osmoala

 

CALLED BACK - The Inscription on Emely Dickinson’s tombstone

Zarah, Gerry and I had a few beers in my apartment on Friday afternoon. They had bought me a present, a pair of loudspeakers for my computer, so we connected them and now I could hear the full range of the music including the bass. I thought it was wonderful.    

   “Thanks a lot,” I said, “what a difference!” 

   “Glad you like them,” Zarah said. Gerry said, “You’ve got a disco here.” He was right, the lights on the speakers were changing with the beat.

   Zarah was a former nurse from Sweden and Gerry was a professional poker player from the UK. When Gerry went to the bathroom or to buy more beers Zarah and I switched to Swedish and Gerry was back and he imitated our conversation because he didn’t understand a word and it sounded like the two Swedish chefs in The Muppet Show.

   “Have you ever tasted Vegemite?” I asked Zarah. 

   "No, what is it?” 

   “I hate Vegemite,” said Gerry.

   “Vegemite is made of barley, fermented with yeast, and it’s an acquired taste of course because it’s like nothing you have tried before. In Australia we used to have it on toast all the time. It’s going to explode like a hand grenade in your mouth.” 

   She took the spoonful and kept a straight face. “Hmmm, interesting,” she said diplomatically.

Jade walked in at seven, just in time for a quick beer so she and I could get a tuk tuk to Star Bar. “I’m scared of going there,” I protested mildly and not very successfully because we were there twenty minutes later.

   

The house was packed and everybody in the music business was there, they came from here and there and everywhere. So many familiar faces in one and the same place and these people were professionals. They went up onstage, sang and played and then the next band was on. Brian was waiting to go up next. We hugged and I kissed him on the cheek,    

   “This is from Kate”. Brian laughed. He looked fresh, like always. He went up onstage and did a few numbers. 

   I talked to Louise, a long legged, slim brunette with a smile that could melt a rock. 

   “How do you know Brian?” I asked.

   “I’m his makeup artist.”

   “He doesn’t seem to be wearing any make up.”

   “Tricks of the trade,” she said with a laugh.

   “I don’t think we have met before.”

   “I live in Phnom Penh.” She tapped me on the shoulder and walked away to get Brian ready for the next act and when he was back on the stage he kicked off Sympathy for the Devil. “So you painted his face green to make him look like the devil? It’s working.”

   “Yes, but the eyebrows are his own.” Louise laughed and gave me a high five. I loved her there for a little while, and when she passed by my table I said, Thanks.”

   “For what?”

   “For the make up.” 

 

There were the artists who played on all the scenes in Siem Reap, Phnom Penh and Kampot - Sage, Paul, Julien, Andy, Virgil, Leo, Kevin, Cesar, Giuliano, all the rest, and of course Brian -  Brian who totally rocked the house. His artist name was Brin and this Rockestra was titled Life of Brin, a totally fantastic and the best show ever here in Siem Reap. Where was Jade?

   She stood at the back, by the pool chatting with Rob who had a large ice box full of beer. I hadn’t seen Rob for a while.

   “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

   “I work on an oil rig for a month at a time and then I come here for a month. Back and forth.” His local wife stood next to him and smiled happily. Everybody smiled happily tonight, on this the most sensitive, enthusiastic, well orchestrated, heartwarming evening.  

 

Later, when Jade and I crossed the river on the wooden bridge on our way back to Sok San Road I said it was the most amazing night.

   “Yes,” she said. “What a way to go.”

    

 

 

Last night I dreamed of Annie. We had an invitation to a wedding in Kensington Gardens and now in a hotel room in London we were getting dressed for the occasion. We were in high spirits, she looked at me with a happy smile and burst out laughing at some silly joke. Her lovely face, so full of life so close to mine. She was still there like a fading echo when I woke up… And now she was dead. 

   

 

I felt gloomy. The phone showed the time was five past six in the morning. All of a sudden a funeral started nearby with monks chanting prayers coming out from loudspeakers turned up to eleven and now you knew it would go on for the next three days. But what did it matter, Annie was gone for reasons I would probably never understand. She passed away a year ago. That’s all I know. I had read about it on Facebook, with the tearful comments and the arrangements for the funeral back in the UK. And I felt gloomy. So I tried to cheer myself up every way possible. 

 

I was playing with Chris, the Belgian guy, in his house and it was always blues. He made sausages which he sold to the restaurants around, Rock Around the Clock and Bella’s, where Henk used to buy from him too.

   “I haven’t played for a long time so my fingers feel like the spicy sausages you keep hanging there to dry on the rack. I like your kitchen - it’s a big kitchen and it’s the centre of the house because the other rooms revolve around the cooking place”. 

   “When this new batch has dried I will give you one to try,” he said in the Belgian accent that made him sound like a nazi officer in a movie about the second world war. He was in his seventies and he was timid and soft spoken and gentle about his views of the world. He looked like a butler in the British aristocracy. He had respect for all people in an almost Buddha like way and his dog, Toby, was always around. He barked at me a few times but then he grew tired of it. 

   “How old is he?” I asked about the dog who could be a crossbreed between a greyhound and a fox. 

   “One year. I thought he would stay small but then he grew and grew, hahaha.” 

   Chris’ son went back to Brussels two days ago and his local girlfriend was away somewhere. We played the blues on the guitars and the sausages were drying in the next room. 

 

I was in my new room and the phone rang. It was Jade.

   “Right, see you in twenty”, she said.

   “Oh, look at this big room!” She took a stride on the floor which was made up of tiles so the floor was always a little bit cold and a pleasure to walk on.

   We opened beers and I put music on Youtube. Sultans of Swing was the second from the top. Why? I never played it so I had no idea.

   “Why is Sultans of Swing at the top of my YouTube list?” I never play it.”

   “Because of algorithms.”

   “I know, but still - every bar on Sok San Road always plays it sooner or later - is that an algorithm too?”

   “Yeah, probably. They play it everywhere.” She smiled and raised her can. “Here’s cheers to music.” She didn’t take me seriously so when we clinked cans I said, 

   “Do you want to listen to the best disco song in the world?”

   “Sure, let’s hear it.” I put ELO on the Last Train to London.

   We had known each other for years. You know the girl that always reminds me of Jennifer Jason Leigh, and she was in a happier mood now compared to when I first met her in Karma Bar years ago after her serious motorcycle accident, and when I tried to talk to her she told me to shut up.

 

We had a few beers talking about this and that. She told me of her plans to go to Portugal to live at her brother’s house. And then Mexico. And Colombia.

   “The world seems to be changing.”

   “I know and I hate it.”

   She was not happy about the way covid-19 had changed her life.

   “I lived in Nice for years and I had everything. Now I have nothing. And I spent five and a half months in Koh Rong in lockdown, we couldn’t get anywhere.” 

   “How was it?”

   “It wasn’t so bad. Everybody was stranded on that island but we took care of each other. We supported each other.”

   “Like a community?”

   “It wasn’t a community, but we saw if there was somebody who couldn’t take it and we would be there. And there were those who couldn’t take it, believe me.”

   “Okay. I suppose you could take it.”

   “I did. I was fine. But not everybody was.”

   “You’ve seen all the episodes of Survivor. Did that help?”

   “Hahahaha, maybe it did. And I’m not used to eating a lot anyway, so it was okay. Sometimes a boat would come and deliver some food to us. We had to walk out to the water to get the packages because they refused to go onshore.”

   “Did you have some … cases?”

   “No. It was crazy, the whole setup. There were no cases. Maybe one, but he developed a fever so there was a boat that took him to the mainland, but it could have been anything.”

   “How much does the winner of Survivor get?”

   “A million dollars. Let’s talk about something else. Can we have another beer before we go?”

   “You know it.”

   “So, are you still in contact with the guys you know from third grade?”

   “Yeah … We met in Copenhagen last year in June. Lovely town, lovely guys. Last night in a restaurant I got so drunk I mistook the closet for the bathroom.”

   “So, that’s why you are taking those?” she said and pointed at the pills on the table. According to her I had a whole table with tablets but they were minerals and vitamins.

   “Yes, Cialis. For the prostate. I take 5mg every day, and it’s said to shrink the prostate. 

   “Does it?”

   “Maybe. I don’t have to go and take a leak all of a sudden anymore where I would piss in the nearest scrub.

   “Good. Cheers.” The beers were cold and we went out on the balcony to smoke a cigarette. It was hot outside. There was traffic and the shops were open. Tuk tuk drivers drove all night and the shopkeepers had a room at the back with the whole family tucked up. 

 

We walked upstreams to Bella’s and I told her about my magical stuff - how I could detect a winner inside the can before opening the can itself. Sometimes when you opened a can the tab would promise you a beer. Or ten dollars. Or two hundred dollars. Or a scooter.

   “I saw it the other night.” 

   “Well, It’s a lousy superpower - I would rather be able to fly or travel in time.”

   “Yeah, I’m sure you would.” 

   

 

We sat down on the comfortable leather seats near the entrance. There was not really an entrance - the entrance was the fourth wall as they like to put it in the world of the theatre and people passing by could see everything that happened inside, with people sitting along the long bar, playing pool or just relaxing at the tables with drinks. It was a popular bar and Henk was the manager. A nice fellow always in a happy mood telling stories and he was probably the reason why so many people came to the bar all the time, the usual suspects of course. There were people around the table and one of the lovely waitresses handed me a can of cold beer. “This is a winner,” I said. Now everybody was looking. I opened the can of Cambodia and showed the tap around the table. It was a winner. 

   

 

There was a pool table at the far end and when I played Mini and Peter I won every game. I guess I was on the rampage there for an hour. Peter was Dutch, wearing a baseball cap with blond hair and he spoke as good English as all Dutch people do. There was music from YouTube on the loudspeakers. The next song was Sultans of Swing. Peter said,

   “There must be more behind this - the food shortage and now they are closing down all the farms in the Netherlands. Why do you do that when people are going to starve because of a proxy war, electricity bills are skyrocketing. Gas prices… The politicians don’t seem to care about their own voters anymore, and that’s a threat to the idea of democracy itself.”

   We went to eat at King Kong. Prim, the manager, was welcoming us with open hands, maybe because I already had a tab here. We sat down, ordered beers and looked at the menu. I got the one in Khmer but it was all Greek to me. Got the English version and ordered the best cheeseburger with fries in a while. Peter had fries, “It’s made of potato flour”.

   I wasn’t sure - the fries were perfectly shaped, with ribs and edges and an aftertaste that made you order another beer.

   “Potato flour?”

   “Potato flour”. 

   “Yes. They might still be better than the insects and bugs you will be eating in the future.” I forgot to ask him how they could shape the perfectly formed fries but let it be a mystery. Surely there was a machine for it. It was good to see Peter again and Mini was on her phone sipping Baileys with ice through a straw. Peter said,

   “The first night I came here I had five beers and was hungover the next day. Tonight I had a few more.”

   “Anyway, you might be safer here than in Europe if hell breaks loose. The hangover will be your worst problem here. You know they are mobilising in Europe?

   “Who?”

   “Don’t know … NATO? Anyway - Sweden wants to join. There should be an election about it but people are overrun by the politicians. And some other shady characters. And there is the threat of the atomic bomb.”

   Yes. And I hope of course it doesn’t have to go that far. However - I like conspiracy theories as much as the next guy,” Peter said. He patted me on the shoulder, “And here’s the next guy.”

   “So - what is the difference between a conspiracy theory and the truth?”

   “Okay…”

   “Six months.”

  

 

I used to take my walks on the river. Families driving around with their small kids standing in the front of the scooter all the time and everywhere. Except for the river. The police were standing there everyday now so nobody without a helmet or a kid in their lap would drive there anyway - most of the law breakers seemed to be high school kids with the officers calling their parents asking for money to pay for the ticket. 

 

I kept the balcony door facing Sok San Road open and the kitchen window was open too with the mosquito net stopping bugs from flying in. There was a pool with sunbeds in the garden like a jungle, trees and bushes with huge leaves that the landlord, landlady, and the son looked after every day. The room was big enough to keep four African elephants and you would still be able to move around. 

   

   One day after the gym I had a shower and went out on the balcony with a small towel wrapped around my waist. A sudden gust of wind slammed the door closed and the hook fell down and the door was locked from the inside. It took me two roofs to climb over to the kitchen window where I could easily open the mosquito net. 

   This is never going to happen again. Next time I’m going to wear more clothes.   

 

Then Kate flew into Siem Reap. We got drunk in the evening, a mission that would last until the next day. We hadn’t met for two and a half years. She said,

   “Do you think I look the same as last time?”

   I looked her over and said, “Yes”. That was a big mistake. She obviously thought that everyone had the same perception of her body as she had. “I know - you lost five kilos.” She was still not happy but I knew the remedy for that, more booze.

   Now she was lying down in a soundless sleep. She looked, if not innocent yet temporarily disarmed. We’d had a few laughs that came with the beers and some Jagermaister, and to my surprise she all of a sudden said, 

   “Do you want a punch on the face?”

   “What?”

   “Do you want me to hit you in the face or not?”

   “No thanks.”

   It was a delicate situation. What was she talking about?

   “What are you talking about?”

   “I just asked you if you want a punch on the face?”

   “How about a Jagermaister?”

   “Okay. It was just a joke, hahahaha!”

   Sometimes I get lost in translation.

   

We were sitting in Big Bang Bar and we were the only customers here, Kate, I and some guy in a corner who looked like he was waiting for the train. There was a pool table and comfortable sofas. It was a 24 hours open bar but it had been open for years, hahahaha.  

   The shots came and we had a chat like the weather channel, sometimes temperatures rising and westerly winds come and go. Some turbulence might arise but only if you were flying a plane at high altitude. 

 

Now she was asleep. She moved and got up, went to the bathroom and when I came back from the balcony she was back in bed with a cover over her since it was cooler now because the AC was set on super cold. 

 

The two helicopters in the sky circling the town for two days were gone. Khmer Times wrote, “There would be a meeting between the Chinese Defense minister Gen. Wei Fenghe and US Secretary of Defense, Lloyd J.Austin III, which would lead to regional and global stability.” 

   

I took another walk on the river and The King’s summer residence was heavily guarded by the police carrying machine guns. The cops looked relaxed so the hot shots might not be here yet. And there were still some poor and homeless people sleeping on the benches along the water.

 

I had a draft with Toby at Aroi Dee. I had the draft, he was slowly sipping on one of those strawberry shakes. Toby was the Danish guy from years back. He had not been here for two and a half years. We were talking about something, what was it? Yes,

   “Do you pick up these girls now and then?” he said.

   “No.”

   “Why not? Some of them are really pretty.”

   “Because I would like them to have a PhD so we could talk.” 

   “Hahahahaha! You don’t talk to them.”

   “I haven’t had a date with these local girls in years. They have all been Western…”

   “Yeah yeah - for me the Western girls are spoiled and self centred. You do what you do and then you're finished. I wish they had a brothel here.”

 

Out on the balcony you could see Sok San. There was the neverending traffic of scooters, tuk tuks, some heavy bikes and women selling fruits or clothes from shops on wheels.     

   There was a spider in my bathroom above the toilet seat with long legs and a body the size of a grain of rice, but I could see the body grow day by day. I caught him a fly now and then, threw it into the web and watched the spider get into the act. It spun the web around the prey to trap it properly and then sucked everything that was worth sucking out of the delicious meal. When done it dropped the remains into the toilet bowl. It was all very practical. I called the eight legged creature Frank the Kid.

   But Kate told me that it was probably a female. “Maybe better call her Fransesca.”

   Then Franscesca disappeared for a day. When she was back she was thinner than ever. 

   

 

What has all this to do with the title of the text? Well, it is a story by Robert A. Heinlein about a man with a cat. Every winter the cat makes the man open all the exits from the house hoping to find The Door Into Summer. I was finally back in the tropics after spending a long cold dark and gloomy winter in the snow belt. I don’t know, but maybe there is a metaphor somewhere there. 

 

One evening I took a walk on Sok San and met Jesse in a bar. We had drinks and he told me his story.

   

 

The first time Jesse ran away from home he was three years old. He ran over to his grandma because his mother was constantly high or low on pills and his father who was half gypsy was drunk most of the time. Later Jesse did it again and again until he was sixteen when he finally moved out and left his parents to seek his own fortune. 

   A few years later he was working as a mercenary in different countries in Africa.

   “Do you miss your parents?”

   “No, I can’t say I miss them. I remember them, yes. But I don’t miss them.”

   I asked him about his Africa years and he said he was training soldiers in paramilitary groups. He showed me photos and clips on his phone to back up his story, and there were the local guys happily shooting away with semi automatic weapons at random targets.

   “Did you kill anyone?”

   “Yes, in the military I killed a lot of people, but never in private.” 

   He was an interesting guy to talk to, always in a good mood with a welcoming smile whenever I met him. 

   “It must be a change living here”, I said.

   “Yes. But there are days when I could easily pick up the keys to my bike and just drive away.”

   “From?”

   “Everything. But it’s not important - I’m happy here but I always need to know I have an option.” 

   “Mee too.”

   He laughed and we clinked glasses.

 

Jade slept almost all day. But why was she wearing her glasses while sleeping? So the dreams … don’t get me started on that one.

   I went downstairs and bought some coffee for her and a six pack for me. She drank half of the coffee and went back to sleep again. She was going to see the new Indiana Jones at the cinema. I had seen almost an hour on the computer and said that the first 20 minutes are great, “I can show you.”

   “No thanks.” I did it anyway and she couldn’t keep her eyes from the action. But, I’m sad to say - somebody killed James Bond, Avatar and now Indiana Jones. I did not say that. And she would probably love the movie anyway so no harm done.

 

She woke up, had another coffee and cancelled her plans for today. There was a light storm passing by for a while and it rained and the sun was burning. “Look,” I said, “sun and rain at the same time, very practical…”

   “Yes,” she said. “Ever heard of Spock?”

   “Of course.”

   She introduced me to the salute of a “V”, and we watched Star Trek IV,  where captain Kirk and commander Spock travel back in time to the 80s San Francisco. The Holodeck appears in the next generation of the Star Trek franchise but here the characters are there for real. They discover a pair of humpback whales they want to bring back to the future and there are twists and turns. Does it sound like a complicated plot? Jade didn’t think so. 

   “Fascinating,” I said.

   “Yes. You don’t know anything about the Star Trek World, do you?”

 

She lectured me about the Holodeck for a little while. I already knew something about the places, the future or the past, that are possible to create inside of this room which expands as you walk across it. It’s at least as big as the starship itself and its technology is thousands of years into the future where the Enterprise is sailing through the universe, sometimes at warp speed. Jade had watched every episode and every movie and I had only seen a few. 

   Now it was dark outside. But we had all the time in the world. 

   “Are we hungry? How about we go to King Kong? The kitchen is open till 5am.”

   “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”