[ Frenchmen is a book written in 2015. It’s a story about desire, Buddhist theory and the ultimate results of death and rebirth. This seemed like a good time to get it out there. It will be in short chapters so that it can eventually be read as a book…read on! ]
Chapter 1
The French are Coming!
Fort Phra Sumen
I’m sitting in Bangkok’s Santichaiprakan Park, by the rampart remnants of Fort Phra Sumen where Phra Atthit Road curves away from the river and heads south along the river. The park is right at the rivers edge. Large, low-branched, wide spreading established trees and green lawns cover the park. Best of all a marvelous breeze coming off the Chao Phraya River.
In the past hour the sun has come out and the river sparkles deceptively.
A constant parade of foreign tourists walk to the waters edge to watch the variety of boats ply the river. Tugboats hauling their massive towed loads of upcountry rice are chained several together. They sit so low in the water it seems to defy physics. Other passenger boats go fast or slow depending, as the shrill of mouth-whistles directs their docking and boarding. Super fast, rooster-tail long boats zip by.
In the park, face-masked sweepers with their beautiful long-handled palm-frond brooms are trying to keep up with the leaves that fall in the stiff breeze. Indeed, I’ve nearly been beaned by several large rubber tree leaves that plummet more than fall. The constant sweep of their brooms over the last hour has nearly put me to sleep.
Recently, a large shaggy, unshaved but balding Eastern European man with a low-parted combover walked by with a hungover, tilted swagger. He sported a yellow armless t-shirt cut down both the sides. Large, bold green letters were printed in a font that tilted as much back and forth as he did – it read:
NO MONEY NO HONEY
He walked by to the north end of the park to drop some trash in a bin. On his return, in order to satisfy an itch, he hiked up his baggy short-shorts (they actually looked like cut-off pajama bottoms). His hand went so far up his crotch and balls that I thought his dick might pop out! He passed me and went and sat down heavily next to an embarrassed looking Thai woman he was with. Then he proceeded to scratch and fondle himself again.
With the ultimate coup de grace and to make a spectacle of himself beyond what even the most brazen of Thais would ever do publicly, he removed his t-shirt. With his shirt bundled in hand he wiped off his sagging breasts and potbelly, which hung down over his elastic banded shorts. Finally, he stretched out his arms crucifix style atop the bench back.
To avoid his touch the Thai woman hunched over, elbows to knees. Head in hands, she sighed deeply and stared at the ground.
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Chinese Invasion
In the meantime, a Chinese family walked down the few steps in front of me. A father, mother and teenaged son and daughter. The son kept looking at himself and adjusting his hair using his cell phone as his mirror. The father stood near the river wall being photographed, arms up, Rocky style, by his wife and daughter. They eventually pulled out a selfie-stick. They photographed themselves with the river boats and the Rama VIII Bridge as a backdrop.
The son sat on the wall preening and they eventually coaxed him over – as only the Chinese can coax. He slowly and self-conscientiously walked over while the other three, cell phones up and ready, waited for the right moment. When the boy slowly lifted his right hand, barely waist high, and made a fingered peace sign, cell phone cameras clicked madly.
I noticed no individual photos were taken of the women.
While the Chinese invaded, the most adorable French family strolled into the picture.
They sat on the green lawn behind my bench. Once again, a mother, a father, but with two young children instead. A girl about four and a boy about three. High, happy shrills that only children are capable of making as they are chased but still feel safe were made within minutes. The handsome thirty-something dad went after them and they would run screaming in opposite directions with that Chase Me! No Don’t Chase Me! scream. The dad would pretend to ignore them and when they vied for his attention, he would turn on them with a startled lion roar. The kids would either run screaming toward him or away from him, depending on their mood.
This chase and catch game went on for a while. Eventually the kids went over to check in with their mother. She was sitting on the grass with her arms stretched out behind her. Her long, wavy blond hair ran down to her elbows. With her eyes closed, she had lifted her face to the equatorial sun.
