Thread: Bangkok Benediction.

Bangkok Benediction.
Chapter 1:

Some men go to Bangkok to die and some succeed.

In the case of Montgomery Joyce, when he fell from the sixteenth storey of his condominium in the Ollim Tower, there were no screams for he had died earlier from the beating he had endured. The body hit the concrete, face up next to the complexes’ swimming pool and it lay there like a limp rag. Blood trickled down from ruptured ear drums and matted into the ginger side burns on either side of the lifeless face.

Back in the building, two figures hurried to the lift, descended to the second floor, then switched to the rear emergency staircase. The female one of the pair was shapely in a muscular kind of way, with nail extensions and tight beige shorts and the male was wiry and carried a knife. Both were Thai and both were picked up by the police within twenty four hours as being known associates of the dead man. Monty was reputed to be a drug mule and to Police Duty Officer Lt Weerapong Rakkhito it looked like a deal too many. The remains were taken to Patong Hospital for examination.

Jeez ! This is getting a little too close to reality to be comfortable reading as fiction.

^I was thinkin exactly the same

Chapter 2:

Mick McManus had been in Thailand just three weeks when this event occurred, having recently retired from his last lucrative stretch of employment in South East Asia. He had taken a suite of rooms in the Convenient Park Hotel which was just what its name implied, as being near to the train link into town and close to a number of small shopping outlets that catered adequately to ones needs.

There are characters in Maugham’s stories of individuals in seemingly normal circumstances who give up everything and move for whatever motive, to alien, exotic locations. This was not the case with McManus for there was too much of the gypsy in him to begin with. In fact he enjoyed not being easily placed in any particular slot of characterization. It was more pertinent to enquire as to whether he was able to assume the consequences of this loose kind of social defiance.

Settling into the new country had not proved too much of a hardship, apart from the extreme heat and humidity at that time of the year. Sweat seemed to pour from every part of his body and this was not in accordance with his normal image of being; freshly clean and smartly attired. Around him, cool slim Thai women seemed to glide or sit with not so much as a glow upon their countenances.

Chapter 3:

He had on this particular day determined to sample one of the local watering holes. His choice fell upon one called "The Idaho Bar" which looked clean, not too brassy, with a few tables under an awning outside. Inside was neat and seemed empty. Taking a stool, he sat at the bar in a position to attract maximum exposure to the overhead, silvery wall fan.

"What will it be?" The voice was American and bluff.

"Oh, Ballantine’s with ice please," he responded taking in the man’s bulk and a face with a batrachian unchangeableness of expression.

"Name's Ed Ruckle originally from the States. I'm the owner."

"Mick McManus, nice to meet you," shaking hands.

Mick assumed his usual habit of shaking the ice in his drink that some people through the years had found irritating and he took a gulp.

"Tourist?" enquired the owner.

"No, not really. If the truth be known, I'm at a bit of a loose end."

Ed viewed him with potential

"Not one of your back pack cheapos in a T shirt and baggy shorts. Watch looks like a Tag Heuer and he's not afraid to drink the more expensive booze."

Outside, on what constituted a sidewalk in this part of the world, it was all movement and commerce. Shops that seemed wedged together spilled their wares out from dark interiors, whilst cars and buses honked and tooted at whatever was deemed to obstruct their progress: man, beast or machine. Tuk Tuks with smoky exhausts buzzed like mosquitoes in and out of this external melee.

Chapter 4:

"Looks like another jumper from around here," said Ed reading the Bangkok Post on the counter opposite Mick. "That will be about the sixth this year so far if you include Pattaya and Phuket. Says that the police have already got two locals they are questioning. That makes a change for them to get their butts moving. Normally, not really interested. It's almost as if they’re saying, if the guy did not come to Thailand in the first place, he would not have been dead. Welcome to the Land of Smiles!

"Did you know him?" asked Mick his interest stirred.

"Monty was his name. Used to come in occasionally. Spent more time hanging out with the Issan bar whores down at the "Paradise Junction" two streets along. Used to be known by his nickname "The Butterfly" around there."

Mick had been unaware that they had been joined silently by another man. He looked and took in the solid broad figure, rimless glasses and short cropped hair.

"Gary Rossow, ex US Marine Corps," he said extending a paw. It was an affirmation on the man’s part that those few words were all that was required to establish status and any further potential for social intercourse.

"Nice to meet you Gary. Call me Mick."Mick turned back to Ed.

"Why the name Butterfly?"

"He flitted from one girl to another, Seems rather the wrong nickname in the circumstance when he went over the edge," answered Gary in his place.

"Jackass," expounded the owner.

"Yep," echoed Gary, "A jackass. Another falang who won't be flashing the dough anymore acting the big guy. They never seem to get it. Those girls just want whatever they can lay their hands on. "No money, no honey" should be tattooed on their sweet little rears."

"Mind you," chipped in Ed gravely, "No one don't fall over a balcony if they are not full of drink or drugs. Or again, is it the Humpty Dumpty scenario? Did he jump or was he pushed?"

Mick rose to say his goodbyes and left.

Ed called out after him, "Call again & next time I'll introduce you to some of the other white faces if they are around."

Chapter 5:

It only took about twenty minutes to get back to the hotel and he quickly changed out of his latest set of damp clothes, showered and took a fresh whiskey and ice out onto the balcony. It was approaching that time of the day in Bangkok when the light began to sleep with the shadows.

On impulse he swung up and onto the balcony edge and sat on the top slab with his legs dangling. It was cool there and he felt strangely at peace.

"What if I just tip off?"

"I'm not afraid of death."

"If anything, it's just an inconvenience."

He did not know how long he sat there, but he was calm.

Perhaps it is the ultimate in casualness to walk away from finality, but that is what he did. Having touched the perimeter wire of his existence, he simply chose to re-engage as easily as he could have decided otherwise. Mick swung his legs back inside and re-entered the room.

Chapter 6:

Before going out again he decided to indulge in something he had not tried before; a Thai massage advertised as part of the hotel's facilities. It was located to the left of reception in the foyer and they seemed genuinely pleased to see him with bows, lowered eyes and the traditional raised, closed palm greeting.

He stripped, wrapped a rather inadequate towel around him and was led to a padded slab where he laid face down. Two sets of hands applied scented oil and worked from alternate extremities. Delicate fingers raked his scalp gently and rubbed behind his ears, whilst at the other end the inset of his soles was firmly thumbed and the backs of his legs knelded into suppleness.
As if in a pincer movement of equipoise proportions, his Achilles tendons were worked in a strong flowing grasp and at the other end, tense knots in his shoulders were determinedly worked loose and put to rest.

When the time became apparent to turn over, the prospect of a new surface being worked upon was agreeable, albeit for that small voice of apprehension as his crown jewels were approached.

"Switch off, think of something else," he said mentally.

But the soft, sensual strokes advanced with remorseless advance to the final precipice and he could not but discern a latent, serpentine stirring in a certain region.

This also did not go unnoticed unappreciably by the applicants and one of them left the room.

He heard a small whisper in his ear, "Would you like happy ending Mr McManus?!"

Opening his eyes he saw the warm glow of an Oriental face and he gave himself up to the exquisite sense of leaning entirely on a generous sympathy without any check of proud reserve. What came as a further surprise was that he did not at once find out, how much he was relieved by the sense that he was not expected to do anything in particular.

Chapter 7:

The night fighters, inclusive of the kathoeys, were out on sorties in Pat Pong Street.

"Hello handsome man."

"Why you walk alone?"

"Where you from?"

"Me love you long time."

The patter was continuous and Flack Alley strutted its stuff. Young women and some a bit more jaded, hung about looking to turn a trick or at least entice customers into garishly lit disco bars and girlie joints. Tight skirts and hot pants, high heels "de rigeur" and elaborate Chinese type tattoos on slim shoulders and exposed lower backs.

Paradise Junction was in reality indistinguishable from its neighbours. Everything was carnal, alcoholic, superficial and commercial. Mick entered and sought sanctuary from twelve sets of female eyes that noted him coming through the door. Up at the main bar he nodded and placed himself next to a rather unusual looking individual. The man nodded back over his Singha beer.

"Evening, busy tonight I see," Mick said.

"It’s the beginning of the weekend. Will get busier later," was the reply.

The eyes were pale and dissipated and set in a head that resembled to Mick that of a vulture with a beaked nose and overly exposed neck gullet. The clothes looked worn around the collar and sleeves and the trousers hung loose on a skeletal frame.

One of the girls approached Mick, smiled and sniffed by his neck.

Mick though taken aback grinned at her and asked, "Clean enough?"

She returned the smile, taking in also his neat casual clothes, manicured hands and trimmed white hair.

"Velly clean," she chirped. "My name Chi," extending a hand cool to the touch.

Mick laughed at the ritual. He had expected some meaningless bar patter and then realized that she had been the one to make the choice. Now presumably the dance began.

"Hi Chi, remember me?" rasped the vulture at his side.

The look said it all. The smile was false and momentary. But respect? No.

Mick tried to normalize it a bit saying to the man, "Sorry didn't get your name. I'm Mick. You live in Thailand?"

"Name's Roy. Yep, I'm an English teacher. Been here for ten years now."

"Don't seem to have done you much good by the look of you," thought Mick. "Most probably exists in a beer soaked haze with a string of girlfriends."

"Does it pay well?" asked Mike, trying to be polite. Chi moved uncomfortably at his side and tugged his sleeve.

"Oh, could be better I suppose. $ 1,000 per month on average, that's if they don't cancel."

A more urgent tug on the sleeve drew him to an empty table in one of the alcoves.

"Your flend, him scruffy," she declared emphatically, "And him smell bad. No wash."

"You certainly lay an emphasis on being clean," he observed. "Is that why you smell me before?"

She looked at him candidly.

"You smell nice, dress nice, good manners, not like many men who come here. I like you."

"Well, I suppose that's as good a set of testimonials as I'm ever going to get!" Mick remarked, a broad grin still on his face.

"Solly. What testilonnials?"

He laughed out loud. "No, it's me who should apologise for using big words. It means a reference, a recommendation."

"You like I should come back to your place? You pay mama san bar fine for me leaving."

They left soon after finishing their drinks and took a taxi to the hotel. The receptionist nodded implacably at long term guest Mr. McManus, and his companion. What Mick had not realized to date, was that the Convenient Hotel had an additional attribute to its naming, notably that it was "convenient" also for local Thai businessmen, as somewhere to take their girlfriends on the weekend. Thus in the big picture of things that evening, any apprehensions that Mike might have had returning with a female were no big deal after all.

Chapter 8:

Someone wrote somewhere that for today's writer, writing about God had been replaced by writing about sex, endeavouring to express the inexpressible as it were. For this endeavour can range anywhere from between a crude rutting explicitness or, like the work of Victorian author, George Elliot can be mildly and indirectly referred to as "an agreeable excitement in marriage."

For Mick that night, it combined both extremes, with a lot of bits in between as well. Chi, whatever her background, was no cynical hard faced lay with payment as an appendix. Neither was she the reluctant virgin. In fact they were both versed and responsive in an unselfish way to each others needs. He worked her slowly, taking in the sweet musty fragrance of her inner thighs and advanced upon her body with an intensity that suffused the night with a common passion of unknown reserves.

In the morning as she lay there gently sleeping, he looked down on her and questioned whether there was not a soul above utterance in her features, half nymph, half child in those delicate petals that glow and breath.

Opening her eyes she looked at Mick with a direct glance full of delighted confidence. She was under the first great shock that had shattered her dream world in which she had been easily confident of herself and critical of others. Then, Chi taken hold of by an emotion stronger than her own could find no words, but involuntarily she put her lips to Micks and then for a minute the two clasped each other as if they had been in a shipwreck.

Later he accompanied her downstairs to outside the hotel and called a taxi, and they said an earnest, quiet good-bye without kiss or other show of effusion; there had been between them too much serious emotion for them to use the signs of it superficially.

Chapter 9:

He awoke on Monday to a new week and looking out over the roof tops of Bangkok with his coffee in his hand, he felt the largeness of the world and the manifold wakings of men to labour and endurance. He was a part of that involuntary, palpitating life and could neither look out on it from his luxurious shelter as a mere spectator nor hide his eyes in selfish complaining.

It was not simply that beneficent harness of routine which enables silly men to live respectably and unhappy men to live calmly. He had rightly feared to end his life in that sad refuge; the indifference of new faces, but the chips had fallen and Bangkok was there to be tasted both as a spectator and as a player.

A light breakfast, a short walk and he was back in "The Idaho." Gary was already there, so he joined him.

"How's it going Gary?"

"Fine. Life's good. Yourself?"

"Not bad. Went to the Paradise Junction over the week end to check it out. Big difference from here."

"Did you have a takeaway?"

"Yeah. Girl called Chi."

"Know her. Nice girl, bright and plenty of fun. Particular too. Don't just pass it around like some of the others."

Mick warmed to him. There was no pretense on this Marine's part. It was straight talking among males. What you saw, was what you got. I suppose this was how they made them?

"There was one strange individual I met as well. Guy by the name of Roy, said he was an English teacher."

Gary snorted.

"You’ve not been here long Mick, so let me explain to you. There are guys that come to Thailand for whatever reason; divorce, alimony payments, trouble back home, and they think
this place will solve all their problems. Warm climate, cheap to live, plenty of women and for a time it does just that. Then it gets into their system. They wake up with a hangover, kick last night's whatshername out of bed and live on beer and hamburgers. It sucks the marrow out of them. They can't leave because; either they have nothing to go back to, or their papers have expired and they have no money left to bribe the police or authorities. So they sell themselves cheap, like any whore, with whatever they can do. English teacher, consultant, it's all the same cheap labour, and the Thais take full advantage. Here endeth the lesson man!"

"Wow, it's as bad as that?" Mick said, his drink untouched.

"Worse sometimes. They end up as vagrants on the streets and the Thais don't want the expense of deporting them."

"I presume there are exceptions?" said Mick.

"Sure. You have to be financially independent of the system. I've got my Service pension, plus I still do work outside Thailand where I get paid the full rate. Also there are girls here that are not just bar girls, but most falangs don't meet them and that's where they go wrong. Take for example those bar girls at the Paradise Junction. Practically all of them come from Isaan province in North Eastern Thailand, rice farmer's daughters. They are amongst the poorest of all Thais."

"Practicality is their second name."

Mick interspersed, "So far so good. Where's the catch?"

"Ah," said Gary, "That's in the family. Their family ties are stronger than any Mafia clan. The family is everything. The moment you commit yourself to her, you have committed yourself to her family too. Some men cannot accept this and that's where the rot starts."

A silence set in and lay between them as they drank. The owner was further down the bar talking to a new group that had entered.

"What about yourself?" Gary asked. "What you doing here?"

"As I said to Fred the other day, I don't really know myself. To write I suppose, that's what I do. But like yourself I'm independent. I don't write to earn a living, more I've worked in order to write. Gives me independence. Does that make sense?"

"Sure."

If you looked closely enough, there were depths to both men that had still not been touched. Something about the steady look in the eyes, that blinked infrequently, the movement of the hands that almost suggested something of the rite of communion. Forged in the furnace of affliction, in separate arenas, they had like so few of their kind before them, somehow emerged stronger. They were of a breed that when they entered a room, they were noticed. They were big men, but not showy and there was about them a strength that was an attracting force to those that were in need of succor.

Men admired them and were respectful in their presence, whilst to women they were like the Papa of childhood to whom one took all their problems, venial or otherwise.