Days Volume Two

* The boy, Aek, on his way to work, spotted him in the gay soi, put his hands together and gave a big grin of recognition in that charming way that only the Thai men can do and one crooked finger later it was all arranged. The mamasan was paid and they were on their way. If the apartment was expensive then its close proximity to Patpong and the night club area, with all the go go bars a bare ten minutes away, was proving an additional cost. The waiters in the cafe where he had been sitting beamed at him; as if they finally understood. Before they had looked at him askance, serving him whisky knowing he was already drunk, moi, moi, moi mak mak, sensing that something was deeply awry, but now he was sober, just drinking coke without the whisky, just taking a final turn through the sois on his way home from the meeting, just telling stories. As sincere as a Thai sex worker, he had said the other day, but in their way, when you spent so much time with them, paid them well, treated them ...

* We couldn't be there; not just to see. It all fell backwards. There were other signs. He was sure there was a solution. He followed the story back to its origins; the meeting he walked out of, the bar where he met his friend, surrounded by girls, as always, Soi Cowboy where they went, and the same street where he met the first Baw and where everything collapsed in upon itself. He should have known that a relationship which began the following morning with four shots of vodka before breakfast would end in disaster; but he wasn't thinking straight; and two months later his head was mash and he sat in meetings listening to Americans drone on about God, as if they had any effing idea, the most boring, the most mundane people on the planet, and he realised: nothing can cure you, have fun in the day, listen to these eff wits and let it pass; because we are here now, in the heart of one of the most fascinating cities on earth; in an apartment he couldnt afford, in a life that was...

* Five minutes to midnight. In fact five minutes to one as he sat in the hotel opposite the Foreign Correspondents Club. Many things, many things, many times, many times. He was having difficulty processing the whole experience. Days passed. Depressing, throw in some humour, James says; and the German man sidles up to him at 5am in the nightclub, I can see, you are very funny man, I want to talk to you. Offers him yabba in the toilets. Make way make way. But at five minutes to midnight there was no solution. I want to come with you to the airport, I ask my boss, says the handsomest boy in the cafe. Maybe my boss not happy. I don't care. The boss approves, with big brown puzzled eyes. There was nothing to be puzzled about. Perhaps nowhere else in the world but Pnom Penh could the incantation: "You want take care I tip you $20" produce such magical results. Happy, happy, astonished by the beauty of the flesh, the young man defiantly held his hand in the tuk tuk, in a soc...

* This was not the time or place. You don't understand me, he said. You don't understand me, the boy replied. And so it was that one of their most intense conversations followed; precarious, these days, yet full of wonder, different things, the party that never ended, hysterical moments, frustrating moments, time out of mind and out of joint, wanted, wanted, for all to see, for the times that were and never were, for things that should never have been, for a life that is now coming to an end, closing, closing, these days of happiness and good luck, times for all to see, times when we should have been free. It was going to be alright. I am free. These things will make no difference. Love and live and learn. I don't believe you, the woman on the beach said, as he hunted desperately for a love he could not deny and destined to be nothing but a malady of the heart, a passing time. You don't understand, you don't understand, I am Thai. These things were true. The end...

* Shoot to kill, the government troops have been ordered; shoot to kill in order to defend the citadels of capitalism. The government now has serious bloodf on its hands. Even here in Chiang Mai there is a curfew, with none of the bars or clubs open, most everything closing at 8pm. Black smoke rolled over the Tapai Gate after a group of red shirt protestors set alight a pile of tyres. There was shooting at the airport. A general had his house burnt down. Against the wild night. Against times he could never understand. Against a cruel indifference. Too depressing, James said, throw in some humour. I'm going to meet someone I know, he thought clearly, 24-hours before running into him in chance encounter the prospects of which were infinitesimally small. Come inside, the English rent boy said. I'm in there. That means there's a party going on. Baw falls asleep at the bar. The succession of sex workers grows ever more frenzied. Time stands out of mind. He doesn't know a...

* And then, and then, the obsession broke, he came back into himself, life was glorious and he was sane and they danced till the early hours and woke up in sandwiches and thought, for everything that has happene3d, for all the hard times, for those years, isolated, walking at dawn, walking at two am, never sleeping, never sleeping, through the long hours. Was it worth it all to arrive at this point? Nothing mattered. I'll tell them I found you up a river in the tropics, James said, Colonel Kurtz, the Heart of Darkness, the first person from his old life he had seen since his work farewell. Nothing made sense and that didn't matter. Gary, Gary, don't say those things. Take control, take control, well he finally had; properly; and now; when money equalled power, everything was back in proportion. Mai pen rai. Never mind. A person is lurking in the dark. A stranger. Someone with a gift of darkness. Beware. Strangers in strange parks; easy lays, voices that were discontent, ...

* They had been ruined. But there was always a way back. He made some very stupid and expensive mistakes; as if letting everyhthing go, self abnegation. It was always going to be; these mistakes; these bars at 5am, these places in darkened streets, girls dancing, girls behind glass, oh how he had wanted to be a normal man. But nothing was normal inside there; except in a sense things were coming back to what had been. Except he didn't want to go back. The old him was lonely, craving company, craving sex, accustomed now to the role of one man out. Oh how significant is this? Can't anyone make any claim to decency? But what was decent about these long days spent watching TV while the rent slept beside him; what was decent about forgetting who he was, what he was, where he was? These were most unusual times. But these mistakes would not be made again. He could walk through the valley. He could take care. Love yourself, the cafe owner kept saying. He show no respect. The latest ...