108
Walking
Buddha’s
Path
By Derek Joe Tennant
Acknowledgements
I am forever grateful to Nawy, for enduring my hours at the computer writing this story. It took away from precious time we had together at an important juncture in our relationship. She cared for me while I wrote, despite feeling ignored.
I also need to thank Lama Surya Das, his book “Buddha Is As Buddha Does” focused my thoughts and energy towards the Bodhisattva Vow. I have been traveling towards this Vow my entire life; he brought the next steps into view with this book. His book is a rich resource if you desire to know more about the Bodhisattva Way.
I would add that this is a fictional story, though much is based in truth. Certainly the spiritual parts are indicative of where I am on this path today. I haven’t changed many names, as you are unlikely to know these people in real life. Unless you are part of my inner circle of friends you will be unable to find them in the world today.
Finally, I must thank the Universe, The One, Spirit, or whatever name you choose to place on God, for providing me the path to know what is presented here, the ability to say what I have tried to say, and the peace that comes from practicing what I preach.
Prologue
28 September, 2002
He had only been in Thailand for 4 days, and his body had yet to adopt the local time zone. He was staring into the dark at 3:30 am, wide-awake, hearing an occasional rooster crowing in the distance. Not seeing any reason to toss and turn and miss an opportunity to explore a foreign land, he crept from the room, out the front door and into the yard.
The Milky Way was splayed across the heavens like tagger’s spray paint. Born and raised in American cities, the wonder of the uncountable stars never failed to amaze him. And here, so far from any big city lights, the stellar display was better than any he’d ever seen. He wandered the dirt path that constituted the road in front of his fiancée’s home, keeping one eye out for snakes on the ground and the other seeking falling stars above. Within the hour, he’d found both.
As dawn began to spread across the eastern horizon, he felt a strong mixture of fear and anticipation. Today was his wedding day, the beginning of a grand adventure. Whatever the outcome, he knew his life would never be the same. This was a giant fork in the road of life, he was choosing the exciting unknown path and leaving the known paved superhighway far behind. He felt special, lucky, that he was able to make a choice so profound and different. Few had the desire or opportunity to choose such a radical change in culture and lifestyle. It was time to hold his nose and jump off the cliff into a future he could not even imagine. It was time to live.
Friday, 7 December 2007
“Khun Joe?” The Thai policeman pronounced the honorific with a strong dash of sarcasm.
With a glance at his soon-to-be-ex spouse, he nodded and said, “Yes.”
“You follow me, no?”
He rose from the plastic waiting room chair and began to follow the policeman down the long hallway. A backwards glance showed his wife sitting in her chair, looking off to the right, either dodging his silent appeal for information or distracted.
After passing many doors with wired security glass panes, the officer opened one, stepped aside, and gestured for him to enter. Inside the spartan room, another officer sat behind a small table, and gestured for him to take the only other seat in the room. He’d seen enough TV dramas to recognize an interrogation room, complete with bare walls and one-way glass window, to understand where he’d been taken.
The door closed behind him, and a click announced the door had been locked from the outside.
“Tell me, Mr. Joe, how did you meet your wife?”
He had come to Thailand one last time, to finalize the divorce. His wife, Mao, had told him he only had to sign one last paper and he’d no longer have to care for her. This questioning must be related to the divorce somehow. “I had come to Thailand on vacation, and saw her working in a bar in Phuket. We talked, and traded email addresses, and continued to communicate after I returned home to America.”
“That was 6 years ago, am I right?”
“Late in 2001, yes.”
“When did you find out she had a 9 year old daughter?”
“She told me about her family, her son and her daughter, that first night. She showed me pictures, and explained that she was working to be able to send money to her Mother, who was caring for the children while she was in Phuket.”
“How many wives have you had in America?”
“Two.”
“Why did those marriages fail?”
“My first, because we should not have gotten married in the first place. We were not compatible. My second wife married me because she had been abused before we met and needed someone to take care of her and her children who would not continue the abuse. Once the kids had grown up, she didn’t need my help anymore and went her own way.”
“Do you have any children?”
“I had a son, but he died when he was 8 months old.”
“Did your first wife have children??”
“One daughter.”
“How many children did your second wife have?”
He wondered what all the focus on children was about. “Seven.”
“Any daughters?”
“Three.”
“Isn’t it true, Mr. Joe, that you have always abused your stepdaughters?”
He was stunned. Had Mao accused him of abusing her daughter, Kan? The specter of a soon-to-be-short lifetime spent in Thai jails for child molestation drew his heart up into his throat. “I’ve never abused anyone, daughters, sons or wives. What is this all about? Why are you speaking to me? Isn’t this about our divorce?”
“We know you have molested your daughter in this marriage, and wonder if the American authorities might also have an interest in prosecuting you for your crimes in that country once we have finished your punishment here. Obviously, you select your wives because they have daughters you want to abuse. It will go better for you in your trial if you confess and show remorse, but either way you won’t be going back to America for a very long time. Did you think you could just come to Thailand and have your way with our children? Did you think we are barbarians here, who would not care that you are a foul animal?”
“I did not do this, and you have no proof. I want to speak with the American Embassy before I answer any more questions.”
“You don’t have the right to speak with the Embassy here. You have to be human to qualify for those kinds of privileges, and you are not one of us. You are the worst of men, men who prey on little girls. Our proof is the statement of your stepdaughter, which is all we need. Your trial will be tomorrow morning. By 10 am you will be on your way to a cell where you will spend many years to ponder what it means to come to a foreign land and rape little children. If you live long enough to get out, you will be sent back to America to answer for your crimes there. You’ll not touch another child as long as you live.” The officer stood and came around from the back of the desk, towards the door. The lock clicked again, someone had obviously been watching and knew the interview was over.
He jumped up from the chair so quickly it fell over behind him, and he reached for the officer to get his undivided attention. “I’m not guilty! This is a lie! You can’t do this, it’s not right!”
The officer eluded the grasp and stepped back. “Dare to touch me and you will never get out of prison alive. That’s your only warning. Now let me leave. We will meet again in court tomorrow for your sentencing.”
The door opened and two officers, handguns outstretched, raced into the room. The interrogating officer quickly left, and the two guards backed out, the door being shut and locked again very quickly. Silence reigned and in the crashing waves of emotion, he tried not to cry.
**********
He was a survivor. He had always been able to block the emotion of the moment, and act as if the tragedy were happening to someone else. This paid dividends during his time as a firefighter; a rescue worker can’t get too close to any situation, can’t let it touch them, or they would be unable to function. There is always time later for reflection, for feeling, for crying. In the moment itself, there is only room for action.
His hand went into his pocket, and hidden from view of the one-way mirror and anyone watching, opened his flip phone. Not allowed a phone call, huh? He wanted to test that rule. Finding the “6” button by feel, he pressed it and began to count out the time it would take before Susan’s voicemail would be recording.
“I’m in a Bangkok jail, call the American Embassy immediately. I need help. Call the Embassy. I’m locked up….”
The door was flung open and 2 guards rushed in. One wrapped arms around him and momentum threw them both to the floor. He fell with the cell phone hitting the floor, and the crunch against his thigh told him the phone had broken. As his attacker pushed off of him to stand, the second guard rewarded his phone creativity with a kick that broke his nose. Once standing, the other guard also began to kick him, and he curled into a fetal position and covered his head with his arms to protect himself.
The kicks and blows fell like rain, but soon slowed and finally stopped. The guards left the room, and the click following the closing of the door told him not to bother trying the handle. A quick inventory of throbbing pain told him that ribs, nose and one wrist may be broken, and a concussion was probably the least of his worries. A tender, tensing belly truly worried him. His medical training told him there was internal bleeding, and that could kill in minutes.
He dragged himself to the wall and pushed up into a sitting position very slowly and carefully. His could not use his right wrist, and using his left arm sparked complaints from the tender ribs. His breath came in small gasps. He was slightly dizzy, and began to monitor the spinning room to determine if the bleeding would have him fainting soon. But even as he focused, the spinning began to stop. Already, there was a silver lining to this cloud.
He began to meditate, and as he focused on maintaining a breathing pattern that minimized the pain of the broken ribs, he began to lose track of time. He didn’t know how much time passed before the door clicked and opened again, and a short man entered carrying a small medical bag, with a stethoscope draped around his neck. His dark khaki uniform was rumpled, as if he had worn it during a nap and had been awakened to handle this situation.
The doctor, if that’s what he was, attended him without speaking. A touch here, a squeeze there, noting the wince or gasp as an indication of the areas needing attention. The tender belly also concerned the doctor, and once he found that problem, the rest of the examination was completed quickly. A long piece of cloth created a quick sling for his right forearm, and without bothering with a splint, the doctor began to help him to his feet.
The pain in his ribcage made that a long process, but within a few moments, he was standing. The doctor motioned towards the door, and after just a few seconds delay, it opened. With the doctor supporting his good arm, they moved into the hall and past the two guards. They both wore smirks that told him there were no regrets, and would be no punishment for their act. Controlling the pain as he walked was a full time job, though, and he found he had no time to ponder the lack of retribution.
The two men shuffled past many doors, around several corners and finally entered what must have been the jail’s infirmary. There were three cots along one wall, medical supplies along the opposite wall, and a desk with a chair on either side in the corner. After the doctor helped him lie down on the cot, he went to the desk, opened the top right hand drawer and retrieved a cell phone. After placing a quick call, speaking just a few words of unfamiliar Thai, he pulled a clipboard from a different drawer and began to write.
Lying on the cot, the room began to spin again. Fighting the uncomfortable feeling of his stomach trying to empty itself, swallowing quickly again and again, he again lost track of time. Someone began to prod his belly again, which now was very tense and tender, and he realized he had passed out for some amount of time. Opening his eyes, he saw a man bent over his stomach, wearing the green scrubs one associates with a surgeon. The surgeon stood and motioned for someone behind him to move forward, and two short Thais pushed a gurney towards the cot. It took all four men to wrestle him off the cot and onto the gurney, but once he was on the wheeled bed they easily pushed him out of the room and down the hall. His head still spinning, he didn’t care where they were taking him. He closed his eyes and tried to minimize the pain of being jostled through the jail and into an ambulance. Once on board, a sharp pain in his arm told him he was receiving a shot, and he prayed that whatever it was, it at least contained a small amount of painkiller. The wave of relief that swept through his body seconds later told him his wish had been granted, but as the wave rose to a crescendo, he knew he’d been given a large dose, and within seconds he was unconscious.
**********
Susan rolled over in bed, trying to find just the right amount of arm to leave outside the covers to stay warm but not too warm. Nights in December could get cool, even here in San Diego, so she had taken the quilt out of the closet where she stored it during the summer and put it on the bed. But tonight it was a bit warm for that.
Gradually she became aware of her phone ringing. ‘I wonder how long that’s been going on?’ she thought as the answering machine picked up. She sat straight up in the bed, suddenly wide-awake, realizing that any phone call at 2 am had to be trouble. The volume was turned down on the machine; she’d have to get up to find out.
She paused for just a second, wondering if she could just go back to sleep and deal with whatever difficulty had presented itself in the morning after having her coffee. She’d certainly be better able to think after her usual shot of caffeine. But compassion got the better of her need for sleep, and she crept from the bed to the phone, fearing what bad news she’d find.
Rewinding the message and turning up the volume, she heard, “I’m in a Bangkok jail, call the American Embassy immediately. I need help. Call the Embassy. I’m locked up….”
Derek’s voice was clear but rather stressed. She supposed he would be stressed, if he were in the Bangkok jail, despite his reputation for being calm under fire. By far, he was the calmest person Susan knew. He also had a way of being at the center of planetary chaos. He didn’t see life as a drama, or revel in that like some of Susan’s friends, but he did see it as one big adventure. Landing in jail would be new even for him, and she wondered what the rest of the story would be.
With no other details, she had to act. It took only a few moments to google a phone number for the American embassy in Bangkok, luckily there was a phone number listed for citizens to call 24 hours a day. It took a few more minutes to determine the country code for Thailand, but soon she was leaving a detailed message, ostensibly at the Embassy. She was surprised that there wasn’t a switchboard operator, and had precious little detail to include in her message. But doing her best to indicate the urgency of the matter, and leaving her cell phone number, was all she could do with Derek’s cryptic message. Knowing sleep was out of the question, she started the day’s first pot of coffee and settled down at her desk to await the Embassy’s call.
**********
Some days Ron had nothing to do. He would wile away the time playing Minesweeper on the computer, or reading the latest “Asimov’s Science Fiction” magazine. Other days, and especially today it seemed, the phone did not stop ringing. There must be a full moon tonight, he thought, as he listened to another tale of a stolen handbag at the local market, a place that reminded him of the Flea Market back home, only worse. The bulk of the stalls sold food, some of which were unidentifiable as either plant animal or mineral, and some (like the stalls that sold maggots, cockroaches and other nasty creepy-crawly things) were only too identifiable. The smells were overwhelming, the crowd too thick to move easily through, unless you were familiar with the market and had just stolen a purse and needed to make a quick getaway. Then it seemed the crowd became your friend.
Other citizens on vacation had been sold gold jewelry, that the next day turned their fingers green, and now wanted the Embassy to issue them a refund. Sorry folks, when you are swindled in Bangkok, it’s buyer beware. It’s not like the USA, where the government is there to protect the stupid as well as the righteous. Here, you’re on your own, and all the screaming in the world isn’t going to get me to help you with this particular problem.
His secretary dropped a message form on the corner of his desk, and while listening to yet another vacationer complaining about how they were treated following a car accident (not their fault, of course!), he noticed the area code indicated the call had come from San Diego. He had hoped that this current conversation was going to signal the end of his week. Paul, his friend from the Passport Division, had offered to introduce him to ‘the prettiest girl in Bangkok’ tonight at the Cowboy Bar. One of Paul’s favorite hangouts, he invited Ron once or twice a month to come by and be introduced to a ‘special girl’. Usually, it was after Paul had tired of her, but these last few months he had been completely taken with a girl he described as ‘more flexible than a yoga instructor’, and so Ron had been getting referrals to untried companions. And Paul was rarely wrong in his assessments, so Ron had been eager to see what he would find tonight.
But a call to the Bangkok Embassy problem line from the mainland was also rare, and piqued his curiosity. As quickly as he could, he managed to get the citizen off the line, assuring him that there was nothing the Embassy could do about the accident. A glance at his watch told him he had 7 minutes to call San Diego without leaving late, and only about 45 minutes before he’d be late for his meeting with Paul at Cowboy. He dialed the number and listened to it ring.
“Hello” Susan said as she answered after the second ring.
“Hello. I’m Ron Jacobi, calling from the Bangkok Embassy. Is this Susan?”
“Yes, it is. Thank you so much for calling me so quickly. My friend, Derek, left me a voicemail asking me to call the Embassy on his behalf, saying he’s in a Bangkok jail.”
“Why is he in jail?” Ron wasn’t pleased at this news; this could take up a good portion of his weekend.
“He didn’t say, It sounded as if his call was cut off before he could give me details. It was a very short message.” Susan began to feel helpless, and it was reflected in her voice.
“Did he say anything else, like what jail he’s in for instance?” Ron didn’t relish the task of trying to locate a citizen among the many Bangkok jails; many didn’t even have phone lines to facilitate such a task. He’d have to take many taxi rides to check the ones the Embassy knew about, and that still might not locate this person.
“He didn’t. At this point, you know as much as I do.” Susan didn’t know what else to say.
“What’s Derek’s last name?” Ron reached for a message pad and pen from a cluttered desk drawer.
“Stevenson.”
“I’ll get on this right away, as soon as I can. Is this the best number to reach you?” Ron knew it was hopeless to begin calling tonight. Even if he knew what jail Derek was in, they’d not confirm that information tonight. It was already after hours for the Warden of any jail worth the name, and no one else would talk to an Embassy official. At least this conversation should not make him late to meet Paul. The weekend might turn out OK after all.
“It is, and call me anytime. How long will it take for you to find him?” Susan wanted to know if she should try to get a few more hours sleep before going to work.
“It could be days, It’s already after hours Friday evening here and…”
“Days?” Susan was incredulous. “If Derek’s in trouble, you need to help him and you can’t wait days for that!”
“There’s a lot of jails here, Susan, and it’s the weekend. Only the Warder will tell me if they have a foreigner in custody, and they may not be there before Monday as it is. I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do for now.”
“But the Embassy is his only chance for help. You’ve got to do something before Monday!” Ron heard the fear in Susan’s voice, and knew he had to get her off the phone quickly. He didn’t want to get backed into a corner, and have to give up his weekend for what still might be a wild goose chase.
“I’ll do everything I can, trust me. It’s my job, but more importantly, it’s what I do. Help people, that is. I’ll call you just as soon as I have any information. Try to relax and wait for my call. Good by, Susan.” He paused for just a second to make sure she did not protest, and hearing nothing from Susan, he hung up the phone. Another glance at his wrist, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He’d not be late to meet the most beautiful girl in Bangkok.
Saturday
He heard voices talking in a language he didn’t understand. His head felt like it was wrapped in a thick blanket, the voices might be obscured by some kind of drugs, but he didn’t take drugs. He began to feel a pain in his belly, and as he tried to move, realized his right arm was in a cast and felt very heavy. He opened his eyes to a darkened room. He could make out a large machine next to his bed, the lights seemed to be indicating his vital signs, as the machine hissed and beeped. Focusing his sight on the LEDs also helped him focus on what had placed him here. He remembered the beating in the jail, the painful ride to a hospital, and nothing else since.
Trying to sit up, his belly felt like it was tearing open. He felt like screaming, and he returned to lying on his back. He focused on calming his breathing. The machine beeped a different pattern, and within moments someone was bending over him, speaking Thai, and fussing with his sheet to get a look at his belly. Now in English, she said, “You awake. Now how you feeling?”
Derek groaned in response. “Water” was all he managed to say through his clenched teeth, although the pain was already beginning to subside. The nurse changed a setting on the IV line dripping into his arm. “I go for doctor.” She turned and walked away without waiting for a response from him.
His pain quickly became manageable. He had always told himself that he had a high pain threshold, so he wasn’t sure if it was actually fading or if he was just getting it under control. An inventory of his body told him he had issues with his ribs, his arm, his head and his belly. He also felt he was on some pain medication, as his thinking wasn’t as sharp as usual.
The light in his room came on, blinding him temporarily. Once his eyes had adjusted, he opened them to find a short, dark man in surgical garb making notes of the numbers on the machine by his bed. The man glanced at him, noted a few more numbers, and then turned to face him.
“You’re going to be alright. Someone will be in here shortly to tell you more about what will happen to you. Press the button if you need anything from the nurse.” The doctor turned and left the room.
“What will happen to me?” Derek’s question hung in the air, unanswered.
He had to wait only a few minutes before a tall, dark man in military fatigues walked into the room. After a quick glance around the room the man began to speak, as if reciting something he had memorized but did not understand, staring at the wall directly above Derek’s head.
“You have begun to serve the sentence given you in court this morning. You will be taken to the prison when you are healthy enough to move.” His features softened and his gaze fell on Derek’s face. “With mercy, you may survive your 20 year sentence. If not,………”
Twenty years? Derek felt a wave of panic rise and threaten to crash over him as if a tsunami. A deep breath held it at bay. A nurse entered the room and moved to the IV that still dripped into his good arm. As she fussed with the injection port, the man spun on his heels and moved swiftly out of the room. Derek watched him leave, seeing his future narrow into just a small tunnel of possibility, and so missed seeing the nurse add a heavy dose of sedative to the drip. He was caught off-guard as the sedative worked it’s magic, and put him swiftly into a deep sleep.
Sunday
It was time for a game plan. Derek was utilizing his high pain threshold to refuse to take the painkillers offered by both his attending physician and the helpful nurses. It was difficult to refuse the nurses, they wanted to be helpful and at least one of the three on the floor managed to be in his room every moment. They asked about pain with broken English every few minutes. It was rude to ignore them, but eventually that is what Derek did, just to be able to focus on the task at hand.
The first step to creating the plan was to take inventory of his situation. He was being held incommunicado, as far as he knew. His message to Susan may not have gotten through, as it was now Sunday and no one from the Embassy had come to visit. Susan was certainly resourceful enough that had she received the message, she’d have found a number and would be raising her voice if she did not get answers quickly. That was why Derek had called her. He was counting on her obstinacy, but would have to plan as if she failed to raise the alarm.
He had no lawyer, and knew nothing about the Thai legal system, so any plans for appeal would have to await a more thorough understanding of what he faced. He was past the stage of feeling out of control, subject to the drifts of panic as he had been Saturday evening. His entire life seems to have prepared him for dealing with a situation like this, so he’d make the best of what might be a bad situation if it happened to most people. For example, he regularly chided himself for not meditating more. Now he’d have lots of time for meditation.
He was certain the his spiritual beliefs would see him through this, so his plan centered around remembering what he had learned about reality, life and his place in it. With hours of meditation and recall of much of what he had learned in recent years, he felt confident this situation would work to his advantage. He did not fear spending a great portion of his life in a Thai jail, he feared not learning the most from this path.
One of the first lessons he knew he would practice concerned patience. He was calm as he locked down his ‘worry center’ for the evening, knowing he would need his rest to be prepared for what lay ahead. He would do this drug-free, with clarity and intention, and it would all turn out well in the end. Bring on tomorrow, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.
Monday
He awoke hungry. That was a good sign. It meant his body agreed with his mind, that it wanted to live despite the rough road ahead. He found that if he lay on his right side, and slowly pushed himself upright, neither his ribs nor his belly complained too loudly. For the first few seconds sitting upright, the room spun slowly, but that quickly passed. He even felt an urge to pee, but not badly enough to warrant standing up just yet.
Before he had a chance to tire of sitting, a nurse entered the room, followed by a guard. The guard stepped to the side just inside the door and remained watchful. The nurse carried a small tray in one hand, clothes in the other. She set the tray down on a stand that was next to the bed. She set the clothes on the edge of the bed, and began to help him out of his gown and into the clothing. It was merely a shirt and pants, made of rough tan material, which seemed rather stiff from the last time it had been washed. He understood this was a sign he was to be moved later today.
He asked, in English, “Can you call the American Embassy for me?” The nurse froze for just the barest of moments, but then continued dressing him as if she didn’t understand what he had said. He knew better, but the guard was ever watchful, and he knew she could not respond directly.
After moving the stand into place over his legs, she moved the single bowl from the tray to the stand and quickly left the room. The bowl was not quite the size of his closed fist, and contained a thin, clear rice soup. A brown powder had been sprinkled over the top, but unlike the cinnamon that it reminded him of, this powder had virtually no taste. Neither did the soup, except for a salty aftertaste. He wasn’t very happy, but felt that after having no food for over two days, this was as good a place as any to start eating again.
He quickly finished the small portion, and pushed the stand aside so that he could lie down again. He realized that what was going to see him through this was to have the attitude, “act as if”. If he acted like he had actually chosen this as his path, he would have the right attitude to see any opportunity for growth. He would flow with whatever energy happened to come his way, and as a result, he would suffer less than any other way of behaving. “Acting as if” this was his own making, his resistance to the problems it posed would be minimal and the outcome the best it could be.
He dozed briefly, and was shaken awake by a nurse with a cup of pills. He tried to refuse them, but she clearly was distressed by that gesture. Deciding not to push the matter, he swallowed the handful of colorful tablets in one gulp. At least one of the pills must have been a sedative; he fell asleep again without being aware of being sleepy.
**********
Ron came to work exactly on time, one of the few days he was not at least a few minutes late. It wasn’t due to faster service at the roadside stand where he purchased coffee on the walk into work; it was mainly because he only hit the snooze button twice instead of the usual four times this morning. He actually was eager to be on time, for once; with a citizen possibly missing, his boss would soon be breathing down his neck for answers. He best get started trying to find the right one.
He found 5 messages from Susan on the corner of his desk, and another one, hand scribbled on the back of the Embassy’s bridge club schedule, from Jason. Jason manned the help desk most weekends, and this note was short and to the point: “Call me as soon as you see this” followed by a local cell phone number. With a deep sigh, both to calm himself and to express displeasure at having someone else involved in this problem, he reached for the phone and dialed the number Jason had left. Jason picked up on the first ring, as if waiting for the call.
“What’s so important?”
“I should be asking you what’s not important.” Jason sounded irritated even beyond having to ‘work’ on a day off. “You take a call on Friday about a missing person and then skip for the weekend?”
“Hey, you know as well as I do you can’t get any answers from a Thai jail on the weekend. What was I supposed to do?” Ron didn’t like that Jason was so worked up about this; he might go to Ron’s boss with a complaint. The weekend had been nice, with the new girl from the Cowboy Bar and all, but it hadn’t been so good as to be worth getting yelled at by his boss.
“A heads up for me would have been a good place to start. I get calls all weekend from someone stateside and don’t know what’s going on, you think I like looking like I’m just sitting on my hands here while someone rots in a cell?” Jason obviously needed to vent a little.
“I’m sorry, but the call came in just as I was leaving Friday. I didn’t think she’d call every few hours, all weekend long. I told her it would be days before we had any answers, and we’d call as soon as we knew anything. That should have kept her off your back.” Ron was truly surprised.
“Next time, at least do me the courtesy of letting me know, OK?”
“Sure thing, Jason. Sorry it turned out to be such a problem. I won’t let it happen again.”
Hanging up the phone, Ron reached for the pile of messages from Susan. Each one sounded more hysterical than the last, and the final one was a threat to go over his head if he didn’t call her immediately. Boy, he thought, better get her down off the ceiling before she ruins this gig. There are too many beautiful ladies in Bangkok to get transferred to some backwater post before his tour was normally up.
Quick math told him the time in San Diego was just past 6 pm, still a decent time for a call, so he dialed her number. And of course, got Susan’s voicemail on the first ring. Not realizing that probably meant she was on another call, he left a brief message about not knowing anything yet, and that he’d be sure to call her the instant any information turned up. Hanging up the phone with a smile, relieved at not having to spend long minutes with the hysterical friend of a supposedly missing man, he wandered down the hall to the commissary. This would be a tense day, and he wanted at least one more jolt of caffeine before digging into it.
**********
Susan didn’t realize there had been another call while she had been talking with her mother, but she noticed the signal for a waiting message as she began to dial a friend’s phone moments later. Before completing that call, she picked up the voicemail. After listening to the brief message twice, she read between the lines that nothing had been done to find Derek. She made good on her threat to go over Ron’s head, dialing the Embassy’s switchboard and asking to speak to the head of the department that aids US citizens in trouble. It only took a brief moment of her time to explain why she was so angry, and to receive assurances that the situation would be handled differently beginning immediately. Silently, she gave the Embassy the rest of the day to find answers. If none were forthcoming, she’d go there herself.
**********
Ron was approaching his office from the cafeteria, and saw his boss marching purposefully from the opposite direction. His face grim, Ron’s boss had already seen Ron coming, and appeared headed straight for him. Speaking uncomfortably loud, Ron heard him before they were close enough for a casual conversation. “What the hell are you doing taking the weekend off when someone is in trouble?”
Ron immediately went into damage control mode, and unfortunately, that meant he spoke before collecting his thoughts. “I, I, it isn’t for sure anyone is in trouble. All we have is a report, albeit one from someone who may have no reason to lie to us, but then why not? This could all be some kind of hoax, and we could be…..”
“A hoax? You think this is a hoax?”
Ron stopped and thought for a moment; this wasn’t going well. “Of course I don’t think it’s a hoax, but we must consider that as a slim possibility. It’s just impossible to reach anyone of authority at local jails on the weekend, and there’s no point in driving myself crazy making useless phone calls. Now that it’s Monday morning, I can get right on it.”
“And so you shall. I need a status report by 3 pm, sooner if you find out anything that might be helpful. Don’t drop this ball, Ron.”
“I won’t, Sir.” Ron felt like saluting, but knew that would be taken as sarcasm, and refrained. But he did manage to march right down the hall to his office, double-time. He brought out a binder from the bottom desk drawer, one where he kept notes from previous cases involving local law enforcement, and made a list of the phone numbers for every jail he had called in the past. He had meant to do this before now, but Minesweeper always got the better of him on those quiet afternoons. Now it set him back a good hour when he could little afford the time. Oh well, hopefully the phone calls would yield results quickly. There aren’t that many jails in Bangkok.
**********
Derek awoke as he was being trundled down the hall and into a waiting ambulance. The windows in the rear doors of the vehicle had been crudely painted with brown paint, and so he had no idea where they were going as they left the hospital. The road became progressively worse, and it seemed they had driven for hours, before they bounced through a particularly bad stretch of road and came to a stop. Both front doors opened, letting in a bit more light, and a few seconds later the rear doors opened. Outside, in the glaring noonday sun, stood several sweating, armed guards and the two ambulance attendants. The attendants quickly had his gurney on the ground, unbuckled him, and encouraged him to stand by lifting him by the arms.
Once on his feet, he looked around. They were at least on the outskirts of Bangkok, if not actually in the countryside, as no tall buildings could be seen over the wall of the compound. A wide swath of jungle had been cleared just outside the wall, leaving a space that would be impossible to cross without being seen. The wall was only 5 feet tall, made of concrete blocks and topped with concertina wire. In places, a layer of broken glass glittered in the sun where it had been strewn to further complicate going over the wall.
The attendants stepped away, one began to bundle the gurney back onto the ambulance, and one of the guards prodded Derek with the end of his rifle. Taking the hint, he began to walk on a concrete sidewalk in the direction indicated, towards a cluster of small concrete bunkers. One guard moved to take the lead, and with a glance over his shoulder to make sure he was being followed, moved quickly towards one of the structures close to the wall. A swift look behind him let Derek see there were barracks on the other side of the compound, what appeared to be an administration building to his left, and guard towers on each corner. This looked like a prisoner of war camp right out of some World War II movie.
Just to the left of the bunkers, standing in the shade provided by the only tree within the walls, Derek saw a small man dressed in only a longyi. The longyi is traditional dress for Burmese people, but Thais only wear them if they are being very economical, or are otherwise very poor. As the group approached the last concrete building, the guard in the lead began to fish keys from his pocket. He moved to the door, fit the key in the lock, and swung the door open. Stepping aside, he motioned for Derek to enter.
He had to duck to get through the door, and once inside found the roof to be exactly 6 feet above the concrete floor. He knew this because he was 6 feet one inch tall, and he was just not able to stand completely erect. The walls, ceiling and floor were all of concrete. There were two barred windows, smaller than a laptop screen each, about 5 feet off the ground on either side. The room was 6 feet wide and about 8 feet deep. There was a battered bucket just to the right of the door, which still held some remains of the previous resident’s last toilet stop. Thankfully, it had been long ago and had little foul smell.
The guard closed the door, which clicked as the lock turned in place, and he was left to contemplate the silence that would be his friend for a long time to come.
**********
Ron dialed jail after jail, always presenting himself as an Embassy official in search of Derek Stevenson. Invariably, the person who answered the phone then had to locate the Warden, who then didn’t speak English, and he had to locate some guard who spoke about enough to find the toilet in a restaurant. This would all take between 15 and 35 minutes, and so by lunchtime he had barely called 5 of the 17 jails on his list. This was going to be a long day, he could tell. He called Paul to see he could deliver lunch; only to find out Paul had called in sick today. Ron wondered if he had sprained something over the weekend, during acrobatic sex, or just caught another episode of the Bangkok runs. Paul liked to eat at those stalls you see on Bangkok alleys and streets; goodness only knows what’s being sold there. Ron wouldn’t eat at those places if it were the last food on Earth. He stuck with the American restaurants, the McDonalds and KFCs, Dunkin’ Donuts, 7-11 and Burger King, most of which were clustered in the neighborhood around the Embassy. Like home-away-from-home, Ron told his parents.
Ron stuck his head out into the hall and hailed the next person he saw. He asked for something from the cafeteria, ‘anything as long as it is meat’, fished a few bills from his wallet to more than cover the expected purchase, and went back to working the phones. Of course it was lunchtime at the jails too, the next phone call took over an hour to complete, and ended in disappointment for him.
**********
Samsara. Suffering. That describes life on this planet at this time.
The concept is that we are distracted from our true selves, our ‘Buddha-nature’ if you will, by the problems of our lives and our resistance to those problems. It is the resistance that creates suffering, not the problem. All things change. Either you are enduring something you don’t like, or you are enjoying something you like, that you will inevitably lose. It is how you handle the loss that determines whether you suffer or not. The more you fight it, the more you separate yourself from the ultimate, endless and loving oneness, the more you suffer.
Put another way, in our life pain is built in. You can’t avoid the pain that is caused by change. But suffering is avoidable; you can choose to meet each change with equanimity and calm acceptance. What is there to fear? When you find yourself fearing an outcome or situation, face that fear with curiosity. Ask what this situation has to teach you. Look for those times when you can exceed your comfort zone, as it will stretch you and show you new vistas and perspectives. These new views can then be incorporated into your reality. They teach you how others may see the same situation in a true, yet different, way.
He wanted to begin to treat every emotion as valuable. There is no such thing as a negative emotion, just feelings that evolve and change over time. If you are to include all in your experience, then you must include and incorporate even the darkness in your work. Hence, he had come across recommendations to work on the ‘shadows’ of his psyche, those emotions and processes created and yet disowned because of past experiences. One technique he wanted to use involved identifying problematic emotions, facing them and defining them and finally reclaiming them as valid parts of his makeup. This would remove their power, their ability to interfere with calm action, and allow him to control his behavior. He was tired of just reacting with unconscious intent to every wind of change that blew through his life, living life on ‘auto-pilot’.
He recalled a story, about a monk who had sought enlightenment for many years. Finally, in exasperation, he prepared to find a mountain cave where he could meditate alone and uninterrupted, sure that this plan would lead to his goal. On his way, he met a fellow traveler who also had a large bag of belongings over one shoulder. The traveler asked where he was going, and he told the man of his enlightenment plan. Unbeknownst to him, he had met the Bodhisattva of wisdom, Manjushri. Manjushri suddenly dropped his large bag on the ground with a ‘thud’, and instantly the monk ‘got it’, and was enlightened. He dropped his own personal story, his identity, his ego and it was as if a large weight had just been lifted from his own shoulders. After a short reflection, he asked Manjushri “Now what?” Manjushri picked up his bag again, and continued peacefully down the path.
Even though his goal was much like the monk’s, he intellectually understood that ‘bliss’ or ‘nirvana’ was also another ‘state of consciousness’, and not the goal. He must take what Buddhism refers to as the ‘Middle Path’. He must see reality, as it truly is, being of and among the world, but also be able to see the oneness, the endless ultimate self that lies within everything. Dipping into both aspects would inform his action with wisdom, allow him to act with equanimity in the best way for all, not just himself. Leading by example, blessing others with his powerful yet calm energy, one by one the people in his life would also understand and grow into a similar way of being, and ultimately enlightenment themselves. He had read much recently about the Bodhisattva Vow, a pledge to work on attaining enlightenment for all sentient beings, not just himself. Though he did not remember the exact pledge, he understood the concept, and was sure if he continued to act in a way consistent with this path, knowing the exact words would not stop him from his path of growth here in this Thai jail. And so, on this first evening in what would be his home for months and years to come, he dedicated himself to remember as much as he could about spirit, about being present in each moment, about developing his perspective to include all beings. He promised himself this opportunity to grow would not be wasted.
He would take a few days to learn the rhythm of this new place. He would be patient and see how this school would be structured before setting up his curriculum. For now it is Ok just to wait and see what happens next.
And boy, it’s hot in this box.
**********
Ron got more and more anxious as 3 pm crept closer and he was no nearer an answer for his boss. He began to get angry, at the incompetent jailers who not only didn’t know English, the world’s tongue these days, but also didn’t seem to even know who they had locked up this afternoon. It was taking longer and longer to get a ‘no’ out of each jail he called. Finally he could put it off no longer, he had to report that today had been a failure.
Happily, he pointed out to his boss that is was midnight in San Diego, and even his boss had to agree that it wasn’t the best move to wake Susan with no new information. He could put off that call until tomorrow, one small consolation in an otherwise horrific day. After returning to his office, he began to find more and more jailers had left for the day, and so he wrapped up his calling and still had time to chat up Lisa, the lady in the office down the hall. She hadn’t had the best of weekends, falling asleep on the sand at Patong Beach while her boyfriend spent the afternoon watching Muay Thai boxing. It would be days before she could bend her arms completely, the sunburn on her backside was so bad. Even SPF 30 won’t work forever in this sunshine, he almost said, but didn’t. Instead, he pointed out that not every boyfriend would leave his lady unattended an entire afternoon, hint, hint, wink, wink.
She didn’t seem to get his point, unfortunately.
**********
A cool breeze began to come through the window on the left, and just a few minutes later, the skies opened up and began to dump large amounts of rain all at once. The breeze pushed a little bit of the moisture into the cell, which he welcomed as kind of an impromptu shower. The water was warm, the breeze lowered the temperature by a good 7 degrees C, and the only negative seemed to be that it only lasted a few minutes. The concrete walls still radiated heat from the sunshine they had absorbed before the clouds arrived, the water on the floor quickly evaporated, and the temperature inside the cell was right back where it had been. It got him to wondering, though, if any provision would be made for him to have drinking water. One could dehydrate rather quickly in this hot environment.
He was still pondering that thought when he heard the sound of sandals approaching on the sidewalk. He moved to the wall away from the door, and slowly sat down. The jingle of keys, the scrape of the lock, and the door swung open. A large, muscular man stood in the doorway, holding a black baton in his right hand and tapping his left palm with it, as if impatient.
The man took a step inside, ducking as few Thais would have to do, to clear the doorjamb. He spoke in Thai.
“Speak Thai can?”
“Can little bit” Derek answered, also in Thai.
“And for I, English speak little bit too.”
For a few moments, they each pondered this. Then the jailer again spoke in Thai.
“Every day number 2, shower 10 minutes you can. Every shower number 4, wash clothes 5 minutes you can. They bring food each day 2 times. They clean this (indicating the waste bucket just inside the door) each evening. You (Derek couldn’t understand these words) cannot, you lie cannot, you touch me cannot. You talk with others cannot. Understand do you?”
“Understand. Bring water when?”
“Water for drinking bring each day 2 times with food. Here 20 years you are. Good luck.” The jailer turned and beckoned to someone outside the door. The man Derek had seen under the tree entered, carrying a tray with food and 3 plastic water bottles. As the man set the water bottles next to the bucket, the jailer left the cell. Seen up close, the man appeared to be in his late teens. Derek could hear the shuffle of the jailer’s sandals fade in the distance as the man approached slowly. He seemed afraid of Derek for some reason. While still a few steps away, he crouched and placed the food bowls on the floor. Each bowl was similar in size to the one at the hospital this morning. One bowl had rice, with what appeared to be two bits of carrot on top; more for appearance than nutritional value they were so small. One had a clear broth with 3 pieces of cabbage floating in it. The last one had what seemed to be a weed that had been steamed. Derek had seen this served in some restaurants along with a particularly spicy curry, but had never tried it and didn’t know what it was called. The man slid the three bowls towards Derek, but turned away before Derek could reach out to them. Derek, who had been studying the man’s face intently, said in Thai, “You name what?”
The man whirled back around to face him, a look of panic on his face. His eyes darted between Derek and the door, more towards the door, until it became obvious no one was going to burst through and beat the daylights out of him. Still, he did not answer. He picked up the bucket and stepped through the door, closing it behind him. Derek heard a key in the lock, then the sandals shuffling away.
He quickly began to eat, not because he was hungry, but because he didn’t know how long the man would be gone on bucket duty. Derek ate 2/3rds of each item, leaving the rest in each bowl. The weed tasted awful, he had trouble getting 2/3rds of it down, but figured at this point he was not wise to turn away any nutrition. Especially with what he had in mind.
The man returned with a clean bucket after about 7 minutes, near as Derek could tell. As he stepped into the cell, Derek asked again, “You name what?”
This time, without so much fear, the man looked quickly around, then in a voice barely more than a whisper, said “Neung”.
The Thai word for the number ‘1’, ‘Neung’ is a popular nickname for both men and women. Derek pointed at the bowls in front of him, and mimed eating from a bowl held close to his mouth. “Give you” he said.
The change in Neung’s demeanor was electric. With a smile on his face, he fell to eating so quickly he almost spilled the soup. He finished almost before Derek could say “Hungry are you?”
Neung nodded once in response to the question, wiped his mouth with his hand (which he then wiped on his longyi) and began to pick up the bowls. He glanced at Derek twice, with a blank expression each time, as if trying to decide if he should say thank you or not. He backed to the door once the dishes were collected, paused on the threshold, then turned and quickly shut the door without a word. Still Derek was pleased. He had been generous, and it had not gone unnoticed, even if unremarked.
Derek took his time getting up, and moved to the water bottles. These would be his friends, he knew for a fact.