What I did on my Holiday

he says, as though it should be obvious. ‘She didn’t make any promise.’ ‘She didn’t? Why not? I mean, it’s the least she coulddo when you promised her you wouldn’t sleep with otherwomen.’ ‘I didn’t promise…’ ‘You didn’t? But why not man? You love her don’t you?’ ‘Love her? No….no of course not. I…I like her…sure…but…’ He looks incredulous. ‘You don’t love her? Then why thehell did you go to bed with her?’ ‘What? I…I…don’t know what you mean.’ ‘Sure you do. You told this girl you loved her, then youfucked her, then…’ ‘I never told her I loved her!’ I say hotly. ‘No?’ ‘No way. I never mentioned the word.’ ‘So you never led her on, never made any promises aboutbeing faithful to her?’ ‘No. Of course not.’ ‘So it was just a fuck, right? A casual fuck with no stringsattached. No promises given or received. Am I right?’ I finally see where he’s going. ‘You sneaky bastard,’ I say. ‘Just trying to help,’ he says, grinning. ‘Thanks. You’ve made me feel a whole lot better, Nowperhaps you’d like to go drown yourself in the river.’ ‘If it’ll make you feel better,’ he offers. I sigh. ‘I know I’m being stupid, but..’ ‘Yes you are. But worse than that, you’re lying to yourself.’ ‘Am I?’ ‘Yeah. You don’t love this girl, you said that yourself. Doyou want to love her?’ 250

‘I…I…don’t know. No…I don’t suppose so. Not really.’ ‘So why are you moping about?’ ‘I don’t know…’ ‘Yes you do.’ ‘I don’t. I just feel…’ ‘Yes you do!’ he repeats. ‘You know precisely why you feelbad. So tell me.’ ‘I…’ ‘Tell me, Mike. Be honest with yourself. Why d’you feelbad?’ I sigh again. ‘Because my pride is hurt.’ ‘Bingo. She fucked another man. Hurt pride, that’s all it is.You’d like to think that no woman would want to sleep withanother man while she could have you, yeah?’ ‘I suppose so.’ ‘Plus, you’re afraid that he was better than you. That hefucked her better than you did. Am I right?’ ‘I’m not insecure, if that’s what you’re….’ ‘All men are insecure about sex Mike. Now, am I right?’ ‘Okay, you’re right. Now are you satisfied?’ ‘So was he better than you?’ ‘What?’ ‘Was he a better lover than you?’ ‘How the fuck do I know?’ ‘Precisely. You don’t know and you never will know. You’lljust go on feeling bad about it. And resenting her for makingyou feel bad.’ ‘Is there some point to all this?’ ‘Jesus Mike, I’m just trying to get you to take responsibilityfor your own feelings, man.’ ‘I am responsible. Sometimes I think I’m the only responsi-ble person I know.’ ‘Bullshit! You’re angry at Zoe for making you feel bad. But 251

you set yourself up to feel bad. Look what really happened.You met a girl. You got laid. You didn’t expect to, but you did.That’s a bonus man. You should feel good about it. Then shedecides to fuck someone else. So now he gets the bonus and hefeels great. But you decide to make yourself feel bad.’ ‘I didn’t decide…’ ‘Yes you did. You could have just shrugged and said, “Hey,I had my turn. Now it’s someone else’s.” But you didn’t. Youblamed her. You never offered her anything, love, marriage,commitment of any sort, and she never promised you any-thing in return. Yet when she exercises her free will, you feelcheated, let down. And to make it worse, you get all screwedup about him being a better lover than you, something you’llnever know the truth of.’ ‘But I still didn’t decide to feel those things. You can’tcontrol your feelings…’ ‘Yes you can. At least sometimes. But even when you can’t,you still have to take responsibility for them.’ ‘I don’t buy that.’ ‘Okay, let me give you another example. I had this friend,right, back home. The guy was a compulsive gambler. One dayhe came to me and asked to borrow money, a load of money.I’d been saving up for this trip so he knew I had it. He’d gotthis hot tip about a horse, and he was going to put a bundle onit, everything he had. But that wasn’t enough, he wanted toborrow money from me as well so that he could put it all onthis horse.’ ‘Don’t tell me you loaned him the money.’ ‘I’m not that stupid. I told him, sorry, but no way.’ ‘So what happened?’ ‘He never spoke to me again.’ ‘Because the horse won?’ ‘No. It lost by twenty lengths.’ 252

‘Then why…?’ ‘Because in his mind, he had this expectation, that friendsshould help one another out. And that meant that I should lethim risk my trip so that he could win a pile on a horse.’ ‘That’s crazy.’ ‘Maybe, but it’s what he expected. And because he held thisexpectation, I was automatically in the wrong for not helpinghim. I was the bad guy, because of something that existed onlyin his mind. You see where I’m going?’ I sigh. ‘I think so. You’re saying that I expected Zoe to befaithful, even though neither of us had promised anything tothe other.’ ‘Precisely. And because she didn’t hold the same expecta-tion, you make her out to be the bad guy. Is that fair?’ ‘I guess not.’ ‘And to top it all, because you feel insecure about yoursexual performance, she’s doubly to blame for fuelling the fireof that insecurity.’ ‘Jesus, where do you get all this stuff? Did you swallow apsychology book or something?’ ‘It’s just human nature, Mike. I watch, I listen, I learn. Youneed to change your expectations. They might be okay back inEngland, but you’re not in England. You’re thousands of milesfrom home, with people who think differently from you. If yougo round laying your expectations on them, you’re gonna getdisappointed. And maybe hurt too.’ I stare at Sebastian and ask myself: How come this guy,with his scruffy clothes and his dirty dreadlocks, how come heknows so much more about life than I do? Is it because he’straveled so far, seen so much? It can’t be that simple. Zoe hasbeen around too, but she’s nowhere near as wise as Seb. Andif he’s like this now, at twenty five, what will he be like whenhe’s sixty? 253

‘What are you going to do with the rest of your life?’ I askhim. He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. How long have I got?’ ‘What? How the hell would I know?’ Sebastian raises an amused eyebrow and continues rollinghis cigarette. ‘All right, point taken. But look, statistically speaking…’ ‘…I should assume I’ve got another forty or fifty years?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Assume, Mike?’ ‘Okay, I give up. So you’re just going to take it as it comes.No plans, no goals, just take it as it comes?’ ‘Now you’re getting the idea.’ ‘But how can you live like that?’ ‘Mike, who’s the most contented person you’ve ever met?’ I think hard for a moment, reviewing my life and the bit partplayers who have passed through the movie called ‘The life ofMike Macbeth.’ I sigh. ‘You are.’ Sebastian just smiles that secret smile and lights his ciga-rette. I shut up. ‘River… is like…education,’ Charlie tells us We nod,hanging on his every word. He holds one hand out before him, chest high, palm facingthe ground. ‘At start…’’ he goes on, ‘…little wave.’ His hand begins to move, undulating up and down likewater. ‘Like little school, yes?’ We nod again. ‘Then…’ The curves of his hand grow before our eyes, ‘…wave get bigger. Like big school.’ He smiles at us, that warm, impudent, strangely paternal 254

smile that we’ve grown to know so well. ‘Finally…’ The movements of his hand become enormous,rising to his shoulders before dropping to waist level. Hegiggles happily. ‘...University. Big wave. By time we get touniversity, you must know how handle raft, un’erstand?’ We nod once more, more soberly this time. ‘If you fall off raft,’ he warns, ‘You must swim back to raft.Not swim shore. We not stop for you.’ He giggles again. ‘Rafthave no brakes, yes? No can stop.’ His face becomes seriousfor a moment as he finishes his warning. ‘You swim to raft, orget left behind.’ Harry holds his hand up and Charlie smiles happily at him,raising one eyebrow. ‘What happens if we can’t get back to the raft?’ Harry says.‘If we get left behind?’ ‘We send search party,’ Charlie informs him. ‘They comeget you. Take two, maybe three days. So, no fall off! Okay?’ Charlie’s right. The river is an education. The rafts are crude affairs, just half a dozen bamboo poleslashed together with what looks like creeper. They’re aboutten feet long and three wide and the water doesn’t stay underthem. It sloshes through the gaps and washes over our feet.Just staying upright on the slippery surface takes concentra-tion. As promised, the ride starts gently enough. Charlie, feetplanted like supple saplings, stands at the front of the raft,calling orders back over his shoulder. ‘Left,’ he shouts, and weeach dig our poles into the river bottom and lean our weight onthem. ‘Left,’ he shouts again, ‘Left, left left’ and slowly, slug-gishly, the long craft responds to our efforts, swinging lazilyagainst the flow of the current. ‘Now right,’ Charlie shouts, ‘Right, right, right!’ and we 255

pull our poles out of the water and transfer them to the otherside. Our party occupies two rafts. In quiet moments, I can hearPor’s shouted instructions drifting across the water from theother raft. ‘Left, left,’ he shouts, and his party, including Zoe,swing their poles and dig them into the water. I stop for amoment to watch her. Jan and Elise look fit and strong, revel-ling in the exercise. Their smooth muscles gleam as they digtheir poles into the water and lean on them. Beside them, Zoelooks like a sickly child. The pole looks too big, too heavy, forher thin arms, but she bends her back with the others, throwingher slight weight against the pull of the current, unwilling tobe a passenger. ‘Hey Mike,’ Charlie calls. ‘Why you stop? We rafting, notsightseeing, yeah?’ ‘Sure thing, Charlie,’ I reply, and tear my eyes away fromZoe. We’ve been on the water for more than three hours now,and everyone is beginning to tire. For the past hour the waterhas become noticeably rougher. We’ve passed through maybehalf a dozen stretches of white water, each a mile or two long.When we enter one, small waves wash over our feet and theraft pitches and bucks as we try to keep it off the rocks. For tenminutes everything is frenzied, with Charlie’s shouts compet-ing with the roar of the water and the sound of our labouredbreathing in our ears. Then the calm returns, and the raft slips easily along on thesmooth brown water. We take turns to rest, gratefully layingdown our poles and sitting at the centre of the boat, the waterslapping through the bamboo to soak our shorts. Ten minutesfor a damp fag or a drink of water, then back on duty. No ex-ceptions. Rafting, not sightseeing. 256

‘Okay,’ Charlie shouts, ‘We take rest now. Easy bit ahead.’ ‘Thank Christ for that,’ Harry murmurs. ‘You got that right,’ Connie says, dropping wearily to thedeck. ‘My arms are coming out of their sockets. Those polesare so goddam heavy!’ ‘How you doing Mike?’ Charlie says, crossing the slipperydecking as though he were walking down the sidewalk. ‘Youtired?’ ‘Not too bad,’ I tell him. ‘I had a rest not long ago.’ ‘Okay. You steer raft.’ ‘Up the front?’ ‘Sure. Up front,’ he says, then adds, grinning: ‘Don’t hit anyrock!’ ‘I’ll try not to.’ I make my way gingerly to the space he’svacated. Charlie moves to the back of the raft and crouches onhis heels, his pole dragging in the water like a rudder. He givesme an encouraging nod. ‘Left’ I call self-consciously, and dig my pole into the riverbottom. ‘Should we be poling?’ Harry asks, rising uncertainly fromhis seat at the centre of the boat next to Connie. ‘Is okay,’ Charlie tells him. ‘Is easy bit. Mike and I handleit.’ Charlie’s right. It is an easy stretch, but it’s different upfront. I sweep the river with my eyes, trying to judge thecurrent, watching for rocks hidden treacherously beneath thesurface. After a while, I stop calling out. I can tell from the be-haviour of the craft that Charlie’s anticipating my moves,watching the river from the back with his experienced eyes. Iconcentrate on keeping my footing and pulling my share of thework. The river broadens and the current slows, and I begin to 257

relax and enjoy myself. My muscles are aching, but it’s apleasant ache. I stand with my feet eighteen inches apart,flexing my knees by degrees as the raft bobs on the water. I letmy arms dangle before me, the pole held loosely in my hands.It feels familiar now, an old friend. I know its point of balance.After each bout of poling, I return to my resting position, fourfeet of pole projecting out on either side. My eyes never leavethe surface of the water. There’s something immensely satisfying about reading theriver, waiting for the ideal moment and then throwing yourweight on the pole, feeling the raft pivot around it and head offon a new course, sweeping sedately around the long bends. There’s also something immensely terrifying about sweep-ing round a long bend and finding an elephant blocking yourway. There are six of them, plodding along the path that followsthe river. The first has just reached the water’s edge and isabout to wade in. The others are strung out behind their leaderin single file and it’s clear they’re going to follow wherever hegoes. I watch, mesmerised, as two tons of elephant wades kneehigh into the river a hundred feet ahead of me and begins tomake its way to the other bank. My mind is furiously calculat-ing speeds and distances and I don’t like the answer. There’sno way six elephants, moving at about two miles an hour, aregoing to cross this river before the flimsy bamboo raft I’mstanding on gets there. We’re heading for a collision. Desperately, I look over my shoulder, seeking Charlie’sguidance. It doesn’t help that, for the first time, I see Charlie isn’tsmiling. His keen eyes are strafing the river ahead and I knowhe’s coming to the same conclusion I did. ‘Go through,’ he shouts. ‘Go through.’ 258

He turns his hand on its side, like he’s going to performa karate chop, and moves it back and forth like he’s sawingwood. His meaning is clear. I’m supposed to steer our craftbetween two elephants! I want him to take over, but I understand that there isn’ttime. It’s up to me. When I turn to face the front again, I’m alarmed to see howclose we are. Whatever I do, I have to do it quickly. My mind races through the calculations again and comes upwith the two elephants most likely to be in our way when weget there. My instinct tells me to start poling madly but some-thing in the back of my brain says: Wait. Stay calm. Wait… The distance to the elepehants is less than thirty feet now.The gap between the two elephants is less than ten feet. Ourraft is four feet wide. We’re travelling at a speed of ….Godknows! It’s impossible! We’re going to ram an elephant. I’mpretty sure my travel insurance doesn’t cover eventualities likethis. The elephants hardly even seem to be aware of our pres-ence. Certainly, they’re not taking any evasive measures. Isuppose, If you’re eight feet tall and weigh two thousand kilos,you can afford to be a bit blasé about such things. If we’regoing to avoid a collision, it’s entirely up to us. Frankly, I’mshitting myself. But I still haven’t stuck my pole in the water. I’m listeningto the little voice in the back of my head, the calm one, that’stelling me…Wait. Wait. Wait! Ten feet, and I realise that the little voice knows its stuff.The lead elephant is just moving off to our left, the trailingelephant is still ten feet away…we’re going to make it! Bysheer good luck, we’re going to pass sedately between the twobeasts and continue on our way down the river. Or are we? 259

A small wave pushes the raft to the right and suddenly we’retoo close to the second elephant. I feel the raft bob again andthink its another wave, but then Connie is standing beside me,the two of us shoulder to shoulder on the narrow raft. As we glide though the last few feet of open water, Connieshifts her weight by leaning gracefully to her side, arms out-stretched like a ballet dancer, and the raft moves in the oppo-site direction, away from the elephant. It’s only a tiny coursecorrection, but it does the trick. We’re through! We pass within inches of the second elephant and as we do,Connie reaches out one hand and touches the elephant’s head,just a momentary, soft caress. I turn to look at her and find her face calm, serene. Whatever she’s on, I’d like some please. The jungle sounds come back to me over the small chop ofthe water. Monkeys, never seen but ever present, chatter in thetrees. Birds cry to one another then flap suddenly from the treetops with a heavy crashing sound as they clear the foliage. Theinsects, of course, are never quiet. I’ve lost track of time when Charlie calls to me. ‘Yougetting tired Mike?’ I turn to find him sitting cross legged with the others in thecentre of the raft. He grins happily and makes poling motionswith his empty hands. ‘How long have you been sitting there?’ I ask in mock-af-fronted tones. ‘Long time,’ Charlie says. ‘You doing fine on own. Not needus.’ He giggles ecstatically. ‘Come,’ he says, getting up. ‘You rest now. Big water ahead.We all need work hard.’ I bend to lay my pole on the bamboo floor, and stand side- 260

ways to let him past. As he comes level with me, he gives mea private smile and says quietly. ‘You did good, Mike. Younatural.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Sure. Natural raft captain. You got good eye for river.’ He takes up position at the front and I move carefullytoward the centre and flop down gratefully on the floor. Theriver immediately washes up the legs of my shorts, swillingaround my balls before draining out again. I don’t care, barelynotice. A natural raft captain, I’m thinking. That’s just about the nicest compliment anyone has paid mein my entire life. * 261

25 When we reach the other end, after six exhausting hours onthe river, our journey is over. The truck will pick us up in anhour, so there’s time to eat and chat about our exploits, but italready feels like the end of something. The camaraderie thathas grown up amongst us in the past three days begins to fade.We talk in stilted tones, forcing a laugh when someone makesa tired joke. We’re going back. For me, back to Bangkok, to further adventures perhaps, butthis one is over. All that remains is a long, weary journey backto Chiang Mai. The group has drifted apart, splitting into pairs and lone in-dividuals, ostensibly to find a little privacy to change into dryclothes and hang wet ones out to dry. But we don’t re-join. Wesit, spread out along the river bank, eating the cold provisionsprovided to us by Charlie and Por. Zoe comes over to me. ‘Hey Mike,’ she says, smiling atight, uncertain smile. ‘That was fun, huh? You enjoy your-self?’ ‘I’ve had a great time,’ I tell her sincerely. ‘The whole thing,it’s been…tremendous. I’m glad you talked me into coming.’ ‘I knew you’d love it,’ she says, sitting down a few feetfrom me. She folds her legs and clutches her knees to her chest. She’swearing tight little shorts and I can’t help noticing the tendrils 262

of pubic hair that curl up her inner thighs. I look away, downriver. ‘So what are you going to do now?’ she asks. ‘I’m not sure. Back to Bangkok, I suppose. I haven’t reallythought about it.’ ‘Bangkok, huh? We never did see the place properly, didwe?’ ‘No,’ I say, and we lapse into silence. She picks a twig offthe ground and throws it into the river, watching it drift slowlyon the current. The silence grows uncomfortable. I know she’swaiting for me to make the first move, to make it easy for her. ‘How about you?’ I say. ‘What are your plans?’ She shrugs, but says nothing, glancing at me out of thecorner of her eye. I nod quietly and we sit in the hot sun and watch the river.I’m too tired to do anything, to get up and move about. Nowthat the action is over, my body is telling me about its achesand pains. ‘It’ll be nice to climb into a real bed again,’ I say. ‘With me?’ she says, and I hear the entreaty in her voice. I look at her and then shake my head slowly. ‘I don’t thinkso.’ ‘Mike…’ She leans towards me, one hand reaching out totouch my arm but I flinch involuntarily and she stops half way. ‘I see,’ she says quietly. Then she tries again: ‘ListenMike….about Por…I don’t want you to think, just because Ifucked him… that doesn’t mean that we can’t…’ I shake my head again and she stutters to a halt. ‘Jesus, Mike! It was just a fuck, for Christ’s sake! There’sno need for you to go all puritan on me.’ ‘I understand. At least, I think I do. The life you lead…traveling about, meeting new people all the time…sex mustbecome a pretty casual thing. But it’s not for me. When we… 263

made love…I thought….well, I suppose I assumed….Shit!Look Zoe, I guess I’m just too conventional for this sort ofthing. I need to be able to trust a woman if I’m going to…youknow.’ ‘Like you trusted your wife? Look where that got you.’ ‘That was a bit callous,’ I say quietly. ‘Oh fuck, I’m sorry Mike. I didn’t mean…I just meant…I’mnot your wife, you know? I didn’t take any vows. I can fuckwho I like.’ ‘Why Por?’ She looks away. ‘I only ask, because I’m feeling such a bloody fool. I wasso sure it was Sebastian you were interested in. Right from thestart, those first few hours in the truck, I could see…thought Icould see…that you fancied him. Was I wrong?’ ‘He turned me down.’ ‘Sebastian?’ She nods. ‘You mean you asked him? You…came on to him?’ ‘I asked him if he fancied a fuck,’ she says coldly. ‘And hesaid no.’ ‘Jesus. When was this?’ ‘Does it matter?’ ‘No, not in the sense that it will change anything. But I’dstill like to know.’ ‘The first night.’ ‘Before you came to bed?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You mean, you asked him to fuck you, and then when heturned you down, you came to bed with me? Is that it?’ ‘You make it sound so… calculating.’ ‘So Por was second best,’ I muse. ‘I wonder if he knew?’ ‘D’you seriously think he’d have cared?’ 264

‘He didn’t ask?’ ‘Jesus Mike, what do you imagine happened? We didn’t gofor a romantic stroll by the river in the moonlight. He didn’thold my hand and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. He can’tspeak three words of English for Christ’s sake. We fucked,pure and simple. No preliminaries, no chit-chat, no exchangeof telephone numbers after. Just a stand-up fuck against a wall.Understand?’ ‘Sebastian knew,’ I say. ‘I heard you…but he told me not tointerfere.’ ‘Of course not. He was an interested party.’ ‘What the hell does that mean?’ She looks at me as though she’s trying to work out whetherI’m serious. ‘You’re taking the piss, right?’ ‘No, of course not.’ ‘You must know. Jesus Christ, he made it obvious enough.’ ‘I’m not with you. Made what obvious?’ ‘Do I have to spell it out? It wasn’t me he was interested in.It was you!’ I stare at her while my mind tries desperately to catch up.Sebastian fancied me? Seb is gay? But... ‘You didn’t know, did you?’ I shake my head. ‘How could you not have known? You spent practicallyevery minute of the second day with him. The two of you werelike Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.’ ‘I never suspected for a moment.’ ‘Jesus Mike, you’re just too innocent to live.’ ‘I think you may be right. I think, maybe it’s time I got backto my own life, with people I understand.’ ‘Mike, can’t we just forget about all this. We could goback to Chiang Mai together…we could fly to Vietnam…I’vealways wanted to….’ 265

I watch her face as she rattles on. I know that she doesn’treally care about me. Why should she? All she really caresabout is the journey. She wants to go on traveling, and thattakes money. I have money, so I’m an attractive companion…for a while. But I can’t go with her on those terms. I want to help her. Despite everything that’s happened, Idon’t feel bitter, just foolish. I’d gladly give her money, butI remember the way she reacted in Bangkok to my casualquestion about prostitutes. Clearly there’s a fine line betweena woman offering sex to a man who pays her train fair or hotelbills and a straightforward cash transaction. The trouble is, theline is too subtle for me to understand. All I know is I don’t think of Zoe as a prostitute, and anyoffer of money would be based on feelings of friendship and agenuine concern for her wellbeing, but I don’t think she’d seeit that way. Shit! It’s all too complicated for me. But I know I’m not staying with her. It’s time for me tomove on. I don’t belong here and I need to be somewhere Iunderstand the customs. That means England. So, for the second time in five days, I’ve decided to get on aplane home. Finally, Charlie’s wife arrives in the truck and we all pilewearily into the back. The three hour journey passes in a hazeand then we’re back in Chiang Mai at the trekking office. We climb out and stand awkwardly on the sidewalk asCharlie and Por hand down the bags. There’s a lot of hand-shaking and small wads of money change hands. It’s tradi-tional to tip your guides and we all feel well pleased with theservice Charlie and Por have provided so they look like happymen as they climb back into the truck and speed off in a cloud 266

of dust. ‘Well, I guess this is farewell,’ Harry says heartily. ‘It was areal pleasure to meet you all. If you’re ever in the US of A…’ I shake his hand warmly and turn to Connie. She’s lookingcompletely calm and I wonder for a moment whether she’sback on the Valium but her eyes are sparkling as she says:‘Goodbye, Mike. It was quite a trip, wasn’t it?’ ‘Yes,’ I say with feeling. ‘Quite a trip.’ I’m tempted to leave it at that, but I’m intrigued by the littlesmile playing on her lips. ‘So, you enjoyed it?’ I ask. ‘It was quite the most wonderful experience of my life,’ ‘Really?’ My surprise must be written on my face becauseher smile broadens as she says: ‘I know what you all thoughtof me. That silly business with the toilet.’ ‘Well…’ ‘But the elephants were lovely.’ ‘They were.’ ‘…and the rafting…’ Her eyes go dreamy and I can tellshe’s back on the water. ‘It was…..wonderful.’ I stare at her in genuine surprise. I had no idea she’d feltthat way. It had been special for me, but… ‘Yes,’ I tell hersincerely. ‘It was special. Do you think you’ll ever do anythinglike it again?’ ‘Well...Seb was telling us about this place in Cambodia...’ ‘Angkor!’ ‘That’s right. I was thinking we might extend out stay alittle and take a look at it.’ I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I try to imagine Harry andConnie tiptoeing between the land mines but it just does notcompute. ‘That’s great,’ I say and she gives me a warm smile. ‘Have a good life, Mike,’ she tells me, looking directly intomy eyes. ‘And watch out for women. You’ve got that little-boy-lost look that women can’t help falling for. But they won’t 267

always be the right sort of women. Look after yourself.’ She turns away then to say goodbye to Jan and Elise andI’m left feeling stunned. Life advice from Connie. Who’d havethought? Sebastian appears in front of me. ‘You thought any moreabout Cambodia, Mike?’ he asks. I shrug. ‘It sounds great, but…’ ‘Sure,’ he says easily. ‘It doesn’t really matter where yougo,’ he adds gnomically. ‘It’s who you are that counts. Staychilled!’ And with that he’s gone. And now there’s only Zoe and I left. I’m wondering whatto say to her when a couple of young men stroll by. They havelong hair and scruffy beards and from the way they walk I’dsay they were stoned. ‘Hey guys,’ Zoe says, and they stop and peer blearily at her.‘Where’s a good place to stay around here?’ ‘Uh…’ one of the boys begins but she butts in. ‘What aboutyour guest house? Is it any good?’ The boy shrugs. ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘It’s cool.’ ‘How much you paying?’ ‘Three fifty a night. Fan only.’ ‘Think they might have a spare room?’ ‘I guess. Things are pretty quiet right now.’ ‘Great. You headed there now? I’ll tag along.’ She turns to me then. ‘Bye Mike. It was fun, wasn’t it?You’ve got a few tales to tell the folks back home.’ I smile and nod and then she’s gone. I watch her walk offwith the two young men without a backward glance in mydirection and for a moment, standing there in a dusty street inNorthern Thailand, I feel more alone than I’ve ever felt in myentire life. * 268

26 I have no idea what I’m going to do in the days ahead butright now my next move is obvious. I need a room for thenight. I head in the opposite direction from Zoe and choose thefirst decent looking guest house I find. I book a room for onenight, drop my bag on the bed and head for the shower. WhenI step back into the room, still naked and dripping, I catchsight of myself in the full length mirror screwed to the back ofthe door. I hardly recognise myself. After three days in the jungle the skin on my face, arms andlegs is dark brown. I haven’t shaved for a week and the stubbleis thick on my chin. The little gold earring glints in my leftear. I’ve lost weight, only a few pounds but I wasn’t carryingmuch surplus beforehand. I look lean and fit and altogether adifferent man from the pale accountant who left England onlya week ago. What’s more, I know that the external changes are matchedby internal ones. I’m not the same man, but I don’t yet knowwho’s taken the place of the old man. The little room is stifling hot. I wasn’t able to get a roomwith air con. I’d thought, after three days in the jungle, sleep-ing in my clothes, a couple of nights without air con would bea small hardship, but already I’m beginning to think I shouldhave put a little more effort into finding somewhere more com-fortable. I need to get out of here. 269

I walk through the streets of Chiang Mai, not heading any-where in particular, just meandering and getting the lie of theland. Chiang Mai is Thailand’s second largest city, but it’s verydifferent from Bangkok. Only a million or so people live here,compared with more than twelve million in the capital, and ithas a small town feel. It’s an ancient city surrounded by a thickwall which itself is surrounded by a wide moat. Outside themoat the streets are unremarkable, but within, the Old City hasa charm that Bangkok completely lacks. As I walk I see posters and flyers everywhere advertisingclasses in Thai cookery, Thai Language courses, and coursesin various arts and crafts. It seems that Chiang Mai is a placewhere people come to do things. If Zoe were with me, Iwonder what she’d plan for us next. But I’m on my own now and purposeless, so I find a bar andhave a drink in lieu of anything better. The bar I choose is full of backpackers and I fit right in, onlooks at least. I’m hoping I can strike up a conversation withsomeone and spend a pleasant evening discussing trekkingand travel in general. Perhaps someone will touch the dicehanging from my pack and ask me about them. Though I’d besorry to part with them so soon, it would be worth it for a bitof company. I buy a drink and sit at the bar and look around, waiting foran opportunity but none presents itself. After half an hour Ileave and wander further into town where I choose another barbut the same happens again. I know if I were with Zoe she would start a conversationwith whoever took her fancy, but I don’t have her knack. Acouple of times someone comes to stand at the bar beside meand order a drink and I nod at them and receive a brief nod inreturn but I can’t seem to take the next step. I’m a little olderthan most of the people here, but I know that’s not it. The truth 270

is, I may be dressed like them, but I’m not like them inside,where it counts. I’m too conventional. Not fearless enough, notadventurous enough. Under the skin, I’m still an accountant. I’m beginning to feel depressed so I leave the bar andwander through the dark streets, the weight of loneliness andfailure bowing my shoulders. I wander back outside the city wall and follow the moatuntil I come to a row of bars that look strikingly familiar. Irealise that this is Chiang Mai’s version of a red light district.It’s just a row of bars with girls and pool tables and altogetherit looks pretty innocent but also reassuringly familiar. On animpulse I step into one of the bars and buy a drink. A couple of girls are playing pool but they quickly abandontheir game to say hello to me. They fire the usual inane ques-tions at me and I answer on auto pilot. I suggest a game ofpool and the girls readily agree. The girls are not particularly attractive but one of them, shetells me her name is Lucy, is okay. slightly dumpy with pro-truding front teeth but her smile is warm and seems genuine.She has a little more English than most and we play pool forhalf an hour and chat. I find myself wondering. Why is it, with all of Chiang Maito choose from, why do I feel most comfortable in a beer bar,the sort of place I ran away from Pattaya to escape from? I’m buying drinks for Lucy and it’s only a matter of timebefore she suggests I pay her bar fine and take her home withme. When she does, somewhat to my surprise, I hear myselfsaying ‘okay’, and five minutes later we’re walking down thestreet arm in arm. It’s only then that it occurs to me that at any moment I couldbump into Zoe, or Sebastian or one of the others. What wouldthey think, seeing me with this girl on my arm? They’d think Ipicked her up to fuck her, and would they be wrong? What the 271

hell am I doing if that isn’t the plan? ‘We go see show?’ Lucy suggests and I readily agree. Rightnow I want to get off the streets. She takes me to another bar, only slightly larger than the lastone, but this one has a stage across one end, a crude affair withcurtains that hang limply over dusty boards. As we enter there’s a girl on stage singing a Tina Turnersong and I’m surprised to hear that she’s really very good. Ittakes a few seconds before I realise that things are not as theyseem. She’s not a girl, and she’s not really singing. I realise that this is one of the lady boy shows I’ve heard somuch about. The girl is a guy, and the music is a recording of the realTina Turner. The girl is just lip-syncing. I’m not sure I get why people want to watch a man dressedas a woman miming to a song, but it seems to please thepunters. The bar is about half full, mostly westerners, butincluding a fair smattering of females. Lucy leads me to a table which is currently occupied by agood looking man in his forties with darkly tanned skin andwell cut hair. Beside him sits a pretty Thai girl. Lucy says ‘Hi’to the man and leans forward to peck the girl on the cheek andthey all jabber away in Thai for a moment before Lucy makesthe introductions. Or tries to. She’s already forgotten my name so I shake theman’s hand and say, ‘Mike’. ‘Henri,’ he says in a thick French accent. I nod at his girl who simpers at me. We order a round ofdrinks and Lucy slips onto the stool next to me. The next act is another lady boy in a bad wig. It wouldappear she’s supposed to be Barbra Streisand though if thesong hadn’t given the game away, I’d have had a hard time 272

guessing. As we watch Barbra, Tina Turner appears around the sideof the stage and makes for our table. Tina kisses Lucy onthe cheek and then the other girl and joins our little party. Iwonder idly about the relationship between these people. A worrying thought strikes me. Lucy seems to know thesepeople well. Why would a normal girl like her hang out withboys who dress as women unless.... Without appearing to, I check my date out. She looks likea real girl to me, but I can’t be one hundred percent sure. Upclose, the Tina impersonator looks pretty good too. Fromsome angles you would never know, but every now and thenthe light catches her in a certain way and the maleness comesthrough. We’ve all heard the stories of men who take a girl back totheir room only to find out she’s a guy. It’s good for a fewlaughs but you tell yourself it could never happen to you. Iknow a real girl when I see one. Don’t I? ‘So Mike, you like the lady boys?’ Henri asks, and I wonderif he’s asking me if I like the show, or guys who dress as girls? ‘They’re very good,’ I answer carefully. He pulls a face. ‘Some, yes. Not all. It depends on the rawmaterial.’ I look confused and he smiles and explains. ‘Take Nan herefor instance.’ He places a proprietarial hand on her shoulder.‘When I first met her, she was a boy, bien sur, but already quitebeautiful. I saw her potential immediately. It has taken threeyears and the job is not yet complete, but I’m sure you willagree with me, the result is magnifique, non?’ ‘Uh...yes. Sure. Magnificent,’ I tell him. Henri looks pleased but he hasn’t finished yet. He seemsto welcome the chance to explain the process. He tells me the 273

first stage is oestrogen, to soften the skin, round the hips andbegin the growth of breasts. Later, surgery is required, to shavethe Adam’s apple and enhance the breasts with implants. ‘The final stage,’ he tells me, ‘is of course, the removal ofthe penis and the formation of the female genitalia.’ ‘Um. Of course.’ ‘Nan has not yet had this operation,’ he says, placing a handhigh on her thigh. ‘But she will have...soon.’ I have no idea what to say to this so I quickly order anotherround of drinks from a passing waitress. Nan and Lucy arechatting away in Thai and I grab another quick glance at mydate. I still can’t be completely certain. I suppose I couldsimply reach up under her skirt and answer the question. Sheprobably wouldn’t even mind, but if I’m wrong about her, I’dend up with a handful of dick. I decide to wait and see. Another singer passes our table and stops to chat withHenri. I watch them as they peck one another on the cheek andI try to work out how I feel about all this. I’m not homosexual, but I’m not a homophobe either. AsI told Zoe, I live in Brighton, a town with a significant gaypopulation and I have a number of good friends who happen tobe gay. It’s never bothered me what other people get up to inprivate. But there’s something here I don’t understand. Presumably, Henri and other men like him are gay, becausethey’re attracted to young men. But if that’s the case, why turnthem into women? If, on the other hand, they’re heterosexual,why not just find a nice natural girl? Why go to all the troubleof turning a boy into a girl? I really don’t get it. I consider asking Henri to explain. He seems very relaxedabout the whole thing, but I’m not sure I wouldn’t be guiltyof some terrible breach of etiquette. Once more my Englishembarrassment is getting in the way. 274

I ask Lucy for directions to the toilet and she points to theside of the stage. I excuse myself and head in that direction. A narrow corridor runs alongside the stage with severaldoors opening off it. I arrive at the first door which is standingajar and I glance inside. I receive a jolt as I realise it’s the performers’ dressingroom. Several girls are sitting on small chairs in front of largemirrors applying make up. One girl is changing her costumeand as I appear in the doorway she turns towards me and Icatch sight of her naked breasts. They’re large for a Thai, and beautifully shaped, and I feelthe lurch of lust in my groin. I stand there, mouth gaping stupidly, while she gives mea knowing look and a little smile of invitation. She takes herbreasts in her small hands and massages them gently. I stammer an apology and quickly stumble on down thecorridor. I find the toilet and push my way inside, my heart racing.I’m afraid I may have caused some offence and half expect themanagement to turn up demanding that I leave the premises.But the girl didn’t seem to mind, so I tell myself to calm down. I stand at the urinal and pull my dick from my trousers andfind him half hard. That’s when it hits me. I’ve just become aroused at the sight of a pair of tits…on aman! What does that say about me? Does it say anything at all?I don’t know. I’m hopelessly confused and totally out of mydepth and I don’t want to be here. I finish my business, zip up and head out the door. I look back down the corridor toward the bar where themusic is playing and the lights are bright and Lucy and Nanand Henri are waiting and I can’t face it. 275

I turn in the other direction and follow the corridor to its endwhere I find a door that leads out into an alleyway. Ten minutes later I’m back in my hotel room, having all butrun the half mile or so from the lady boy bar. I lock my doorand fall on my bed and lie staring at the ceiling. I’m really not cut out for this. I resolve that, first thing in themorning I’m heading to the airport and taking the first flightback to Bangkok. I check out of my hotel and sidle out into the dawn streetsfeeling like a thief in the night. I’m looking for a cab to takeme to the airport and I don’t want to spend a minute more thanI have to in the open. I know I’m acting crazy but I’m worriedI’ll bump into Lucy or Henri or one of her other friends andthey’ll start a hue and cry about my abandoning her last night. My fears prove to be groundless. I find a cab withoutencountering any hostile strangers and a short time later I’mat the airport booking a ticket for the next flight to Bangkok,which leaves in less than an hour. As I queue to board the plane, I spare one last thought formy trekking companions. Harry and Connie will no doubt have spent the night in fivestar luxury and I wonder if the experience will have changedConnie’s mind about Cambodia. It sounds the sort of plan youmake when you’ve spent three days in the jungle, the sort thatevaporates once you lie back and soak in a nice hot bubblebath. But I hope they do go. The jungle was clearly good forConnie and I’m sure she’d get something from this AngkorWat place Sebastian told us about. As for Sebastian, there’s no need to worry about him. He’llbe fine, and the Belgian couple seem to be on the road to do-mestic bliss, so my mind turns once more to Zoe. I smile as I imagine her face when she arrived at her guest 276

house yesterday and started to unpack and found the fivethousand baht I tucked in her rucksack while she was lookingthe other way. I hope it keeps her travelling for a week or twoat least. The queue shuffles forward and I show my ticket to thepretty stewardess who gives me unnecessary directions to myseat which is barely fifteen feet from where I stand and clearlymarked. It’s time to put Zoe out of my mind I decide. I’m headedfor Bangkok, a strange city full of people who don’t speak mylanguage and whose customs I don’t know. I haven’t bookeda hotel and I’m not even sure whether, when I get there, I’mbuying a ticket back to England or…..something else. As I settle into my seat and wait for the rest of my fellowtravellers to board, I decide that I’m glad I met Zoe. Glad andgrateful. I’d never have gone trekking if she hadn’t just takenhold of the tiller and steered me in that direction. Like Connie, I reckon the past three days have been thehighlight of my life so far. I wonder if anything will ever topit. I know I’ll never forget these days, and Zoe who made themhappen. But I’m sure that next week, or a month from now,she’ll be doing something equally exciting with someone a lotmore exciting than me. I doubt she’ll even remember my namea year from now. The doors are closing and the pilot makes his announcementand then the engines rise in volume. I close my eyes and my last thought before sleep takes meis: ‘A year? Don’t kid yourself, Mike. She won’t rememberyour name three months from now!’ * 277

PART 5BANGKOK AGAIN 278

27 I step off the airport bus in the Khao San Road and it feelsgood to be back. The street is busy but it has that easy, relaxedfeel that I noticed when I was here before. The pavements arecrowded but everyone moves with a slow, shambling gait,stepping aside to let others pass, browsing at the stalls, or justchilling in the street-front cafes. With my trekking experiencebehind me I feel ready to take my rightful place amongst theother back-packers. My first priority is to find a place to sleep, but it’s early soI have plenty of time. I’d like to find somewhere better thanthe guest house Zoe and I shared. I decide to take it slow, shoparound. It’s then that I notice the American woman. She’s about my age, perhaps a little younger. She’s trim,almost boyish, with hair that is cut short and dyed pure white.She’s not a backpacker. She looks like a tourist, with a heavysuitcase lying on the pavement beside her and I’d probablynever have noticed her if it weren’t for the shouting. She’s arguing with a taxi driver and the quarrel has attract-ed a little group of spectators, all Thai. She’s looking arounddesperately as though seeking a white night who will ride upand save her. Without really considering what I’m doing, I step forward. ‘Can I help?’ ‘What? Oh, Hi. You wouldn’t happen to speak any Thai, 279

would you?’ ‘Sorry. Only English. What’s the problem?’ ‘The problem is this asshole. He’s trying to rip me off on thecab fare.’ The taxi driver looks even angrier and I suspect that, thoughhis English is no doubt limited, it does include the word‘asshole’. ‘Where’ve you come from?’ ‘The airport. The guide book says the fare should be fivehundred baht. This bastard’s asking for two thousand.’ ‘Did you agree the fare before you got in the taxi?’ ‘Hell, no! I figured he’d have a meter. Look, it says on theroof. “Taxi - Meter”. What the fuck’s that meant to mean if itdoesn’t mean he’s got a meter?’ I pull a sympathetic face. I’ve spent several hours in the pastweek reading my guide book and problems with taxi driversare well covered. ‘I’m afraid they don’t turn the meter on for airport runsunless you insist. You should have agreed a price before yougot in.’ ‘So he can charge me what he likes?’ she asks incredulously. ‘No, but it makes it harder to argue your case.’ ‘Jesus Christ! So what am I gonna do? I can’t afford twothousand baht. I’m on a budget!’ ‘Hang on a moment. Let me try.’ I turn to the little taxi driver. ‘Not two thousand baht,’ I sayloudly, making my face stern. ‘Airport, five hundred.’ ‘No, no. Two t’ousand baht,’ he says.’ ‘Five hundred,’ I tell him, holding up five fingers. ‘Two t’ousand,’ he replies, holding up two fingers. ‘Airport not two thousand,’ I say. ‘Airport, five hundred.’ He shakes his head wildly, looking indignant. ‘Two t’ou-sand.’ 280

‘This is getting us nowhere,’ the woman moans. ‘That’swhat I’ve been doing for the past five minutes. He doesn’teven understand you.’ ‘Just hold on a moment,’ I tell her. I reckon It’s time toplay the ace up my sleeve. I turn to the driver again and say:‘Tourist police. We go see tourist police. They sort this out.Okay?’ His eyes become shifty and I know I’ve got him worried.According to Lonely Planet the Thai’s have special touristpolice stations manned by cops who speak reasonable Englishand are tasked with making sure that the tourists with theirfat wallets aren’t screwed so severely that they decide to taketheir wallets home and never come back. I noticed one of theirstations on the south corner of the Khao San Road. ‘We go tourist police,’ I repeat. ‘Just up street. You come.We talk to police. they sort this out, understand?’ I begin to move in the direction I’ve indicated, back towardsthe Khao San Road, waving to the woman to follow me. Thedriver stays put, looking up the street with a worried frown onhis face. ‘Come on,’ I say, ‘We’ll let the police handle this.’ The little man scowls, looking mean and ugly, then throwsan angry hand in the air and cries something in Thai. I have noidea what he says, but I know I’ve won. ‘Give him five hundred,’ I tell the woman. She looks at medoubtfully. ‘Go on.’ Still hesitant, she lifts her tee-shirt to expose a body belt,black against the deep tan of her stomach. With difficulty shedelves in the front compartment and extracts a wad of notesand travellers’ cheques you could choke a cat with. I cringe atthe sight of them and the taxi driver becomes vehement again. ‘Two t’ousand,’ he says. ‘Give me the five hundred,’ I tell the woman, ‘And for 281

God’s sake put the rest of it away.’ I hold the note up before the driver’s eyes and say, veryslowly. ‘This is your last chance chum. Five hundred baht, orwe go to the police.’ ‘Two t’ousand,’ he mutters, and I shake my head and makeas if to put the money in my shirt pocket. ‘Hey’ the woman cries, starting towards me, hand out-stretched. I suppose she thinks I’m trying to steal her money,but it doesn’t matter because the taxi driver moves faster,sticking his hand out and jabbering in Thai. I hold his eye fora moment until he shuts up, and then I say very deliberate-ly, ‘Five hundred baht. Okay? That’s all you’re getting. Youunderstand?’ He nods miserably and I place the money in his sweatingpalm. No sooner have his fingers closed around the notes thanhe starts jabbering in Thai again, no doubt demanding theother fifteen hundred, but I turn my back on him and addressthe woman. ‘Let’s go.’ I pick up her bag and start walking. The taxi driver tagsalong for the first fifty metres but we ignore him and eventual-ly he gives up. He stands on the pavement announcing loudlyto all and sundry that all Westerners are cads and rotters,something like that. I wait until we’re a good way down the road then I stop andput down the bag. ‘You’ll be all right now. Just remember, next time, agree aprice beforehand.’ ‘Christ, I need a drink,’ the woman says. ‘Is there a bararound here?’ I look pointedly at the establishment we’re standing outside.‘Oh,’ she says. She peers into the gloomy interior. We’re offthe main drag now and this place is rather shabby, just a sort 282

of lean-to hut with a couple of Thais and a lone westerner forcustom. ‘It’s safe,’ I tell her. ‘Just don’t drink the water.’ ‘Water wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.’ ‘Sure. But I meant don’t even put water in your drink. Orice. If they don’t boil it first, it carries the same risk as plainwater. If you must have water, buy a bottle and put it in your-self. Don’t let them pour it. They’ve been known to fill oldbottles with tap water. Oh, and make sure the seal on the cap isunbroken.’ She stares at me in horror. ‘You call that safe?’ ‘You just have to take a few elementary precautions.’ She looks at the bar again, doubt written on her face. Sheturns to me again. ‘You thirsty?’ she asks. She tells me her name is Lorna. She’s from New York whereshe works for an insurance company. She came to Thailand fora fortnight’s holiday with a friend but something went wrong. ‘We had a falling out,’ she says, pulling a face. ‘We hadn’tknown each other long. Just a couple months. Turns out shewasn’t who I thought she was.’ ‘That’s a shame.’ ‘Yeah, well. Anyways, we were on an island called KoSammy….’ ‘Samui,’ I correct, and she raises her eyebrow. ‘Yeah?Whatever. After the row, I didn’t feel like sticking around, so Ijumped the first flight to Bangkok.’ ‘You didn’t want to stay on Samui? I hear it’s lovely.’ ‘The island was great. But it’s not that big, you know. Youcan drive around it in like a couple hours. If I’d stuck around,Sod’s law we’d have bumped into one another.’ ‘It must have been quite a falling out,’ I suggest, intrigued. 283

Lorna clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. Instead, shechanges the subject. ‘So how long you been in Thailand,Mike? You seem to know your way around.’ ‘Just a week. But you learn pretty quickly.’ ‘You travelling alone?’ ‘Not exactly. In fact, pretty much the same thing happenedto me as happened to you.’ Briefly I relate the tale of my own midnight flit fromPattaya. I’m careful to leave out the bit about sleeping withLinda, emphasizing instead my disgust with the town itselfand all it stood for. When I finish, she’s watching me closely, a shrewd look onher face. ‘So why did you come to Thailand in the first place?’ sheasks. ‘I just told you. It was organised by my workplace.’ ‘Sure, but if you didn’t come for sex, what did you comefor?’ ‘Oh, I see.’ I wonder how much to tell her. I don’t normally discuss myprivate life with strangers, but maybe that’s the point. She is astranger, someone I’ll never see again. What do I have to lose? ‘My marriage broke down last year,’ I say. ‘Helen and I hadbeen married for ten years. Since we split my life has been abit…well, empty, I guess. I haven’t really sorted myself outyet. I thought a holiday would do me good.’ She nods thoughtfully. ‘So you come to this place…whatwas it? Pattaya? Okay, you come to Pattaya, Sin City, as youcall it, but you have no intention of sleeping with any girls?Have I got that right?’ I nod. ‘So what’s that about?’ she says. ‘You don’t like girls?’ ‘I was married for ten years,’ I point out. 284

‘So what? Lots of closet gays marry women for camou-flage.’ ‘I’m not gay.’ ‘Okay.’ ‘I’m not. If I was, I’d tell you. I don’t consider it anythingto be ashamed of. Hell, I live in Brighton, the gay capitalof England. I’m surrounded by gays. Many of them are myfriends.’ ‘Uh-huh,’ she says, nodding again. She’s sitting watchingme, head tipped slightly forward, peering at me over the top ofher sunglasses. Her mouth is open and cigarette smoke tricklesout. Her whole attitude conveys disbelief. ‘So you moved tothis Brighton after your marriage split up?’ she says. ‘I didn’t move to Brighton because it’s the gay capital ofEngland. It was convenient for work and….and lots of or-dinary people live there too…and the shops stay open allnight….’ I stop. I’m making things worse. ‘Hey, believe what you like,’ I tell her. ‘It’s no skin off mynose. I’m straight. I like women. I just don’t sleep with prosti-tutes. End of story.’ ‘Okay,’ she says, suddenly becoming brisk. ‘I believe you.To be honest, you don’t come across as gay.’ ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I say, rather sulkily. She twists her upper half around to look for a waiter andsays, over her shoulder: ‘A gay man wouldn’t have spent somuch time eyeing up my ass,’ I blush. I actually blush. ‘That’s cute,’ she says, turning to me again and staring atmy flushed cheeks. ‘That colour suits you.’ I sit and fume while she orders more drinks. ‘So what about you?’ I ask. ‘Have you ever been married?’ She looks down at the table, suddenly defensive. ‘Sure. But 285

it was all a long time ago.’ ‘So what happened?’ ‘The oldest story in the world. Girl meets boy. Girl fallsin love with boy. Girl marries boy. Boy proceeds to fuckeverything that moves and wears a skirt. Girl divorces boy.Boy discovers he’s contracted AIDS, dies long, slow, horribledeath. Girl lives happily ever after.’ ‘Christ. That must have been horrible.’ ‘I wish. Nah, he married some bimbo he met in McDonalds,would you believe. Last I heard she was pregnant with theirfirst calf.’ The bitterness in her voice makes me look away, embar-rassed by the raw emotion. She sees she’s gone too far andsmiles with an effort. ‘Hey, you were great back there, with that cab driver, youknow? How long did you say you’ve been here?’ ‘About a week. Don’t worry. You’ll learn quickly.’ ‘So now all I gotta do is find a hotel and not get ripped offon the room rent.’ ‘You shouldn’t have too much trouble if you go to a decenthotel. The rates are on a card at the front desk.’ She pulls a face. ‘I need some place cheap. I’m a girl on abudget.’ ‘Really?’ I say, thinking about the wad of notes. ‘Well, whatsort of price were you hoping to pay?’ ‘No more than ten dollars a night,’ she tells me promptly. I do the conversion in my head, first to pounds, then to baht. ‘That’s not a lot. You’ll only get back-packer style accom-modation for that.’ ‘Then that’s what I’ll have to settle for,’ she says, lookinggrimly determined. ‘Well, you’re in the right part of town. This is where thebackpackers hang out.’ 286

She pulls a thick book from her handbag and flicks quicklythrough the pages. ‘My guide book said to head for someplace called the….’she struggles with the unfamiliar words, …’the Kay…Oh…Siang….road…something like that.’ ‘The Khao San Road. Well, you found it. This is it.’ ‘Yeah?’ She looks around as if seeing the place for the firsttime, which she probably is. ‘Okay. So where do I start? ‘Well, there’s places dotted all over this area. They’re calledguest houses rather than hotels.’ I look at her, taking in thefresh cleanness of her attire and the carefully applied make up.‘They’re pretty basic,’ I warn her. ‘Uh-huh,’ she says, then looks at me intently as though anidea has just occurred to her. ‘So how about your hotel? Is itany good?’ ‘My hotel? Well, actually, I don’t have one yet. I only gothere myself. I was just looking for a place.’ ‘Great,’ she says, smiling happily. ‘Then we can look to-gether.’ ‘Jesus, Mike,’ Lorna moans. ‘How many hotels can there bein this goddam town?’ ‘About two hundred in the Khao San Road area, accordingto Lonely Planet.’ She shakes her head. ‘That can’t be right. We’ve visitedmore than that already.’ We haven’t, of course, but it does feel that way. Lorna ispicky. ‘I’d have settled for the last but one,’ I tell her. ‘Okay, it’s abit more expensive than we want, but…’ She shakes her head again. ‘No way. I’m on a budget.’ It’s two hours since I met Lorna, and I’m beginning to thinkthat I’ll keep my mouth shut next time I see a damsel in dis- 287

tress. We must have visited a dozen guest houses, at least halfof which would have suited me fine, but none of which passedLorna’s strict standards. ‘Too dirty,’ was the verdict on the first one. ‘Too expensive,’disposed of the second, and so on, down to the last one: ‘Toomany goddam foreigners!’ ‘But you’re a foreigner,’ I had pointed out. ‘We’re all for-eigners here.’ ‘Sure, but not like them.’ She indicated a large group of young people lounging in thereception area. They were sipping drinks and chatting. Theylooked harmless enough to me and I told her so. ‘They’re Germans,’ she told me. ‘I can’t stand Germans. Myex-husband’s family were all from Germany. I’m not stayinghere.’ And so the afternoon wore on. I’ve begun to wonder what I’m doing here, with thiswoman. I’m not quite sure what’s going on. At first I thoughtI was just helping her to find a hotel. That didn’t mean I wasgoing to stay at the same hotel, but somehow Lorna seems tohave got the idea she’s choosing for both of us. At one hotel,the one finally dismissed as too expensive, when told the rateshe asked: ‘Is it any cheaper if we take a double?’ I stared ather in surprise. Was she seriously suggesting we share a room,a bed? As it turned out, the double room rate was exactly twice theprice of the single room rate, so the matter became academic.She hasn’t asked the same question again, so I’m assumingthat her enquiry was based purely on the grounds of practicaleconomy. We’ve arrived at an intersection where two wide and busyroads cross. Dropping our bags for a moment, we stare up anddown each road in turn. 288

‘Which way d’you suppose?’ she asks. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’ ‘Excuse me,’ a polite voice says behind us. ‘Can I be ofassistance?’ The speaker is Asian, but the voice is pure BBC Home Ser-vices. He’s about fifty, round faced and smiling, neatly dressedin a safari suit and polished brown leather sandals. He’s carry-ing an attaché case. ‘We’re looking for a hotel,’ Lorna says. ‘D’you happen toknow any good ones about here? Good and cheap?’ ‘An hotel?’ he says, taking care to clearly annunciate the‘n’. ‘Of course, of course. I know several that I could recom-mend. May I ask where you are from? America is it?’ ‘I am,’ Lorna says. ‘He’s English.’ ‘Ah, the English,’ the tubby man says with relish, rubbinghis hands together. ‘A wonderful people. And the Americanstoo, of course. My name is Jameer.’ We shake hands and tell him our names. ‘I am most delighted to meet you,’ he tells us. ‘And this isyour first visit to our city? Well you must allow me to showyou around.’ We begin to protest but he raises a hand. ‘Please, I insist. Iam very proud of my city and it would give me great pleasureto escort you. But first, the matter of your hotel. Good butcheap, I think you said?’ ‘You got it,’ Lorna says. ‘Then if you would care to follow me…?’ We pick up our bags and start across the road. ‘I don’t like this,’ Lorna whispers to me as we walk a fewpaces behind Jameer. ‘This is some kind of con.’ ‘He seems okay to me. Just because a taxi driver tried torip you off, you don’t need to suspect everyone. I’ve been inThailand a week and no-one has conned me yet.’ 289

‘Yet,’ she says significantly, but she shuts up and marcheson. I catch up with Jameer. ‘Your English is excellent,’ I say. ‘Have you spent time inEngland?’ His smile widens and his eyes twinkle with delight. ‘Ah no,I am afraid I have not had that pleasure yet,’ he tells me. ‘But Iconsider England my spiritual home, if you understand me?’ I don’t, but I nod as if I do. ‘Then where did you learn thelanguage?’ I ask. ‘At school. And then at college. I always had a facility withlanguages. That is why I am now a teacher myself.’ ‘You’re an English teacher?’ ‘Professor,’ he amends gently. ‘I teach at the university. Ah,here we are. We go down here.’ He takes us down a long flight of stone steps beside a canal.The water runs between ugly concrete walls and the steps leaddown to a concrete footpath running alongside. At the bottom of the steps, the path is roofed over with anassortment of materials: strips of old corrugated iron: tarpau-lins: cardboard boxes. It looks as though we’re entering arefugee camp. I duck under the leading edge and find myself face to facewith an old lady cooking something noxious-smelling in adirty wok. It seems the path has been converted into a road-side eating house, with tiny tables and chairs along one side,cooking range and storage cupboards down the other. Beneaththe cooking range, a middle aged man lies asleep on a foldingbed, a small child in his arms. Two customers, Thai men, sit at a table tucking into somesort of noodle dish. Jameer nods and smiles at them and leadsthe way through and out the other side. ‘Are we supposed to just walk through that place like that?Lorna asks, and I shrug. ‘They didn’t seem to mind,’ I point 290

out. ‘Up here,’ Jameer calls cheerily and we follow him up ashort flight of steps that mount an embankment and deposit usin a car park. ‘Your hotel,’ he says proudly, indicating the building with aflourish of his hand. Although modern in design, the place looks about a hundredyears old. The plate glass, aluminium-framed windows aredirty, patched here and there with sheets of cardboard. A smallcluster of sad-looking palm trees crouch around the entranceand a sign hanging above the front doors announces it as ‘TheRoyal Palace Hotel.’ ‘You will like it here, I think,’ Jameer tells us. ‘It is cheap,but very clean.’ ‘Not on the outside,’ Lorna mutters, but Jameer has disap-peared through the double doors and we follow him fatalisti-cally. ‘Do you think he gets a bribe for bringing us here?’ Lornaasks. ‘I shouldn’t think so. He’s an English professor remember.He’s just being friendly.’ ‘I don’t trust him. There’s something creepy about him.’ Jameer is standing at the reception desk, beaming andwaving us to come in. He looks like he’s the host welcomingus to his own home. He stands by proprietarily as we sign theregister and go through the other formalities. The fact that we book into separate rooms causes him amoment of surprise, but he covers it well. Then, when we haveour keys, he says: ‘There, you will no doubt wish to go to yourrooms and freshen up. But tonight I would be honoured if youwould consent to be my guests at my home. My wife would solove to meet you.’ I open my mouth to reply but Lorna beats me to it. ‘We 291

can’t,’ she says bluntly. ‘We’re meeting friends.’ Jameer’s face falls, but then the smile returns as he says:‘Of course. But perhaps tomorrow night…?’ ‘Sorry,’ Lorna interrupts. ‘But we have plans for the wholeweek. It was nice meeting you Mr Jameer. Thanks for helpingus find the room.’ She offers her hand to shake and Jameer takes it weakly, hisface full of consternation. ‘But…’ he begins. ‘Bye’, Lorna says, and turns on her heel. ‘Come on Mike,’she calls over her shoulder. ‘Goodbye…eh, Jameer. And thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry wecan’t take you up on your kind offer, but…’ ‘Mike!’ Lorna is at the bottom of the staircase, her face likestone. I give Jameer a brief wave of goodbye and follow her. ‘What the hell’s the matter?’ I hiss. ‘I told you, I don’t trust that guy. He’s after something.’ ‘Perhaps he wants to sell you into white slavery,’ I suggestnastily. I’m feeling pissed off. I don’t take kindly to beingbossed around, especially by women I’ve saved from rapa-cious taxi drivers. ‘Trust me. I’ve just done you a favour.’ She stops outside a door on the second floor and checks herkey fob. ‘This is me.’ The door swings open, exposing a dim room with plain linotiled floor, cheap furniture and a double bed covered with athin, well-worn sheet. ‘Nice,’ she says caustically. ‘Mine is next door.’ ‘Sure. Well Mike, thanks for the help and all. I’m going todive into the shower, so if you’ll excuse me…’ ‘Oh, right. Well, nice meeting you Lorna.’ ‘Yeah. You too.’ The door closes on me and I sigh and head for my own 292

room. As I open the door, I hear the distinctive scuttling sound ofa cockroach heading for cover. I throw my pack on the bedand lie down beside it, staring up at the cracked ceiling andthinking of Lorna. I can’t make her out. She’s a mixture of easy familiarity,bossing me around as though I were her husband, and stand-offish-ness. The way she dismissed me at her door, like I’dserved my purpose, irritates me. ‘To hell with her,’ I say out loud. I’m alone in Bangkok andthe city is a ripe fruit ready to offer up its abundance. It’s timeto get out there and squeeze it dry. I fall asleep from sheer exhaustion. * 293

28 I wake to the bedside telephone ringing. ‘Hey Mike. It’s me. Come on through. I have something toshow you.’ She disconnects before I can protest. For a mad moment Iwonder whether she’s going to offer me her body, but I decidethe chances are slim. I knock on her door and she lets me in. She’s been busy. The closet is lined with clothes onhangars and her make up and stuff is laid out on the low table.Everything looks neat and organised. ‘How do you like the room?’ I ask. ‘It’s a shit-hole.’ ‘Oh. Well in that case, you could always check out tomor-row. We saw better places than this this afternoon.’ ‘Yeah, maybe,’ she says doubtfully. ‘So what was it you wanted to show me?’ She bounces onto the bed and sits in the middle crosslegged, like a Buddha. She has a book in her hands. ‘Listen,’she says. ‘I’ll read it to you.’ I take the seat beside the bed and she reads: ‘A commonploy is for the stranger to introduce himself as an ‘EnglishTeacher’ at a local college. These con men are usually wellspoken and plausible. The meeting will be arranged to appearaccidental and the con man will invite the tourist to his hometo meet his ‘family’. There, the unsuspecting guest will becoaxed into a game of cards or other game of chance, initially 294

for low stakes but gradually rising until the victim is cleanedout.’ She looks up with triumph. ‘See. I told you there was some-thing wrong with him.’ ‘Had you read that before we met him?’ I ask suspiciously. ‘No. I was just skimming through the section on Bangkokand there it was.’ ‘So how did you know?’ ‘Woman’s intuition,’ she says smugly. ‘Never fails. I know arat when I meet one.’ ‘I’m impressed. Where can I buy some of this woman’sintuition stuff?’ ‘Sorry. It comes built in. You either got it or you don’t.’ ‘It would appear we make a pretty good team. I handle thetaxi drivers and you spot the con men. Bangkok need hold noterrors for us.’ She looks a little uncomfortable with the reference to ourbeing a team and I guess she thinks I’m trying to pick her upor something. ‘Well,’ I say. ‘I’m going to head back to my own room now.Time to get dressed and go find out what this city is all about.’ ‘You’re going out?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Where?’ ‘I’m not sure. I thought I’d wander back to the Khao SanRoad for a start. Get myself a beer.’ ‘Okay,’ she says, getting off the bed and heading for thewardrobe. ‘Give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you in the hallway.’ I blink with surprise. I just can’t keep up with this woman. ‘So what’s there to do in Bangkok, Mike?’ Lorna asks whenwe’re settled in a roadside café with a beer apiece. ‘I don’t really know. I haven’t had time to look around 295

myself.’ ‘But you said you’d been here a week.’ ‘In Thailand. Not Bangkok. I’ve spent the last few days inChiang Mai, up in the north of the country.’ ‘So what’s in Chang My?’ ‘Trekking.’ ‘Fun?’ I appear nonchalant. ‘Oh, you know, the usual thing. Tramp-ing through virgin rain forest, riding elephants, white waterrafting, that kind of thing.’ ‘Sounds cool. I might try it.’ ‘You should. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.’ She turns and sips her drink. I feel a stab of disappointment.I was hoping she’d ask me to elaborate on the delights of trek-king but it seems she’s heard enough. ‘So where we going next Mike?’ she asks suddenly. ‘I don’t mind. Where would you like to go?’ ‘The red light district.’ I gape at her. ‘You’re kidding.’ She shrugs. ‘Why not? I’d like to see what all the bally-hoois about.’ ‘It’s not exactly the sort of place for a well-brought upyoung lady,’ I warn her. ‘It’s pretty sleazy.’ She gives me a sharp look. ‘Don’t patronise me Mike,’ shewarns. ‘I’m not. I just mean that it could be dangerous. Especiallyfor a…a lone female.’ ‘But I won’t be alone, will I? I’ll have you to protect me.’ ‘Sure,’ I say doubtfully. I’ve already had my fill of red lightdistricts. I can’t imagine that Patpong will be any different.But I like Lorna, and somehow I feel responsible for makingsure she has a good time in Bangkok, so if she wants to visitPatpong, Patpong it will be. 296

‘Well, I’d like to see it,’ Lorna says, ‘And I can hardly go onmy own, but if you don’t want to…’ ‘No, no. It’s all right. I don’t mind. Should be worth a look.So long as you promise to protect me from all those predatorygirls.’ She smiles at me and says: ‘Oh, I think you’ll be able tohandle them without any help from me.’ This sounds to me as though it’s meant to convey somehidden meaning, but it’s so well hidden I can’t work it out, soI ignore it. ‘Okay, let’s go,’ I say, finishing my drink and rising. ‘Taxior tuk-tuk?’ ‘Oh, a tuk-tuk, definitely,’ she says, and I wave at one onthe other side of the road. The driver is reclining in the backseat, his feet up on the handlebars. A moment ago he appearedto be deep in sleep, but as I lift my hand he jumps to attentionand starts the motor. At the same time, another tuk-tuk comingalong the road brakes hard and slews to a stop. The driver isout and beckoning us to slide into the back seat before the firstdriver has managed the u-turn required to get to our side of theroad. I immediately feel embarrassed, caught in the middle ofrival demands for our custom. I begin to move toward thenearest vehicle, but the other driver has made the turn andpulls up now a few metres away. He waves frantically at us.‘Tuk-tuk,’ he calls, ‘You want tuk-tuk.’ I dither, but Lorna is clear about the proprieties. ‘We’ll takethat one,’ she says, indicating the one we first saw. The rivaldriver is not at all pleased. He babbles at us in Thai, becom-ing more insistent with every word. He takes my arm, firmlythough without aggression, and tries to lead me to his vehicle.I look at Lorna helplessly. ‘I’m going in that one,’ she says simply. ‘He saw us first.’ 297

She climbs in the back and I peel the disappointed driverfrom my arm and back away, apologising profusely for some-thing I didn’t do. We leave the kerb with a jerk and race into the midst of theteeming traffic. I brace my feet against the bulkhead and grabthe chrome poles that support the roof. In doing so, I have toloop my arm around Lorna’s shoulders. I take care to avoid ac-tually touching her, but at the first corner she’s thrown againstme. She gives me a look and I let go the bar, deciding thatbeing thrown from a moving vehicle is probably better thanrisking Lorna’s wrath. ‘Where you go?’ shouts the drive over his shoulder. ‘Patpong,’ I reply, raising my voice to be heard over theblaring exhaust note. ‘Ah yes, Patpong,’ he nods, leering at me over his shoulder. I settle back then and enjoy the ride. A journey in a tuk-tukis an experience. The vehicle, driven by a powerful motorbikeengine and steered by means of motorcycle style handlebars,is open sided, with a roof like a large, square, tin umbrella.Whilst this offers a modicum of protection from the elements,nothing protects passengers from the noise, dust and smells ofBangkok, which pour in the front of the vehicle, stay just longenough to assault all your sense, and leave through the rear. Asif this weren’t bad enough, the drivers weave in and out of theother traffic, creating virtual traffic lanes where none appearto exist. On either side, the kaleidoscopic images of Bangkokstreet life blur past. Lorna and I sit watching, each lost in ourown personal experience. After fifteen minutes, the driver slows and shouts back:‘Where you go?’ For a moment I think he’s forgotten our destination. ‘Patpong,’ I shout back. He nods energetically and says: ‘This Patpong. Where you 298

go?’ I look around. The road doesn’t look very different fromthose we have already driven through. I’d expected somethingmore distinctly individual. ‘You go see show?’ the driver asks. ‘Not now. Later. Just drop us anywhere.’ I don’t think he understands. ‘Where you go?’ he repeats.‘You want see show? Good show. Lady boy. Very good.’ ‘No. No thank you. We don’t want to see a show. We’re justgoing to have a drink and a walk about.’ ‘Drink? You want drink? I take you to bar. Good bar.’ ‘No. It’s all right. Just drop us…’ But the blare of the exhaust has redoubled and I have tograb the nearest pole to steady myself as we speed off into thenight once more. ‘Where are we going?’ Lorna asks. ‘I thought we’d arrived.’ ‘The driver knows a bar, apparently.’ ‘What sort of bar,’ she says doubtfully. ‘I have no idea,’ I sigh. We’re driving through smaller streets now, tight packedwith stalls and eating places on either side. We keep takinglefts, giving me the impression that we’re forming ever smallersquares, spiralling into the centre. Suddenly, the driver heaves the handlebars to the right andwe roll into a dark alleyway. My heart leaps into my mouth asI recognise the traditional setting for a mugging, but secondslater we emerge into a wide car park at the rear of whatappears to be a row of shops. A single lighted doorway breaksthe line of dark premises. Two small but tough looking Thaisguard the door. ‘Where are we?’ I ask the driver as the engine note returnsto normal. ‘Good place,’ he tells me, nodding at the lighted doorway. 299