by Jay Tinsiano
"How’s it going, Dog?" Frank extended his hand for the Dog to shake, but he just stood staring over his shoulder at something behind him before walking off without another word. Frank shook his head in disbelief and turned around to be faced with a tall, blond, German man.
"Zat dog," he stated," is a legend around here!"
"I can tell he is," Frank said, sarcastically, wearily moving away to the exit, suddenly deciding he would call it a night after all. He strolled along the path amongst the palm trees and huts and as he glanced toward the trees near the parallel road, noticed Maria walking along a path that converged with his.
"Hey, Maria."
She turned her head at the sound of his voice. "Hey Frank." Even in the limited light he could make out her full beautiful smile.
"Did you have a good time? I lost you."
"Yes, it was busy. I went for a wander along the beach, and then went back, but I couldn't see you," she said.
They strolled through the moonlit palms. The beams from the beach party behind them continued to streak across their path like a myriad of beacons.
"Were you looking for answers in that view of the sea again?" he quipped.
Maria laughed, her hands still toying with a sea shell, perhaps the same one she had earlier. "Yes, I didn't find many there though. It was much too dark to see anything."
They arrived at Frank's hut. "This is my grand abode," he said, catching her eye in the faint light before moving closer. He reached a hand to caress her cheek and their lips met hastily. Maria opened up to him, while Frank's hand moved around her waist, pulling her into him until her breasts pressed against him.
They moved inside the small hut and into the bedroom. Frank scrambled around for his lighter and lit his oil lamp, regretting his decision to go for a cheap hut without electricity. Maria took off her long, Indian style gown and unclipped her bra as Frank opened the mosquito net.
"Quick! Hop in!" he urged, smiling at her as he removed his shirt and shorts before diving in behind the safety of the net.
"I wouldn't want to share you with any mosquitoes," he whispered.
Frank felt her heart beat against his chest. Her skin felt smooth and warm against his and he welcomed it. She smelt sweet and it reminded him of something; a smell from the distant past.
*******
An hour later, Frank ran his hand over Maria's slender curves as she lay on her stomach with her face turned towards him. He moved his hand up the small of her back to where the end of her curly hair lay easily on her skin. She looked at him with half closed eyes; her face and mouth obscured by her arm, and let out a satisfied sigh. The flickering oil lamp danced animated shadows across their bodies and seemed comforting to Frank somehow, like the rain that transfixed him back home.
"What are you looking for out here?" she asked softly.
"Sun, sea and Dutch women," he said, with a cheeky grin.
Maria laughed. "I see."
Frank returned his gaze to her soft skin, listening to the sound of the lapping tide just outside the hut that seemed to draw closer, as if closing in around their feet.
"I had a major urge to take off and leave. I broke up with someone. We didn’t want the same things," said Frank.
"People drift apart every day, in the same way they’re pulled together," she said and slowly moved her hand over his chest. "Was it a long relationship?"
"A few years. We were supposed to get married. Kids; the works," Frank said.
"A pretty serious relationship then?"
"Oh yes. It was serious," he whispered, almost mockingly.
Frank turned his body towards her. "What about you? Any Dutch hunks waiting for you at home?"
Maria expelled a loud laugh.
"No, no. Not in Holland. I had a boyfriend in Hong Kong for a while. Nothing came of it."
"Chinese?"
"No. A Frenchman."
"A Frenchman in Hong Kong. Sounds like a novel."
"My life has been a bit of a novel, you could say," she said with a wry smile.
"I look forward to hearing all about it," said Frank, reaching for a cigarette.
"Any other family?"
Frank quietly sighed, wondering whether he wanted to continue this conversation. Usually he didn't, when asked. He'd just lie or make something up, anything to avoid going down that road.
"No, unfortunately they've all gone. My parents were killed in a car crash when I was seven. My only surviving relatives were my grandfather and Uncle. Grandad passed away a few months ago."
Maria turned onto her side, looking at him with genuine sadness, "I'm sorry Frank. That's awful. It must have been extremely hard for you."
Frank watched the spiral curl of bluish smoke waft up through the mosquito net.
"The pain recedes over time, but it never goes away. I do miss them, I really do. But I was so young. The memories of them are," he paused. "Kind of faded, you know?"
Frank stubbed out his cigarette and placed the ashtray outside the net.
They lay in silence for a while. The light gush of the tide seemed to slow down and sleep took them quickly.
*******
Lightning forked across the black sky overhead, a power of nature that Frank had never seen before. It lit up the endless flat fields that surrounded their cottage for miles. He could even see the trees by the farm where he played army with his friends. There was a tree house there, where they kept their plastic toy guns. The endless dykes acted like trenches and in a field next to the farm stood unused tractors that had been left to rust for years.
She held his hand tight.
"It’s OK sweetheart. It’s just a storm."
They waited for Dad on the cottage door step, clutching their coats as protection against the downpour.
"Come on, Patrick, we’re late," his mother shouted.
Frank’s father appeared behind them, his anorak rustling as he sorted through his keys. "Right, get ready and make a run for it," he said.
The three figures sprinted down the pathway to the Ford Escort parked on the road and they all clambered inside as quickly as they could.
Patrick turned to his son in the back seat. "You all belted up, Frankie boy?"
"Yes Dad."
"Good lad."
Patrick started the engine and the windscreen wipers kicked into action, barely keeping the torrent of rain at bay.
"God, would you look at that?" His mother stared across at the field opposite the house.
Patrick and Frank followed her stare and saw the cow, lying on its back with one hind leg stuck upwards as straight as a pole. The carcass looked frozen, as if it had been struck by a spear from the sky.
"What happened to it, Dad?"
"It must have been hit by lightning. In the wrong place, at the wrong time. Poor cow," he said and laughed.
The car slowly moved off, momentarily getting closer to the strange sight in the field as they drove by. Frank’s small face stared out of the window at the dead animal, and then he looked away.
Chapter 6
Frank opened his eyes with a shudder, breathing heavily, his body covered in sheen of sweat. As the sound of his heartbeat inside his head receded, the familiar cricket noises and distant voices of early morning beach wanderers took over.
He turned to find Maria had gone and felt a pang of disappointment in his stomach. Something he said? Probably gone for a swim or breakfast, he thought, as he watched specs of dust float against slithers of light that beamed through the hut slats.
Eventually he climbed out of bed, grabbing his wash bag and towel and padded out to the shower area; another perk of cheap boarding. The cool water rushing over his aching head felt like heaven and he let it stream down his body, eyes closed as he relished the feeling. He reached for his wash bag and fumbled around inside for the shower gel. A piece of paper fluttered down onto the concrete slab, narrowly missing the puddle of water that circled around his feet and landed on the hard, sandy ground.
Fra
nk picked it up with one still dry hand and looked at it quizzically. It was written in neat, perfectly formed handwriting.
Thanks for a perfect night. If you’re ever in Hong Kong:
(344) 37484 44
Maria x
Frank could only wonder why she had left him the message in his wash-bag. She had obviously decided to move on to her next destination but it seemed strange that she had left so quickly. Had she felt like their night together had been a mistake? Feeling slightly aggrieved he tucked the note back in the bag. It would have been nice to spend more time with her but he decided to just get on with having a good time.
*******
Lazy days drifted into party nights, the alcohol and drugs all part of the routine and, like a kid in a sweet shop, Frank was there: taking it all on.
He’d catch breakfast around four in the afternoon—if he could stomach it—with the regulars at the Brazil bar, then soak up the last of the sun and drift aimlessly in the blue sea. After a brief relaxation, it was time for beers and cocktails. Theo, Claude and a regular motley crew played cards and backgammon, turning the bar into a kind of beach style scene from Casablanca. Party night was every night. There was rarely a night off.
The comedown was hard and swift. One afternoon as he lounged on a hammock the pain hit him in the stomach, tying it up in knots and spitting it out again. He crawled to the safety of his bed as the sickness took hold; tiredness beating him up with sticks, weighing him down, preventing movement.
His appetite completely vanished, mouth dried up like a prune and he spent too much time in the toilet, wishing he had an en-suite bathroom. The terrible nights blanketed him in darkness, shrouding him in their cruel shadow, like a mocking demon. In his fever, he promised to look after himself, quit smoking, bump the drink, and be healthy.
It seemed to Frank that you were at your weakest exactly when you felt invincible.
After a few days, Theo came to see Frank and was visibly shocked at his appearance.
"Bloody hell, Frank, you look terrible!"
"I feel terrible, Theo; I’m think I’m going to die," Frank groaned.
"I doubt it." Theo looked closely at Frank, narrowing his eyes as if reading his health meter.
"My friend is a doctor; I’ll go get him."
"Anything. Can you get me some more bottled water? I’ll give you money for the Doc." Frank tried to move across the room to get to his cash.
"Forget it, Frank. You lie down."
When the doctor arrived he had Frank popping the antibiotics in no time. After a long period of praying and puking, Frank began to slowly recover, almost to his former self.
It was time to move on to his next destination. Thailand had always been in his travel plans and he was suddenly keen to get there.
Frank made a vague arrangement to meet Theo in Bangkok. As they drank tea in the Brazil bar, Theo recommended a guesthouse near the Khao San Road and pointed to it on a map.
"It’s a great place, good price and very comfortable."
"Great," said Frank. "It's good to know where to go, saves a lot of hassle."
Frank found himself thinking about Maria again and wondered where she had gone. He hoped she was still around Goa and that there would be a small chance they would bump into each other again. He wanted to hear her seductive Dutch accent one more time, but it was not to be.
Chapter 7
Mu Heng banged the top of the small television that sat in the corner of his desk, attempting to get the picture back. It had been steadily getting worse for the past few weeks and had finally died. He eventually gave up and switched it off; slumping back into his chair. Heng checked his watch: 2.37am.
Where the hell was the team?
Patience was not one of his better qualities and the waiting had been going on for months. This had to rank as one of the most boring cover jobs he had ever been assigned, although at least the booth was quiet, he supposed. It was the slow passage of time that got to him. Still, at least now the waiting would soon be over.
Tonight was the night it would finally start to happen.
He flipped through the Hong Kong Times and then lifting his stocky figure up, walked outside the booth and lit another cigarette. Heng then paced up and down on the shiny tiled floor of the Kennedy Town Mass Transit Railway station, brushing imaginary dust off his grey uniform.
The shrill ring of the phone punctured the silence and he quickly picked it up and heard a low, rasping voice.
"Package is here, waiting."
"OK! On my way," said Heng. He slammed down the phone, grabbed a bunch of keys, his walkie talkie and then made his way out of the booth and along the platform in the stark, artificial light.
Heng slid the metal gate linking the platform to the exit tunnel aside, where three grim looking Chinese men, each carrying heavy duty holdall bags, stood waiting. The man in the middle – with the arched scar – nodded and, without a word, they followed Heng back across the platform towards the booth, their footsteps echoing behind them.
Chapter 8
Bangkok. Khao San Road.
The smell of fried chicken hit Frank's nostrils as he jumped from the taxi. The thick air seemed almost unbreathable. A Westerner grinned at him from a café table as if Frank were a patsy in a cream pie joke. He shoved some baht notes at the driver, determined to find this guesthouse as soon as possible.
It took a while for Frank to get to the guesthouse that Theo had recommended. He almost considered going to the first place he saw, but then decided against it and soldiered on. Eventually, another English tourist pointed him in the right direction.
The room in the 'Sunny Beach' was clean; the ceiling fan provided cool comfort for half an hour as Frank smoked cigarettes and watched the propelling blades slice up the grey cloud. A high-pitched whine stung in his brain. Frank decided to lay off the alcohol for a while. Those drinks on the flight from India hadn’t done him any favours.
The outside eating area was a small courtyard where he’d come through from the side street earlier and was decorated on all sides with beautiful mosaic tiling, featuring a Buddha dominating a Thai landscape. It was a quiet spot, well away from the frantic Khao San, and Frank felt relieved he’d followed Theo’s advice.
He wanted a drink and a bowl of noodles, and then remembered he was off the booze, but when the waitress came over he decided to order a Singha beer anyway. Looking around at the clientele, Frank could see a few Thai office workers and old travellers killing time at the tables. An old, silver haired, tanned guy in a red shirt read the Bangkok Post and smoked a cigar.
Another man stopped at his table. He had a young Dirk Bogarde look about him, with jet black hair, sideburns and a five o’clock shadow on his chin and wore typical English attire: long sleeved shirt and white slacks.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked.
"Of course, no problem," said Frank.
"Just arrived?" the man enquired.
"Yeah, I came from Goa. I’m headed south as soon as I can get out of here."
They introduced each other as Frank's beer and Thai noodles arrived.
"I'm Richard."
"Frank."
Richard ordered himself a coffee.
"Bangkok is an extremely interesting city. It can be a tad daunting on first arrival though."
"It’s manic. I’ve only been here a couple of hours but I’m not planning to hang around."
"Well you can’t leave until you’ve visited the infamous Pat Pong." Richard winked at him.
"Oh, what’s that?" Frank asked, sucking in his noodles.
"You don’t know about Pat Pong? It’s girlie bar central, Frank. It's where the action is," said Richard. He noticed Frank didn’t look convinced and added, "Don’t worry, we’ll just look around and have a laugh."
*******
The tuk tuks swarmed through the early evening traffic, weaving past helmetless bikers and Japanese cars. The pollution rose in the air like a mist, making the city’s buildings look like
grey husks through the taxi window. Golden roofs of little temples, tucked away amongst the shanty huts, jutted into the dimming sky.
The two men paid the fare and joined the crowd that milled around two parallel roads of Pat Pong. It was packed with T-shirt stalls, girly bars and prostitutes of every manner. There was certainly a seedy feel about the place. Richard warned that it was easy to get ripped off, but he knew a good place to go.
They were constantly harassed by gangs of girls or Thai pimps. Frank glanced into a passing bar and caught a glimpse of a beautiful Thai girl, dressed in a bikini, gyrating around a silver pole. She was closely watched by a gaggle of men at the bar.
Richard turned to Frank, smiling, as they fought through the crowd and pointed towards a side street. "I was down here last week," he started saying as they negotiated the crowd. "I saw a group of Rugby lads fight their way out after they were asked for an extortionate amount of money for their beers."
They paused to let a group of singing young German men pass them by.
"Another time there was a chap who had to flee for his life from a strip bar," Richard continued, "he was chased by machete wielding Thais who ran the place."
"What did he do?" asked Frank.
"I heard later that he accidentally insulted one of them. And he groped one of the girls which obviously didn't go down well." They turned left into an alleyway.
Great, thought Frank, sarcastically, as Richard rang a doorbell to a sinister looking metal door. A slot zipped open for a moment, before the sound of a bolt unlocking the door revealed an older Thai woman peering out from darkness. She held a torch to their faces and Richard quickly gave her some money. The two men followed the torch light along a blackened corridor which led up a series of steps. She knocked on another door and babbled something in Thai before it opened to a buzzing interior, tinged with red light.
A bar ran all the way around a raised stage where people hunched over their drink and watched a group of dancers swing their stuff. To the back of the dimly lit room lay further tables and seats on different levels. The two men took seats at the bar and ordered beers. A group of young Thai girls in bikinis immediately surrounded them.
"Buy a drink for lovely girl?"
"Wanna try nice girls like us?"
Frank smiled at them. "We’re just here for the show and a beer."
"Beer shit. Try hot Thai girl," one of them said. Frank laughed, wondering how he had been persuaded to come here.