go and make your bow. Ask the lady for a dance—let her enjoy the evening, rather than stand about forlorn. Might as well, since it’s come to this.”
He pressed his glass into Noradet’s hand and stepped away from the group.
Sharp-tongued though he was, Thas was the first to notice her disappearance.
He set off in search of her, walking all the way to the far end of the left-wing veranda, beyond the edge of the festivities, where no one wandered.
As he turned the corner of the portico, he collided with a slight figure who had stumbled on her high heels and pitched forward against his chest.
She found her footing, straightened, then looked up…
It was the duckling.
The young woman stood frozen, staring for a moment. Her lips pressed tight, then parted.
“I wasn’t crying, quack quack.”
Thas's heart dropped.
He tilted his head, studying her. The girl stood pouting, cheeks puffed, eyes brimming with tears.
Something faint and unwelcome tightened within him.
He had never meant for his careless, boisterous words to reach her ears. Where had she been hiding, behind which corner, which pillar?
For an instant, he almost reached out to take her by the arms in comfort, but his hands faltered, unsure where to place them.
He felt ill at ease; this young lady did not know him, and she was neither quite a girl nor quite a woman yet.
Still, he wanted to console her. Her lips were already pursed into a small, involuntary duck-like pout.
In the end, he blurted it out, assuming a manner as though to soothe a child.
“Little duck… big Brother Thajet won’t dance—would you dance with Brother Thas instead?”
Her wide, limpid eyes were bright with unshed tears as she lifted them to meet his, startled.
Mom Rajawong Rumphaphiangphit Wimukmas stood still, then the tears slipped free.
