Thailand: Jaidee

  Greetings from Phuket! It was the wildest of hairs. In the wake (literally) of the tsunami, I took advantage of the amazing rates and booked a week at this world class gay resort. Actually, I'm staying in Patong which is on the west side of the isthmus, just a short drive to the east side and Phuket. Phuket is a city . . . and also an island. The city is ripe with gay nightlife and fun . . . and I've been there several times already. In fact, when I grow tired of the glamorous sun and the pristine white beaches, I may just relocate over there and find a good gutter to occupy.

I don't know, though . . . my house boy here, Jaidee has been so . . . accommodating . . . that I may just stay for awhile. It's funny. When he introduced himself, I was sure he said his name was J.D. -- like my initials. It wasn't until he took my pen and wrote his name, letter by letter on a sheet of paper that I realized that his name was 'Jaidee.'

He is a delightful man -- yes, a fully grown man, not one of the popular boy-whores who prowl Thailand. Jaidee is 28 and has a university education. He works at the resort specifically to polish his English. His goal is to someday move to America and get into the movies. His heroes are Sylvester Stallone and Brad Pitt, but he's, frankly closer to William Hung. No, that's not fair; in fact it's a little piggie and racist of me, I think. William let us laugh at him the whole way to the bank . . . pretty smart, I'd say. And Jaidee is as beautiful as . . . well, all I can think of is a Filipino family I know that is absolutely bursting with gorgeous women. It's almost alarming. Every one of them is a complete knockout, and best of all, they're all smart and confident and . . . I    digress. Jaidee is the same kind of beautiful: that creamy velvet skin, the clear bright eyes and shiny black hair. . . like a cat he is, a beautiful black cat.

'Jaidee,' I said the other day, 'Why do you do this?'

'I tell you already, Mr. Jazz,' he answered, continuing to dust the leaves of the small plant that accents the living room of my bungalow. 'I work on my English so I can go to Hollywood.'

'No; I know that,' I answered. I reached out and took his free hand to distract him from his task. ' But, why do you do this?' I said gesturing to the room around us. 'Why do you work here, taking care of tourists, sleeping with strangers you'll never see again.'

'Hey,' he snapped, 'It pay the rent.'

'Oh, Jaidee, you misunderstand,' I backpedaled. 'I'm not judging you . . . how could I? I'm one of those strangers.' Of course, I know I'm not one of them; I will stay in touch, or try to. I'm not into shedding people I spend days with as if they never existed. 'I'm just interested . . . what brought you to this place?'

'My family came to this place from the countryside,' he began. 'The drought left us nothing to eat. We had nowhere else to go, so we took what we carried and came here.'

'Your family?'

'Yes, my father and mother and my sisters and brothers and my uncle's family, too. We lived on the street and begged for handouts from the other people -- who had not much more than we did -- and from the tourists, the Americans and Australians.'

'You lived on the street?' I was trying to get the picture. 'Where did you sleep?'

'My mother made a hut for us out of straw, sticks and a couple of mats. She built it in a nook in a wall and we stayed there.' Jaidee had returned to his dusting, but his gaze remained fixed on whatever was before him, lost in the memory of the picture I wanted to see. 'My father and uncle went out every day looking for work . . . but we always did better when we all went out and begged. Most days we could get enough to feed us for that day.'

I tried to picture Jaidee as a dirty faced ragged street boy with his hand out. It seemed so incongruous. this man was clean, neatly dressed, even elegant in his way. He carried himself with a pride and confidence that could not have grown in the environment. 'Did you beg, too?'

'Yes, we all did. And then one day, my cousin and I were in the lane trying to get a few coins from the people there. Two American men came up to us and gave us each some small change. One of the men spoke a little Thai and in time made us understand that they had more money for us if we would go with them.'

'Oh, no,' I reacted. 'How old were you?'

'About ten, I think.'

'Well, I can imagine what happened,' the picture was no longer something I wanted to see. 'I'm very sorry.'

'Oh no, Mr. Jazz.. . don't be sorry for me.' Jaidee had turned to face me and had turned rather animated. 'My cousin and I learned that we could make a great deal of money being nice to he rich tourists. In time we were supporting the family.'

'Did they know what you were doing?' I asked.

'No; what I mean is that we didn't talk about it. My father and mother didn't ask where the money came from. But I think they knew.'

'So, how long did you do this?'

'When I was 16, I met a man, a Thai man, who took me in. He had a house in the town and I lived with him there. He became my -- how do you say -- my manager.'

Manager was what he said, but what I heard was pimp -- a cultural bias on my part, I'm sure. The tale was turning seamier and seamier. The more I heard, the less like the person in the story Jaidee seemed. It was as if he was telling me the story of a neighbor or friend.   

'He was very good to me. He taught me how to read and showed me how to behave in public. By the time I was 20, I was taking the entrance examination for the University.'

'Good for you,' I said, impressed with his drive and focus. 'So I guess you quit sleeping with tourists?'

'No . . . but I slowed down so I could study. I still had to pay for school and I had to eat . . . so I did what I needed to do.'

'Where were your family through all of this?'

'My mother died first, then my father took ill. And one by one the children, my brothers and sisters disappeared.'

'What do you mean, disappeared?'

'They went out to beg and never came back.'

'Huh?'

'This is common here. They probably were taken in by a kind man with needs . . . just as I had been.'

'Did you try to find them?'

'No,' he turned his head to the side. 'Why? Do you think my role should be to find and reunite my family so we can starve on the street?'

His sudden flash of anger surprised me. Apparently the thought had been the source of some sleepless angst for him. I started to back track and go another direction when he said, 'Mr. Jazz, You are an American. I am Thai. You are rich. I am poor. You play with your life. I work to make mine better. This is not some American television show where the family is reunited over dinner. This is my world where the best chance you may have is to become the property of another.'

HIs voice had begun to tremble as his words built to their climax. Property. That's how he saw himself. How his sisters and brothers -- wherever they were -- saw themselves. And to be property -- well cared for property -- was a blessing. The gulf between us gaped before me. Since I arrived in Thailand, I had been swept along on the rarely interrupted fantasy of the brotherhood of man, the equality of all, the sameness of us. And here was reality staring me in the face: I possess god-like wealth and power compared to Jaidee and his family. I have the ability to buy and sell them for little more than I'd pay for a deluxe meal at the Dairy Queen. The kind of servitude he spoke of would be a blessing in some circumstances. I am humbled.

'Yes, Jaidee,' I said. 'You are right. I understand . . . no, I can't understand. But I see what you're saying. I'm sorry. Go on. You went to University . . . and how did you end up here?'

'In my final month of University, a terrible thing happened.' He took a step to his right then two to his left and fell into the chair across from mine. I was a little amazed at that event in itself -- he seemed to be committed to doing his housework through our conversation.

"What happened?'

'My manager was murdered.' So there was another side to property and ownership. He turned his face away from me and held his chin in his hand for a moment as if trying to suppress the emotion of the moment. I sat stunned and silent, wanting to ask to encourage, but unable to do anything but wait for the explanation.

'He'd taken on a new boy -- a 15 year old of great beauty and some reputation. The boy had become angry with his own manager and came to our house one night asking to be part of our family. My manager saw an opportunity -- not only to benefit from this new young beauty, but also to put his hand into his rival's business. The next day, he arranged a meeting for the boy with a new customer. In the afternoon the sound of the boy's screams filled our house. I was in my sleeping quarters and ran to the window to see what was happening. Outside, just beyond the gate to our courtyard, the new boy was being held by his former manager. The man had a sharp knife against the boy's throat and now and again he would drag the blade ever so slightly, but enough to cut the boy and make him scream.' Jaidee's eyes had begun to grow large with the memory. I rose and moved over to him, pulling an ottoman up so that I could put my hands on his knees as he continued.

'I watched and saw my own manager, who I had come to love as a father, burst from the gate. The man held the boy tight and pulled the knife into his neck. The boy's scream was cut and he fell to the street bleeding. Without hesitation, the man turned to face my manager who was charging and met him with the full force of his knife in his stomach. My manager bent in two. I saw him look up to the other man with shock on his face. He held up one hand and then collapsed on the boy in the street. The man dropped his knife on him and turned aside, walking casually away.'

'Did they catch him?'

'No; that's not the way in such matters.'

'What do you mean, not the way? Surely other people saw what happened? Two men dead?'

'Yes, but these men were not wealthy politicians or merchants. They were a whore and his manager. These things happen as a matter of course and life continues as it always has.'

'So, nothing was done to the man who committed these crimes?'

'No; he returned to his house and his own boys and continued to do well in that part of the city.' Jaidee took a glance at me and a thin smile crept onto his lips. 'Don't look so shocked, Mr. Jazz!' he cooed. 'This is life on my side of the ocean.'

'Yes,' I said. 'But what did you do?'

'I had to leave the house.'

'Why?'

'When news of my manager's death reached the mayor, he sent his guards to seize the house and all it's contents. I was pulled from my room and cast to the street. The gate was locked and I was not allowed inside.'

'Oh, my god . . . you were . . . back were you started?'

'Yes, with one month of University left to go. I wandered the streets that first night, just walking and thinking. As the sun rose the next morning, I decided that the most important thing for me to do was to graduate University. University would be my freedom, my transport to America, to a new life.'

There was a pleading quality about Jaidee, now, as if he were trying to convince me of some strange Thai truth. I let the resonance of his words dim and die in the room and sat with him in the silence of the moment. It was late afternoon and the light had turned golden in my living room.

'So, where did you go?' I asked.

'I went to the University. I went from building to building and finally found an unlocked transom that lead to a basement beneath a chapel. I force it open and took refuge in the place. I knew if the man who killed my manager found me, I might suffer a similar fate.'

'He'd have killed you too?'

'Oh, yes. I had taken business from him for years. Even some of his regulars had started to come to me.'

'So you're hiding out . . . .how did you manage to finish University?'

'I was able to get a message to my dear fiend, Toc. I told him where I was and when to come to me. We arranged for him to attend my classes in my place and bring the work to me in the basement. There I studied and completed my tasks. On the last day, I came out. I went to my classes and took my exams. And then went to Toc's house where he prepared a safe place for me to wait for my marks.'

'You sound like Ann Frank, ' I offered feebly.

'Who?' he asked.

'No one . . . please . . . go on.'

'As I waited in my friend's house, a most remarkable thing happened.' He was leaning in close to me now, excitement pulling at his cheeks. 'The father of the boy the man had killed came into town from the country. He had heard what had happened to his son and he was set on revenge. He sought out the man and made as if he were looking to buy a boy for the evening. The man took him to his house to see the boys there. Once inside, and left alone in a parlor, the old man went about setting fire to the house. When the man and his boys, having seen the smoke, rushed in, he laid hold of the man and wrestled him to the floor. He held him tight in his grip as the flames rose and grew ever stronger. 'This is for my son, Toc,' he cried as he clutched the man to him on the floor. The flames and smoke rose ever stronger and became so hot nobody could get inside. By morning, the fire had consumed all it could and returned to the earth. There, in the courtyard, two dark figures were found, unrecognizable, but clearly in an embrace.'

'My god.' I was lost in the vision of that day, that moment. Jaidee leaned back in his chair. He seemed to drift off in his own thought for a minute. 'So . . . what did you do?' I asked.

'That's easy: I quit hiding.' He raised his shoulders in a shrug. 'Three was no need.'

'So you came here?'

'Eventually. But first i returned to the village of my birth.'

'Oh . . . back where your family lived before the drought?'

'Yes, to the country. My father had promised me in marriage to a girl on the next farm and I had to respect his wishes. I returned to my home and sought the girl he had chosen for me.'

'Wait, wait, wait,' I said, pushing my hands out before me. For ten years you have been . . . the sex toy of . . . men, and you return home to marry . . . a woman?'

'Yes. Why is that so difficult for you?' He turned his head again and froze his eyes on mine. Then a slight light rose on his lips. He was amused at my confusion. 'You think I am . . . how you say . . . Queer?'

'Well, the thought did cross my mind.'

'That's something you have in the west. Here is not so . . . clear.' He was chuckling now. I felt like a ten year old in his first conversation about the birds and bees.

'You're not . . . homosexual?' I asked.

'Of course not.' he continued to smile at me. 'I am a man. I do what I do to survive . . . I find a way to make it to the next day. And that has nothing to do with my destiny as a husband and father.'

Ok, listen: I wasn't shocked by the attitude I was hearing. I'd heard it many times before, from Latin men with families who secretly got their sexual rocks off with other men, from the legions of closet bisexuals I've met in gay bar after gay bar. But this was Jaidee, a Thai whore boy, who'd been practicing his trade with visiting men for . . . nearly 20 years.

''So . . . you have a wife?'

'Yes, and three fine boys, too.' I sat stunned.

'Jaidee, what are you doing here? You're not . . . gay.'

'I never said I was,' he chuckled at me. The disconnect must have been written all over my face.

'I said I wanted to learn to speak English and I wanted to go to Hollywood.'

Yes, that's what he'd said. He'd said it between screams and animal groans, in my bed and the bed of many other men. Was I hearing the ultimate in macho denial . . . or was this something else? He sat in silence, waiting for my question. It was a question I was too confused to ask.

Eventually, he offered, 'Jazz . . . I am a man, just like you. I have my work and I have my family. I do what I have to and I do what I can.'

Slowly at first and now rapidly, I was filled with admiration for this . . . man. The idea that he took no pleasure in his 'work,' was absurd. I had seen him. But it was just something he . . . did. It wasn't who he was. He was Jaidee, husband of the girl his father chose for him and father of three fine boys.

Suddenly, my focus shifted to me. Who was I? Was I a man? Or just a boy in flight from his fate, his destiny? Were the circuit parties, the boys, the bars and the conquests all just a distraction from my real purpose? Who was rich here? Was it me or was it Jaidee?

Here's what I've come to understand here in Thailand, in my bungalow on the beach, with my delightful 'house boy:' We are everything. We are all things. We are sexual, just as I've said over and over. But we are also biological, and the basic biology of reproduction cannot be denied. We are social and our society creates rules for our thinking, rules that may actually be in conflict with the natural order of things.

Jaidee may be one of the most genuine people I've ever met.  He lives with an integrity that we flee from in the west.  He is my new hero and . . .

I am fucked in Phuket.