Which Step to Take?  

This story is purely an act of fiction.

            If he had thought about it later, Bai would probably have agreed that it had been a lousy idea that punctuated an already bad day.

            As usual, he had awoken earlier than he wanted to the blare of Thai rock and roll busting through the building's walls into his little cell. The ancient window shade was freckled with dozens of holes and streams of dusty light speared the bed and walls. He could see the flimsy two-ply wall positively bouncing to the music. His neighbors, dancers from the Bangkok Boys A-Go-Go must be flaming deaf! He stretched. Mai pen rai. He was up.

            Blearily, he pulled on yesterday's clothes--Bai slept naked, as there was no air conditioning in the steamy building--white bikini shorts, battered jeans and a blue Nike T-shirt.  He looked at himself in his one luxury--a cracked and spotted full-length mirror, brushing the tousled hair from his eyes. The bleached blond contrasted nicely with his skin, which was darker than most boys. The T-shirt hung limply from his slender shoulders. He knew he looked several years younger than his 19 summers. Maybe that's why he was popular with Farang. Bai always enjoyed their looks of astonishment when he dropped his pants and fully revealed that he was a man--and then some.

Setting his door a-kilter (it never fit right), he lurched sleepily past the source of the morning's raucous concert and down the dim hall to the single bathroom shared by everyone on the floor.  He quickly finished his business over the hole in the tile and headed back to his room. There was a shower in the bathroom, but he ignored it. Better to wait and use the club's shower than stand under the tepid trickle of brown water his building provided as part of the 1000 baht monthly rent.

            An older boy from another go-go bar passed him and Bai nodded and smiled. He always smiled. No matter how badly he felt, it was automatic and genuine. Bai loved to smile.  His aunts in Surin, back home in the Isan always commented to his mae, his mother, "Bai's teeth are shiny and white; and he always smiles to let us see them!"  The boy would endure another hug and then try and wriggle away from the octopus arms of the giggling ladies. Still smiling, he'd run outside.  Frowning, he thought, took too much effort. Why bother?

           Back at his room, Bai slipped into sandals and secured his door as best he could with the padlock. No one would really bother breaking in. Everyone knew his belongings were meager. He didn't have much, but it could be worse. Bai smiled again. He missed his parents, brothers, sisters and other family greatly, but it was better in Krungthep than in the Isan. Heading downstairs, his mind flashed briefly back to the tin-roofed, two rooms they all shared on the edge of Surin. Nearby, were the rich man's fields where his father, mother and aunts worked for a small share of the meager yield. If he had stayed there he'd have become a rice farmer, a struggling prisoner caught in the unrelenting fist of the vicious drought that had toasted the land. In the City of Angels he could at least make a baht or two.

            Outside, the day surprised him. True, it was Sunday and there was always less traffic, but the sky was also clear, deep blue. No pollution. Bai decided to head for Lumpini Park and sit by the lake. Later, he'd go look for someone who might want to buy him lunch. In a short time, he was parked under a tree, watching the white birds paddling coolly near the lakeshore. He loved the park, this emerald island in the sea of gray concrete that was modern Bangkok.  It was the lull period of the morning:  too early for the families and their picnics yet late enough that the old people had completed their graceful slow motion Tai Chi ballet. The boy leaned back and recalled the previous evening and the gentle American.

            Bai worked at The Jungle Bar in Patpong. He felt he was lucky. Like most of the boys in all the clubs, he hated the "dancing," the mindless jiggling on the stage, while staring blankly past the customers at the back wall. The Jungle Bar had its dance stage, too--a meter wide ring encircling the thick trunk of an imitation tree--but it also had other allures. Besides dancing, the "boys," aged 18 to 25, had more entertaining gimmicks for attracting customers.

            The seating area in the bar's main room curved in a U shape around the tree trunk. Situated at the top of the U was a grand teak bar managed by four young men in floral short-sleeved shirts and little else. Extending out from the trunk were a dozen solid tree limbs, adorned with green silk foliage. The branches were thick and "grew" outwards several feet above the customer seating area, almost to the club's walls.  What the clientele couldn't see was the wide, non-skid surface on the topside of each branch. When boys weren't dancing they could scramble along the branches and seat themselves or lay down at strategic locations above the men and occasional women who frequented the club.

            For those seated below, it was a visual delight. The young men wore only a fig leaf-shaped flap to cover the area which drew the most attention. Behind, a slender fern barely hid the magic cleft. Many of the boys would stand over the staring customers and tease them by rapidly lifting and dropping their flaps to hint at the awaiting pleasures. Bai never did this. He preferred the surprised looks he received in the short-time rooms or the guest's hotel suites. He did love skipping along the branches like a happy young Tarzan. He always felt safe, because he knew the owner had installed an almost invisible but incredibly strong safety net below the limbs. Even though he had never seen anyone fall, Bai knew he would be safe if he did.

            A squawking goose interrupted his thoughts and he laughed at the bird rising out of the water and flapping his wings at some perceived slight. Then, Bai leaned back again and allowed his thoughts to return to the gentle American.

            The night before, while dancing, he had spied a husky young redheaded man sitting apart from the main crowd, near the back of the room.  When his set finished, Bai scampered up the ladder behind the tree trunk and hippity-hopped along the branch until he was over the man. Stopping above the customer, and seeing he had the gentleman's attention, he performed a little trick. He flipped his legs apart and allowed gravity to drop him with a thud onto the tree limb. From below, it looked like he landed sharply on his genitals and buttocks, but Bai always carefully ensured that his hands broke the fall. The redhead's face winced painfully and then broke into a wide grin, as he understood he had been fooled. He raised his hand, palm down and beckoned. Bai could see the golden red hairs on top of the hand glint in a spotlight. Up in a flash, he headed back along the limb.

            Tom was the man's name and he was from California, in America. To Bai's surprise, he spoke passable Thai. In moments, the mamasan had appeared and a deal was struck. Bai would leave and spend a few hours with the Farang. He dressed quickly and they left together. 

            At the American's hotel, there was no problem bringing in guests. Bai left his identification card with the guard and they ascended in the elevator. The suite was pleasant but not sumptuous. After a shower together, they consummated their business. Bai was pleased. Tom was gentle and attentive. The Thai boy was not gay and the American seemed to sense this. Certain activities were not even suggested. Soon, Bai was sated and responded by giving Tom a wonderful massage.  They lay together afterwards and talked. Tom wanted to practice his Thai. He asked questions, about the boy's life and his family.  Speaking softly in his singsong tongue, Bai told him.

            Life was grim in much of the Khorat Plateau, where Bai had been born and raised. Still, he loved his parents, two younger brothers and three younger sisters.  He remembered both mother and father working dawn until dusk six days a week, if not in the rice fields then at any odd jobs they could find. A grandmother took care of the children until she withered away. By the time Bai was 12, drought was ravaging the land year after year after miserable year. Bai worked, helping his parents in the fields, at various jobs and in the care of his younger siblings. School was out of the question by the time he was a teenager. Although slight, he was wiry and strong and he was a substantial help with the often-blistering chores of daily labor.

            "Do you like men or girls better?" Tom asked, changing to a happier subject.

            Bai giggled, tracing his fingers over the Farang's pale chest. "I like men nitnoi, a little, but I like girls a lot." He told Tom something he had never told an adult. To celebrate his 13^th birthday, his friends had taken him to a nearby brothel, a common tradition for Thai boys. "She made me explode with pleasure over and over," he sighed, then hastily added, "but you were good, too, Tom."

            Tom laughed and pecked him on the nose with his forefinger. "How did you get to Krungthep?"

            At 17 Bai had realized he had no future in the Northeast. He hitchhiked to Khorat and begged a ride in an open truck down to Bangkok. He arrived almost penniless, dusty and dirty but he was able to secure ill-paying work with one of the mahouts who roamed the tourist areas of the city with an elephant. Bai had occasionally worked in Surin slopping out elephant dirt during the annual Elephant Roundup held each November, so he was used to the huge animals. For the mahout, he cleaned up after the animal and helped secure "donations" from the gaping tourists they encountered.

            It wasn't much, but it kept him alive until he was 18 and received his official government photo identification. Immediately, he applied at The Jungle Bar and was hired.

            "It's not bad, Tom," he finished. "Especially when I am with people like you."

            They parted soon afterward. Tom was leaving for America at six in the morning and had to be at the airport by four. Bai accepted the generous tip gratefully and headed home. He was sad that he hadn't met his new friend earlier, but was elated that he had money to send home on Monday. His family didn't know what he did but eagerly awaited his monthly monetary gifts.

            The geese were squabbling again. Bai stood up and stretched. Time to head over to the Mulan Hotel, where lower end tourists hung out and hope for a free lunch. Later in the day, as things happened too quickly, he didn't have time to regret the bad decision to go there.

            The Mulan was a slightly seedy hotel sagging in the shadow of the newly constructed SkyTrain monorail line. The gay Farang who stayed there didn't tip well, but usually were good for a lunch before or after a rendezvous. The rooms were threadbare, but the hotel was never lacking for guests because the staff asked few, if any questions.  It didn't take Bai long to catch the eye of a balding fat German sitting in the hotel courtyard by a pool that looked like it was filled with water straight from the Chao Phraya. Impolitely, the man pointed at Bai and motioned him over. He wrote a price on a piece of paper. Bai looked around and didn't see any other potential customers. He shrugged, nodded and they went upstairs.

            Opening the door to his room, the German shoved the boy through. Bai stumbled over a pile of dirty underwear on the floor. Clearly, there was no housekeeping in the Mulan Hotel. The Farang jerked him up, unbuttoned the young man's jeans, and yanked everything down. He turned the boy around and pushed him face first onto the rumpled bed sheets. Bai looked over his shoulder, eyes wide. His customer was exposing himself and it was clear what he wanted to do. Terrified, Bai turned and kicked outward with both feet. Each made contact with a testicle and the heavy man thundered backwards against the wall. In a panic, Bai pulled up his shorts and pants together, forgetting to zip the fly. The fellow was groaning and getting to his knees.

            "I don't do that!" Bai shouted angrily. "You ask me, you don't rape me!" On the dresser he saw two 1000 baht notes soaking in spilled Singha beer. Impulsively, he grabbed the money and dashed for the door. Behind him, he heard the man roar. Bai tore down the hall. When he reached the stairs, he looked back to see the tourist coming after him. How the hell could the old guy move so fast, he wondered.

            Bai zigged and zagged through the crowded lobby and hit the street running. The Farang was not far behind and he was shouting something over and over. Pedestrians turned and gaped at the boy dodging and darting amongst them.  Bai heard whistles. Tourist police, he thought. What have I gotten into now?

            How to escape? He couldn't afford to catch his breath; someone would grab and hold him for the authorities.  Around the corner a block away, he could see more police, billy clubs unholstered, heading his way. He ran into a shadow and realized he was below the stairway to the SkyTrain station. Taking the steps two at a time, he leapt upwards, vaulted the turnstile in front of a brace of monks and found himself on the wide platform. He stopped for a moment, breathing heavily. Spectators formed a wide staring circle around him, not knowing what he had done and unsure what to do. For some reason he noticed the glass and steel buildings rising majestically into the brilliant blue sky.  In the distance, he could see the trees of Lumpini Park. Oh, to be back there again!

            Bai could hear the policemen's boots as they ran up the steps, scattering tourists and citizens alike.  He bolted out of the circle. There was only place to run now--the track. He balanced his way along the concrete slip above the single rail. Finally, he stopped, arms flailing to keep from falling. He realized he still had the 2000 baht in his hand. He flung the offending notes away and watched the breeze drift them towards the street below. Lungs desperately sucking air, Bai looked back. The policemen were all on the platform. They seemed reluctant to chase him out onto the right-of-way. Two of them were gesturing wildly. Bai turned again and looked down the track, which ran straight for about half a kilometer before curving around some skyscrapers. The lead car of the Red Line and was slipping silently and rapidly towards him. He couldn't see how many other carriages made up the train. It didn't matter, one would suffice.

            Bai glanced over his shoulder again. He could probably still make it to the station, but then the police and jail were waiting. In those horrid cells there would be no gentle Farang to take care of him. He looked down at the avenue ten meters below. It was a long drop, but maybe do-able. For once, it wasn't crowded and traffic was moving briskly, mopeds weaving suicidally among the Mercedes and Volvos. A truck was parked almost directly below him. It seemed the bed was filled with empty cardboard boxes. The train was closer now, the front of the car like the wide maw of a python waiting to devour him.

            He had three choices.

        Looking up one last time at the clear, sweet sky, Bai turned to meet his fate.

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