I have been accused of contradictions. There are contradictions, doubts. In my mind also, as to how to continue this long, so long, apparently endless narrative of one man's existence.
Sitting here, always alone. A cold overcast sky, silence in the flat, in my head. The eternal traffic muffling by ... thinking, as ever, "Do I have the strength to go on?" ... there is so much more ... yet, feeling it all comes down the same.
"And would it have been worthwhile? ,,, the mornings, evenings, afternoons ... Measuring our lives with coffee spoons..."
Almost twenty years to catch up on, almost an impossibility. My life engrossed in the basic tenements of existence, now ... My thoughts lingering in the Far East, my room there by the Long Tranquil Beach.
Silent in the room, silent in my being, fan whirring softly overhead.
Orwun sleeps, soundlessly, long black hair falling across the pillows, across her face. Awake, she is unobtrusive, cool, calm, only speaks if I first speak to her ... there is nothing to say. In the deep, warm, scent laden night, after the crickets, the frogs, finally tired of their own noise, I fall into her, absorbed by her... An odd, thin commitment to each other.
Over the years having gradually built up my position, leaning against the post opposite the Marine Bar... the cheap side... watching the Thai Boxing, the mad melee ... having gone through all the other intermediate phases... of being skinned alive ... taken for many rides, never, in all honesty robbed ...
Gradually abandoned the myriad bars... become known as a good spender, one that took care of the girls, never treated them other than expected. Yes, discarded all that, built myself a small life as all the Ex Pats had done... always refusing to make the final move and settle in on a permanent basis. Always something lacking, something missing, something I could not quite put my mind to. Certainly Bernie and John have settled there. Certainly, they ask repeatedly if this is my last trip? the one before making the complete break with England. Always I hesitate. No, the Marine Bar against the post.
Punctual at midnight, could set your watch by my arrival. Had become accustomed to this routine with Pa, she always made her move at midnight. Pa was gone. I remain, as always, alone...
The Ladies of the night hardly concerned themselves with me... part of the scene ... an appendage to that particular post. If necessary they would ask for their cab fare home, business bad, or a packet of cigarettes, or simply fifty Barts for no particular reason.
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