That was a brilliant read Manch. Your writing style is so relaxed and easy to read and your plots are imaginative to the max, containing everything a reader could wish for. I'm with Auntie - get published and do us all proud!
That was a brilliant read Manch. Your writing style is so relaxed and easy to read and your plots are imaginative to the max, containing everything a reader could wish for. I'm with Auntie - get published and do us all proud!
I used to be a Feminist ©? But now I just shut up and take it
Dear Auntie and Delta
Thank you for your kind comments. It's enough that I enjoy writing it and you enjoy reading it.
I would not know where to start on publishing. Tell you what! You get it published & we split three ways. Is it a deal?
Regards
M.
Deal! I'll be the lazy delegator. Auntie! You hear me? Get to work now!
I used to be a Feminist ©? But now I just shut up and take it
It was a hot humid Monday morning in Bangkok and Mick McManus had already got off to a bad start Thai style. As the time he had spent in the country had increased, so correspondingly had his understanding of some of the idiosycrencies of its inhabitants.
Thus for example there was the Thai traditional way of dealing with a difficult situation, whether it be stepping inadvertently on someone’s toes or not knowing the answer to a question. For a Thai it’s a question of never admitting your mistakes. That’s a sign of weakness. When in doubt, feign ignorance, give that big world-renowned Thai smile and go to your inner happy place!
He was also only too aware that in terms of communication, everyone in Thailand is family. The waitress is your sister “nong”, the cab driver is your uncle “long” and the street vendor selling pad thai your aunt “bpaa.” Greetings invariably consisted of a “wai,” especially to elders by putting your hands together in a prayer-like position and giving a slight bow. Ladies, when speaking ended everything in “ka”. Boys said “krup.” No matter what you were saying, it softened it and made it incongruously polite. For example; “Your body odour makes me nauseous, ka.”
But today the veneer of Mick’s understanding of the indigenous culture was wearing thin. He had decided that medium term since arriving in Thailand that the traffic in Bangkok was too much & had invested in a motorcycle.
Now it had yet another puncture. He had been pleasantly expecting to be back at his hotel, slowly making love to Chi. Instead here he was in the confines of a dingy motorcycle repair outfit, down a shanty town district back street. He had wrongly anticipated to be greeted with a ceremonious ripple of applause, courtesy of the proprietor and his family for providing them with perhaps enough currency to diversify their diet of rice and random tree leaves and maybe put a portion of pork or chicken on their chipped crockery.
What he certainly did not expect was to be kept waiting, standing beside his disabled means of transportation whilst the so-called ‘mechanic’ indiscreetly dry-gagged his way through a hand rolled cigarette, while his wife who wore a perpetually befuddled grin, stood idly by scratching at herself. And then and of course there were their glorious off-spring, preparing themselves for the unforgiving world of adulthood by watching Chinese Kung Fu repeats, over and over and over again..
When Mick at last was given some acknowledgment, which came in the form of an extremely audible mucus inversion, he was motioned to sit on a stack of old car tyres which apparently doubled as the client seating arrangement, and he waited patiently for the puncture to be fixed.
Minutes into the task, the chief engineer appeared to beckon to his better half who was still redundantly rummaging around in her underpants, to fetch him some liquid refreshment. The universal gesture of clutching an imaginary cup and cocking it immediately sent the old lady into the neighboring room where she was to prepare what Mick assumed would be a wholesome cup of chai. The hour, after all was reaching noon and a siesta would soon be on the agenda for this family.
However, when she reappeared, where a sweet cup of tea should’ve been, was a massive glass of whiskey. The husband, suitably refreshed attended to his endeavours and the old lady joined her brood by the TV.
Mick sighed. Chi would really have to do the business today to get him calmed down in this Land of Smiles!
Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 07-14-2012 at 08:43 PM.
Love it!
I used to be a Feminist ©? But now I just shut up and take it
In the words of Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, "I second that emotion!"Originally Posted by Delta40
Only a couple of things to tweak (or not)--
"nauseated" instead of "nauseous"
"and" instead of the ambersand --" & "
Those tiny blips ^^^ are more than vindicated by the bombardment of killer descriptive passages! I'll tell you, Man, there are few of us LitNutters as adept as you are in turning phrases such as:
"chipped crockery" (in context)
the kids watching "Kung Fu" repeats (as a way of preparing for life!)
"dry-gagged his way through a hand-rolled cigarette"
and my personal favorite:
"extremely audible mucus inversion."
Wow! My hat's off to you. (If I wore one.)
Sincerely,
"Bpaa" Shecky
Last edited by AuntShecky; 07-17-2012 at 02:29 PM.
Removed posting
Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 08-03-2012 at 08:33 PM.
Mick sat in the bar with Gary as he did now on a regular basis, chewing the fat on what constituted life for farang residents in this far off corner of South East Asia.
“So what’s new Gunny?’
Mick had reached the stage of being able to use ex-Marine Gunnery Sergeant’s nick-name by now and Rossow was comfortable with it as well.
“Everything’s fine. Usual stuff. Bloody neighbour burning his rubbish every morning and I have to sit there breathing in the fumes of plastic wrappers, foam food trays and chemicals beyond description. Possibly more carcinogens in one burn than the entire chemical weapons arsenal of Syria! In this country if you don’t die from a gunshot, HIV, a good old fashioned beating, high jump off a hotel balcony, drug overdose, drowning, motorbike accident, jet-ski up your arse, or ingestion of rat poison, then I reckon you have a fair chance of dying of air born chemical poisoning.”
Mick smiled indulgently. He knew by now that Gary was never happier than when complaining.
“Why don’t you get a face mask like the Japanese? Or perhaps a state of the art respirator with charcoal inserts to filter the gases as they pass into your lungs?”
“It’s not funny,” responded Gary, “Thai’s don’t seem to mind. Do they possess special filaments like fish gills that automatically filter the smoke and pollutants or what? Anyway, enough of me. What have you been up to?”
“Oh, I had to go down to the British Consulate in Pattaya to get my visa extended,” said Mick.
“Bet that blew your mind away,” retorted Gary.
“Yep, it’s something else. I never knew that they would be holding such erratic opening hours, due apparently to the resignation of the Thai born current Vice-Consul. I was originally told that it was often quicker to hop on the Bangkok-Chonburi motorway and go to Pattaya rather than brave the rush hour traffic in Bangkok and get to the Consulate there before it shuts up.”
“So, what happened?’
“Well, when one actually gets to the bullet-proofed gatehouse one is greeted by a Thai member of staff who personally vets arrivals and will often announce the equivalent of: “The computer – he say no!” What’s disconcerting is I’m sure one can hear the laughter of consular officials inside, who get to watch it all on CCTV and laugh loudly at the poor devils outside.”
“Ah,” said Gary smiling, “You still have a lot to learn. The solution is to get one of those temporary Sukhumvit bar owners, (who open up at their roadside stalls anywhere around 11 pm and who stay open until the last customer leaves) to go and set up outside the mission and plonk their seats on the pavement at 3 am, first tipping the ‘diplomatic protection’ cops asleep in their car by the gates. One can then get one of the regular ex-pat drinker patrons to endorse a photograph if that’s what one needs. They will feel like they have known you for years and they are all JPs, ex SAS, company directors, prison officers and London cabbies anyway. I tried the towel on the sunbed trick once, but both went missing. This is probably because the Swiss Embassy is nearby.”
Mick smiled also by now. The black humour was endemic and he responded accordingly.
“It’s amazing actually how magnificently peaceful it is on arrival in the Consular Section. So peaceful in fact and so good are the acoustics that one can hear in graphic detail Johnny Brit explaining how his Thai wife walked off with his house, car, kids, hip flask, etc. and was now living in London with a Transport Police officer of West Indian origin, having returned to ‘the game’ leaving him penniless in Nakorn, nowhere with a family of ten to feed that he barely knew and that he wanted her residence permit cancelled ‘cos it’s a f…..g liberty!’
Gary said, “I understand that from August 3rd it will be open three days a week for two and a half hours a day, from 9 am – 11.30, so they can have 30 minutes to psych themselves up for lunch. This may still be quite difficult for Pattaya Brits who tend to rise after mid-day and never know what day of the week it is anyway. You know the type. Sup the first coffee of the day and wonder; where am I, who am I and do I like it here? Technical stuff about what time and which day of the week it is will have to wait.”
“Maybe consular officials rent out the consulate ‘short time’ in the afternoons,” said Mick. “Maybe of course they deduct two hours travelling time each way so they are back in Bangkok before knock-off time. I did not know about the latest resignation. But I am guessing it may be to do with the fact that Brits are a bit more direct with civil servants, and their language may be more colourful in Pattaya, whereas Thais have an in-bred respect for authority and have more of the ‘I know my place’ demeanour about them. However both systems are similar in one respect. The angrier you get the further back in the queue you go, despite clutching ferociously on to your numbered ticket. Apparently the outgoing Ambassador was in the resort last week to say good-bye to an official who did not turn up. This I understand is a typical diplomatic manoeuvre to help get rid of the petty cash float before the new Ambassador gets his hands on it.”
I love this. Who's gonna give us a witty scoup on the international diplomatic scene and play it humorous? You, I guess. I need a vacation and all. Unable to purchase a ticket, I read your stuff.
Actually Steve I need a holiday myself. Am flying back Saturday to the UK via Singapore after seven months in PNG.
Mind you, it’s provided the material I needed for “The Last Paradise” thread, but don’t be surprised if my style changes as I get back into a more conventional existence for two weeks.
Best regards
M.
As always, very entertaining, Man. However, I'm still waiting for Chi's disreputable brother to reappear. You set this up quite some time back and seem to have forgotten about it! As a collection of episodic incidents it functions very well, and as has been previously mentioned, your descriptive prowess and turns of phrase make each offering a little gem. Keep 'em coming!
Live and be well - H
Hawk
Got back to the UK last night and will work on Chi's brother after reaffirming my connections with the Jack Daniel's side of the family. But don't prejudge the gentleman.
Remember, "Take care, lest you find yourself unawares in the company of angels!"
Best regards
M.
Sunday 2nd September was approaching dawn in Bangkok and Rueangvutthikorn Rattanapanangsakul, otherwise expediently known as “Benz,” lay in a fitful sleep upon his bed.
The capital wore a cloak whose visage suggested that an installment of daylight had occurred prematurely. In the outer suburbs the distant horizons of rice fields and of the sky above, would seem to an observer to be a division in time no less than a division in matter. The essence of this nature, by its mere complexion added half an hour to the morning; as if in like manner it could intensify the brightness of noon, and discern sharply far away, the frowning of storms scarcely generated. Nobody could be said to understand this hour in Bangkok who had not been there at such a time. It could best be felt when it could not clearly be seen, its complete effect and explanation lying in this and the succeeding hours before the next twilight. Then, and only then, did it tell its true tale. The somber blocks and apartments of this sprawling metropolis seemed to rise and meet the morning light in pure sympathy, exhaling the onset of fresh translucency as rapidly as the heavens precipitated it. And so the evolving air and the city’s soul closed together as if wedded and towards which each gave up something of itself to advance halfway. It had waited thus, unmoved, during so many centuries, through the crises of so many things, that it could only be imagined to await one last crisis—the final overthrow.
On the plane of mortality below, the young Thai male, stirred and rolled over onto his side crumpling the sheets. His mind drifted aimlessly and disturbed, influenced by the events of last evening.
Outside on the streets, it was a thing majestic without severity, impressive without showiness, and grand in its simplicity. Some men suffer from the cynicism of a place too smiling and emphatic for their reason, but Bangkok at this hour appealed to a subtler and scarcer instinct and to a more recently learnt emotion.
But then Benz, even if he had been conscious, was not, unless it related to his profession as a thief, one of the more thinking among mankind. His was not the demeanour of an ascetic keeping within the line of legitimate indulgence. If truth be known, his intensity was stirred, at what for his birthplace on the northern borders of Thailand, constituted winter darkness, tempests, and mists that hung over the dark waters of anonymous paddy fields. Then Benz was aroused to reciprocity; for the storm was the lover of his nature and the wind its friend. It was there, in those outer regions, bereft of the vibrancy of Bangkok, that there existed an environment neither ghastly, hateful, nor ugly; neither commonplace, unmeaning, nor tame; but, but like man himself, slighted and enduring.
He awoke with a start and for those associates that thought they may have known the outward brashness of this youth; they would have been surprised by his appearance, for as with some persons who have long lived apart, solitude seemed to look out of his countenance. It was a lonely face, suggesting tragical possibilities, as if civilization itself was his enemy.
Last night he had met the new boyfriend of his sister Chi. He had been under the assumption that his sibling coming from the same reality of poverty and the ensuing motivation of survival would have been as one, but last night this had not been the case.
For it had not been as before, as with the other men his sister had bedded. Such individuals were like a common prey, to be worked in unison, to be: identified, stalked, overcome, robbed and left for whatever attendant carrion of society was in attendance. In the meantime, the family unit of brother/sister would move on. It was until last night, an assumption that gave ballast to any mind adrift on the possibilities of change.
Benz had, as with so many of his former victims, slipped something into Mick McManus’s drink with practiced sleight of hand, but whilst still on the coffee table and untouched, Chi had exited the kitchen and deliberately knocked the glass over as she brushed past.
Brother and sister exchanged looks that said it all.
“This one is different,” hers said.
Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 09-01-2012 at 09:07 PM.
I also loved your stories but I hope this is not going predicate. Yes I know spell last word wrong.
English my native language and have characterizes of dyslexia.
Copyright (C) 2011, Zoolane
I have pass by English Exam.
Two yellowish brown leaves, fell in embraced unison to the forest floor, their lives mutually extant, and from the autumnally glades of northern Europe to the oppressive heat of South East Asia was a transfiguration of perspective only. For Mick and for Chi, the course had been run and like fabled lovers they came to rest entwined upon the bed. One large hand gently cupped her breast, the smell of fresh dark hair filled his nostrils and rested lightly against his cheek. Her breatihing was subdued and regular and a small vein in her neck pulsed like some distant star.
It had taken a lifetime to achieve this place.
"I don't want a future, I want a present. You have a future only when you have no present, and when you have a present, you forget to even think about the future."
Thus what lay ahead paled and the past dissolved and all that was solid seemed to be transfigured into soul and gentleness. All grief, all human disappointment, all evil, all pain seemed to vanish, never to appear again. What he had understood till now became unintelligible, for what we understand and love, understands and loves us also. He came to the realisation, through the love of this young girl, that perhaps the inward self is the only self that really exists. For though he had attained money and wealth, they were but possessions without splendour. To show love is not so difficult, what love is and how love likes to behave. Perhaps God in this world goes with thoughtless people?
When she awoke, he asked for her to be his wife and she, at first nodded gently, then became overexcited explaining how the monks blessing was required and how all the other details that crowded her brain had to be undertaken according to Thai tradition.
A trip to the village in the north was required to inform her parents of what had happened and to pray at the local temple. Mick was indulgent. His nature had sought to discover a mother/teacher like figure on the gentler aspects of man's potential that would enable him to express himself better, an unapproachable entity, a sort of goddess. No more to feel, like some dull ache, the gentle sadness that something was missing. No need, no more to investigate the cause. To past music clung the tears of enemies destroyed like hopeless sighs.
"I needed banquet music and now had it in my ears."
"I had wanted to talk but had found no time, sought some fixed point, but found none. In the midst of the unrelenting forward thrust I had felt the need to stand still. The muchness and the motion had been too much and too fast. Everyone had withdrawn from everyone."
There was a heavy shower as the bus wound it's way up to Issan, the occupants *constantly in motion. There was a pleasantness in gliding through village streets, to see it raining and at the same time being permitted to sense that they themselves were not getting wet. A soaked, grey, consoling highway lay out in front. Behind them, back in Bangkok, each person's bearing and behaviour vanished among those thousands of others, observations were but fleeting, judgements swift, and forgetting inevitable.
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