Bangkok Boy (15 page)

I was sometimes drunk for days straight. I still hadn’t realised how destructive a force alcohol was. It had been a major player in nearly every disaster that befell me, and yet I saw it as the solution to all my problems. It was a trusty crutch; always at hand to support me through troublesome times. It’d never once occurred to me that I might be an alcoholic—the very notion seemed ridiculous. I mean, my whole family drank, and so did most of the villagers—it was something everyone did. But on some level, I realised that most of the pain and hurt I was responsible for had actually been inflicted when I was intoxicated.

You have to hit rock bottom before you can begin climbing out of a hole. It’s only when you’re lying flat on your back that you can see just how far you’ve fallen. I’d been falling for a long time, and all the time suspected that I must be nearing the bottom; yet I hastened the process all the more by my destructive behaviour.

One Friday afternoon Nuan called to see me while I was working. She was looking for money because there was no food left. I waved some banknotes in front of her face tauntingly and then snatched them away.

‘Fat chance,’ I said.

We’d had a huge row about my drinking two days earlier and I hadn’t returned home since. I expected Nuan to start a fight but she simply shrugged her shoulders and walked off. She knew well there was little chance of me giving her anything when I was in that kind of mood; besides, she had to pick Chuan up from school. I stumbled home and destroyed everything in sight. I don’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps the problem was that I wasn’t thinking at all.

When I had thoroughly demolished our room, I met up with two of my friends and continued my tipple-fest until the bars were closed. By this stage, my friend Nitthi and I were so off our faces we had no idea where we were. My other friend, Sophon, was also drunk but later on was able to recount the near-fatal assault that led to my current hospitalisation. Sophon recalled that Arun, a Cambodian acquaintance, was walking over to us. He was clearly high, having smoked an ungodly amount of amphetamines, capping it with bucket-loads of beer. He was brimming with energy and, earlier on, was intentionally bothering passers-by in the
soi
for entertainment. He couldn’t stand still for a second; his body was twitching uncontrollably as he jumped up and down, shouting like a crazy man. My two friends and I were passed out on a white couch, in an open-air bar at the entrance to Soi Twilight, when Arun approached us. He began poking Nitthi, trying to irritate him and awaken him from his slumber. Nitthi didn’t find it funny and kept pushing Arun away. But Arun persistently continued to poke his ribs. I angrily ordered Arun to stop and to get lost.

My little comment started a full-scale brawl. I had loaned Arun money in the past, and I reminded him of this to gain leverage in the argument. Instead of putting him in his place, my reference to money was taken as an insult. He suddenly dove at me, slapping me across the face. I folded like a deck of cards, but managed to drag myself to my feet. I was intent on giving Arun a black eye and swung my fist hard but missed. Arun then kicked me in the stomach and it was at that point I blacked out.

CHAPTER 15

I’ve now been sent home from hospital, yes, home; and I’ve never been so happy to have one to go to. My happiness, when compared with the fear I experienced in hospital, has indeed been a catalyst preventing me from returning to my former weaknesses.

The only thing that trumped my physical injuries in terms of pain was the look of terror in my son’s eyes whenever he came to visit. When I awoke from the coma, I was in a state of delirium and didn’t remember Nuan or Chuan visiting me. The doctors told me that they came daily, but the memories of their visits faded as soon as they exited the ward. One of my first clear memories was of Chuan, though. He was standing next to me, with his bone-white knuckles gripping the bedrails tightly. He didn’t say a word, as if too scared; instead he slipped his hand into mine as he fought back the tears. He looked thin and pale; he’d obviously been deeply affected on seeing me close to death. The worry in his eyes confirmed my worst fears—I mightn’t pull through and, even if I did, who knew what difficulties lay ahead. Both Chuan and Nuan were struggling to cope with my hospitalisation. Their eyes, furrowed brows and behaviour belied all. They worried about how to ease my worries, but ironically, this caused me to worry all the more.

As I stared into my son’s red, sorrow-filled eyes, I could see the legacy of pain and uncertainty I’d handed down to him. It was too much for any child to bear. He was silently imploring me to stop hurting him and his mother. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, trying to mouth the words ‘I’m sorry’; but the pain was too great and they stuck in my throat.

I was deeply sorry for having subjected him to such an ordeal. I imagined my funeral and wondered how my death would affect him. He’d surely be devastated, but was it possible that in a small way he’d be secretly relieved? I wondered if he’d recall any happy memories from our lives together, or have something good to say about me at all. My son’s brokenness had more of a healing power over me than all the medication in the hospital combined. I determined that if I ever made it out of the ward, I’d be a better father to Chuan.

‘I will live. I will live’, I chanted to myself. My son’s face faded as I fell into a deep sleep.

During the early weeks in hospital, various friends helped Nuan piece together the events that unfolded on the fateful night of my attack. Apparently, after I fell unconscious, Arun attacked me mercilessly. Sophon, being relatively sober, tried to defend me but Arun dealt him a swift blow that sent him hurtling to the ground. Sophon stepped back and, perhaps to justify his cowardice, convinced himself that since Arun and I’d been conversing in Khmer, we must be related. That made it a family feud in which an outsider, like Sophon, shouldn’t intervene.

Sophon wasn’t the only coward; I was surrounded by them. I found out afterwards several other people witnessed the bloody assault but not one had come to my rescue. They either didn’t care or were fearful of the consequences of getting involved. I haven’t exactly earned any loyal protectors over the years, that’s for sure. I just hope that one day the people who pretended not to see the savage attack on me won’t find their loved ones falling victim to similar indifference.

As I lay in a crumpled heap, Arun moved with careful precision, making sure that every blow he dealt my body inflicted maximum damage. He took a brief break to assess his handiwork before launching another merciless round. Pulling me to my feet, he cupped his hand under my chin and began bouncing my head off electricity poles and walls. He then ripped off my shirt and dragged me along the road. The uneven surface ripped my chest, face and arms, tearing layers of skin. He then stomped on my head with his boots, and still not wholly satisfied with his efforts, dragged me up the stairs of a nearby bar and released me, gleefully watching as I tumbled downwards like a sack of rice. After this coup de grâce, he left me to die facedown on the road.

I could scarcely believe Arun was responsible for nearly killing me. We’d been drinking buddies when we worked as go-go boys, but he started taking drugs and was never the same again. The police had arrested him numerous times, and his rap sheet was a veritable litany of charges involving either assault or minor drug possession. The police had him over a barrel at this point and threatened to prosecute again unless he participated in drugs stings. All the go-go boys knew what he was doing and so naturally didn’t trust him. He brazenly asked for a ‘loan’ to buy drugs, supposedly for one of these stings. He was clearly lying though, and was only looking to fund his habit. When I refused him, he cursed my name and stormed off.

Arun disappeared and it was several months before he resurfaced. When he did, it was as if nothing had happened between us; he was civil, so I assumed he’d put our differences behind him. I was clearly wrong though; he’d been nursing a grudge and was waiting for an opportunity to exact revenge. I should’ve known he was a loose cannon, and that he was capable of anything.

Arun openly boasted that he’d fought as a child soldier for Heng Samrin. He claimed he’d been part of a movement backed by Vietnam and the Soviet Union to overthrow Pol Pot and bring an end to the Khmer Rouge’s regime. He loved to brag about his exploits, even several times claiming to have eaten human flesh in order to survive.

It’s hard to imagine, but it would take 12 hours before I was found lying unconscious. During the morning the
soi
is deserted. Being home to bars and businesses, it doesn’t come to life until late in the afternoon. An acquaintance happened upon me and, spotting me lying facedown, didn’t pay much attention because he presumed I was just sleeping off yet another night on the town. He shook his head disapprovingly and was ready to walk by. It was only as he came closer that he realised all was not right. I was lying unnaturally still and my limbs were placed at awkward angles. He tried to shake me awake but I wouldn’t budge. So he turned me over and the sight of my swollen, battered body sent him reeling. I was completely limp and he was sure I was dead, so he called the police and paramedics. Amidst blaring sirens and flashing lights, I was loaded into the back of an ambulance. They rushed me to the nearest hospital which happened to be an expensive private facility. On seeing I had no identification on me and that I might not have insurance, they refused to admit me, despite the fact I could’ve died. So I was reloaded into the ambulance and sent to the nearest public hospital instead. I have no notion of any of this as I only barely regained consciousness four days after I was admitted.

Nuan told me she hadn’t recognised the bloated, shaved-headed man whom the nurse insisted was me. I was wrapped in so many bandages I looked like a mummy. It was only when Nuan lifted the bedcovers and took a peek at my feet that she believed the disfigured shape was me.

When I finally came to, it was as though I was in a waking coma. I was incoherent and confused. I had no idea where I was. I was convinced I was in a different hospital—one I had been admitted to in the past. I suppose I remembered that the staff in that hospital were always very kind to me so subconsciously I wished I was there. When Nuan insisted I wasn’t in that hospital, I became irate. I was convinced the staff in the current hospital were inferior and insisted I be transferred immediately. I was vocal about my misgivings, accusing the nurses of looking down on me and mistreating me. My belligerent behaviour definitely didn’t earn me any friends and eventually caused the nurses to shun me.

When I regained some strength, Nuan recounted how she’d found me. After I vandalised our room and stormed back to the bar in a huff, she returned home with Chuan to find the landlord angrily blocking the entrance.

‘Your belongings are in a garbage bag. Don’t ever come here again. Tell your good-for-nothing husband he isn’t welcome either,’ he yelled.

Nuan was distraught. She rang a friend of hers who runs a small laundry shop asking if she could offer temporary refuge as she was completely broke. Thankfully, Nuan’s friend’s husband was working in Lopburi at the time and felt it’d be good for his wife to have company. So Nuan and Chuan were made welcome. Nuan tearfully told her how I’d let her down yet again, saying that if she’d known I was still addicted to alcohol she would never have reconciled with me.

Nuan promised to earn her keep working in the laundry and helping out with household chores. She called to a grocery store in Soi Twilight to ask if the owner, Auntie Pin, knew of my whereabouts. I often bought liquor from her store so she knew me well. Auntie Pin replied, ‘I’m sure Chai is just drunk somewhere close by. Don’t worry, dear. He probably hasn’t stumbled too far.’

Arun had attacked me in the early hours of Sunday morning. By Monday evening, when Nuan still hadn’t received word of my whereabouts, she collected Chuan from school and searched Silom looking for me.

Passing through the soi, a good-humoured grilled squid vendor stopped Nuan to ask her how I was. Nuan knew the woman vaguely and was surprised when she enquired, ‘Is your husband getting better? Only good merit will get him up and walking again.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Nuan asked.

‘Didn’t you know he was attacked? They say his skull was cracked open. There’s very little chance of him . . .’ The vendor managed to catch herself before disclosing the seriousness of the situation. But her body language had said it all.

Nuan frantically asked what hospital I was in and sped off to find me.

Since the Patpong ‘tell-a-friend’ communication services work better than the telephone, Sao caught wind of my assault and made an unexpected visit to the hospital. She disclosed that she’d been struggling to make ends meet while working as a bar girl. She said that she needed me and implored me to return and help support her. I saw no reason to get back with her, but still kept these thoughts to myself. She’d given away Phot, so I would have to be insane to return to such a negative situation. Rather than risk an unpleasant confrontation, I just told her that we’d talk once I got better. I never heard from her again, so presumably she got the message.

My time in hospital provided both Nuan and me with ample opportunity to talk things over. She knew Sao had visited me but refused to fight with her. Nuan told me I was free to go back to her if I wanted. Instead, I chose to give our small family another chance and asked her to do the same. I reassured her that after my release from hospital I wanted to really change this time—no more false starts.

All in all, Nuan has been fantastic; she managed to juggle her daily visits to the hospital with raising Chuan. She insisted the police should take action and put pressure on them to bring Arun to justice. I respected her more and more with each passing day and began to realise how fortunate I was to have her in my life.

After she gathered as much information about the attack as possible, she headed to the police station and filed an official complaint. The police officer working the case called Sophon in for questioning. He asked why he hadn’t done more to stop the assault, or at least taken me to the hospital after it. Sophon told him that he thought it best to let the bar owners take care of the matter. But a simple phone call to the police would’ve sufficed and he didn’t even do that.

I really can’t understand his logic at all. I was attacked at around 5am and he had plenty of time to go get help; instead, he just left me for dead. When the ambulance finally came, there was a huge crowd of onlookers gathered to see what all the commotion was. We have a saying,
Thai mung
, which translates as ‘a Thai stare’. It’s a cultural thing. If an accident occurs everyone rushes to peer at what has happened; few do anything to help the situation though. It’s as if an accident is a welcome distraction from the monotony of their humdrum existence, by providing them with something new to gossip about. I must be careful not to become embittered about this outlook though. In reality it was my own fault I ended up in hospital. It’s about time I stopped blaming others and started taking responsibility for my actions. The indifferent world won’t readily lend me a helping hand, that’s for sure.

My doctor initially told Nuan there was very little chance I’d regain consciousness and even if I did, I’d be a vegetable at best. My recovery exceeded the doctor’s expectation though. Meanwhile, Nuan was becoming increasingly frustrated with the police and their failure to take action. In a moment of utter disgust, she accused them of allowing scores of known criminals roam the streets, and even brought up the issue of my father’s murder. She reproached them for failing to deliver justice and said that she hoped my case would be different. She warned them that she’d take the matter to the Crime Suppression Bureau if the local Metropolitan Police didn’t prove good. Nuan was clearly very upset about the attack and was worried Arun would come after her and Chuan. To be fair, he was completely deranged, so there was no telling what he was capable of. Nuan told the police that she’d already been disappointed by them once, and that she wouldn’t settle for such incompetence a second time.

It was over seven years since my father was murd-ered; my sister Nit took the matter to the police department a few years back but the commander responsible for investigation asked her to withdraw her complaint. He assured her if she did as he requested he would personally see to it the murderers were brought to justice. She was afraid of him and backed down but she never heard a peep from him again. Nuan refused to be bullied, reasoning if she left the police to their own devices and didn’t continue to put them under pressure then justice wouldn’t be served. Thankfully, her insistence paid off.

A friend informed me that Arun was working in front of a hotel in another district of Bangkok. His working outside of his usual domain was obviously an attempt to keep a low profile. I passed this information on to the officer working my case and he immediately issued a warrant for Arun’s arrest. He was to be charged with physical assault but I believe it should have been attempted murder. That would be difficult to prove though. Arun protested his innocence, insisting that we’d been friends for a long time and he’d no reason to harm me. Arun is currently in the prison awaiting trial.