Life Goes On

[PeterUK]

(I'm not sure what value is attached to personal reminiscences on this forum, but the following has been sitting on a shelf in my apartment gathering dust these past several months and I thought it looked so woebegone that it deserved an outing. If you don't like it or consider it inappropriate just holler and I promise not to do it again! A few details changed to protect the identity of the other party, otherwise a true story).

‘Hey, Peter!’

I recognized the voice at once – that oppressive nasal drone – and a little of the spring went out of my step. It was mid-evening and I was walking past the baht bus stand in south Pattaya. I peered into the almost-empty, next-to-go baht bus and, sure enough, there was the ruddy, obscurely smiling face of Alan directed my way. I managed to muster a look of pleasant surprise and then joined him on board. I was going to Jomtien anyway and it was only polite to have a brief chat with someone I hadn’t seen for a couple of years.

‘Long time no see,’ I gushed, and we began the outwardly cheerful, chaotic business of bringing each other up to date with news. As expected, I soon found myself doing a lot less talking than listening. Alan’s round, blotchy face, high on self-importance, low on humour, was an appropriate visual accompaniment to the monotonous Canadian accent, which defied intervention even as it sapped the will to live. When he pointedly mentioned his age – sixty-eight – and then paused, actually inviting a response, I duly congratulated him on how he looked much younger. Unable to conceal his pleasure at the remark, he dipped his head modestly. When he looked up again, his pale blue, blond-lashed eyes widened suddenly in anger.

‘You’re not meant to be smoking in here, you know,’ he said to someone who had just sat down on the seat opposite. The hapless newcomer, thirtyish, east European in appearance, gave Alan a bewildered look. I wondered at first if he’d even understood, but then he muttered something in broken English about there being no ‘No Smoking’ sign. Very true, there wasn’t. Alan’s words were news to me too. An embarrassing few minutes ensued, during which Alan insisted he was right, repeatedly, even calling on the uninterested driver (a sharp rap on his window) for confirmation. The smoker, for his part, didn’t say much, just looked mightily pissed off and increasingly sulky as the cigarette sank lower and lower in his limp hand. Alan glared at it, lips aquiver, until it had died a natural death. I couldn’t wait for the baht bus to get moving. It had filled with mainly Thai passengers, who were just doing that typically Thai thing of staring impassively ahead as if nothing untoward were happening.

Once we had rattled into motion, Alan, with the look of grim satisfaction of one who has performed an unpleasant but necessary civic duty, resumed telling me about his extensive travels since our last meeting. Nothing remotely interesting, mind, just a list of places and dates, the significance of which was deemed to be self-evident. I may have gone a bit blank-faced during all this, but it hardly mattered since Alan was paying scant attention to my reactions.

As we neared my condo building in Jomtien, I started to fret a little. In view of the fact that it was still quite early and Alan had told me that he was only in town for one more day, there was a certain amount of conventional pressure on me to invite him in for a drink. But I simply couldn’t bear the thought of a couple more hours in his company, just the two of us locked away together in hollow, one-sided conversation. So I’m afraid I lied to him. I said that, much as I would like to show him my newly-purchased condo, I had a prior engagement with a young man, nudge, nudge, know what I mean? Another time, eh? Alan’s face softened and he accepted my excuse gracefully, perhaps used to such rebuffs or just secretly relieved to be rid of me as well. We parted with a few last pleasantries.

On the walk along the tree-lined driveway to my condo, I recalled the circumstances in which we had first met about seven years earlier. It was on the gay beach at Jomtien. I was in the throes of one of my periodic emotional crises brought on by the dubious wisdom of falling for a barboy. I was ready to cry on any available shoulder and Alan had been willing to provide one, even though his fixed smile indicated discomfort at having to listen to such self-pitying outpourings. At some point he had interrupted me to mention that his own Thai boyfriend of long standing had recently been killed in a car crash; the young man had been trapped in the driver’s seat and had burnt to death without anyone being able to get to him. Alan told me this in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, staring out to sea as he did so, only his restless hands and sad eyes suggesting the emotional strain he was under.

Well, naturally, I felt immediately and overwhelmingly like an impostor. How could my commonplace woes begin to compare with this horror? I imagined the angry, encroaching flames, the singed flesh, the young man’s paralysing terror of the inevitable, that last agonised scream… Oh, dear God, how could anyone bear to think of the loss of a loved one in such circumstances without going insane with grief? I don’t recall now what words of condolence I used – all I know is that they could only have been inadequate. Alan allowed himself an occasional wry smile as I spoke, a private man not given to sharing his feelings and a bit confused by my attention. I felt a great affection for him in that moment; I envied him his quiet dignity.

Over the days that followed, we met several more times, sitting together in our deckchairs, the gently lapping sea before us. I spewed out my pain and Alan trod carefully round his. We each knew that we had the other’s sympathy. We became not close friends exactly, but certainly comfortable with one another, grateful. When my trip ended, we exchanged contact details, Alan’s address and phone number in Winnipeg, mine in London, though if I’m perfectly honest I was already hoping only to see him in Thailand.

In fact, he called me a few months later on a visit to London. We drove out to Stonehenge and then had a country-pub lunch. I admit I felt a bit like someone self-consciously doing a good deed. I was over my unhappy relationship by now and Alan didn’t mention his deceased boyfriend. Our period of mutual need had passed. The day had its longueurs for both of us. I got fairly frequent emails from him for a couple more years after that, but soon came to dread their arrival. Always lists of places visited or to be visited, dates meticulously provided, as if that was the summation of life, and people mentioned as if they were great friends of both of us when in fact their identities were a complete mystery to me. Never an amusing anecdote or witty turn of phrase to lighten the tedium. My responses grew shorter and less frequent. We bumped into each other at Jomtien beach after a long period without contact and had a rather strained chat during which I sensed silent accusation hanging in the air. That was the last time until now.

I had reached my condo. I poured myself a drink, sat down in an armchair and reflected on how it was suffering that had brought the two of us, unlikely bedfellows, together for a while. Some people are improved by suffering – it realigns them, puts them on the path to wisdom. Others, probably the great majority, are briefly humbled, made thoughtful and more caring for a while perhaps, but then revert to type and emerge from their personal crises a little more perplexed, a little more cynical, a little more worn out than before, that’s all. Life goes on and their bad moments teach them nothing. I supposed that Alan and I were in that category. The evening’s events suggested it.

Alan had handed me his card as we parted, just in case I should want to contact him again. I studied it now, sleek and richly embossed, an important, busy person’s card, but also, it seemed to me, further evidence of accusation. I felt a pang of guilt at my part in the failure of our relationship. I put the card on the coffee table, telling myself that I really would call Alan the following day and at least remind him of the kind and helpful role he had once fulfilled in my life and thank him for it. Then I sat back and turned on the TV.

Edited October 18, 2008 by PeterUK

[onni4me]

Life goes on...sadly not in all cases.

I myself came first time to Thailand for a holiday 'cause my close friend/business partner had died unexpectedly. I felt empty inside and thought a good holiday might cheer me up. Actually, he had suggested me years ago to go to Thailand. He was a great fan of all things Thai.

And as it goes...here I still am. 4 years later. I never imagined coming here or having Asian boyfriend. It just sort of happened.

Anyway, even in saddest moments, we should try to seek for that glimpse of silver lining. I am sure there it is...somewhere.

Thanks for sharing with us.

[dukkha]

PeterUK you write so well and with erudition...this site needs more of that..of course as a writer I am intensely jealous but as I am the laziest gal in town I manage to defer writing for reasons that are sheer indolence..keep up the good work and thanks fo sharing your experiences in an open and honest way, not always chic in these times..

Dukkha

[popshirt]

Yes PeterUK I would like to read more. Please post again when you have some story to share.

[Scott]

Well written.

[Jingthing]

Peter is too shy to say this himself but he is I believe he is the accomplished author of this wonderful book of Thailand gay oriented short stories, which I think you can still buy in Thailand:

If Truth Be Told and Other Tales of Thailand

So if you want to read more, you can, and you will be well rewarded.

Edited October 20, 2008 by Jingthing

[papillon]

I echo the comments of dukkha, popshirt, Scott and Jingthing. Peter is working in miniature here, but his charting of his sometimes conflicting feelings and impulses is masterly. Such a poised honesty cannot be easy to achieve, and I am moved by it; it comes as a shock to one's own spirit.

It would not be possible to convey it to us, were it not for Peter's skill as a writer. His style is wonderfully flexible, moving without strain from 'monotonous Canadian accent, which defied intervention even as it sapped the will to live', to 'just looked mightily pissed off'', to the new insight, 'Alan glared at it, lips aquiver, until it had died a natural death'. Writing that keeps you alive and engaged. And an ending that does not recapitulate, but says it all.

In my opinion (not especially humble), Peter, even if he is not yet known to the world, is a distinguished writer.

[Ijustwannateach]

I agree it's well-written. It's hard to convey in writing the mixed feelings which necessarily exist between people, even if those people nominally admit they are 'friends' publicly- much less if the relationship is even more ambiguous.

[PeterUK]

Well done, Jingthing, you have me bang to rights. Guilty as charged. The book is still very much available in branches of Asia Books, Bookazine, B2S, Kinokuniya and others. My thanks for your kind comments and those of everyone else who responded. Always gratifying to know that one's efforts are appreciated.

[phayao]

The book is still very much available in branches of Asia Books, Bookazine, B2S, Kinokuniya and others. My thanks for your kind comments and those of everyone else who responded. Always gratifying to know that one's efforts are appreciated.

Yes, Peter M., I was one of the first to buy and read your book when it came out last year.

There were stories that I liked and others that I detested, like the first one in your book.

I wonder what has happened to another falang writer, Eric Alwyn, whose books "Men of Thailand" and "Trees of the Same Forest" helped me so much to unsderstand Thai ways some twenty years ago. I wrote to his publishing company, Bua Luang, and never got an answer.

It would be good to list a series of books in English of some interest to gay falang that have Thai links or likings.

[endure]

His name is Eric Allyn and he also wrote 'The Dove Coos' and 'The Dove Coos II' which I have at home. Abebooks are currently asking £60 for 'The Men of Thailand'

[phayao]

His name is Eric Allyn and he also wrote 'The Dove Coos' and 'The Dove Coos II' which I have at home. Abebooks are currently asking £60 for 'The Men of Thailand'

Thanks "endure", you're right.

I also have those two books, nice stories.

I didn't know that "The Men of Thailand" had fetched that price!

[PeaceBlondie]

Thanks so much, PeterUK. If I may comment on some of the themes or reactions I felt in reading it,

Our lives constantly interact with strangers, and we relate to some of them. Lots of folks, including ourselves at times, seem unremarkable, in the short or long term. I was struck by how the tragedy of losing his lover in a horrific fire had not affected your friend much. Since I retired, two events have really impacted my life - helping the survivors of a massacre to rebuild their lives, and the death of my best student, a gay 16-year old Thai. It moved me to write a double novel, which may never be published, but the writing has changed my life for the better.

The title of the thread reminds me of George Harrison's contribution to Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. In "Within you and without you," George wrote, "Life goes on, within you and without you, and the life you save may be your own."

[geriatrickid]

Rather interesting read. Doesn't say much. That's why it worked for me. It's the type of writing that may have some mention of gays but isn't gay, because it's a reflection of what we're all like. A snapshot of my life, a memento, without the heavy dose of tragedy, but enough to make me wonder if this guy knows me. So if that's you under my bed, please don't spill any more secrets.

Thanks for the piece, I enjoyed reading it.

[Navalator]

Brilliant earthy writing!