Bangkok benediction.

Chapter 1:

Some men go to Bangkok to die and some succeed.

In the case of Montgomery Greer, 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 complexe's 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, with the word "Coyote" emblazoned across the rear pocket of her tight green shorts and the male was wiry in a fit kind of way 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 it looked like a deal too many.You did not need to be Colombo to solve this one.

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 it's 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 Maughan'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 characterisation. 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 perch like tropical birds 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 in Poonpem Street 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, Ballentines with ice please," he responded taking in the mans 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. Tut Tuts 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 the'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 mans 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, these old ones with beer bellies and varicose veins. 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."

Keep going!

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 wiskey 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 as it was locally known, strutted it's 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 it's 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.

"Its 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 an 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 cherped. "My name Chi," extending a hand cool to the touch.

Mick laughed at the ritual. He had expected some meaningless bar patter and then realised that she had been the one to make the choice and laying down the terms of her "acceptance". 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, as if one were obliged to serve and be polite to farangs with nothing more than money to recommend them. But respect? No.

Mick tried to normalise 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 that reads like Thailand's answer to the Gettysburg address."

"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."

" Solly I sick todaaay, you no come okay? Solly water buffalo die today and Gran mama sick,
cancel today okay kaaaa?"

His attempt at mimicry endeared him even less to Chi and 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 realised to date, was that the Convenient Hotel had an additional attribute to it's 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. Having known the stimulus of the intellectual life and the inherent thought and purpose within it, he was instinctively wary of any potential for grief of one who falls from that mental activity into the absorbing, soul-wasting struggle with worldly
annoyances. 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'vre 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."

"As soon as they can walk they have paddy mud between their toes or are catching food for the family meal. As soon as they can count they are counting Baht. These girls learn to cook on their grandmothers knees. Bar girls are reared by their grandmothers. They learn to weave, to make, to do. Producing a meal for fourteen is as easy as making one for four. 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 family is life. The moment you commit yourself to her, you have
committed yourself to her family too. She is her family. She is often the main provider. You must now provide. 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 another 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 succour.

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.


(Note: Will be taken up again at a later date, due to the constraint of having to return to work.)

Fascinating picture of a place with commendable insight. In short, a bloody god read. I'll be looking forward to seeing more when it arrives.

Live and be well - H

Man this was just soooo good. I agree with Hawk. The wordsmanship is just terrific.

like: Around him, cool slim Thai women seemed to glide or perch like tropical birds with not so much as a glow upon their countenances.

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.

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.

Here you may want to try, " Mick entered and sought santuary in twelve sets of female eyes that noted him coming through the cathedral door."

I know it's much (cathedral and brothel being compared and all, so you may decide to leave out the cathedral bit, but try in rather than from and give it a whirl)

The exotic locations, the interesting characters, and a mystery as well! Now who wouldn't enjoy that?

Thanks Steve, but can’t have you leading me off on religious tangents as my imagination is unrestrained enough as it is!

Actually, that bit was based on an experience I had when after completing a two year stretch in the Islamic Republic of Iran, I ending up inadvertently in the flesh pots of Dubai. It was a cheap hotel recommended by a crane operator and I booked in and went down to the bar. It was still early and as I looked around I realized that I had walked into a joint of wall to wall fallen angels, winking & beckoning.

Caught unawares and being British, I must confess to having been wrong footed and was obliged to stand awkwardly with my pint in my hand, pretending to watch an overhead TV screen while all these predatory eyes weighed me up.

Chapt 10:

The police were called out on Tuesday afternoon to investigate a robbery at the “Full Love Inn” on “Soi Bongkot” in South Pattaya. At the scene, officers of a serious demeanor in dark blue uniforms, found two young men, Somboon and Ek suffering the after effects from being “mickey finned” by what was alleged to be a male prostitute. Somboon, somewhat incoherently managed, to make a statement that he was a Mama san manager of a gay bar in “Boyztown” and that earlier they had met a man named Non at a restaurant, who agreed to go with them at a short stay Inn to study the stars.

He was certainly not lying in this respect, as Non had slipped a drug into their drinks and left with their belongings. Somboon claimed that 20,000 baht, an I-Pad and his mobile phone had been taken. Both men were taken to “Banglamung Hospital” and the drinks remnants were taken away for examination.

Officers were currently studying the CCTV footage at the Inn to find the suspect thief.

Contrary to popular belief, not all Thai’s are hard-core Buddhists who go to the temple every morning to make merit. And guess what? Sometimes they don't even smile.

This is especially so with Bangkok’s younger generation and one such suspect that police became interested in turned up eventually on the TV footage. Slim, boyish, wearing what looked like a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, collar turned up, board shorts and sandals. Although the footage was in black and white, one could still discern the Thailand prized affiliation for light coloured skin. This particular vitamin D deficient individual also displayed what appeared to be a tacky fake tattoo on his wrist, the type used to stop this part of the anatomy getting tanned whilst driving. On this occasion however, said suspect was seen to flag down a tuk-tuk outside on the street to make his escape. Unusual, as this form of transport is usually only utilized either by tourists, which “Chummy” was not, or by indigenes to transport cargo or vegetables from the market. And that’s about it.

The thief in question was neither named “Non” nor was a fallen male angel. His real name was Rueangvutthikorn Rattanapanangsakul but nobody in Bangkok –or Thailand, for that matter – goes by their real first name. You wouldn’t either if your moniker was 20 letters long. Thus like many young Thai’s he adopted a quirky nickname; in this case “Benz” due to his appreciation of the Mercedes car brand.

He was by this capital city standards, a fairly successful; con man, actor and thief. When he scored a hit, he had a taste for young Thai students that were attired in dresses like those worn by K-Pop band “A Pink” with the must have accessories of; handbags that cost more than six months’ rent like “Hermes” or “Louis Vuitton” and bright pink I-Pads. He was equally at home eating street food when drunk at 2am or indulging in the most ridiculously expensive, opulently decorated, unbelievably inauthentic French / Italian / Japanese / Thai fusion “bistros,” preferably in Bangkok’s trendy “Thonglor” area or a neighborhood community mall. To his mind it was “de rigeur” to put sweetened mayonnaise on sushi, ketchup on pizza and hot chilli sauce on every dish ordered.

Oh and I forgot to mention; he was also the brother of “Chi” and was more than interested in her new boyfriend Mick McManus.

Hi, Manichaean. Big fan!

This is what Graham Greene would have been like if he'd allowed himself to "let himself go." Same with Maugham, though occasionally he did have a "Miss Sadie Thompson" kind of sensibility.

Speaking of which, Chapter 8, your, ahem, sex scene, is steamy but there's enough wit in the air to keep from being stifling. That's hard-- I mean "difficult"--to do. In one of Tom (not Thomas) Wolfe's later novels, the critics really went to town over one of Wolfe's unintentionally hilarious sex scenes. But yours is intentionally funny, and it works. The name of the hotel is inspired as well.

Have you ever thought of submitting your stuff to a commercial publisher? Eat your hearts out, Ludlum and Le Carre!

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!

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!

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!

Love it!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Delta40

Love it!

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In the words of Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, "I second that emotion!"



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

Removed posting

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.

I also loved your stories but I hope this is not going predicate. Yes I know spell last word wrong.

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.

"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."

If very their truly words said, it that above.

"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."

Brilliant.

Thanks Zoo.
Glad you enjoyed it.
Best regards
M.

A complete change of pace here man, and something of a change in style too. Interesting read, that's for sure, notwithstanding the occasional strange word choice, like autumnally...

Still keen to find out where this is going.

Keep it coming.

Live and be well - H

Hi Hawk
Thanks for the valid points you made. Due to the demands of work, I invariably can only write a chapter in either “Bangkok Benediction” or “The Last Paradise” on my Sunday break. So the flow and style, sometimes becomes disjointed depending on what sort of week I’ve had, what I’ve been reading in the evenings and all the other bits that start to germinate in my head.
I’m hoping that when I retire in eighteen months’ time, I will be able to write full time and then introduce a greater element of consistency.
Take care
M.

Looking round Mick thought to himself, “This place makes the more impoverished of Dagenham's council estates look like a civilized supper in the Penrith village tearooms and the rough part of Balham, a spring afternoon sculling a tranquil tack on Lake Windermere.”

He recalled the lines from Shakespeare “And dig deep furrows in thy beauty’s field.” Issan, he realized after his six month stay with Chi, tilled a furrow way below the conventional working sector, and it did so with minimal effort and zero scruples.
“These people”, he had come to deduce, “simply did not give a damm, and they couldn't have been prouder of their social status.”

He noted in the local bar an individual who, he had till now considered to be one of the less feral members of his immediate community. But foregoing his usual genial greeting, he had upon Mick’s entrance ignored him and continued to pour copious amounts of liquor down his gullet with great vengeance and furious anger.

His mission, which he had clearly accepted, was to getting absolutely plastered. Such assignments aren't without their adverse effects and upon finishing the contents of his bottle Mick noted that the man had begun to hold an aggressive heart to heart with the empty shot glass which now stood barren before him.

"You're a lachico" he essentially roared at the innocent receptacle.

Now Mick wasn't sure if the glass was as stated because it had slowly eroded his soul or because it was empty, but either way, the facts remained the same; this particular vessel was, at present, the focal point of a lunatic's wrath of retribution. He clearly wanted it dead.

Before he could launch into a final cacophony of expletives and end the existence of the glass by repeatedly hurling it across the room, his worried wife and mother arrived on the scene and attempted to usher him home. Initially they couldn't move him. He was now immersed like a scuba diver in a bottle of beer Archa, and had no inclination whatsoever to go home and 'gin khao'. But credit where credit's due, his mother was a feisty little woman and insisted he followed them back home, this instance.

He subsequently got up and fell over. This man was unable to walk.

Expectant eyes breached Mick’s private space where he sat pretending to be invisible, and obviously doing a poor job at it. Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that this gentleman's form of transportation back to his dwellings would come courtesy of yours truly’s shoulder.

Up he came after some effort and off the troupe plodded. Fortunately his home was only 100 or so metres from the bar, and after some short time they entered the house.

Mick deposited him down on a mattress which was parked by the front door and took in his surroundings.

The house turned out to be a glorified shed which was apparently deemed fit to accommodate ten or so people.

To his left, an elderly man who literally appeared to be rotting sat rocking on the floor in a state of profound psychosis.

Next to him, an elderly couple who each in turn bared their decayed teeth at Mick, a gesture he was unable to translate – “did they want to eat him, or were they simply saying hello?”

In the middle of the room, a new born baby crying for nobody in particular and being comforted by the same person. On the far right, a trio of teenagers smoking, drinking, and playing cards.

Mick looked at his bar acquaintance who was already submerged in a deep, drunken slumber, dribble sourcing from the corner of his mouth and trickling into a slowly expanding pool on the bed sheet, and he just about wept. All the dreams, all the aspirations of love and inner peace in this part of Thailand were becoming like dry ashes in his mouth.

When I was about to click your latest posting, it occurred to me that I wasn't sure if I were up-to-date on "Bangkok Benediction," and it turns out that I had. I also wanted to "bump" this one as well.

A couple of things to add that I failed to mention in the previous go-round.

1. Among your fellow LitNutters, you have a knack of evoking setting in both panoramic and delicate ways, providing a vivid portrait of locales that seem fascinating and "exotic" to this home-bound statesider.

2. You also provide a panoply of distinguishable characters who are collectively desperate, at times both sympathetic and self-serving. Both the locals and the transplants look upon their opposites with a jaded judgement:

Quote:

---

"You'vre 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!"

---

3. Every once in a while your prose sparkles with a breathtaking sentence phrase, such as the opening line to the work or a descriptive gem, such as [they]"clasped each other as if they'd been in a shipwreck."

4. Literary and cultural allusions(Colombo,Maugham, the brilliant analogy to George Eliot in the opening to Chapter 8) --these, as well as the amusing, self-referential comments delivered in an off-hand way -- not to mention the ever-present wit--place you squarely in the post-modern milieu.

5. I envy your apparent immunity to clichés, though once in a while one will sneak in and (ahem) "rear its ugly head": "like a limp rag."

Some minor quibbles (mainly found in the earlier chapters):

--Watch your apostrophes, missing where they're needed and included when they're not. Here are some examples, with corrections:

"just what its name implied" "from its neighbors"(No apost. needed, for the possesive pronoun of "its.") The contrary is effect when the word is a contraction for "it is," where the apostrophe is indeed called for. (Just remember that the apostrophe is a stand-in for the missing letter.) "It's the beginning of the weekend."

The apostrophe was missing in these phrases: "each other's needs," "catered to one's needs" and "an affirmation on the man's part."

You never need apostrophes for simple (non-possessive) plurals. Hence, no apostrophe in "Thais." It was written correctly in subsequent appearances.

Recurrent spelling error: de rigueur. ( The letter "u" appears twice, not just once, and if you want to indicate that it's a foreign phrase, italicize rather than put it in quotes.)

One verb error: "where he lay face down" (not "laid"). The pronoun "he" without a clear antecedent (chapters 5 and 6) and an unfinished symphony of a sentence--" Ed viewed him with potential " ("Potential" what?)

(I realize that the editing mechanism can't be accessed after a certain length of time, but if you have saved the file, maybe you can correct these minor errors on the original version.)

Despite these pesky little points, this story deserves "bumping."

What's a lachico? I dunno a lachico. Word don't know lachico. You know, Man, one thing I note about your pieces is the wordsmanship. The story telling is engaging and the wordsmanship even more so. I suspect you have a well developed vocab. and it allows you to find the word with just the right meaning. Always a pleasure to read and learn.

Dear Steve
The word “lachico,” “lachi,” or “latchico,” is west of Ireland slang, whose meaning can vary according to usage. It can vary from meaning a lazy person usually male, to the stronger version of “f-cking eejit” (idiot).
Perhaps I should not have used it in the story, but in the end demurred gracefully to my conscience, as our hero is after all of Irish descent.
Glad you enjoyed the tale.
Take care.
M.

Dear Aunty
Thank you for the kind words and your inexhaustable patience with my grammer.
Best wishes
M

Dear 108 fountains.
Found it relatively easy. Strange on my part to see the pre and post Bangkok themes in the writing.
Take care
M.

It does not seem possible that you could have written this without having spent considerable time in Bangkok/Thailand first. Much of the expat scenes could have come from Philippines or just about anywhere else, but the scenes that were strictly Thai were too detailed and too correct to be the product of research only, but if that is the case, then congratulations on carrying it off so well.

Much I could say about this, but I'll try to keep it short.

1. I really hope you come back to it to give it a conclusion it deserves. It could go any number of ways, but it feels to me that you could bring it to a conclusion in just two or three more installments.

2. You did a good job in capturing some of the feelings of desperation and hopelessness that do lie not so far below the surface, for both men and women, in relationships like that between Chi and Mick. I would like to think that the two of them were able to find a happy ending (no pun intended). That can happen. We expats tend to more often hear about the failures, but there are successful relationships too.

3. Speaking of desperation and hopelessness, your Chapter Five is a masterpiece. It's not really desperation or hopelessness; it's some emotion that I can't pin a name to. But it's real. I've felt it myself in Thailand, when naiveté is suddenly lost and all the smiles seem suddenly false. Whatever that feeling is, you captured it perfectly.

4. There were so many really beautiful passages, some profound insights, and some great humor sprinkled throughout. For humor, I especially like -- 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. -- Reminds me of the time years ago when I was sitting with a friend at a Bangkok go-go bar and saw an older guy sitting at the stage drooling at the girls. I turned to my friend and said, "Look at that old guy. Just look at him. When I get old, I hope I'll be just like him!"

I hope you get a chance to visit Saigon while you are in Vietnam. I never really found a favorite bar in either Bangkok or Saigon, but I have some favorite restaurants in Saigon: the Wild Horse Saloon for steak (and the Red Sun bar next door, although I'm not sure that place still exists), Com Nieu Saigon, for some of the best variety of great Vietnamese food (menu has more than 100 items) and a fun, outdoor atmosphere, and the Temple Club, which is somewhat upscale, but very, very nice.