Arthur leans back in his deckchair, which could be anywhere, but isn’t, and stares out across the Gulf of Thailand. He can do this for hours. When he lived on Samui he spent most of his day on Chaweng Beach…always on the same stool in the Coconut Bar…staring out to sea. But that was before Chaweng became a sort of tropical Skegness. He’d moved to Lamai, barely one jump ahead of the fish ‘n chips shops, and thence to Isaan, the undeveloped Thai hinterland which he had found much more to his taste. Isaan was slow, unhurried, with little in the way of tourist attractions. It was easy to slip into the rhythm of the place, wet season followed dry, hot got hotter, and days blurred into one another.
The bookshop took up most of his time. One evening by the bug zapper, Dao, his wife of 7 years, had suggested a trip to Pattaya. Arthur had agreed. A change was as good as a rest…not that he really needed one, but he had always liked Pattaya. It was honest in its own seedy way; never pretending to be other than what it was…until quite recently anyway…when the local council started performing mental acrobatics trying to balance sin and safety.
In fact Arthur doesn’t care much what the Thais do with their cities anymore. Neither does Dao, who, sensibly, is in another deckchair, to his left, tucking into a plate of deep-fried prawns she just bought from one of the vendors that swarm like sand flies among the pink and red foreign bodies. This is Dao’s second visit to Pattaya and she loves it, doesn’t find it tacky at all. Neither, after a beer or two, and a bit of a paddle, does Arthur. He is content to just lie back and relax. Try to anyway.
Chewing gum? No thanks. Newspaper? No. Not even the Bangkok Post, thrust uninvitingly in his face by yet another vendor, can hold his attention for very long. Hang on a sec…he buys one anyway…somebody called Isis on the rampage in Iraq…hmmm…a mess to be sure…but Arthur is more interested in watching the clouds. He isn’t looking for omens or anything but he enjoys the constantly changing and evolving shapes. Above him immense billows are forming faces of Obama, Putin and Bin Laden…potent images that dominate his thoughts these days…more and more he is seeing pagan gods among the clouds…vengeful old Egyptian and Hebrew Gods…Osiris, Anubis, Set, Moloch and Yahweh, Zeus programming a handful of smartbolts, Mars in his war chariot, criss-crossed by parasailers…and of course old Priapus is up there too, ogling the banana-boat-load of topless waving bargirls.
It must all mean something thinks Arthur…these images from school history books surprisingly well etched into his memory, redolent of English summers, hours spent avoiding homework, lying on his back in the long grass listening to the sharp clack of willow bats meeting leather cricket balls. Then Sunday School and another kind of God…a stern but loving god who valued good table manners highly…who thought that children should be seen but not heard and whose first commandment was “thou shalt not pick thy nose or otherwise embarrass thy parents in front of the neighbours” and the second was “don’t play with your winkle there’s a good boy”.
Ukraine, Syria, people getting blown up left and right, it must all worry Obama surely…assuming he worries about anything. It worries Arthur. But he’s not sure why. All he has to do is lay back and let the sun shine down.
What is wrong with people these days? Where does all the anger come from? Has it always been this way or was life simpler before? Before what? Now it’s all Ishtar and Gilgamesh weeping in the ruins of Babylon and fighter planes and drones piloted by wholesome young men and women from Texas and Indiana eager to demonstrate that everything is manageable if you just punch in the right data.
Well CNN can spin it anyway they want but they can’t fool Arthur. There will be no mass Christian baptisms in this ancient land...just the scowling, bearded Gods of Mesopotamia, impassive, enduring, trotting along on their little donkey carts...biding their time…or perhaps sullen and confused…annoyed and irritated at having their retirement years disturbed by strange clanking chariots…and what’s this glittering Grail-like object dangling before Arthur’s eyes…ah…a fake Rolex...no thank-you…
Meanwhile, up in the clouds, the gods are still hard at it…the sky is full of them today…jostling for his attention…inscrutable Old Chinese deities, a procession of anthropomorphic Hindu chaps. Buddha? Not that he was a god exactly but is he up there too? If so he is probably happy just to exist…probably doesn’t feel quite the same need to assert himself and vie for people’s attention as the other fellows…
Am I going to die here? Arthur wonders…in Thailand? People did die here…by ‘people’ he means foreigners of course…they die all the time…in accidents, from natural causes, poisoned by jealous wives. What happens to all the bodies? Does anybody really want them? Will Dao have his body burned or have the bloody thing shipped back to England? Whichever is most economical probably…Her Majesty’s Government were unlikely to want it anymore…no I do not want a bloody cigarette lighter thank you…not even that phallic one. Very irritating these vendors. They’ve grown much more rude and persistent lately…in fact the worse business gets the ruder and more persistent they become. How much could they make selling that stuff anyway…a hundred baht a day? Two? The woman with the cigarette lighters…she probably walks miles every day and if she’s lucky she might sell one…
Arthur likes to complain about how Thailand isn’t what it used to be but he has enjoyed the best years…long before the Internet and the tattooed midriff-raff…before the bargirls started calling him Papa. Could be worse Arthur old chap…at least you’re not under a bridge somewhere sniffing glue.
What dear? Oh yes, thank you …Dao has just dismembered a crab and she is offering him a prime morsel … “I very angry,” says Dao. She means hungry of course, it’s a long-standing joke they have…one of many based on language misunderstandings. Dao is enjoying herself though…she’s had a tough life and she’s been looking forward to this trip. Good to see her making the most of it.
He starts to think about England. But not for long. Somebody is waving something under his nose...a grilled chicken foot it looks like…er…no thank you…but I will have …let me see…a boiled egg and a slice of pineapple…
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