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.”