Two Tigers, One Cave

By Zehra Kahn

This is a tragic romance tale about a love-triangle set in Thailand that irrevocably changes the lives of one Canadian man and two Thai women.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 8, 2003
• ISBN: 9781462825660

Zehra Kahn

Zehra Kahn is a poetess fluent in many languages and literatures. She holds advanced degrees in languages and linguistics, and writes poetry in English and French. She spent several years in Thailand learning Thai language and culture. This is her first novel.

Book preview

Copyright © 2002 by Zehra Kahn.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

17118

Contents

Chapter One

DEARLY DEPARTED

Chapter Two

YELLOW FEVER

Chapter Three

SRIRACHA TEACHERS’ COLLEGE

Chapter Four

ENTER SIRINTRA

Chapter Five

LOVERS’ TRIANGLE

Chapter Six

LIVING IN THE CITY OF ANGELS

Chapter Seven

OUT OF THE TRIANGLE

Chapter One

DEARLY DEPARTED

The calm of Trevor’s morning taxi ride was disrupted by the front-page photo in the Bangkok Tribune. The caption read: Caucasian male found nude stuffed into suitcase in redlight district. He shuddered at the thought that it might be his friend Antoine whom he had not heard from for a week. He quickly flipped through the Thai Daily Mail to find a smaller black and white copy of the same photo on the crime page. The caption in Thai read: Dead foreigner discovered in suitcase at Nana Plaza. Alongside the grisly photo was another photo of a young Thai woman’s body being lifted out of the Chao Phraya river. The accompanying article stated that there was no identification on the drowning victim other than a man’s graduation ring from the University of Ontario.

Trevor felt a sense of urgency in contacting his supervisor at the Institute. The last time he had visited his buddy he was distraught and drinking excessively. He wasted no time voicing his concerns to the director.

Waving both newspapers, he said, Dr. Monrudee, I think you should take a look at this. I think it might be Antoine.

Why do you say that?, she inquired.

I haven’t seen him for a week now. He was so drunk last time I saw him, he could easily have been robbed, knocked unconscious, or worse, ended up dead, he said excitedly.

If you’re really that concerned, . . .

I am

. . . I’ll put you in touch with the police. You might be able to help them identify the body, she said.

Good idea.

Let me make some phone calls. We can talk again later, she suggested.

Thank you, ajarn, he said and hurried off to class.

Dr. Monrudee first telephoned the president of the university to say that someone thought one of their foreign teachers might have been murdered. The president telephoned the chief of the Royal Thai Police to convey the information from Dr. Monrudee. He obtained the assurance from the police chief that no link between the dead foreigner and the university would be mentioned, if the victim turned out to be a faculty member. In exchange for the police preserving the image of the university, the president offered the cooperation of his foreign faculty in the police investigation.

That afternoon, Dr. Monrudee took Pol.Lt. Ekkachai to meet Trevor.

Aj. Trevor, this is detective Ekkachai of the Royal Thai Police. He wishes to speak with you about Aj. Antoine. I’ll leave you two alone, she said, and walked away.

"Dr. Monrudee tells me that you believe the body we discovered might be a friend of yours. Why do you think that?, the detective began.

I haven’t talked to him for a week. He doesn’t answer his phone. He doesn’t call me.

You’re sure he hasn’t gone home for the holidays?

I saw him the day after Christmas. If he had any vacation plans, he would have told me, Trevor answered confidently.

You know him quite well, do you?

Most people would say I’m his best friend here, Trevor smiled.

What makes you think he might have been murdered?

He was a drunken mess when I saw him. There were at least two dozen bottles of whisky unopened in his apartment. He could have easily been mugged or killed in his condition.

The detective was taking notes. Why do you think he was drinking so heavily?

Because his girlfriend dumped him. He must have been madly in love with her, he pursed his lips and shook his head.

A Thai woman?

Yes. She’s a teacher at Sriracha Teachers’ College. Her first name is Sirintra. I don’t know her family name.

You probably don’t know, said the detective, that we make about one hundred arrests for every four hundred murders. Anyway, I’d like to ask you to come to the morgue to try to identify the body.

It’s my duty as Antoine’s friend, he said solemnly.

Trevor accompanied the detective into the morgue.

Formaldehyde, disinfectant, and decomposing flesh burned his nostrils. He wanted to vomit. The coroner asked a question that the detective translated into English.

He ask whether your friend have any distinctive markings on his body, such as scars, birthmarks, or tattoos.

No. None at all, Trevor said.

The coroner walked up to a metal panel on the wall and pulled out a slab with a male corpse on it. Trevor held his nose and looked closely at the deceased. He was the same height and build as Antoine, with the same straight blond hair. The coroner pulled open the eyelids of the deceased and shined his flashlight on them. The man had blue eyes like Antoine but with a deathly pallor.

I’m quite sure it’s him, Trevor said.

His full name and citizenship?, the detective asked.

Antoine Claude Boudreaux. Canadian, he answered.

The detective wrote the information on a form and handed it to the coroner. Ajarn, krap, this is only the beginning of the investigation. I must ask that you not talk to anyone about this for the time being.

I understand, Trevor replied.

One last thing you can do for me today . . .

You name it.

. . . Would you tell me the address of the deceased?

Certainly, Collegiate Towers, apartment 805, across from MBK shopping center.

The detective found out from the night watchman at Collegiate Towers that the foreigner in 805 was in and out of his apartment during the last week. However, the guard observed him leave with a large briefcase around 10:30 p.m. on New Year’s. Other residents on the eighth floor confirmed that they had seen the foreigner coming in and out of his apartment during the previous week. They also mentioned that the woman in 806 seemed to be the only person who knew the foreigner.

The detective knocked on the door of the woman in 806, and showed her a photo of Antoine provided by the director of the Institute. When he told her that he was investigating a possible murder, the girl was visibly affected. She stated that the foreigner was a customer at the bar where she worked at Nana Plaza. She further stated that she witnessed a confrontation between the foreigner and a bouncer from the same bar. She believed that the dispute involved the bouncer’s sister, who was a go-go dancer at the bar, and who was acquainted intimately with the foreigner.

A few days later, Pol.Lt. Ekkachai heard from another detective about a Thai woman who had drowned on January first, and who was wearing a man’s ring from a Canadian university. Invesigators working on the drowned girl discovered that she was a go-go dancer at Nana Plaza, where her brother worked as a bouncer. However, neither of them had shown up for work since New Year’s eve. The lieutenant decided to find out whether there was a connection between the drowned girl and the Canadian murder victim.

The detective visited the go-go bar at Nana Plaza carrying photos of the Canadian teacher and the drowned girl. The mamasan and the manager confirmed that they recognized both people. They recalled that the man in the photo had taken the girl out of the bar on December 22. That story was corroborated by the dancer who was the foreigner’s nextdoor neighbor.

The scenario which began to assemble itself for the detective was that the foreigner might have been murdered by the bouncer because of the dispute between the foreigner and his sister. However, the bouncer was missing, and presumed to be in hiding.

Shortly thereafter, the Thai Daily Mail published photos of the foreign teacher and the drowned bargirl with the caption, Foreigner implicated in death of Thai woman. The next day, the English-language Bangkok Tribune published the same two photos with the caption, Deaths of Chulalongkorn teacher and bargirl linked.

In reaction to the sensational headlines, Chulalongkorn University launched in inquiry to find the source of the media leak that besmirched the university’s reputation. Trevor vehemently denied talking to the press, though the university was determined to find a scapegoat. It was known that Trevor had identified a murder victim as one of their foreign faculty. But as he had a record of outstanding teaching for more than a decade, the university council voted not to fire him.

At the insistence of the dean of the Faculty of Humanities and the director of the Foreign Language Institute, Chulalongkorn University announced that it would hold a memorial service and traditional Thai Buddhist funeral ceremony for one of its foreign teachers. The day before the funeral, the foreign teachers held a wake at the favorite German biergarten of their deceased colleague.

He was a fine young man, a devoted teacher. I think he had what it takes to be a lifer, said Edward, the most senior of the group.

Probably the bargirl was at the root of his demise, said Patrick disapprovingly. There’s nothing less dignified than having an affair with a bargirl.

That’s where you’re mistaken, Trevor corrected him. She wasn’t just a bargirl. She was a person with a name, Tida. She was Antoine’s girlfriend before she became a bargirl.

You’d think that some female companionship, even from a working girl from Nana, would’ve cheered him after his break up with Sirintra, Kevin said sympathetically.

The last time I saw him, Trevor said with a tremble in his voice, he was trying to drink himself to death, literally, all because he was so broken up after being dumped. He was madly in love with Sirintra. He dumped Tida for her.

Attempted suicide by alcohol poisoning? That’s pitiful, exclaimed Kevin.

Why couldn’t he get over it? Find some other tail? Seems childish to carry on over a woman, Patrick complained.

You guys don’t know him like I did, Trevor said proudly. He was sensitive, a poet, a romancer.

I’m all for toasting his memory, said Edward looking around the table. What about the rest of you?

Trevor lifted his bierstein, Let me propose a toast. Here’s to our dearly departed colleague, Antoine Boudreaux, a fine young man, devoted teacher, and poet.

To Antoine, they said in unison, clinking their beer mugs.

Just then Dr. Monrudee arrived and came up to their table. Hope I’m not interrupting, gentlemen. Or is this a farang-only affair?

Of course not, ajarn, said Trevor, pull up a beer. Everyone was invited, said Edward, but you’re the only Thai who showed up. Didn’t you get the memo?

I couldn’t help overhearing the part about him being a poet, she said. I know that for a fact. If you don’t mind, I’d like to recite a poem he wrote for me, the only one anyone ever wrote for me.

They all quieted down, and listened attentively. She began the poem,

"There is an island beyond the farthest sea with her unique landscape, an uncharted country.

She beckons from afar to maroon mariners.

A siren of Homer, she entices wayfarers

To follow her bright star.

The brave adventurers number in myriads

Who have set their vessel’s course

By the brightest of the Pleiades.

And for the vast minions obstacles do await

To maroon their vessels and let one or two escape.

Those who plotted their course, steered past hazardous reefs,

Succumb to nature’s force, then to land on her beach.

They are lone mariners who bask in her sunlight

And learn all her splendors from dawn to moonlit night.

She is a tropic island beyond uncharted waters

Where rarely a vessels lands, where imagination falters.

The survivors who reach her all marvel at her beauty.

Out of homage and respect they did name her Monrudee."

After the group finished applauding, Trevor said, We should include that in the memorial book to give out at the funeral.

I’ve already taken care of that, she said with a smile.

Antoine was secretive about his poetry. He never volunteered to share any with me, Trevor said sadly.

Gradually the group withered down to only Trevor and Monrudee at the table. Trevor signaled to the waiter for the bill.

Let me give you a ride home, ajarn, she said.

No need. I have some stops to make on the way. Thanks anyway.

Well, then, I’ll see you tomorrow at the funeral.

Okay, ajarn. Goodnight.

It was a rare event. A non-Buddhist foreign teacher of Chulalongkorn University was honored with a traditional Thai funeral. Those who knew him, teachers and students, filed past the coffin inside the crematorium, and placed incense or sandalwood chips underneath it for the pyre. More than two hundred persons attended the ceremony. Many knew him only vaguely. Many more were curious onlookers from around Bangkok. Total strangers studied the features of the blond-haired blue-eyed Caucasian man in the framed portrait near the entrance to the crematorium.

For the next few weeks after the funeral, a small number of students who knew the deceased wore a black armband or pinned a piece of black cloth to their shirt. A bulletin board in the lobby of the Foreign Language Institute was devoted to the deceased, including his portrait, one of his poems, and the few facts about his life that could be culled together from his resume and conversations with friends.

What led Antoine Boudreaux to Thailand was in part an unfortunate string of events that played out in his native Canada. His interest in Thailand was first sparked by an amateur fascination for Thai boxing. This interest in turn was linked to his rigorous training and devotion to the Chinese and Korean martial arts. Prior to any contact with Thais, his familiarity with Asians was limited to his kung-fu teacher, and to Asian students at the University of Ontario.

The violence that surrounded his disappearance was not strictly external. His martial arts training honed a belligerent spirit within him, and brought it to the surface. In unarmed combat, Antoine was in his natural element. Violence as a last resort was societal lip-service. For Antoine, violence was innate and instinctual, the goal of all confrontation. He began to realize his inner nature only in the most advanced stages of his training.

A few years earlier we could find Antoine at his kungfu class in Ottawa. Antoine squares off with his opponent, a visiting karate practitioner. He is naturally nervous because his opponent is wearing a black belt with two gold bars, whereas colored belts are not used to designate rank in traditional kungfu. Therefore, Antoine had to trust sifu Chiu that he was evenly matched.

They stand eye-to-eye, right foot to right foot, right wrist to right wrist. At the word go, Antoine clasps the karateka’s wrist, kicks him in the shin, and throws a simultaneous left straight punch that stops a fourth of an inch in front of the blackbelt’s face. No equipment means light contact.

Break. Ready. Go. This time the karateka leaps backward, as Antoine pursues him. Back, back, back, into the corner of the gym. Stop. Typical karateka only moves backwards or forwards, he thought. Once cornered, the karateka unleashes a flurry of kicks that Antoine blocks while holding his ground, not budging an inch. He latches onto a right punch from his opponent, moves to the left and jerks the karateka into a right knee. The blackbelt drops to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. Needless to say, the visitor did not return because his pride had been damaged.

Okay, time for one more. Antan and Jimmy, said sifu. Antoine despised Jimmy, a showoff of the Mohammed Ali plus Bruce Lee slant. A second generation Chinese from South America, he had earned a black belt in Tae Kwon Do.

Ready. Go. Jimmy slides backward, whirls his body and grazes Antoine’s mouth with the sole of his shoe with a spinning back hook kick. He whoops like Bruce Lee. This time it was Antoine’s pride that was damaged.

Squaring off at a short distance from each other, they move forward to close the gap. Jimmy’s roundhouse kick meets Antoine’s double block with an audible clack. The block changes into a double punch. Antoine notices Jimmy turn his back, as if about to launch another spinning hook kick. Antoine drops down into an iron broom, swinging his leg in a circle knocking Jimmy’s supporting leg from under him. He lands in the manner of a trained judoka, rolls up and lets out another Bruce Lee-like whoop.

After class, sifu said, "Wait Antan. I walk wif you. He reached up and put his hand on the shoulder of his Caucasian student who towered over him.

Improve a lot. Kungfu pretty good. You want to teach, is okay by me. But I go back Hong Kong. You like sparring. You like use knee elbow. Try Thai boxing. Very fearsome. Many kungfu stylist lose match again Thai boxer. Anyway, you decide what you want, teach kungfu or learn new style, other martial art.

And that is how Antoine earned his black belt, so to speak, in kungfu. No belt or certificate, just his teacher’s blessing to teach on his own. Sifu Chiu never had a word of praise during four years of training. His typical comment was negative, terrible, need more practice, with a chuckle and shaking his head in disapproval. Now that the white man has graduated from his kungfu training, the only words of praise are, Kungfu pretty good, with a pat on the shoulder.

That evening sifu Chiu and his students were invited to a special banquet at the Embassy of the People’s Republic of China. They had to appear in freshly laundered kungfu uniforms for a demonstration.

The two senior students performed a mock sparring match. Sifu Chiu demonstrated a double dagger form, a rare event for his students to witness. Two whirling blades, jumping, slashing, tumbling, kicking.

That evening Antoine demonstrated the tiger and crane double sided form (fu hok sern yen kuen). He finished with a loud applause that made him particularly cheerful and self-satisfied. As he descended the stage and filtered among the guests, a Chinese woman his age approached him.

He noticed her immediately because her gaze was fixed on him with a full-cheeked smile. Her silk dress, makeup, and coiffure made her look like an actress from one of the hundreds of kungfu movies he had seen. It was as if a ravishing beauty were stepping out of a movie before his eyes.

Hi, my name’s Chew Lee. My friends call me Julie. I really liked your form. Your kungfu is pretty good, she said beaming him a smile.

Thanks, he said. His mouth had dried out from nervousness, and