Say Uncle

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by Benjamin Laskin


  Oddly, I owed my undeserved cheerfulness to Anonymous Man. I felt like I was living in two worlds at once—mine and his. When mine seemed hopeless and without point, I thought about him, Hennes, Chaim and the other misbegotten and miserable souls who were banded together in those cold, dark, treacherous woods. They had neither family nor country: no food, clothes, or money. Compared to them I had everything.

  I didn’t think I appreciated that fact sufficiently, and that bothered me. I could intellectualize it but I couldn’t internalize it. I believed the saying that we ‘don’t know what we got till it’s gone,’ but did it have to be that way? Why couldn’t we know what we have while it’s there right in front of us; know it and love it without forgetting? I had never lost anything or anyone that mattered to me and certainly didn’t want to experience such a loss just to know what it was that I truly loved. What would such a loss be? I wondered.

  I heard my sister’s soft, peaceful snoring beside me. I turned onto my side and gazed upon her tranquil face. I had my answer. Sleeping next to me was what I most valued in this world and what, moreover, I would unhesitatingly risk everything for, including my own life.

  Color Blinded

  “Arise and greet the day and live as though the eyes of Epicurus were upon thee!” I whipped open the curtain and flooded the room with light.

  Doreen cursed me, rolled onto her stomach and covered her head with her pillow.

  “Come now, there will be none of that. Up and at ’em, Atom Ant!” I tore away her sheet and sang, “Wake up little Doreen, wake up…”

  More swearing.

  “Git those doggies rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, rollin’…”

  Whining, laced with threats.

  I cleared my throat and began to recite, “Morning brings back the heroic ages. Morning is the most memorable season of the day. Morning is when I awake and there is a dawn in me. Morning—”

  “Guy!”

  “Yes?”

  “What time is it?” she demanded.

  “Seven o’ five.”

  “Guy, we’re on vacation!”

  “Vacation,” I scoffed. “Don’t be so bourgeois. Vacations are taken by desperate, careworn people who see life as penitence and seek only to pamper themselves into a state of bleary-eyed torpidity. No, my darling sister, we are not on vacation. We are on an adventure, a journey—”

  “Guy—”

  “An odyssey. A quest! We are not vacationers. We are not—” I spat the word, “Tourists. We are travelers, we are explorers—”

  “Guy—”

  “We are pilgrims, we are pioneers—”

  “Guy—”

  “We are spiritual spelunkers who have sallied forth to plumb the uncharted caverns and grottoes of the soul. We—”

  “Guy!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you going to be this weird every morning? Because if you are I’m going home.”

  “Sorry. But you know, some people wake up in the morning in a bad mood, and some people wake up in the morning with bad breath. I wake up in the morning with bad prose.”

  ···

  Like good little tourists we spent the morning and most of the afternoon sightseeing and snapping selfies with my iPhone.

  We visited the Thonburi floating market, Wat Phra Keo and the Grand Palace with their frescoes of the Ramakien, and in the main chapel, the Emerald Buddha, which was really made of jasper. We also went to Wat Pho, the oldest and largest temple in Bangkok. It housed a 45-meter reclining Buddha. Doreen thought it looked like a beached whale. We also went to the Temple of Dawn, Wat Arun, on the Thonburi side of the river. It had a 82-meter high tower from which we snapped more pictures. We ended the day’s sightseeing with a leisurely boat trip along the Chao Phraya River. I marveled at the color of the water, a deep chocolate brown with black, oily swirls. Even more impressive, however, were the immune systems of the laughing children whom we saw playing and bathing in the otherwise lifeless water.

  After another delicious dinner and more tom yam, Doreen complained of a headache and went upstairs to lie down. She hadn’t drunk enough water during the day, and the tropical heat had sucked all the juices out of her, giving her a headache. The dirty air and the relentless city noise with its tens of thousands of mufflerless motorcycles didn’t help either. I checked on her about a half an hour later and found her fast asleep. It was only eight-thirty and the night was still young. I left a note saying I was going out and not to worry, that I’d be back around one. I had more sightseeing to do.

  Bangkok is often reported to be the sex capital of the world. This depiction did not escape my attention, and had been prowling around in my subconscious since my arrival. The anthropologist in me demanded a fact-finding mission, a peek at Bangkok’s notorious and salacious underbelly. After all, I reasoned, temples and museums were only one side of Bangkok, and if I were truly to be the adventurer I sang of earlier that morning, then I owed it to myself to see what was hidden under the cover of darkness. I hailed a taxi. “Patphong Road,” I said. The driver grinned.

  ···

  Patphong was crammed with stands of merchants selling the same kind of wares that I saw on the sidewalks of Khao San Road. Unlike Khao San, however, Patphong was closed to vehicles, and both sides of the street were lined with go-go bars, bordellos, massage parlors, and nightclubs. Every ten feet was either a sign or a barker telling you what was on the ‘menu,’ and they weren’t advertising food: Girl and man, girl and girl, girl and snake, girl and vegetable, girl and musical instrument… It was as low down and seedy as one could get, and I began to question the value and safety of the education I came there to receive. But, there were so many other foreigners running around that I figured it must be okay, and since I had come this far I might as well complete my expedition.

  I had only walked a short distance when one squat, yellow-toothed barker grabbed my arm and yanked me inside one of the bars. He was all smiles, shouting over the pounding music, “Beautiful girls, beautiful girls.” He pointed. I looked. I wasn’t sure how beautiful they were, but there were lots of girls in there all right, and they weren’t wearing much of anything.

  He hauled me over to a table that was within arm’s reach of the stage where the girls were dancing, and pushed me into a velour-covered chair. He flashed me another butter-toothed smile, nodded at a scantily-dressed cocktail waitress, and returned to his station outside. I ordered a Singha and it arrived three minutes later. Two minutes and fifty-nine seconds after two mini-skirted girls crammed themselves next to me on my oversized chair. Before I knew what had happened I had ordered them both Cokes. The Cokes cost more than the beer, which explained the free admission.

  Neither girl was what I’d call pretty, but they weren’t ugly either. Both were small with shiny black hair and butterscotch skin. Lots of skin. The girl on my right wore a sleeveless, low-cut, blue silk dress, and the girl on my left, a sleeveless red silk dress. I wore white. Together I thought we looked like the American flag, and said so. They were all smiles. They didn’t understand a word I said.

  They were all hands too. Hands on my knee, hands on my thigh, hands on my crotch, in my hair, around my neck, and under my shirt. I paid for a second beer that I didn’t recall ordering, and three more Cokes. The girls hadn’t even touched the first ones. Three Cokes? Mysteriously, a girl dressed in a green silk mini-skirt had appeared behind me, accounting for the extra pair of hands. The dresses of the two girls at my sides had slid nearly up to their waists, a fact they both ignored, but I couldn’t.

  The girl in green leaned over me, her breasts pressing against my cheek.

  “What your name?” she shouted over the pounding music.

  “Guy,” I said.

  “Gay?”

  “Not gay, Guy.”

  Blue dress said, “You no like girls gay-guy?”

  “No, no. Guy!”

  “You like guy?” asked red dress. She made a pouty face and then grabbed my hand and pressed it against h
er breast. “Me no guy,” she said. She guided my hand under her dress to the intersection of her crossed legs. “Me no guy,” she repeated, and laughed.

  “Where you from gay-guy?” asked green skirt.

  “Guy!” I shouted. “My name is Guy. Guy!”

  She laughed. “Okay, where you from Guy-Guy?”

  I gave up. “America,” I said.

  “America,” they all repeated in unison, and then started chatting among themselves in Thai. They did a lot of giggling, at my expense, no doubt.

  I looked around the bar. It was full of horny guys. In the center was the stage with a stainless steel floor and two stainless steel poles that ran up to the ceiling. Multi-colored strobe lights shone down, reflecting from a crystal globe. Six lithesome, topless girls gyrated on the stage. Two of them, their legs wrapped around the poles, slid up and down like pistons. None of the girls looked more than twenty years old, some barely seventeen. The thumping music coursed through my veins. So did three more Singha. The beers rode piggyback on the testosterone that my body was producing by the bucketful. The unthinkable had become thinkable.

  “You, Guy-Guy,” said red dress as she ran her crimson nails along the length of my inner thigh. “You like me?”

  “Huh?”

  The girl in green leaned over my shoulder and pointed to her friend in red. “You like her? You think her pretty?”

  I nodded dumbly and looked again at the other two. “I think you’re all pretty.” It was no lie. My testosterone-colored beer goggles had transformed every girl in the bar into Noriko.

  One by one I tapped each girl on the chest with my index finger, and slurred, “I think you’re cute…I think you’re cute…” I turned and pointed my finger at green skirt who was more buxom than the other two. “And I think you’re really cute…” She smiled and put my finger in her mouth.

  The thinkable had suddenly become the desirable. She took my finger out of her mouth, licked her lips, and winked a big brown eye. The desirable had become the inevitable.

  I heard a voice call out from the deep recesses of my mind. It said: ‘Guy, get out of here, quick! Just get up and leave. Now, before it’s too late…’ It was my conscience, and the message came in loud and clear. There was only one thing to do.

  I ordered another beer.

  I don’t remember how much I had to pay the manager to ‘excuse’ his employee for the rest of the evening. I don’t remember much of anything after stumbling out the door with the lady in green. It was late. The vendors in the center of the street were closing up. I staggered arm in arm with my exotic new girlfriend through a maze of back streets and alleyways. She seemed to know where we were going.

  We turned a corner and she pointed toward the end of the block. “Hotel,” she said. I squinted and saw some skinny, flickering neon in the distance. The street was deserted except for some mangy cats rummaging through a heap of garbage. I noticed the full moon and I stopped to look at it. Green skirt yanked on my arm and dragged me behind her.

  She stopped short and I stumbled into her from behind. “Oops, sorry,” I giggled. I felt her hand grow moist in mine, and then she dropped it. “What’s the mat—”

  The girl took a cowering step back and I saw a dark figure in a hoodie standing at the corner of a narrow alley that bisected the street where we were walking. The moon cast his shadow across our path all the way to the other side of the street.

  “Oh, shit…”

  “That’s no way to greet your friends, Guy.”

  I looked closer but I couldn’t make out his face. It was too dark and I was too drunk.

  “Who are you?”

  “The sandman.” He stepped out from the shadows and in the same instant the moon exploded into a thousand pinwheels of light.

  Message in a Tuk-Tuk

  I awoke to a mosquito buzzing in my ear and with my clothes drenched in sweat. I sat up and dropped my feet over the side of a bed. I groaned and held my pounding head. My mouth was drier and fouler than an abandoned bird’s nest. I could barely swallow. It took me a full minute to realize I was back in my room at Chai’s House. I had no idea how I had gotten there.

  I looked at my watch: 1:35. I tried to piece together the previous evening. I remembered leaving with the lady in green. Then things got fuzzy. Did we do it? I couldn’t remember. My God, I thought, how could I have forgotten such a thing?

  I rubbed my face and yelped in pain. I stood up, slowly, and wobbled over to the little mirror on the wall. My right eye and right side of my nose were swollen and bruised. Then I remembered the hooded man in the alley, the blur of his fist, and the splintered moon. I didn’t like where these disjointed memories were leading me.

  I grabbed my towel and teetered down the stairs and took a long, hot shower. My body washed clean, but my mind and soul still felt soiled from the previous night’s antics. I wondered where Doreen had gone. Probably for a stroll or a coffee at one of the many cafes. Did she know where I had been and what I had done, or almost done?

  I dressed and checked at the front desk for any messages. Nothing. I went outside and ordered coffee and a banana pancake. The food revived me somewhat, but my head still hurt and reality felt stringy and gooey, like I was wading through cotton candy.

  Minutes passed before I took notice of my surroundings and the handful of customers sitting around. One was the Lone Ranger, the guy who came to Doreen’s rescue after she nuked herself with the chili pepper. His feet up on a chair, he was immersed in his book. I wondered how long he had been sitting there, and if he had possibly seen my sister. I got up with a moan and doddered over to him to ask.

  “Sorry for bothering you,” I said, “but have you by any chance seen my sister around this morning?”

  He looked up from his book and cocked his head, as if trying to place me.

  “A girl,” I explained, “dark hair, about this tall, pretty. She gagged on a hot pepper the other evening.”

  “Oh, right. No, I haven’t.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I turned to go back to my table.

  “Hey,” he said. “You okay? You look like you were run over by a tuk-tuk.”

  “I might have been,” I said.

  “Rough night, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Got a name?” he asked amiably.

  “Guy.”

  He put out his hand. “Max,” he said. His hand swallowed mine like a first baseman’s mitt. “You say she’s your sister?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long have you two been in Thailand?”

  “Just a couple of days. You?”

  “A while. I teach English up north.”

  “Cool. So what brings you to Bangkok?”

  “A friend. And you?”

  “It’s kind of a long story, but I guess you could say a friend too.”

  “You don’t sound so sure.”

  “I’m not sure about much these days,” I muttered.

  “That’s Bangkok for you. It’s the Twilight Zone. I avoid it if I can.”

  I rubbed my temples. “I think I know what you mean.”

  “Take it easy, Guy. And keep your eye out for those tuk-tuks.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  I hung around Chai’s for a couple of hours waiting for Doreen to show and nursed my hangover. I started to worry. It wasn’t like Doreen to disappear like that without at least leaving a note. She was the type of person who always announced beforehand everything she was about to do. (‘I’m running to the store now. I’m taking a shower now. I’m going to the potty now…’) Maybe she was getting back at me for last night, and for making her worry. That would have been like Doreen. She knew I didn’t respond well to lectures.

  By six o’clock I had learned my lesson well, and worry had morphed into panic. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it. I didn’t know what to do and I was scared. I left an angry note behind in case she returned and went to look for her.

  I walked over to Khao San Road and popped my head in
to every bar, restaurant, and shop along the street. Where the hell could she have gone? What would I do if something had happened to her? I cursed myself for having left her alone. If anything bad had happened to her, how would I ever be able to face my family again? How could I explain to them that I left Doreen alone so that I could drink myself stupid in a sleazy Bangkok bar and watch naked girls dance at my table. I had to find her.

  At the end of Khao San Road was the Chana Songkram Police Station. It took an hour before they found someone who spoke enough English for me to explain my problem. Even then the guy told me that there was nothing they could do about it. He said missing persons had to be missing for at least 48 hours before they would do anything. I asked him to at least call the hospitals in case there had been an accident, but he gave me the same answer. I left the station frazzled and furious.

  I remembered that I had a bunch of pictures that I had snapped the previous day. I spent the next three hours showing Doreen’s picture to every traveler and shopkeeper on Khao San Road, asking them if they had seen her around. Nobody recognized her. I returned to Chai’s House. Doreen had still not shown, and it was eleven o’clock.

  I feared evil had happened to her. Waves of nausea passed over me. I was so afraid for her that I couldn’t think straight. I felt totally helpless, completely alone.

  Once more I went out showing Doreen’s picture to any stranger who would stop for me. I walked and walked. I thought of my family and the horror in their voices if I had to call them and tell them that Doreen had disappeared. Sick with dread, my shirt drenched with sweat, I wandered like a zombie back to Khao San Road.

  “Where you go?” a tuk-tuk driver called to me.

  I ignored him. It was the hundredth time that night I had been accosted by tuk-tuk drivers and I was sick of those guys.

  “Where you go?” he asked again.

  I cursed and waved him away.

 

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