What I did on my Holiday

‘Very good place. Lady boy show. Very good.’ ‘We don’t want to see a show,’ I say, raising my voice. ‘Itold you we just want a drink.’ ‘You drink. You drink here, watch show. Good show.’ ‘I don’t like this,’ Lorna mutters, sounding scared. ‘Take us back to the main road,’ I tell him. The two men onthe door are watching us attentively. I don’t like the feel of thismyself. ‘You see show,’ the driver says, beginning to sound a littledesperate. ‘Come on,’ I say to Lorna. ‘We’re getting out. We’ll walkfrom here.’ The thought of wandering the back alleys of Bangkokappeals to me not at all, but I put one foot out onto the pave-ment and the driver gives in. ‘Okay, okay,’ he says. ‘I take you to bar.’ My bluff hasworked. ‘No show!’ I warn him. ‘Okay, okay,’ he mutters sulkily. ‘He’ll be on some kind of kickback from that place,’ I tellLorna as we start off again. Five minutes later the driver drops us off back on the mainroad. I pay him and he roars off. We take our bearings. The road we’re on is broad, a dualcarriageway, lined with dark office buildings. It’s like a streetin the business section of any major city. ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Lorna asks. ‘No. But it’s better than where he wanted to drop us.’ There’s a Kentucky Fried chicken shop a little way alongthe road and it gives me a comforting feeling of familiarity,despite the strange Thai writing on the sign. We move in thatdirection and after fifty metres we find ourselves at a junctionwhere a side street spills out into the main road. The street is 300

crammed with the familiar stalls selling tee-shirts and food,but no signs of overt sex. ‘Down here?’ I ask Lorna doubtfully. She shrugs. ‘We mayas well,’ she says. A minute later we know we’ve found the red light district.Quite suddenly the stalls give way to a street lined with barsand go-go clubs. The neon is brighter, the sounds emanatingfrom the bars much louder. Girls are everywhere. ‘This would be it, ‘Lorna says dryly. We walk down the centre of the wide pedestrianised road,heads swivelling to take in the outrageous scene. The bars are open-fronted affairs, wide and deep, muchbigger than the ones I saw in Pattaya. Outside each is a flockof young girls. They appear to be wearing a variety of houseuniforms, identifying them with a particular bar. Here, twentygirls wear shiny satin skirts and tops in a multitude of shades.Over there, another group of girls are dressed in jeans andwhite tee-shirts. They wave as we pass, crying their familiarsing-song ‘he-lo’. Despite the fact that I’m with Lorna, severaltake a few steps towards me, smiling widely and asking me if Iwant a beer. I smile back and shake my head ruefully, indicat-ing Lorna with a nod of my head as if to say, “Sorry, but asyou can see, I’m already taken.” ‘Cut that out,’ Lorna says sharply and I turn to her in sur-prise. ‘What?’ ‘Pretending we’re together.’ I begin to protest but she cuts me off: ‘I saw you. Just cut itout, okay. We’re not together. You’re a free agent. If you wantto go off with one of them, that’s your business. I’ll be fine onmy own.’ ‘I don’t want to go off with one of them.’ ‘Yeah, well, if you change your mind later, do what you 301

like. I’m not your keeper, and I’m certainly not your girlfriend.Understood?’ ‘Sure,’ I say, a little sulkily. ‘I never thought for a minutethat you were.’ ‘Good. That’s cleared that up then. Now let’s find a beer.I’m parched.’ We find a place that is more restaurant than bar and sit at atable on the sidewalk, behind a little fence that provides somepsychological defence. Girls wander by, those apparently notattached to any particular bar, in twos and threes. Their eyesscan the street, but they don’t break stride, marching alongswinging their hips and giggling, for all the world like younggirls at home on their way to a club for a night out. The atmosphere in the street is gay, with the lights and themusic and the young girls dancing on the spot as they waitfor punters to walk by. Each time a group of unattached menpasses, the girls break out into a chorus of trilled he-llo’s andwave. If the men hesitate, the girls flock out of their bar andsurround them, voices babbling, laughing, taking the men bythe hand and leading them into their establishment. Lorna says little as we sit and enjoy the street theatre that isPatpong. I notice a fat man sitting on a stool at the front of the bardirectly opposite. He’s being entertained by three girls. Everynow and then one will drift off and another takes her place.He’s a big guy, muscular as well as fat, and I can see the sweaton his face from over here. He’s wearing a checked short-sleeved shirt and khaki trousers, different from most of theother men who are wearing shorts and tee-shirt. He looks,somehow, as though he belongs here. His manner is confident,as though he’s been in situations like this many times before.He has the girls laughing, telling them jokes perhaps, and theytease him and giggle. As I watch, one of the girls climbs on 302

his lap and he makes a bicep for her to fondle. I see her mouthform an ‘Oooo’ and she says something that makes him grin.Another girl is leaning on him from behind, and I notice thatone hand is stretched round his vast stomach, fondling hisbelly familiarly. I’m put in mind of pictures I’ve seen on tellyof ants in the nest. The queen, a huge white grub of a creature,is tended by the other ants, some of whom actually run overher as they go about their ministrations. ‘How does it work?’ Lorna asks suddenly. ‘How does what work?’ ‘This. Prostitution. How does a man buy a girl?’ ‘I don’t really know. Like I told you, I don’t….’ ‘…sleep with prostitutes. Yeah, okay, but you hung out withyour buddies in Sin City for a couple days. I reckon you mustknow the basics.’ ‘Well, I do know a bit, the theory at least,’ I admit. I go onto give her a short version of the lecture Benny gave us on ourfirst day in Pattaya. Lorna listens carefully without interrupting then nods, asthough satisfied. ‘Why’d you ask?’ I say. ‘No special reason. So what else is there to do around here?’ ‘Not much. Sex, beer and rock and roll. That’s about it.’ ‘No drugs?’ ‘I suppose so. But not on the surface. The authorities aretough on drugs. They put you away for a long time.’ ‘I’ve seen the movie,’ she says caustically, and I shut up. ‘What about one of these shows the driver was telling usabout?’ she says. ‘You want to go to a show? A lady-boy show?’ ‘No lady-boys,’ she says firmly. ‘Don’t they do any otherkind?’ ‘We could go to a go-go bar. But I wouldn’t have thought it 303

would be your cup of tea.’ ‘I don’t drink tea. So, have you been to one of these go-gobars?’ ‘No.’ I think about the place in Pattaya Benny took us towhere I first saw Anna, but I decide I don’t need to tell herabout that. ‘They can be a bit….dodgy. Or so I’ve heard.’ ‘You’ll have to protect me then, won’t you?’ she says,rising. As I get up she surprises me by looping her arm inmine. ‘This doesn’t mean we’re engaged.’ I don’t complain. We walk slowly down the road, lookingfor a bar that doesn’t seem too threatening. The go-go barsare different from the other bars. Mostly, they consist of asmall doorway let into the wall with a neon sign above and abouncer or two outside. Touts approach us waving cardboardplacards in our faces. ‘Good show,’ they tell us. ‘Lots of girls. Pretty girls. Doanything.’ ‘No thanks,’ I say, pushing past them, but they don’t takerejection easily. One follows us for a hundred metres beforefinally giving up. ‘What are those bits of cardboard they keep brandishing?’Lorna asks.. ‘Menus.’ ‘They serve food?’ ‘Women. Positions and prices. That sort of menu.’ ‘Oh.’ Two young girls approach us, moving in, one on either side.I’m just thinking how remarkable it is that they should tacklea man who is obviously with a woman, when I realise that it’sLorna they’re really interested in. ‘You pretty lady,’ her girl says, feeling Lorna’s hair. ‘Nicehair.’ 304

I brush them off gently but I’m relieved to see Lorna doesn’tseem offended, merely amused. ‘Let’s go in here,’ she says, picking a bar at random. My guide book warns that these places often rip off touristsand I brace myself for an exorbitant entrance fee, so I’m pleas-antly surprised when we’re admitted without charge. The place is close and dark, with a long bar in the centreof the room and within the bar itself, a raised stage, long andnarrow like a catwalk. ‘Let’s sit at the bar,’ Lorna says and we take two stools andorder beer. The music is deafening so we don’t bother with conver-sation. Besides, I’m rather distracted by what’s happening acouple of feet in front of me. Four girls are currently performing on the small stage.They’re wearing the tiniest of bikinis that glow in the dark.The girl directly in front of me grabs her shiny pole and kicksher leg high in the air, then pirouettes and bends over, staringat me between her legs. I start as she gives me a huge wink,and then she’s off down the other end, giving all the punterstheir fair share of her attractions. It takes me back a week or soto the bar in Pattaya where I first saw Anna. It seems I’ve gonefull circle. There aren’t many people in the bar but I’m glad to notethat there is at least one other western woman. She’s with aman and they have ‘honey-mooners’ written all over them.She’s averting her face from the stage, blushing and coveringher eyes with her hands. The man is laughing and trying toprise her fingers from her face, but he never takes his own eyesoff the girls on stage. He looks hot, his face red and sweating,and his look is hungry. I guess his new wife is going to get agood seeing-to tonight. I glance at Lorna to see how she’s taking it, and I’m sur- 305

prised to find her looking cool and relaxed. She’s watchingthe girls with an appraising eye as though she’s consideringbuying one of them. I assume it’s a woman thing, sizing up thecompetition, so to speak. The dancers leave the stage and an ice bucket appearsbefore us. On it is a hand written label that reads: ‘Please givegenerously for the entertainers.’ A bar girl holds one edge of the bucket and treats me to ahuge, false smile as I fumble in my pockets for money. Hersmile disappears when I pull out a hundred baht note and dropit in the bucket. She glares at me and gives the bucket a shakebelow my nose. I add another couple of hundred and the smilereturns. She moves off along the bar to bother someone else. ‘How much did you give her?’ Lorna asks, sounding disap-proving and surprisingly wife-like. ‘Not much,’ I say. Another girl comes out on stage. This one is surprisinglyunattractive. Her legs are muscular and her face is flat, thenose wide with big nostrils and a faint moustache on her upperlip. But she does have one advantage: she’s stark naked. I trynot to stare at her pussy. Unlike the previous girls, she doesn’t bother looking at thepunters, making no effort to catch our eyes and issue her invi-tation. Instead, she marches straight to the end of the catwalk,directly in front of us, and sits on the floor. A loudspeaker blares and a hidden announcer says some-thing that may be in English but is hopelessly distorted. Theice-bucket girl, or one of her sisters, moves along the bar witha fistful of balloons, presenting one to each customer. We takeours dutifully and exchange ‘What’s going on?’ shrugs. Without preliminary, the girl on stage lies back and spreadsher legs. Her muff is pointing straight at me. She moves acouple of degrees and its pointing over my shoulder but the 306

view is still unnerving. Then she holds something high in heroutstretched arm and the announcer blasts us with anotherunintelligible gabble of broken English. For a moment I think the object in her hand is a flute andshe’s going to play us a tune. Then I see her slip somethinginto the end of the instrument and I belatedly realise what theact is about. ‘You might want to duck,’ I tell Lorna and she stares at me. ‘What?’ she says, bewildered. ‘Duck?’ I suggest. The girl sticks the blowpipe in her fanny, lifts her bottomoff the ground and, sighting along her belly, lets fly. The dartwhizzes close over our heads and bursts a balloon hanging onthe wall behind us. A smattering of desultory applause sounds around the roomand the girl adjusts her position, swivelling around on herbackside until she’s pointing at right angles to us. A bar girlpersuades the honeymoon couple to hold their balloons abovetheir heads and the girl on stage shoots them out one by one, tosqueals of delight from the woman and a fresh torrent of sweatfrom her husband. His eyes are practically popping from hishead. As the girl on stage completes another ninety degree turn,now pointing directly away from us, I notice that the honey-moon couple are being asked to make a special contribution tothe performers’ welfare fund, having had such fun participat-ing in the entertainment. I quickly get rid of my balloon, dropping it on the floorbeside me and giving it a surreptitious kick, then nudge Lorna. ‘Lose the balloon,’ I whisper. ‘Or it will cost you.’ I nod in the direction of the honeymoon couple and Lornagrasps the situation. Calmly she touches her cigarette to herballoon and it pops loudly, the sound lost in the music. 307

Balloon-less, we escape further attention during the remain-der of the act but as soon as the girl leaves the stage the icebucket re-appears. ‘I’ve already given,’ I tell the bar girl, smiling and tryingto wave the bucket away, but she scowls at me and shakes it.Reluctantly I contribute a further two hundred baht and shegoes away. ‘Now I see why entrance was free,’ I say bitterly to Lorna. ‘You want to leave?’ ‘No. We might as well stay a little longer. Get our money’sworth. But I’m not paying any more.’ The dancers are back, or perhaps they’re different girls.Certainly the costumes have changed. They’re each wearinga tiny black g-string and nothing else. Eight pert little tits areproudly on display. ‘What’d you think?’ Lorna asks. ‘Uh…I’m not sure what you mean.’ ‘Sure you do. Personally I think the one on the end has thebest tits. But this one, she nods at the girl in front of me, hasthe best ass. You agree?’ ‘I hadn’t really noticed,’ I mumble and Lorna snorts. ‘Christ, Mike, no wonder your wife left you if you’re notinterested in naked women.’ I’m stung by her casual cruelty. ‘My wife and I had a verysatisfactory sex like, thank you very much,’ I tell her, soundingeven to my own ears like a pouty child. ‘Satisfactory for you, or for her?’ ‘I like to think for both.’ ‘Yeah? Well I certainly couldn’t say that about my mar-riage,’ she says, and I feel a bit better. ‘To tell you the truth,’ I go on, ‘I don’t know how satisfiedHelen was. I thought we were having great sex, but she was 308

very dedicated to her career, you know, and sometimes shewas too tired or stressed to want sex.’ I sigh. ‘At least, that’swhat she told me. Maybe she was just dissatisfied.’ ‘Maybe she was a lesbian,’ Lorna suggests and I laugh. ‘I think I’d know if my own wife was gay.’ ‘You think?’ Another bar girl arrives. She places a sheet of paper on thebar and thrusts a huge black marker at me. ‘You write name,’she says. I don’t like this one bit. I see she’s visited the other side ofthe bar already. The names ‘Clara’ and ‘David’ are written inslanting capitals. I look a question at Lorna and she shrugsback. I add ‘Oscar’ and ‘Mary-Lou’ to the list and pass thepaper back to the girl. ‘Mary-Lou?’ Lorna says. ‘No sense in taking chances. Somehow, I feel that this isgoing to cost us. I’m just not sure how yet.’ I turn my attention back to the girls on stage. I’m finding it very weird, sitting here staring at nakedwomen with a woman sitting right next to me. It might feelmore natural if we were a couple, stoking up a bit of sexualtension with a view to going home and shagging ourselvessilly like the honeymooners over the way. I wonder for amoment whether Lorna feels any arousal right now, but no,that would be even weirder. ‘You didn’t answer my question’ Lorna says suddenly. ‘What question was that?’ ‘Which one do you prefer?’ I take another look at the girls. There’s not a lot to choosebetween them. They’re all small, slim, dusky, beautiful andstark naked. ‘The one furthest away,’ I tell her. She nods knowingly. ‘Boob man, huh?’ I can’t help it. My eyes just drop of their own accord to her 309

chest. ‘Easy tiger,’ she says without looking at me. I drag my eyesback to the bar. The music changes, the girls vacate the stage and anotherugly girl arrives. I begin to see a pattern. If you’re a poor Thaigirl and you aren’t beautiful, learn to do something extraordi-nary with your fanny and Bangkok will still welcome you. The girl is laying out a large strip of paper on the floorof the stage. She stands above it, legs apart and I see what’scoming. ‘Let’s go,’ I tell Lorna. ‘Why?’ What’s happening?’ ‘We’re about to be sold our own names, written in glo-rious permanent ink by a very talented lady using a part ofher anatomy not usually associated with writing,’ I say, andreceive a blank stare from Lorna in reply. It’s really very noisyin here. ‘What?’ she says. ‘Never mind,’ I tell her. ‘Let’s just get the hell out of herebefore they bring the bucket round again.’ At the exit a large Thai gentleman in jeans and Hawaiianshirt steps into our path. He beams at us. ‘You enjoy show?’ he asks. ‘Yes, very much,’ I tell him. ‘Good,’ he says, nodding happily. ‘Six hun’erd baht please.’ * 310

29 ‘They call it an “exit charge”. It’s the latest way of rippingoff tourists. They know you won’t go in if the entrance chargeis too steep, so they charge you to get out instead.’ The speaker is a tall, thin, inebriated Aussie. His name isRon. The bar we’re in is like all the others, wide, open fronted,but with the added attraction of air conditioning. I can’t seehow they can keep the air cool with the doors wide open, but itseems to work. I’m feeling cooler than I have all day. Ron was sitting at the bar, staring down his drink as thoughit were an old and treasured enemy, when we took the stoolsnext to his. He gave me a bleary look and I said ‘Hi’. I orderedour drinks and for some reason I can’t explain I offered tobuy him one as well. Now we’re old pals. I guess that’s whathappens when you buy a drunk a drink. I’ve just finished de-scribing what happened to Lorna and I at the go-go bar. ‘Well they certainly caught us,’ I say bitterly. ‘That’s threetimes in one day we’ve had people try to rip us off.’ I glance quickly at Lorna to see whether she objects to myuse of the pronoun ‘us’ but she doesn’t seem to have noticed. ‘I’m rapidly going off Thailand,’ I tell him. Ron shakes his head. ‘Nah mate. You don’t want to let alittle thing like that put you off. Sure, they’re bastards, but whatdo you expect? This is Patpong for Christ’s sake. They’d do thesame thing in any red light district in the world.’ 311

‘I suppose you’re right.’ ‘Sure I am. This is a beaut country. I’ve been here twentytwo years and I can tell you, there’s not a better place anywherein the world.’ ‘You live here?’ ‘I have my own business. Import / export.’ He fishes aboutin his shirt pocket for a moment but comes up empty handed.‘Don’t seem to have a business card on me at the moment,’ hemumbles. ‘Never mind.’ ‘So what about you two?’ he says. ‘You on honeymoon?’ Lorna’s face clouds over and I move quickly to put Ronstraight. ‘We only just met. Today in fact. We’re staying at the samehotel.’ ‘Oh. Okay. So what about you, Mike? You over here onbusiness?’ ‘No. Purely pleasure.’ ‘Come for the women,’ he says, nodding. ‘No! Not that. Just a holiday.’ He glances at Lorna then gives me a knowing look. ‘Yeah,sure. You seen the sights yet?’ he asks. ‘Bangkok,’ he adds, incase there could be some confusion over this point. ‘No,’ Lorna, says. ‘We only arrived today.’ I think of Zoe and the day and a half we spent in the KhaoSan Road, but decide not to put Lorna straight, right at thismoment. ‘It’s a wonderful city,’ Ron says, slurring the ‘c’ so that itsounds like he’s saying ‘shitty.’ Then I wonder whether he wasmaking a joke. I check his face and decide he wasn’t. ‘If you like,’ he says, ‘ I could show you around.’ I hesitate, looking for the best way to say no. ‘It’s nice ofyou to offer,’ I try, ‘but we couldn’t put you out…’ 312

‘You won’t be putting me out. I don’t have to work tomor-row. I could take you to the Royal Palace.’ ‘Ah…that’s really kind of you, but…’ ‘I’m not asking for money! Jesus Christ. Don’t think that.’ ‘I didn’t…’ ‘I wouldn’t take a penny off you,’ he says hotly. ‘I’m not oneof these bastards on the make. I’m a businessman. Got me ownbusiness, import/ export. I’m just offering to show you aroundas an act of friendship. One white man to another.’ I glance quickly at Lorna but she doesn’t appear to be listen-ing. She’s watching the people passing in the street, apparentlyhappy just to be sitting down and cool for once. ‘Is this your local?’ I ask Ron, desperately trying to changethe subject. ‘I mean…your regular bar.’ ‘This place? Nah. This place is a piece of shit. I wouldn’tdrink in here if you paid me,’ he replies, seemingly seeing nocontradiction in this statement. ‘I don’t drink in bars that much,’ he continues. ‘Tonight’sdifferent. I’ve had a really shitty day. Worst of my life.’ ‘What happened?’ I ask, more to keep the conversationgoing than out of any genuine interest. His face crumples and I think for one horrified moment thathe’s going to cry. ‘My girl…my little angel…she went back toher husband,’ he says. ‘The bastard,’ he adds with real venom. ‘That’s tough.’ I’m nearly finished my drink and I’m thinking it’s time toget out of here and move on. I don’t much care where we go, aslong as it’s away from Ron. ‘He used to beat her, you know.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Her bastard husband, that’s who. Used to punch her andkick her. Then he threw her out and that’s when I met her.We’ve been living together ever since. Nine months. And now 313

she’s gone back to him. The bastard.’ ‘Why would she do that? Go back to a man who beat her?.’ ‘Because of the kids. She loves her kids. Loves them todeath she does. She’d die for them kids you know. She bloodyloves them.’ He sobs as he says this and takes a long pull on hisbeer to revive himself. ‘The kids stayed with their father?’ ‘Sure. That’s how it works over here.’ He pulls himselftogether and his speech improves, the slurring lessening, as hebegins to explain the ins and outs of the marriage business inThailand. ‘See, a Thai woman is considered to be over the hill atthirty,’ he says, and I hear a little snort of disapproval from overmy shoulder. Apparently Lorna is still listening. ‘Can’t get a job once they’re past thirty. You take a walkdown the street and you’ll see signs in the shop windows “Shopassistant wanted - must be under thirty”. In Thai of course.No-one wants them once they’re past thirty.’ He breaks off to order another round. The drinks comequickly and it appears I’m expected to pay. ‘Thai men like them young,’ he goes on when the freshdrinks arrive. ‘When their wife hits thirty, they start lookingaround for something younger. If the wife is lucky, her husbandwill take a second wife. The first wife becomes the senior wifeand she can lord it over the new wife. But if she’s unlucky, thebastard will simply throw her out on the streets. And the kidsstay with the father. The new wife becomes their new mother.That’s what happened to my little angel. She’d have starved todeath if I hadn’t come along.’ ‘Couldn’t she get a job? If she’s got qualifications...’ ‘Qualifications! Women don’t get qualifications in Thailand,not unless they come from a rich family. The only qualifica-tions a poor girl has are her tits and her fanny. A diploma in 314

sucking and a degree in fucking, that’s the qualifications mostof these women have. S’cuse my French,’ he adds leaningforward to address Lorna across me. ‘That’s okay,’ she says. ‘I’m a big girl. I know plenty ofshort words.’ ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Qualifications? Huh, you have to havebloody O levels just to get a job in a shop. Straight up. Shopwork is considered to be very desirable. Respectable see, com-pared to the alternatives.’ ‘The alternatives?’ Ron nods, gulps his beer and then seems to ready himself forhis next discourse. He appears to enjoy playing teacher. ‘See, Thailand is still predominantly an agrarian economy.’ I blink in surprise at his choice of words and the fact that hedidn’t slur any of them. He’s warming to his theme. ‘Ninety percent of the population still lives off the land.Ninety percent! Think about it. What percentage of the popula-tion of England are farmers, Mike?’ ‘I have absolutely no idea. I suppose…less than tenpercent?’ ‘Right. But in Thailand it’s ninety percent. And we’re nottalking rich bastards driving round in Range Rovers. This issubsistence farming. They grow just enough to eat and maybetrade a little with their neighbours. That’s if they’re lucky. Butif there’s a drought, or too much rain…they’re fucked!’ ‘What happens then?’ ‘They die. Starve to death. In their thousands.’ ‘Jesus. I didn’t realise. I mean…I know about Africa…places like that…but I always thought Thailand was…well, youknow…’ ‘Sex, sun and sea,’ Ron supplies with satisfaction. ‘Yeah,that’s what it is for farangs, that’s what they call foreigners, butnot for the Thais. For them it’s a daily struggle to survive.’ 315

We ponder the plight of the Thais in silence for a momentand I’m surprised to hear Lorna order another round. I’dassumed she couldn’t wait to get away. I may be underestimat-ing her. ‘Prostitution,’ Ron announces suddenly breaking the silence.‘That’s the only way out. These farming families, in the villag-es up north, if they have a boy child he stays and works on thefarm, but if they have a girl, she comes down to the big city tosell her body.’ ‘That’s disgraceful,’ Lorna butts in, but Ron is shaking hishead emphatically. ‘What else can they do?’ he demands. ‘The only money inthis bloody country at the moment is in the hands of the rich…rich Thais that is…and the tourists. Every Brit or American orGerman who arrives here for a holiday has enough travellers’cheques in his wallet to keep a family of five alive for a year.So the farmers send their daughters down here to get some ofit.’ Lorna is horrified. ‘You mean their own parents… I thoughtit was all pimps and…and…’ ‘Nah. These girls don’t work for pimps. They’re entre-preneurs, like meself. They’re working for themselves. Anymoney they make, they spend as little as possible keepingthemselves alive and the rest goes back to Ma and Pa. In a badyear it’s the only thing that stops their whole family starving todeath.’ Lorna goes quiet and I can tell she’s trying to adjust to thisnew view of prostitution. It certainly presents a moral dilemma.It must be wrong for a woman to have to sell her body to menbut if it keeps her parents alive…? A commotion has started in the street outside. Men areshouting and people are moving to the front of the bar, clus-tering around the windows. Ron places his beer carefully on 316

the bar and slips off his stool. He takes a moment to steadyhimself, then sets off towards the door. ‘C’mon,’ he calls afterhim. ‘This could be good.’ Lorna glances uneasily at me and I shrug in reply. I have noidea what’s going on but we’re the only people left in the bar.Even the staff have deserted their posts. ‘We may as well…’ I suggest. In the street outside two women are having an argument.They face each other in the middle of a circle of bodies. Every-one is shouting. One girl wears a tiny satin dress and matchingtop, the other, jeans and a tee-shirt. The girls in the crowd wearmatching uniforms and I realise we are watching two opposingfactions lining up for a fight. ‘Cat fight,’ Ron announces happily. ‘We’re lucky. Don’t seeone of these every day.’ We’re crowded in the doorway being jostled by peopleseeking a better view. Lorna is pressed tightly against me andI suddenly become aware of the feel of her. Her breasts arepressed hard against my ribs and I swear I can feel the heat ofthem. The two girls circle each other warily, hands extended,fingers hooked into claws, watching for an opening. Theirsupporters scream advice and encouragement but the girlsthemselves save their breath for the coming bout. The girl injeans is a couple of inches taller and at least a stone heavier.She crouches at the knees ready to spring at her opponent wholooks small and frail enough to be broken in two. Ron has been jabbering in Thai with a man standing next tohim. He half turns to relay the news to us. ‘They’re prossies,’he explains unnecessarily. ‘Both had their eye on the samebloke. Happens a lot. Don’t usually end in a fight though.We’re lucky.’ The bigger girl lunges forward and grabs the other girl by 317

the hair, swinging her round and into the crowd behind her.The spectators push back and the smaller girl aims a wild kickcatching her opponent high up on the thigh. ‘Almost got her in the fanny there,’ Ron chortles. ‘Wouldhave been off work for a week.’ ‘Why doesn’t someone stop it?’ Lorna asks to know one inparticular. Ron gives me a knowing look and returns his gaze to thefight. I notice money changing hands amongst men in thecrowd and realise that they’re betting on the outcome. Ronseems to read my mind. ‘Asians,’ he says. ‘They’ll bet onanything.’ The girls are locked once more, each with a handful of theother’s hair, tugging and screaming abuse, their feet scrabblingfor purchase. The taller girl grabs a handful of the other girl’sdress and swings her round. The flimsy material gives way andone small brown breast pops out. ‘That’s better,’ Ron mutters beside me. ‘Any luck they’ll teareach other’s clothes off.’ The taller girl stumbles momentarily and the smaller girlsees her chance. She bends over her fallen opponent and there’sa flash of pink panties as she attempts to rake at the girl’s eyes. ‘Shit!’ Ron exclaims. ‘Here comes the bloody cavalry.’ Two policemen are shouldering their way through theonlookers and the crowd rapidly evaporates. It seems no-onewants to be associated with the aftermath. Ron heads back tothe bar and Lorna and I follow. ‘Not bad,’ is Ron’s verdict. ‘Would’ve been nice if it wenton a bit longer. Sometimes they tear each other’s clothes off.That’s a sight worth seeing, two naked birds rolling around inthe dirt.’ ‘Shame we missed that,’ Lorna says dryly and Ron, missingher look, nods thoughtfully. 318

‘Yeah. Pity. Anyway, as I was saying…’ he goes on, butLorna cuts quickly in. ‘It’s late,’ she announces. ‘I need to get to bed. I can find myown way back to the hotel, Mike, if you’d rather…’ ‘No. I need my sleep too,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s been a long dayand I’ve drunk enough.’ I turn to Ron and offer him my hand. ‘It’s been nice talkingto you Ron…’ I begin. ‘Where you staying?’ he asks and I sense an ulterior motivecoming. ‘Oh, just some little place near the Khao San Road.’ ‘Jeez, what’re you doing out there? There’s some real nicehotels on Sukhumvit. Classy but cheap. Well, cheap by westernstandards anyway. I could fix you up with…’ ‘No thanks,’ Lorna replies, ‘We’re on real tight budgets,aren’t we Mike?’ ‘That’s right. The Royal Palace may be a pit but it’s ourpit, thanks anyway.’ ‘The Royal Palace?’ Ron muses. ‘I don’t know that one, butI’ll find it. What time d’you want me to call?’ My mouth drops open and I turn to Lorna for help but she’sleaving the ball firmly in my court. ‘Uh….I…’ ‘I’ll take you to the real Royal Palace,’ Ron tells us. ‘Bitdifferent from the dump you’re in. Then we can go on the riverif you like.’ I give in. I just can’t bring myself to tell him to his face thatwe don’t want his company. Besides, the state he’s in, he prob-ably won’t even remember this conversation in the morning. ‘Nine o’clock okay?’ I ask and Ron nods and turns to Lorna. ‘It’s been a real pleasure meeting you little lady,’ he says.‘We’ll have some fun tomorrow, I promise you.’ * 319

30 I forgot to set the alarm clock last night but I wake at eightanyway. I make my way to the shower cubicle and find a deadcockroach lying in the plug hole. I scoop him up with a pieceof paper and chuck him out my window, aiming carefullybetween the glass slats. He bounces off a palm leaf and dropsout of sight. Belatedly I remember that my room is abovethe patio. I imagine my dead friend dropping into someone’smorning bowl of porridge. I wait for the sound of screaming,but nothing happens, so I decide that he missed. In the shower my mind turns to Lorna, presumably stillasleep in the room next door. Despite the coldness of the watermy dick stiffens and I spend an extra couple of minutes in theshower, taking care of it. It’s only as I’m getting dressed that I remember Ron’spromise to take us for a guided tour of Bangkok. In the clearlight of morning this doesn’t sound like such a good idea.Spending the day with a heartbroken, alcoholic Aussie is notwhat I had in mind. I’d much prefer to spend it with Lornaalone. But considering the state we left him in, I decide thatthere’s little chance that he’ll remember his promise, or muchelse besides. It’s a surprise therefore when, coming down the stairs, I findhim sitting patiently in the lobby. He jumps up at the sight ofme, his face breaking into a big cheerful grin. ‘Mike!’ he calls out. ‘G’dye’ 320

‘Hi Ron,’ I say, trying to put a little enthusiasm into myvoice. ‘How are you?’ ‘Fine, fine.’ He sidles up close to me and darts a malevolent look at thereception desk. ‘They told me I couldn’t wait for you. I didn’thave your room number and I didn’t know your last name.They told me they’d call the police. I told them to fuck off.’ He’s clutching a little plastic airline bag, the kind they usedto give to passengers back in the Sixties. It’s looks as thoughit’s seen better days, but then so does Ron. ‘I’m just going to have some breakfast,’ I tell him. ‘D’youwant to join me?’ ‘I never eat breakfast.’ He makes it sound like some reli-gious thing. I wander through anyway and we take a seat at atable by the window. I can’t be bothered struggling with the menu. ‘Ham andeggs, please,’ I tell the girl who comes to take my order. Ashadow crosses her face and she shakes her head, firing somerapid Thai at me. I gather ham is off. ‘It’s a Muslim hotel,’ Ron points out, sourly. ‘They don’t eatpig meat.’ ‘I didn’t realise. I mean, that it was a Muslim hotel. I knewthey don’t eat bacon.’ ‘Don’t drink alcohol either,’ he says bitterly, and I realisewhy he’s so down on the place. I order eggs and toast and coffee for me, and coffee for Ron.I settle back and light up a fag, taking my first good look athim. He’s not a pretty sight. His eyes are red rimmed and hischeeks look hollow. He’s got that pallor that heavy drinkersget in the morning and the sheen of sweat on his foreheadspeaks of something more than just heat. He notices my glance and wipes at his forehead with a clothbush cap that he takes from the bag. ‘Hot day,’ he says, and I 321

murmur my agreement. ‘I’m really pleased you’re here,’ he says, his voice becom-ing strangely intense. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ He pulls a disgusted face and waves his hand in the air, likehe’s swatting a fly. ‘Some people,’ he says, then stops, appar-ently marshalling his thoughts, and starts again. ‘Half a dozen times I’ve met people, like last night when Imet you and Lorna, newcomers to Bangkok. I offer to showthem round the city: Nothing in it for me, you understand, justout of friendship. They say “sure” and they give me the nameof their hotel and agree a time. Then when I show up, it turnsout they’ve checked out, or given me the wrong hotel or some-thing. Deliberately, mind. It makes me sick. I’m just trying todo them a favour, and they treat me like that!’ His mouth is pulled down at the sides and the sweat isflowing freely on him again. He’s getting upset. ‘Well not me,’ I say, to calm him down. ‘I’m lookingforward to it. It’s good of you to offer.’ He leans across the table, his face suddenly enthusiastic,and I think for a moment that he’s going to take my hand.‘I’m bloody glad you’re here,’ he says passionately. ‘You’verestored my faith in human nature.’ The raw emotion in his voice is a bit much for the breakfasttable. I remember how he was last night, crying into his beer.Considering what he’d drunk, I wasn’t particularly surprised atthe time. Drink takes some men like that. But this is getting abit sticky. ‘I’ll just nip upstairs and knock on Lorna’s door,’ I tell him.‘I don’t know if she’s awake yet.’ I take the stairs two at a time, not a clever thing to do in thisheat. By the time I arrive outside her door the sweat is runningfreely inside my clothes. She answers my knock as though 322

she’d been waiting for it. ‘I’ve just ordered breakfast,’ I tell her. ‘Ron is down there.He’s come to take us on our guided tour.’ I wait for her to react badly: ‘Oh God, not that dreadfulman from last night’, something like that, but she just smilessweetly and says she’ll be down in a minute. My eggs are congealing on the plate when I get back andRon is nowhere to be seen. For a moment the hope rises withinme that he’s changed his mind, then I see him waving from theveranda. I wander across, chewing on a slice of toast as I go. ‘I’ll wait out here,’ he tells me. He casts a scowl at the wait-ress. ‘I don’t like them in here.’ I say okay and go back to finish my breakfast. It doesn’ttake long. The toast is spongy and tasteless, the eggs pale andinsipid. The coffee is lukewarm. It’s funny that in a countrywhere the weather seems intent on frying your brains, theycan’t keep coffee hot for more than a minute. I drink the colddregs, pull a face and go out to join Ron. He’s found himself a seat on a wooden bench. As I joinhim, he slips something in his plastic flight bag. I only catch aglimpse, but it’s enough. Gin, I’d say. A half bottle. I pretend Ididn’t notice. ‘Listen,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve been thinking. I know you’restrapped for cash…’ He begins to protest, but I override him. ‘You can’t take usaround Bangkok without a penny in your pocket. We’ll wantto have a few drinks and it’s embarrassing for you if I keepbuying all the booze. So…’ I reach into my wallet. I’ve already segregated my money,so he won’t see the size of the stack of notes I have tuckedaway. ‘No, no, no,’ he says, waving his hands frantically. ‘I don’twant your money. I didn’t ask for money.’ 323

‘I know. If you had, I wouldn’t be here with you now. Butyou’re doing us a real favour. We want to see the city. If youweren’t here, we’d pay a guide or a taxi driver, and probablyget ripped off in the process.’ ‘Those bastards,’ he spits, his eyes on my wallet. ‘They’dsell their own grandmothers. D’you know what they charge?Three thousand baht a day! Three thousand baht! And that’swithout all the kick-backs they get from the bars and hotelsthey take you to. Bastards!’ The mention of three thousand baht makes me pause. I’dbeen going to give him a thousand, but on an impulse I doubleit. ‘No!’ he wails. ‘That’s far too much. I didn’t mean…whenI said about the three thousand baht…I didn’t mean…I justmeant they’re bastards!’ ‘Take it,’ I say. He looks like he’s going to keep on arguing,but his words have the hollow ring of a starving man tellingyou he doesn’t really care for steak. ‘Lorna will be down in aminute,’ I warn him. I know he won’t want to take it in front ofher. ‘I’ll pay you back,’ he says, pocketing the money. ‘Everypenny. When my business picks up…’ ‘I know you will.’ I can see Lorna coming down the stairs and with relief I goto greet her. She doesn’t want breakfast. She greets Ron witha sunny smile and he fawns over her as though she’s royalty,but he doesn’t get emotional. No tears of gratitude. Perhaps it’sgoing to be all right. Somewhat to my surprise, Ron turns out to be a good guide.He certainly knows the city. ‘I’ve lived here twenty two years,’ he informs us, forgettinghe told us the same thing last night. ‘It’s the best city in the 324

world. Believe me. I know. I’ve been everywhere.’ I’m struck by this aspect of his character. He’s proud of thiscity, and the Thai people, fiercely proud, like the parent of awayward child. ‘Thailand gets a bad press,’ he tells us. ‘All thepapers talk about is the drugs and the sex and all that. But thisis a great place. There’s so much culture. And the people areamazing. Kind and gentle. They’re buddhists, you see. Morethan ninety percent of the population are buddhists.’ ‘That makes a big difference?’ I ask. ‘Sure it does. A buddhist has a whole different outlook onlife. He believes that this life is just one of hundreds, thou-sands even, that he’ll live through time. It gives them a differ-ent perspective. In the West, it’s all about cramming as muchinto this life as you possibly can. Buy as many material goodsas you can. Get as rich as you can. The West has lost it’s way.’ ‘You sound pretty passionate about it. You wouldn’t happento be a buddhist yourself?’ He looks downcast. ‘Not a very good one,’ he tells us. Thena spark of determination lights his eyes. ‘But I’m going to be abetter one.’ He sounds like he means it, but I notice he doesn’t saywhen. Tomorrow, I suppose. I can’t blame him though. I havenothing better to offer. ‘Where are we going?’ I ask. ‘To a wat,’ he says. I know what a wat is, it’s a buddhist temple, and yet I can’thelp running the little verbal word play out in my mind. ‘To awhat? No, to a wat.’ We go to one of the most famous wats in the city, Wat Pho,the home of the reclining Buddha. It’s one of the ones I’veread about in my guidebook. Our taxi drops us off outside the gates. Ron looks doubtfullyat Lorna’s shorts. They’re khaki, well tailored, neatly pressed 325

and short. Very short. If she hadn’t done her bikini line, there’dbe pubic hair on show. They do full justice to her long slimlegs and I wasn’t at all unhappy to see her in them when shecame down this morning, but Ron is frowning. ‘They won’t let you in like that,’ he tells her. ‘Thai’s prefermodesty in a woman. Particularly in a holy place.’ ‘I have a sarong with me,’ Lorna says calmly. I guess she’sbeen reading her guide book too. She wraps it around herlower half so that it looks like a long flowing skirt and Ronlooks relieved. Then his focus moves to her shoulders and thefrown is back. ‘You should be wearing sleeves. To cover your arms. TheThai’s find bare shoulders offensive too.’ I’m beginning to wonder about the Thais. I don’t findLorna’s bare shoulders the least bit offensive. She shrugs thoseself-same shoulders prettily, in a gesture that says, ‘Ah well. Itcan’t be helped.’ Ron seems to decide that she’ll do, though I notice that hedistances himself from her as we approach the gates. ‘We need to take our shoes off,’ he says, stooping to slip hisown off. They’re black and shiny with polish. Very differentfrom my own scruffy plastic sandals, Thailand’s finest. Lornabegins to slip her own sandals off, but Ron stops her with ahand on her arm. ‘Over there,’ he says, pointing to the other side of the maindoors. ‘Women that side, men this side.’ Lorna looks as though she might object, but then goesoff. I’m standing with my sandals in my hand, looking at thehundreds of pairs already stacked on wooden racks outside thedoor. ‘Just put them down anywhere,’ Ron tells me. ‘But try toremember where you left them.’ ‘Will they be safe? I mean, no-one will nick them, willthey?’ 326

He looks at me with surprise. ‘Course not. The Thais arevery honest people.’ This strikes me as a bit of a sweeping statement. My guidebook is full of dire warnings about being on the alert for rip-offs, and our close encounter with the ‘professor’ last nightwould seem to bear them out. But Ron is leaving his shoes,carefully aligning them with the toes neatly together, so Isuppose it’s all right. Those black leather moccasins mustmean a damn sight more to him than my sandals do to me. The Buddha is superb. I stare at it with something ap-proaching awe. It’s fifteen metres high and forty six metreslong, completely covered in gold leaf and housed in a templethat looks like a cross between an aircraft hangar, a Romanbaths and an Indian restaurant. I love it. We spend twentyminutes in the place. Lorna wanders about admiring themosaic and inlaid mother-of-pearl, but I spend the whole timejust staring up into that beautiful, serene face, getting themerest glimpse, for the first time in my life, of what this Bud-dhist business is all about. We step outside and collect our shoes, and the real worldreturns. I’m still humming with a sort of inner peace, but theshock of noise and colour that is Bangkok, and the searing heatof the sun after the cool of that marble palace, bring me backwith a thump. ‘You liked it,’ says Ron. It’s a statement, not a question.He’s watching my face and his own is wearing a little knowingsmile. ‘It’s stunning.’ ‘It was wonderful,’ Lorna agrees. ‘Where next?’ ‘Time we had a drink,’ Ron says, and Lorna frowns. It’sbarely eleven a.m. ‘There’s a tea shop near here,’ Ron addsquickly. ‘Best we pace ourselves. This sun will wear you outotherwise.’ 327

The mention of tea placates Lorna and we set off on foot.It’s only a couple of hundred yards to the shop, but the heatmakes me feel like I’m carrying a weight on my back. I canfeel it coming through the soles of my sandals. Perhaps Ron isright. We need to pace ourselves. It’s a strange little place, an open fronted shop, dark andmysterious looking from outside. I’ve seen a hundred like it.They line the road, these places. Passing in a taxi, you can’t besure whether they sell tea, beer, bicycle repair kits or outboardmotors. The only thing they all have in common is that theylook poor, in a truly third-world way. I would never haveworked up the courage to enter one if we hadn’t been withRon. The only customers are Thais and they all look up andstare as we enter, but they quickly return to their eating, headsbowed purposefully over their bowls of soup or whatever. It’s very different from the bars I’ve been in, with theirclientele of holidaying tourists, looking relaxed and aimless,drinking to fill the time and staring around in the hope offinding something to look at. These people are here to eat,period. I guess they’re workers on their lunch break, despitethe early hour. I feel a little embarrassed, to be so obviously aman of leisure. Ron orders in Thai. We’re served by a girl who looks aboutten years old. She plonks down two cups of tea, one each infront of Lorna and I, and disappears out the back. ‘You’re nothaving tea?’ I say. Ron gives a little shiver of disgust. ‘Never drink the stuff,’he says, and then beams when the girl returns with a largebottle of beer. Condensation sits on the outside of the bottle.‘And three glasses,’ Ron tells her in English. ‘I don’t want any,’ Lorna says, and Ron amends the order,repeating it in Thai and holding up two fingers. 328

The glasses are small and Ron finishes the first one in onelong gulp, licking his lips and breathing a big sigh of relief.I wouldn’t have ordered beer myself, but the bottle looks soinviting I don’t object when Ron pours me a glass. Drinkingin the middle of the day, especially a sunny day like this one,usually gives me a headache but I decide it’s worth the risk. The bottle is quickly finished, but Ron declines virtuouslywhen I suggest another. He’s pacing himself. We do the Royal Palace, a huge place, seemingly cover-ing square miles of the city, and Ron points out buildings ofspecial interest and talks knowingly about the architecturalstyles and the significance of the colours, red, gold and green.Lorna has bought a guide book but Ron already seems to haveswallowed one and she doesn’t refer to it again after a firstquick glance. ‘There’s a couple of buildings we can’t get into as membersof the public,’ Ron explains. ‘Shame. They’re quite some-thing.’ ‘You’ve seen them?’ ‘Sure. I was here for the royal wedding a while back. Onlywesterner invited, ‘cept for the King of Sweden.’ ‘Why were you invited?’ ‘My wife. She was Thai, a member of the royal family.’ ‘You were married to a princess?’ Lorna asks incredulously. ‘Yeah. Very minor branch, mind,’ Ron says modestly. ‘Theroyal family is huge. Thousands of ‘em.’ ‘Where is she now?’ Lorna asks. ‘Pissed off didn’t she?’ Ron says bitterly. ‘It was all rightwhile I was doing well, but when my business took a turn forthe worse and the money began to run out, she didn’t hangabout. Divorced me, the bitch.’ ‘That was harsh,’ Lorna says. 329

‘Yeah,’ Ron says. ‘Look at me. You’d never believe that Iused to be sixteen stone, would you?’ We both look at him, as though seeing him for the firsttime. Ron’s got to be six two, but he can’t weigh more thanten stone. It occurs to me that I haven’t seen him eat anythingsince we met, not that he hasn’t had the opportunity. I supposehe gets his calories from the booze. We have more tea / beer in a modern little shop that appearsto be primarily a bakers. The old lady behind the counter takesthe order placidly then sends a young child out to fetch beerfrom God knows where. When Lorna requests a trip on the river both Ron and Iconcur readily. The thought of a fresh breeze coming off thewater is appealing. The reality is a little disappointing. Thebreeze is okay, but it carries with it an unwholesome smell.We stand on the deck of a ferry and watch the river banks goby. Ron points out historical buildings as they pass: a fort: amosque: a new high rise office block that has lain unoccupiedsince it was built three years ago. We change boats for the trip back, standing on the dockamongst a crowd of Thais. The wooden jetty rises and fallswith the swell of the river and I watch people boarding watertaxis, long, sleek vessels which embark their passengers by thesimple expedient of nosing into the jetty where they are held inplace by a rope while the passengers make a breath-taking leaponto the prow, timing their individual jumps to the motion ofthe boat. ‘Most weeks,’ Ron tells me, ‘Someone gets killed doingthat. Crushed between the boat and the jetty.’ ‘Really? Then why don’t they find a safer way?’ He shrugs. ‘They don’t make a big thing of it.’ A trio of Buddhist monks approach, their bright saffronrobes standing out even amongst the multi-coloured garb of 330

the waiting crowd. People make way for them and they takeup station close to us. Ron touches Lorna lightly on the arm and draws her slight-ly further away. ‘Be careful not to bump into them when weboard,’ he tells her. ‘It upsets them.’ ‘I won’t push them if they don’t push me,’ she says a littleaggressively. ‘It’s not like that,’ Ron soothes. ‘They’re monks. They’vetaken vows of chastity.’ ‘I wasn’t planning on groping them.’ Ron shakes his head. ‘They’re not allowed to touch awoman. Even by accident. If you bumped into one of them,he would feel obliged to retreat and pray, perhaps for days.There’ve been cases of monks killing themselves after even anaccidental contact. They feel defiled.’ Lorna looks disbelieving, but she moves round to the otherside of us and lets the monks go first when the boat arrives. We get off the boat some way down the river and head for atall building standing by the water’s edge. ‘This used to be the best hotel in the world,’ Ron tells us.‘Now there’s a couple in Dubai they say are better, but I stilllike it here. We’ll have a drink by the pool.’ ‘Will they let us in?’ I ask dubiously. ‘Sure, why not? Our money’s as good as anyone’s.’ I feel he’s taking a bit of a liberty with that ‘our’, seeing asit’s my money he’s talking about. We sit around a table on the patio by the pool and a waitercomes and takes our drinks order. I’m relieved to see hedoesn’t look down his nose at us. ‘I was in here a couple of weeks ago with Tom Jones,’ Ronmentions casually. ‘The Tom Jones?’ ‘Yeah. He was giving a concert in town. I met him in the bar 331

and we had a few beers. Nice bloke.’ A few minutes later Ron excuses himself and heads for theloos. As soon as he’s out of sight Lorna leans over to me andsays: ‘Do you believe this bullshit? He was married to a prin-cess and he hangs out with the likes of Tom Jones?’ I shrug. ‘I agree it seems unlikely, but we’re not seeing himat his best. If he’s telling the truth about his business, he hadmoney once.’ ‘A couple of weeks ago?’ Lorna scoffs. ‘When he wasdrinking with Tom?’ ‘Well, no…’ ‘He’s full of shit,’ Lorna tells me and I find myself reluc-tantly agreeing with her assessment. I’m not sure how I feel about Ron. He’s not exactly likea-ble, but in a strange way he’s good company, and he certainlyknows his way around Bangkok. I feel I could learn a lot fromhim. Guide books are all very well, but there’s nothing likebeing shown a place by someone who’s lived there for years. Idecide I’ll give Ron the benefit of the doubt, but I’ll take whathe says with a hefty pinch of salt. By late afternoon, Lorna is flagging. We’ve stopped inthe bar of a small hotel and even Lorna has ordered beer. ‘Ithought we’d go to the Parliament buildings next,’ Ron tellsus, but Lorna pulls a face. ‘I don’t think so,’ she says. ‘I’m done in. I just want to goback to the hotel, take a long cool shower and lie on my bedfor an hour. But you boys can go ahead without me.’ Ron looks a bit crestfallen. ‘I thought I’d take you to a showthis evening.’ ‘Well, we can still do that,’ I say. ‘If Lorna doesn’t mind?’ Lorna doesn’t and a few minutes later she takes her leave. 332

‘So,’ I say, ‘where now?’ Ron has a gleam in his eye as he says: ‘The CoconutLounge!’ * 333

31 The Coconut Lounge is a sort of open-air bar, in that itdoesn’t have a roof that fully covers it. What roof there is con-sists in the main of corrugated steel sheets. It must get interest-ing when it rains. The bar itself is a long rectangular affair, about thirty feetby ten. Five girls serve behind it. The customers sit at stools,or at small tables on a raised dais that runs round three walls.There’s a lot of tropical plants, miniature palm trees, that sortof thing. In a country where palm trees grow on wasteland,these manage to look plastic. There’s a thick film of dust onthe leaves and the tables that haven’t been wiped down. We’reonly just around the corner from the main road here, but evenso it feels like a little haven of peace and sanity. I slip onto a bar stool next to Ron and he orders beer. I pay. ‘Half the women in here aren’t prostitutes,’ he tells me.‘They’re office girls. Educated. They’ve got good jobs andtheir own money. If you get off with one of them, you don’thave to pay her. If you’re really lucky, she’ll buy you dinnerfirst and then take you back to her place and fuck you.’ ‘Yeah?’ I look around the big room. ‘Which half? ‘What?’ ‘You said half the women in here. So, which half? They alllook the same to me.’ Ron casts a quick glance around the bar and frowns. ‘We’rea bit late for them. These all look like prossies to me. You have 334

to come earlier, about five or six, when the offices spill out.Then you’ll meet them.’ ‘Oh.’ I’d begun to get my hopes up. But I don’t feel too bad.There’s still a lot of beautiful looking girls in here. I check them out. There’s a lot of choice, allowing thatthey’re all stamped from the same basic Asian mould. A quickglance is enough to tell me that there’s at least twenty in hereI wouldn’t mind waking up next to. I’m beginning to feel arising tide of excitement. ‘Don’t make eye contact,’ Ron warns. ‘Not unless you’rereally interested. They’ll take it as an invitation.’ His warning comes too late. Two girls detach themselvesfrom a table at the other side of the room and slink acrosstowards us. One of them is wearing a bright red dress. I’d beenadmiring it just before Ron spoke. ‘Hel-lo,’ the girls say in chorus. They come at us from eitherside, like a pair of slow, sexy Exocet missiles. I wonder brieflyhow they decide who should get who. Did one draw the shortstraw? Then I wonder whether Ron or I is the short straw. ‘You buy us drink?’ my girl asks, placing her hand delicate-ly on my upper arm. I glance at Ron and he shrugs. ‘Up to youmate,’ he says. ‘Personally I wouldn’t.’ My girl flashes him a dazzling smile, her teeth even andvery white. Somehow she makes her eyes sparkle. I gather shedidn’t understand what he said. ‘Eh, no thanks,’ I tell her. ‘Sorry, but we’re…we’re just…passing through.’ ‘You no buy me drink?’ she says in a little girl voice, andpouts beautifully. ‘No. Sorry.’ ‘You no like me?’ ‘Of...of course I do,’ I stammer. ‘But you see…’ Ron leans across me. ‘Piss off.’ he tells her, without empha- 335

sis. She turns on her heel and flounces off, her friend following. ‘As I say, you need to get here earlier,’ Ron continuesas though we hadn’t been interrupted. ‘It looks like we’vemissed the best ones tonight. This lot are pretty ropey.’ ‘They didn’t seem too bad,’ I say, but Ron curls his lip. ‘We can do better than that. They’re ten a penny, that type.’ ‘So these office girls. Why do they come here?’ ‘To meet westerners.’ ‘But why?’ ‘Ah well, you see, to your average Thai woman, a westernman is her dream lover.’ ‘Because we have bigger dicks?’ ‘That too,’ he nods. ‘But mostly it’s because Thai men aresuch shits.’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘You see…’ he begins, then turns to a girl with red hair whohas laid her hand in my lap, ‘Fuck off,’ he tells her briefly.‘….the average Thai husband,’ he continues, ‘Is a male chau-vinist pig of the first order.’ ‘Really?’ I say as I watch the girl retire hurt to her corner. ‘Yeah. It’s part of their culture. It’s a very male-dominatedplace, Thailand. The man, the husband, is expected to visit abrothel at least once a week. Either that or he keeps a mistresson the side. The wife is just for doing the cooking and raisingthe kids and all that.’ ‘I see.’ ‘It’s been that way for thousands of years. They don’t thinkanything of it. That’s why they don’t hold it against a girl thatshe’s a prossie. It’s a respectable profession over here.’ He stops for a moment and stares around. ‘This place isdead. We got here too late. I can take you somewhere better.This mate of mine owns a bar. It ain’t far from here and the 336

girls….the girls are fucking wonderful! You never seen any-thing like them.’ ‘Okay Do we walk, or do we take a cab?’ ‘Best we take a cab,’ Ron says sagely. ‘It’s pretty hot still.Don’t want to wear ourselves out, do we?’ It turns out Ron has another reason for wanting us to catch acab. He wants to take me to meet Anong, the girl he was livingwith until she went back to her husband. It doesn’t sound toogood an idea to me, but Ron is very keen and I decide not todisappoint him. The taxi drops us in a broad avenue. Along one side, aboutthirty feet back from the road, a tall iron fence surrounds alarge building, a palace perhaps, or maybe a government build-ing. Between the railings and the kerb, dozens of food stallsare arranged, their charcoal fires glowing in the dusk, smokerising to mingle with the overhanging branches of the trees.About fifty metres to our right I can see a wide opening in thefence towards which hundreds of people are headed. Musicdrifts on the evening air above the murmur of a large crowd. ‘I bought her a food stall,’ Ron tells me, ‘So’s she couldearn an income. It should be along here somewhere.’ He heads away from the gates, weaving through the stalls,peering ahead through the gloom, half crouched as thoughtrying to see without being seen. ‘There she is’ he cries happily and his face cracks in a widesmile. It occurs to me that I’ve never seen Ron smile before. I follow cautiously as Ron moves towards a short, dumpyThai woman, creeping up behind her and reaching round herample waist with both arms before lifting her off the ground.The woman looks shocked, then happy, then scared. Shebeats his arms off and then quickly takes hold of his hands, asthough afraid he’ll leave. She stares up into his beaming face 337

as he talks to her in Thai, taking a step back when he tries oncemore to embrace her. She stares wildly around her then stepsclose and hugs him, speaking rapidly in hushed tones. Threechildren stand mutely by, staring at the scene as only childrencan, unsure what exactly is happening but sensing their moth-er’s fear. Ron takes her hands again, bowing low to keep his facelevel with hers and speaks in reassuring tones. He turns to meand beckons, waving me into their little group. ‘Mike, I want you to meet the most beautiful woman onGod’s green earth. This is Anong. Anong, this is Mike, the guyI told you about.’ Anong quickly wipes her hands on the towel draped aroundher waist and offers me her hand, looking as though she mayadd a curtsy in her desire to be gracious to Ron’s new farangfriend. I shake her hand and mumble some words of greetingwhile Ron beams on and Anong looks over her shoulder onceagain. Once more they lapse into rapid Thai while I stand feelingfoolish and wondering what the hell is going on. ‘Anong’s worried about her husband,’ Ron explains. ‘Thebastard doesn’t want her to talk to me any more. She’s worriedhe’ll hurt her if he hears I’ve been here.’ ‘Then perhaps we should…’ ‘Nah. It’s okay. He’s not due for another hour. Probably outwhoring. Leaves her to do all the work. Here, take a seat.’ ‘Are you sure?’ ‘No worries. We’ll have a couple of beers and then we’ll getalong. Are you hungry? I’ll get us some grub.’ Anong seems to know what is expected. She appears withtwo large bottles of ice-cold beer. When I offer money bothshe and Ron protest but when I press them, Anong folds firstand takes the notes with a little bow of thanks. 338

‘You didn’t need to do that,’ Ron tells me. ‘You’re ourguest.’ I’m not sure who’s guest I am exactly. I suspect the beerbelongs to Anong’s husband but I say nothing. The foodarrives quickly, some sort of chicken dish, and I eat withoutreal pleasure but with every outward sign of enjoyment. Anong’s children are still hovering in the background, threetiny urchins in bare feet, their big black eyes wide with wonderas they watch me eat. I wink at the smallest one, a boy, and heruns to hide behind his mother’s legs. ‘Come here,’ Ron calls to them. ‘Come here and meet mygood friend Mike from England.’ The children remain rooted with fear so I get off my chairand crouch down before them, smiling my most reassuringsmile. ‘Hi,’ I say softly, and they smile hesitantly, but refuse tocome any closer. Then I remember my camera. I’ve hardly used it since Igot back from the trek but I carry it everywhere in my moneypouch. I fish it out and aim it at one of the girls. She ducksbehind her mother’s ample backside, so I point it quickly atAnong and press the button. The flash is bright in the darkstreet and people at the nearby stalls turn to look at us. Anonglooks both delighted and embarrassed to be the centre of somuch attention. ‘Here, look,’ I tell the kids, crouching once more to be attheir height. I hold the camera out, it’s rear towards themwhere the little digital screen is presenting the likeness of theirmother in glowing liquid crystal. Their utter amazement takes me back for a moment. Isuppose I had never really thought just what growing up in aplace like Thailand must be like for kids like these, poor kids. Iwonder whether they’ve ever seen a photograph of themselves. 339

I spend five happy minutes taking pictures of the family,who insist on seeing each one on the little screen the instantit’s taken. Their smiles grow wider with every passing shotand they begin to strike poses and pull faces just like kidsanywhere. ‘Here Mike,’ Ron says quietly. ‘Take one of Anong and me.’ I readily comply but as I frame the shot I can feel the atmos-phere grow tense. Ron places his arm around Anong’s shoul-der and bends to press his sweating cheek to hers. His face iscrammed with emotion, love, pride, heartbreak. I can’t be surebut I think he may just burst into tears at any moment. Anongsmiles dutifully but her body is bent away from his, her armfailing to encircle his waiting waist. I take the shot and show it to each member of the familyin turn. I desperately want to give the photos to them, but ofcourse I need to print them out. I feel like a heel switching themagic box off and slipping it back into my money belt. I feel like there’s a clock ticking in my head. We clearlyshouldn’t be here but Ron seems determined to force somekind of showdown. I decide to give it five more minutes andthen insist we leave. Anong beats me to it, rushing up, hands flapping, face whitewith fright. Her husband has heard that Ron is here and he’s onhis way with some ‘friends’. ‘Bastard’s got spies everywhere,’ Ron mutters darkly. ‘Can’ttrust men like that.’ ‘Please go,’ Anong urges, speaking the first words ofEnglish I’ve heard from her. ‘Go now.’ Ron embraces her again and this time the tears begin toflow. They’re both crying and the kids, watching their mumwith wide open eyes, begin to sniffle too. I lay a hand onRon’s arm and tug gently. I’m surprised at the hardness of hismuscles and the strength with which he resists. 340

‘Come on mate,’ I say quietly. ‘You don’t want to get herinto trouble, do you. Let’s get out of here.’ He kisses her forcefully, crushing his mouth against hersand turns suddenly away. I take one last look at Anong, stand-ing crying in the street, her hands across her mouth, her kidsclinging to her skirts, then I follow Ron. * 341

32 We’re in a bar in Patpong. It seemed the obvious place togo when we left Anong and the kids. Ron didn’t seem to care.He was just walking head down, eyes staring at the ground,lost in his own tumultuous thoughts. I had to place a hand onhis arm to get him to stop while I hailed a cab and told thedriver to bring us here. Ron’s had six pints in the past hour and he’s not slowingdown yet. He’s drunk, I suppose, slurring his words and be-coming maudlin, but nowhere near as bad as he was the firstnight Lorna and I met him. I can see we’re going to be herefor quite a while yet. I don’t even consider asking him to slowdown. ‘I swear, if he so much as touches her, I’ll kill the bastard,’Ron says. He fixes me with a look, fighting back the effects of thebooze to keep his eyes focused, his mouth stern. He wants meto believe him, to know that he really, really means this. ‘I believe you,’ I tell him, to relieve him of the effort. Intruth, I’m not sure I do. Bravado and drink often go hand inhand. ‘I’ve killed men for a lot less than this,’ he tells me. ‘A lotof men.’ I nod and order us another beer. I’m hoping he’ll tire of thesubject soon. I certainly tired of it a while ago. ‘I’ve killed men with my bare hands,’ he goes on, exhibiting 342

the hands in question, holding them out, palms up, and staringat them, as though he’s not quite certain what they’ll do next. ‘I was a mercenary. I’ve fought in six wars. Been woundedthree times.’ ‘Really? That’s amazing.’ ‘You don’t believe me.’ ‘Not at all. I’ve just never had any experience of war. Tooyoung.’ ‘I went to my first war when I was nineteen. Just a kid. Ababy. I didn’t know what I was getting into. None of us did. Ikilled my first man two days before my twentieth birthday.’ I suppose he’d like me to ask him for details but I’m notgoing to. I’m pretty sure he’s just making it all up anyway, andI don’t think this sort of talk is good for him. He might justtalk himself into going back and doing something stupid. ‘Been wounded three times,’ he repeats. ‘Shot twice,stabbed once. Nearly died.’ I nod but I don’t believe a word of what he’s telling me. Ithink of the stuff he told us about being married to a memberof the Royal family and drinking with Tom Jones and I decideLorna was right. Ron’s just a bullshit artist. ‘Here,’ he says, ‘Look.’ He’s undoing the top couple of buttons of his shirt andtugging at the collar exposing the upper half of his chest. Idon’t want to hurt his feelings so I take a quick glance wherehe’s pointing and quickly look away. Then I do a double takeand have a closer look. Sure enough there’s a round puckeredscar in his chest, just below the collar bone on the right side.I’ve never seen a bullet wound up close but I’d say this isexactly what I’d expect. ‘The other’s in me back, low down. Just missed me kidney.I was lucky,’ he says, picking up his beer and taking a longpull. 343

I don’t know what to say so I take a sip of my own beer. ‘She’s lovely, ain’t she,’ Ron slurs, breaking the shortsilence that has fallen between us. ‘Anong. Ain’t she great? ‘She is.’ ‘She’s so beautiful. She’s kind and loving and she’d die forthose kids. I mean it, she’d die for them. If anyone ever triedto harm them….if that bastard lays a finger on her…’ ‘She’s a lovely woman,’ I say quickly to head him off.‘I could tell immediately. Even though I only met her for amoment.’ He stares at me, struggling to focus on my face, searchingmy eyes, trying to see whether I mean it or I’m just bullshit-ting him. In truth, I’m not sure whether I mean it or not. All I sawwas a small, dumpy Thai woman probably in her thirties, butcertainly no beauty. Compared to the fresh young girls hangingabout on every corner she just looked middle aged and ex-hausted to me. But if Ron says she’s beautiful, I’m not going to argue. Sheprobably is to him. Clearly she loved her kids, but all mothers love their kidsdon’t they? What her feelings were for Ron, I can’t be sure.There was something there all right, perhaps love, but mostlyfear, and now, listening to Ron ranting about killing people Iwonder whether she was afraid for him or afraid of him. ‘Let’s get out of this shithole,’ Ron says suddenly. ‘I wasgoing to take you to a bar I know. It’s owned by a mate ofmine. Real good bloke. We’ll get treated like royalty. And thegirls…wait ‘til you see them. They’re something else. Not likethis lot,’ he finishes, glaring around the bar. It turns out Ron’s bar is on the other side of the city, in aplace called Sukhumvit. The traffic is terrible and the journey 344

takes more than an hour, but I’m pleased to see that Ron issobering up a bit. By the time we get there he’s desperate forhis next beer. The bar doesn’t look that special, certainly not after Ron hasbigged it up. It’s just another bar, as far as I can tell, and Ron’smate is nowhere to be seen, so I’m guessing we’ll be treatedlike any other customer. There are three girls behind the bar and a young Thai man.They look bored, if friendly enough, but like the bar itself,they don’t live up to Ron’s description. None of the girls is especially attractive. In fact, I’d say theywere downright ordinary compared to the girls we saw earlierat the Coconut Lounge, the ones Ron dismissed as nothingspecial. Bearing in mind the way Anong looked, I’m beginningto wonder if Ron’s taste in women is somewhat different frommine. There are quite a few other customers in here and for somereason I can’t quite put my finger on, the set up looks a bitdifferent. ‘This is more like it,’ Ron enthuses. I’m still trying to work out what’s different about the place.Most of the clientele consists of couples, the usual white manand Thai girl, but the girls aren’t really girls. They’re older,perhaps in their thirties or forties. Most are overweight and itsfrankly hard to imagine they once looked like the typical girlshanging out on every street corner. ‘Who are these people?’ I ask Ron. ‘They don’t look liketourists.’ ‘Nah,’ he says, ‘They’re ex pats, like me.’ ‘They live here?’ ‘Yeah. Most of them have their own businesses. And thewomen are their wives, or long term girlfriends. Like me andAnong,’ he adds with a sob, and I’m afraid he’s going to start 345

crying, but he manages to drown his sorrows in his beer. So, these are Ron’s contemporaries. Men who have chosento abandon their home countries and come and live in Thai-land. I wonder what makes a man take that decision. Presuma-bly, things have to be pretty bad at home. Or is it just a ques-tion of better opportunities here? I tune in on a couple of conversations and find to my sur-prise that they’re talking in Thai, mostly, with a few Englishwords mixed in. It’s certainly very different from the backpacker bars I’vebeen hanging out in. The men are dressed differently. Shirtsand long trousers, rather than the shorts and tee shirts that thebackpackers wear. And their wives, apart from the age differ-ence, also dress differently from their younger counterparts.More sober. Respectable. In fact, if you ignore the little matterof race, it would be hard to tell the difference between any ofthese couples and the ones in my local pub back home. Domestic bliss. Is that what happens when you run away to a faraway landand meet an exotic young beauty? You end up just where youwould have done if you’d stayed put? In his maudlin state, Ron seems to have forgotten he wasbringing me here to introduce me to girls. I don’t mind. Itsaves me having to explain to him that I don’t actually want agirl, and besides, I don’t fancy any of these. Nonetheless, he seems to have remembered that he’s thehost, in the sense of having brought me here, so he finallyrouses himself and makes an effort. He asks the girls some-thing in Thai and then translates for me. It turns out he wasgetting their names. The prettiest of the girls is called Lucyand the boy is Kip but I don’t catch the other names and can’tbe bothered asking Ron to repeat them. ‘Kip here wants to be a girl,’ Ron says. 346

‘A lady boy?’ ‘A kathoey,’ he says, ‘That’s the proper name for them. Hebelieves he was born in the wrong body. Inside he’s a girl.’ ‘I met a few lady boys the other night.’ ‘Yeah, there’s a lot about. Half the bloody men in Thailandare woofters.’ I’ve noticed this about Ron. One minute he seems to be asincere, caring guy, talking about Thailand and the Thais as ifhe really understands them, then he shatters the illusion withsome crude talk about prossies and woofters. ‘You see,’ he says, ‘Homosexuality is accepted in Thailand,they ain’t bothered by it at all. In fact, two men or two womencan walk down the street hand in hand and no one will bat aneye. But if a girl and a man hold hands, or worse, kiss, in apublic place, the Thais find that shocking.’ ‘But I’ve seen lots of girls holding hands with guys.’ ‘Yeah, prossies. But they don’t like it. Next time, takea good look at the girl’s face. She’s squirming inside withembarrassment. But the farangs expect it and the girls will dowhatever it takes.’ He chats with the bar staff for another while and thenannounces that these girls aren’t actually hookers. They’rejust bar staff. They have day jobs apparently and do this in theevening to make more money. I find I relax a notch, knowing Iwon’t have to reject anyone for a while. ‘Mind,’ he adds, ‘She’d probably give you a shag if youoffered her a thousand bhat. Bar work pays fuck all over here.’ ‘Thanks. But I’m fine right now.’ He shrugs and goes back to chatting with them. He seemsto have a lot to say. I suspect he’s telling them about Anong,which is fine by me. I’m happy to just sit here and take in thescene. My first proper ex-pat bar. Ron orders more drinks and as one of the girls places my 347

beer before me, I notice she has a birthmark on the back ofher hand. Without thinking I reach out and take her wrist for amoment, to take a better look, but she snatches her hand backand hides it behind her back. I can’t read the expression on herface. She’s not angry... ‘She’s ashamed,’ Ron explains, seeming to read my mind. ‘Because of a birthmark?’ ‘They’re Buddhists. By their reckoning, a mark like that ispunishment for sins you’ve committed in previous lives.’ ‘Tell her I’m sorry, will you. And that I don’t think likethat.’ He translates and the girl gives me a shy smile of relief. ButI notice she keeps her hand out of sight. ‘Where’s she from?’ I ask. ‘Isaan,’ Ron answers promptly. ‘They’re all from up there.They’re peasant stock. Uneducated. To be honest, she’s notthat bright, this one.’ I find myself feeling sorry for the girl. I’m gradually comingto realise how hard life is for the average Thai. Ron is saying something to her in Thai and she gives me asearching look. ‘What did you say?’ I ask him. ‘I told her you have a good heart. Jai dee. It’s an importantconcept with them. you can be rich or poor, but that don’tmatter as much as having a kind heart does.’ The girl says something to Ron and he translates. ‘Shewants to know what you do for a living,’ he says. ‘Tell her I’m an accountant,’ I say, but Ron shakes his head. ‘Nah, they don’t respect accountants. Ill tell her you haveyour own business.’ ‘What’s wrong with accountants? We earn good money.’ ‘The way they see it, you just look after other people’smoney. Rich people. To them, having your own business is 348

better.’ He tells her his lie and the girl nods and smiles at me again,as though I’ve passed some sort of test. ‘They respect hard work,’ Ron explains. ‘You don’t need tobe rich, but they like a man who’s willing to work. Most Thaimen are lazy bastards. They prefer to stay home drinking andwhoring while the women go out to work.’ ‘I thought you said the wives stayed home with the chil-dren,’ I point out. ‘That too,’ he says. ‘Life’s hard for Thai women, unlessthey’re lucky and get rich. Or marry a farang.’ While we’ve been talking, one of the other girls has movedbehind Lucy and is braiding her hair. Neither seems to find thisstrange. ‘Girls from Isaan,’ Ron explains, ‘When they get downhere, they treat each other like sisters. That’s how they referto each other. My sister. Doesn’t mean they’re blood relations.Just from the same place.’ The girls are talking among themselves now and I get thefeeling the topic of conversation is me. ‘They’re discussing the way you’re dressed,’ Ron says atone point. ‘You look like a backpacker.’ ‘I’ve been trekking up north.’ ‘Yeah? Well, you should buy some new clothes. Peoplewon’t respect you dressed like that. You need to dress morelike me.’ That would be, a long sleeved shirt, polyester if I’m notmistaken, and a pair of baggy trousers in a light colour. I’mnot sure I like the look, but I realise that all the other men aredressed in a similar way. A few are wearing short and theirshirts have short sleeve, but the style is far more conventional. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I say. Ron’s watching me with a gleam in his eye. 349