Touched

I know this story is true because it was told to me by both the principals several years apart with no prompting by myself. Well, I say no prompting but I have always been a prompter; not in a demanding way but as a listener when someone has had something to say worth listening to. I have a friend whom I will call Harry, not because that’s his name but because he once had a business, one of many, called Harry’s which was one of the few that never worked out successfully. This story concerns a business venture of his that was moderately successful, but like most ventures in Thailand by foreigners was more of a hobby than a desire to make serious money.

Harry discovered Thailand at a relatively young age; short and over weight, the kindest way to describe him was that he was socially clumsy and women reduced him to a stuttering, faux pas dropping, state of embarrassment. Thailand was holiday heaven to Harry and he didn’t mind dropping a few dollars to impress young ladies easily impressed by dropped dollars. Early in the piece he was convinced by an American to invest in a run down Bangkok hotel near the “entertainment” area that could be turned into a goldmine with a little judicious addition of funds. Harry arrived several months later to inspect his investment only to view a vacant block; the hotel, the American and the funds had disappeared.

Smarting, he foreswore further investments of this nature but after a decade or two he was offered something in the same area that suited him very well. Much wiser in the ways of the world he had developed a strong dislike of parting with his hard earned money to those he considered unworthy recipients. These included the desperate young men who assaulted his shops with knives, plastic guns and blood filled syringes as well as the tied and suited gentlemen from the Department of Taxation. Subsequently his lonely bed was several feet off the ground; raised up by illegal weapons to repel armed thieves and bundles of untaxed dollars.

Harry was offered a legitimate investment in a Bangkok hotel by a close friend and after some thought decided to take up the offer. It was an ideal way to dispose of some of the cash mouldering under his bed so he turned to a man working for him whom I will call Castro. Once again it was not his name but he had some right to it as many years before he had worked with me on the docks where that name had been bestowed on him by waterside workers who dearly love a good nickname. I make no claim to ever having been a wharfy but was working at the time in the timber importing industry and raised a glass with Castro on many occasions after, and sometimes during, working hours. He was called Castro as at the time he sported a tangled beard and hair to his waist with a natty baseball cap and an attitude that was on the wrong side of Socialist. He resembled Harry physically but the resemblance stopped there. Castro had worked as a roadie for a successful American rock group, he had lived in France, and he had soft brown eyes and a gentle tone of voice that reduced women’s legs to jelly. So the Lord of all under Heaven distributes his bounty.

Castro had some holidays coming and was heading for foreign parts with a nubile young woman so Harry approached him with an offer to subsidise the trip if he would make a detour to Bangkok with a briefcase containing forty thousand dollars in cash. Understandably reluctant he however agreed feeling the need to keep on the right side of his employer. From the start things went wrong, a large angry man followed them to the airport claiming some sort of legal precedence over the nubile young woman, her bags were over weight and her belongings had to be redistributed amongst his; then, in an uncharacteristic moment of misjudgement he ate the airline food and spent most of the flight in the toilet. Landing at Don Muang Airport, some what frayed around the edges, he found himself asked a few impolite questions at immigration and replying ungraciously was taken to the office to explain himself. Upon release he found his uncollected luggage had gone to another office which he attended to collect it and four or five hours after landing headed gratefully for the shower in his Bangkok hotel room. As he reached for the tap a thought struck him that left him almost disabled. He had left the briefcase full of cash at the airport.

Any normal person would be deeply shocked at such a thing but any normal person does not work for Harry. The least he could expect would be several decades of unpaid overtime but there was a very real chance of a visit from Louie the Legbreaker, an outwardly genial Croatian door man working at the night club of one of Harry’s business associates. There was also a good chance Harry would not believe his story so, bare footed, Castro ran into the filthy Sukhumvit street, ignoring the inquiring cries of his girlfriend, and hailed a taxi. He told me later that he was so disorientated that he cried with relief at finding the Airport still open, rushed in and headed for the management offices. He is still unsure who he saw but says he was sternly lead to the uncollected luggage office where a teenage girl whom he remembered snarling at during his earlier visit handed him the still intact bag of money he had left on the counter before storming out.

The official then turned to him and spoke accordingly. “Do you realise how many years’ wages this money represents to this girl?” Castro did. “Maybe you should reconsider your opinion of the public servants of this country” and walked out. Castro said to me, “I opened the bag and hauled out several thousand dollars, forcing it upon the girl who reluctantly accepted it; I would make it up to Harry later. As I left she said something about the staff Christmas party and as I went out of the door into the corridor I saw what seemed like several hundred uniformed people lined along the walls with polite smiles on their faces; they were all the airport staff with no urgent duties to attend to. Wondering I walked through their ranks and as I passed them every one of them put out a hand and touched me”.

© Julian. All rights reserved by the author.