{Wrds Hndr Cmmnctn. Srsly.}

Friday, October 21, 2011 - J

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It's weird how the same smell of stale cigarette smoke seem to permeate the air in all bars, regardless of whether it's a non-smoking establishment or not. Incidentally, it wasn't. Taiwan's smoking policy banned all indoor smoking, of course, but out in the rural areas, no one really cared much about government policies.

The sound of conversations held in both English and the local dialect washed over me, nearly overpowering the rich, dark voice of Laura Fygi singing “The Summer Knows” over the bar's stereo. The bar did not have live music, but then again, it was Taiwan. I was still amazed at finding a good jazz bar in Taiwan, much less one at a rural seaside bar that I just happened to be stopping over. I took a sip of my drink. My brain was starting to buzz from the alcohol's effect, and I took a mental inventory of the number of drink's I'd had that night. 6. Not too bad.

“You know, there's a jazz bar in Thailand really similar to this one. Only difference is that they speak Thai in there, of course. And they actually serve Graveyards, too.”

I turned back and looked at my friend, slightly bemused. He was an unremarkable-looking person, with black hair, a clean-shaven face, two eyes, two ears and a mouth all in the right places. If I had seen him in a crowd I would probably not have recognised him. What was his name again? I tried to bring it to mind, but I could not remember his name however hard I tried. I'm usually bad at names, but he had only just re-introduced himself. I had known him from way before, when we were both doing an internship at a power plant, although we had not seen each other for years now. I did not know why they would need a multimedia student in a power plant when I first started work there, and 6 months later when I left, I still had no idea. I got to know him during our daily shuttle service trips to the plant. He was 1 year my senior and studying engineering. Engineers in a power plant, now that I understood. But multimedia students? Surely the power plant would not produce more power just because it had better-looking buttons.

He continued on, secure in his usefulness in power plants. “What's weird is that they were playing this very song when I entered that bar in Thailand. It was the Andy Williams version, though, if I remember correctly. Would be real creepy if it was the exact same song by the exact same singer. I mean, everyone covers each others' songs in the jazz world, so hearing the same song in two different jazz bars isn't at all surprising. The same singer singing the same song, however, especially when it's just a semi-popular song like this one...”

I nodded, not because I agreed, but because it seemed the right thing to do. The alcohol was getting to me. “What were you doing in Thailand, anyway?”

He took a sip from his Long Island Tea and pondered my question. “It's the same reason why I'm here, actually. R&R after an army training exercise. One of the toughest ones I've ever been involved in, too.”

He paused and contemplated that statement for a second. Seemingly satisfied with it, he nodded and lit a cigarette. Dunhill Reds. I took the chance to light up one of my own. I tried to recall his name again. It hung there in the distance, like a carrot on a stick that could never be obtained. I hoped it would come to me later. I hate the feeling of almost remembering something.

“How so?” Cigarette smoke curled in the air around us as I waited for him to continue.

“Well, for starters, we were out in the jungle during the rainy season. Not that there are many seasons in Thailand actually – it's either dry or wet, not much in the way of variety. Anyway, we were there in Sai Yok in July, right smack in the middle of the rainy season. I'm not sure about you, but sitting in the middle of the jungle in forty-three degree afternoons and fifteen degree nights for six days while it's raining constantly, with only one other person for company and no proper food isn't exactly my idea of fun. And that was only the first mission, mind you. At any rate, you can't really see what's in front of you at night, so we were mostly just sitting in the cold, wet, hungry, unable to sleep with nothing to do. But more than that, it was the waiting that I hated the most. I've never had to wait so much during an army exercise. It gets really unnerving, you know, sitting there in that terrible weather waiting for something to happen. Added to that was this feeling of inevitability in the air. Like something was definitely going to happen, but you just had no idea when. Or what.”

He paused to order another drink, looking around as he did. It was almost midnight, but the bar was still half filled. Most of the locals were gone, however. Only the regular drunks would remain at a bar at this time on a weekday night. The bar stereo was playing “Walk On By”. Two women were beside us, dyed blonde hair covering their skin tanned from long hours under the sun, quarrelling furiously in low voices while oblivious to the world around them. It sounded like a lovers' tiff. Their drinks stood forgotten on the counter, two pillars of cold calmness against the wrath of their patrons.

He looked at them with mild interest. “Terrible business. It reminds me of this friend of mine. She once bedded twenty guys at one go just because society said she shouldn't. Her parents are still not talking to her, even till now.”

“How does that remind you of this couple?”

“I'm not sure. It's just a vibe, you know?”

I didn't, so I just nodded in agreement and waited for him to resume his story. Was his friend happy about the act? I deliberated on her reasons for doing so. Wasn't she acknowledging society's constraints even more by reacting so strongly against it? Surely the best way to break free of her constraints was to ignore it altogether and do as she usually would, instead of going out of the way to break it. How does one arrange that sort of thing anyway? Did she call an escort service and ask for twenty men, or was there a special agency for that sort of thing?

However, before I could ruminate further on the philosophical and logistical implications behind a twenty-one-some, my friend's drink arrived. A pint of Erdinger Black. I didn't know they served German beers. He took a sip, set his drink down and continued his story, as though we had not just been comparing a couple's quarrel to a girl's sexual escapades.

“Well, nothing really happened during that mission. Me and my scout partner got thoroughly soaked, slept on hard stone in the hot day and cold night and tried to talk to each other until the exercise was over and we were collected. He was a terrible bore to talk to, really. Full of righteousness and certainty. A regular right-wing kind of person.”

“So you two talked politics then?”

“Oh, not really. We mostly talked about this person who worked at the camp's canteen. She... He? was a transsexual, with all the cosmetic surgery done, at least wherever we could see. She refused to change her voice, however, so there she was, this female-looking person with a really deep voice serving Pad Thai in an army camp. She called herself Jenny. And it was excellent Pad Thai, too.”

“A transsexual with a deep voice called Jenny selling tasty Pad Thai in an army camp.” I repeated the words, just to make sure I had the details right.

“That's right. As you can imagine, my partner was really infuriated by her presence. Said she went against the natural order of things and stuff like that. Made for six really long days. I can't stand extremism, myself. Extremism blinds people to the possibility that they might not be right, and usually they aren't. But of course, they believe they are, and nothing can convince them otherwise. The world would be a much better place if everyone decided to stop being extreme, really.”

I had no opinion on his extremist views on extremism, so I shrugged and finished my drink, trying to recall his name. Was it Ivan? Jack? It felt like an itch at the back of my head, and I struggled to scratch it. The bartender came over and collected my now-empty glass. I refused another drink.

He looked at the far wall, oblivious to the mental battle waged right in front of him.

“Oh yea, I saw a guy die on my last day there.”

I stared at him.

“Yea, it was rainy, as usual, and we were packing up the last of our equipment beside this long, straight road early in the morning. This motorcyclist was just minding his own business, motoring towards his destination when our Jeep decided to reverse out of a copse of trees onto the road, right in front of the motorcyclist's path. A loud bang, and the motorcyclist was far on the other side of the Jeep. Dead instantly before he even had his breakfast, I imagine. I hope he did though. It's probably a horrible feeling to die before breakfast.”

I pondered the likelihood of that. Would the motorcyclist have disapproved of Jenny, or the woman with twenty partners? Probably not. A dead speeder wouldn't be in a position to judge the number of partners a woman decided to have, or whether someone was a transsexual or not. “So... Your driver killed a motorcyclist.”

“To be fair, he was speeding. But then again, it's Thailand. Speeding is socially acceptable behaviour there. If you don't speed, the people behind get really angry at you. It's not like they're in a rush, actually. They just don't like to waste any time that they don't have to.”

“Well, what happened to them in the end? The Jeep driver and the motorcyclist?”

“The driver was pretty traumatised. He's probably never even killed an ant in his life before that. A human is no place to start. They had to send him to counselling. After charging him, of course. The army does everything in an orderly fashion, if anything. The motorcyclist's corpse, however, was picked up by the nearby hospital. The orderlies arriving to collect him looked bored, as though collecting corpses was routine work. Who knows, maybe it was. At any rate, the driver was charged and the corpse was collected, and that was that.”

He downed his drink and placed the mug firmly on the counter with a sigh. He glared at his empty mug, as though dismayed that his beer was gone. He took out another cigarette and lit it, taking a deep puff before turning to look at me.

“I really hope the motorcyclist had his breakfast before going out. I think I would hate to die on an empty stomach myself.”

I looked at my friend dubiously. What was his name? I couldn't bring it to my mind, as much as I tried to so do. I gave up and nodded in agreement.

“Yea, me too.”

Labels: Narration

{8:05 PM}