GARBAGE GURU

Boaz Zippor

Bangkok 2022
Garbage Guru 3 Scorpio Clouds 239
The Dealer 39 The Colonel 245
Fridge Connection 63 The NGO Gang 256
Government Gig 76 Carpenter 270
Protection Pendant 85 Poster Ploi 279
Your Generation 104 Saving Rosalinda 295
Treasure Tuang 109 The Ugly Couple 324
Dumb 123 Big Ned 337
Quantum Cats 147 Magic Shampoo 351
Garbage Granny 164 Teachers Pet 366
The New Guy 179 Unliked 377
Ghosts Next Door 191 Not Single Malt 386
Toy Car 205 The game 397
The Job 226 The End 408

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Garbage Guru

I have never met any person who was so

respected and revered as the garbage guru.
People loved him, but I mean, really loved him.
it was incredible to see. It was almost as if every
person who saw him, started glowing,
reflecting some energy that he did not know he
longed for until that minute. Like magic, every
person who came close to him started smiling,
without knowing why. But it was not a
religious experience per se, it was something
deeper yet simpler, it was a connection, a real
connection. That was the garbage gurus gift,
that was his super power, connecting to people.

A lot of people think they are connected, or

want other people to think they are connected.
Important by connection. I am not important
but I know someone who is. I am not rich but I
know someone who is. A lot of people don’t
understand what a connection means, they just
know people, oh yes, he is a good friend, a very
close friend, sure, I mean, I met him twice in

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my life. You know, that is not really connected.
On any level.

but, without wasting your time going into the

problems of society and why we are not
connected enough to each other, I am now
talking about connected in the, you know,
mafia sense, connected. I know people. People
know me. I make one phone call, one phone call
I tell you. connected. This kind of connected.

Only few people are really connected, in that

sense. Guru was definitely one of them. He
knew people, people knew him, the people who
did not know him knew the people he knew
and that was enough to know that everything is
ok, and everyone knows everybody they need
to know. Simple.

He was not a real guru, not in the conventional

sense of the word, and his eight years of sitting
bored in school looking out the window was his
only formal education. He was not even wise as
a guru, I mean he was not stupid, not by any
means, but he was far from being the ocean of
wisdom, the ever-lasting waterfall of
knowledge and understanding.

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And he was not even very spiritual. I mean, he
was, like most people here in this country, and
as you know, poor people are usually more
spiritual than others, because when you live in
a slum you really do need to believe there is
something more, something bigger, some plan
you are not aware of, some force bigger than
yourself and your surroundings that might
come and help you one day. If you just put the
right kind of flowers on the right kind of statue,
if you just put the right candy and candles in
front of the right fake god made of wood and
covered with happy shiny colors. You have to
believe in something so you will be s

He was a man. Who was a guru. Partly by

choice, but mostly because that is what destiny
had in store for him, his fate, his life story.
Now, I do not know if you believe in destiny
and fate but from my understanding, they exist
whether you believe in them or not.

And his destiny was to be a guru. A garbage

guru. A beloved unordained, unelected natural
organic leader of his tribe, his people, his very
extended family.

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And people smiled when they saw him, they
were filled with sudden joy, a simple joy, a
feeling of being at ease, that everything is ok, all
just by seeing him pass by, nodding to
someone, wai-ing with his hands to some old
woman, stopping to pat a child on the head.
You know, like all politicians try to do, as they
try to fake that they care, but in his case it was
real. He really did care. And it showed. People
smiled.

It happened when he walked down the dirty

allies of that slum, it happened when he was
waiting in line for the fresh fragrant coconut
milk snacks on the corner of main street, small
disks of pleasure and amazing taste, smelling of
coconut and chives, smelling of old time and
old ways. He loved to watch as the seller
poured the coconut milk mixture from an old
dainty tea pot into the pan, a pan made
especially for this purpose, for this snack, a pan
with shallow round pots to nest that coconut
milk until it hardens, and then with a strong
movement of the wrist, flicked out and into a
metal tray to cool down. He could watch that
process for a good ten minutes before he

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ordered some, letting people pass him in the
que, smiling and chatting with them as they
wait.

People smiled. It happened all the time, and it

happened when people came to him, to his
palace, to ask for advice or assistance, help with
their life, their business, their kids, their
neighbors.

They would often walk in with a sad face, or a

worried expression, they came in looking like
they haven’t slept in a while, and that life
kicked them a little too hard this time, but the
minute they were inside, the minute they sat
there in front of him, they relaxed. And smiled.
As if they knew that they are already halfway
to solving their problem.

The palace was smack down in the middle of

the slum. He chose that location many many
years ago, when he was still a young man, and
far from being a guru. Well, not so far, as he
always had something about him, something
special, something notable, but he was still a
kid then, barely able to grow a decent beard.
And he tried. He wanted to have that beard, he

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wanted to be more than just a kid, but the beard
just looked like he forgot to wipe his face.

Funny thing, is that now that he is able to grow

a beard, a respectable beard, he doesn’t, he
shaves every day, preparing a fresh clean face
to start the day, and puts on that expensive
aftershave he likes, the only luxury he permits
himself, a small token of appreciation for his
work and status. It was a very sophisticated
scent, with a bit of sandalwood and bergamot
and even hints of vanilla. A little bit sweet but
not in a sickening way, not in an old lady
perfume way, more in a subtle strong confident
way, a men man smell.

It was often shadowed by the cheap local

cigarettes he smoked, but that also was part of
the whole charm.

The palace, as we called it, was a big

warehouse, old and creaking when the wind
blew, old enough to be built like they used to
build in the old days, when they didn’t scamp
about everything and cut corners, it was older
than dust but stronger than a mountain. Just the
creaking sound when the winds were strong

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reminded us the real age of that building, the
history it has, the stories it holds. As if the wind
set free something inside it, and it speaks to us,
trying to communicate, to tell us something, to
teach us something.

He chose that warehouse because it was central,

it was on the crossroad of two of the main roads
in the slum, and if you looked out from the
second-floor windows you can see the horizon,
the natural borders of the slum, as it starts to
become, well, normal people’s neighborhoods.
It was a palace and a watch tower.

In the corner of the warehouse was the throne.

An old couch, made of leather but covered in
transparent plastic. you know, like rich Chinese
people do with their furniture. And on top of
the plastic was a knitted blanket, because sitting
on plastic is not comfortable.

But we knew, everybody knew, that under the

knitted blanket are nylon covers that protect a
very expensive leather couch. We knew it, and
that was the only important thing.

It always smelled of incense in the palace. He

liked incense, the guru, and he used to buy
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many different brands and scents to try, often
mixing two smells together to try and reach
some sublime combination of an odor still
unknown.

Living in a slum, in a palace that is an old

warehouse, it is easy to understand that
attraction to incense and aftershaves. You had
to do what you had to do to survive, to thrive,
to have a good life. And the only smells he
liked better than incense were cooking smells,
sweet spicy curries, stir fried vegetables, deep
fried everything that can be deep fried,
fermented tea leaves salads, papaya som tams,
grilled fish and crabs and coconut milk cooking
slowly with galangal and lemongrass, oh the
heavenly smells of good honest home cooking.

The palace was usually full of cartons, stacked

together all the way to the ceiling, old bottles
and plastic containers, big empty burlap sacks
for rice or grains, and a lot of mish mash objects
and furniture. It was surprisingly tidy, with
workers making sure everything is packed and
labeled, inventory kept, records written down.
It was a business, and a very successful and
efficient one.
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Most people do not understand the power of
garbage, the value of garbage. Especially these
days when everything is plastic and single use,
when the life expectancy of anything is a year
or two. Remember when we grew up and had
the same fridge for fifteen years? Well, that is
not the case now, and the result of this
stupidity is that some people, smart people,
who go into the garbage business, can make a
lot of money.

And he did. He was making too much money.

Well, for his taste. He already had most of what
he wanted in life, what made him happy, and
the money just kept on accumulating in the
bank account. He even paid taxes on his
business, something that was not all that
common here, and still had too much money.
For his taste. For his way of living. For his
character.

And at this point, the money came in with very

little work on his side. The system was
working, everything was simple and foolproof,
the goals were low and attainable, the workers
knew their jobs and were well paid so also well
motivated, everything was running smoothly.
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And that was exactly the way he liked it.
Efficient, simple, profitable.

The guru was not fond of hard work. It was

never his thing, even at a very young age. It
might be natural laziness, something that is
very prevalent here, but maybe it had
something to do with the fact he used to hang
around criminals when he was a kid. And it
rubbed off on him.

No, he was not a bad kid, and no, the

neighborhood was not that bad, even then, it
was just that his mother was a nurse at the local
jail, and with no money for a babysitter or a
nanny, she used to take him with her to work
when school was off, or when he decided that
school is off today. he wasn’t a very good
student. Again, all that hard work, learning
things, why does he have to know these things?
Will it help him in life? He wanted to know
what he needed to know, and everything else
was a luxury, a frivolous game, something that
takes time away from his real passion. He had
no idea what his real passion was, not at that
point, but he knew it was out there, and it was
not about algebra or geography.
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Actually, when he was young, he liked
geography, he liked the maps. They seemed
magical to him, with strange signs and trying to
imagine how big the country really is, and how
small it is on the map. He dreamt about those
countries.

Until one day he found a smaller map, one of

the city, and tried to find out where he was on
the map. It took him awhile because half of the
streets in the slums did not even have any
names, they were just there, without a name,
without a plan, without disturbing the normal
parts of town. The slum had its own rules, even
when it came to street names and house
numbers, it had its own system.

In the map it was just a big blob called “70 rai

project”. The official name the slum that was
given when it was assigned this area of land,
this area on the map. And when he found his
street, and where his house was, he looked at
the map and saw that it was just a short way to
the center of town. He wanted to go to the
center of town. He went there with his mother
when he was small, very small, and wanted to
go back and explore all those amazing things he
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saw, the big shops, the fancy cars, the people
dressed in their best clothes, it was all new to
him.

So, he started walking. For an eight-year-old, he

was walking quite fast, but after a while, he
stopped to look where he was on the map and
saw that he passed only an inch, even less than
an inch on the big map. He looked forward, he
looked backwards, and decided it was not
worth it, and that he will be late for dinner. he
went back home and that was the end of his
interest in geography. Yes, yes, other countries,
yes, yes, far away, yes, yes, different cultures
and clothes and habits. I know. But that was far,
and he liked near and it really didn’t seem to
bother him or cross his mind since. Here. Now.
Maybe it was part of the guru thing. Or just
laziness. Sometimes it is hard to know which is
which.

I always told him that he was lazy when he

chose not to answer a question and just smile,
or when he was so vague it could mean
anything. I told him he was lazy and he
laughed. Sometimes, it actually seemed to me
he was laughing because he knew I was on to
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him, I knew his secret. Or maybe it was just
part of the guru thing.

In the jail infirmary, when his mother brought

him over, he spent a lot of hours, passing time,
waiting for her shift to be over, but there was
always someone there, someone who is sick
because of the bad conditions and the filth,
someone who has a chronic disease and needs
weekly medicine, someone who got stabbed
because he looked at another inmate in the
wrong way, you know, jail nursery. There was
always someone there, someone to talk to.

And these people were all brilliant, they were

all smart and knew everything about life, and
everything about everything. They were a
fountain of information for the young guru, full
of fantastic stories and incredible tales of
bravery, of cunning plans, of great loves and
greater treasures.

Obviously, the only reason they all ended up in

jail is because they were unfortunate, unlucky.
Because their plans were smart and calculated
and yes, pure genius. It was just, you know,
well, the thing is… there was always a thing.

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They were out of luck and got caught. Not their
fault. They were often bitter about being
caught, like it was a great injustice. They are
supposed to be sitting on some beach drinking
mai-tai with bikini models and spending left
and right, but instead, because of that damn
luck thing, they are stuck here in jail for the
next five years. That is just not right.

He listened to those stories, sitting there with

his mouth open wide and his eyes open wider,
absorbing every word, every fact, every
revelation, every opinion. It was so much better
than school, so much better than anything else
he experienced. It was so much better than you
can find these days on tv or the internet, it was
a private show of some of the weirdest minds
around, the most twisted logic and the most
outlandish social behavior. He got an education
that was, well, for a lack of a better word –
special.

And the stories never ended, it was a treasure

trove of anecdotes and adventures, of words
being weaved together to form exciting and
deep tales of human experience. The prisoners
loved having someone to talk to, other than
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their other inmates, and having a child with
huge eyes listening, made them even more
motivated, more creative in how they decorated
the stories, how they embellished their bravery
and wisdom. Suddenly, each and every one of
them became the tribes elder telling tales
around the bonfire, with even the blinking of
the white neon light on the ceiling failing to
destroy that illusion.

They became storytellers, and as the time

passed, they got better and better at it. And the
guru was demanding, he asked questions, he
wanted to know how this new character is
connected to the bank robbery story from last
week, he was serious, he was doing research.
Here, suddenly he was a very good student.

It was a regular show that went on for years,

every time another performer, another set of
beautiful lies and fantastic heroic tales of crime
and greed. Every week a new episode, and
updates about old chapters of the story, every
week another lesson, another real-life fable,
another brick in the making of a guru, a
garbage guru.

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There was very little violence in these stories.
Not that the prison was not a violent place, or
that the inmates were nice people, not at all. In
fact, that particular jail was known for its
vicious prisoners, with murderers and rapists
filling the cells, it was not a peaceful place at all.
The people there had enough blood on their
hands to fill a couple of swimming pools, and
most of them were not showing any sign of
changing their ways. It was a dog-eat-dog
world out there, and inside the prison it was
more of a hyena constant battle, so even worse.

But he was small, the guru, and the story tellers

knew they had to filter all of their tales, to
adapt them to a small boy, who wants to know
everything but should really not know some
things. At least not yet. So, all the stories were
brought down to a pg-13 level, where bad guys
accidentally slipped, fell and fainted instead of
being slowly fed into a wood chipper while still
screaming for help. You know, the cartoon
version of real life. It was never discussed but
everybody knew about this system and
followed it, and when someone slipped and
used a bad word, or even words like

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“whacked” or “erased” they got an elbow in
their ribs and quickly regained their
composure, and continued the story in the
child-proof version.

The unexpected effect of this, of filtering the

stories and making sure he got the parental
guide version and not the x rated one, was that
the guru did not believe in violence. He saw,
from his experience, from the lies he was told,
those stories in the jail, that anything can be
solved without violence. It was of course a lie,
and although violence is not good, and a lot of
things can indeed be solved without violence,
with some things, well, you do need to be firm.
To say the least.

But in his mind, in the eight-year old’s mind,

and now fifty years later, violence was almost
nonexistent, it was something that happened to
other people, and that other people did. And
surprisingly enough, that worked for him, as a
guru, as a businessman, as a man.

When you have enough power, you don’t need

violence. When you have enough inner
strength, you don’t need to show it, you don’t

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need to make sure people know it, you are just
you. and the nice thing about people? Their
imagination. If you project a sense of power,
they would assume you have much more
power than you really have. I mean, to act like
this? He must be so powerful I cannot even
imagine it. And that worked in his favor, that
completed the show, the façade, the mask. A
mask he did not know he was wearing, but that
fit him so well.

Besides, Inner strength brings inner peace, and

inner peace is good for business. people knew
his power. They knew him. They knew that he
was someone you don’t mess with, but also
someone you can trust and come to for advice
or some help. This is how he became the
garbage guru. That was his secret.

When his mother took him with her to the jail,

packing some coloring books and crayons with
some fruit and a candy in small pouch bag, she
knew it was completely safe for him, for a child.
Normally, a jail nursery wouldn’t seem like a
safe place, especially for a child, but the thing
is, in this case, it was a second home for him,
and he felt at ease there.
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His mother was a very small lady, maybe one
fifty, one fifty-two centimeters. With a stern
look, and short very tidy hair. She was a
feminist before feminists knew they were
feminists. She raised him alone since his dad
passed away, and she did a great job all in all.

And the jail nursery was her domain. Her

realm. The doctor came once a week for
checkups and sometimes for emergencies, but
during the rest of the time, it was her place, her
nursery. And her rules.

You used a swear word? You got smacked over

the head with one of those wooden tongue
depressors, you argued and talked back? You
get a look so chilling you lose your voice.
Inmates who were three heads taller than her
started shivering like small children, backing
away slowly, when they saw that look.

Many years ago, one of the new inmates who

did not know her, tried to be frisky and grab
her ass when he was sent to the infirmary for
some stitches. She did not like it. The other
inmates did not like it. He had an accident that

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night and fell off his bed breaking both his
arms. You have to be careful how you sleep.

She was small, and sturdy, and scary. Very

scary. She put the literal fear of God in people.
And I am not talking about an eight-year-old
kid sitting there in the corner, no, I am talking
about hardened criminals, about people who
grew up on the streets, in the middle of the
criminal life, in violent heartless
neighborhoods, constantly fighting for survival,
Real tough guys. Scary people. People you
don’t want to meet in a dark alley, or to be
honest, not even in a well-lit main street. People
you don’t want to even know, and don’t want
them to know you exist. And they all bowed
their head and said “yes mother”.

There were no alpha males in her office, just

one big alpha mother, alpha and omega, and
everything in between. As small as she was, her
presence filled every inch of that infirmary,
filled it with compassion but also strength, with
nonjudgmental acceptance but also strict rules
and a proper way of conduct.

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This small office, with not much more than two
sick beds and a small desk, was holier than any
church. than any temple. It was hallowed
grounds. Sometimes the beds were occupied by
enemies, rivals, sometimes even two people
who just tried to kill each other and got bruised
and cut and now find themselves in the nursery
together, lying next to each other.

Lying next to each other, and not looking at

each other, not talking, not moving. They knew,
that this was not the place, not for violence, not
for internal power struggles, this place was out
of their jurisdiction, and they did not want to
piss off the boss of this place. She was not the
forgiving kind.

In a church you know hell is waiting for you if

you misbehave, here you knew that you are in a
momentary heaven and if you are not going to
behave you will be sent back to hell, and not
only that, but with a big “kick me” note stapled
to your shirt. Hell was nothing compared to
what was waiting those who disrespected
mother. It was just not done. So, they lay there
in bed and wait. Like good boys. And that is all

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she asked for. It really was not that much to ask
for, was it?

There was something magical about that

nursery. That was his mother’s aura, the
energetic field she projected, her way, her
magic. And she was aware of that power, that
magic. No, No shit will be taken there. Not by
her. And it worked. People respected the place.
People respected her. People loved her. Some
inmates kept in touch after they got released
and came to visit her and bring snacks and nice
things for the office.

The trick was, they lived in a specific part of

town, and the local jail had mostly local
criminals. Local being the key word. she knew
the mothers of those criminals. Some were her
classmates from high school, some were
neighbors.

A serial murderer arsonist and burglar? That is

all very nice, but you still shiver if I tell your
mother that you were mean and rude to the
nice nurse lady. Trust me, there is nothing that
works better than that simple deep fear. Just
don’t tell my mommy.

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And they knew. And she knew. And they were
nice. And the nursery was a pleasant place, a
place of peace, of healing, of resting. It was a
sanctuary. And this is where he grew up. This
is where he was formed, as a man.

And the inmates’ mothers used to come visit

her at home, bringing food and fruit and small
wrapped pieces of cake, and sat to hear stories
about their children, updates and gossip. In a
sense, she was the mother’s mother too, a
mother squared, a super mother, mother
superior.

And guru appreciated this, he knew that this

was something special. he often said - this is
when I knew what I wanted to be - mother.
Mother of all things. Mother is loved, mother is
feared, mother is respected. I have decided to
be mother.

So, the garbage guru, before he became a guru,

before he became anything, before he saw the
future in garbage, found out the basic rule in
life, that a life of service is the only life worth
living, and that real respect you earn only when

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you take care of other people. take care, or just
at least care, that is a good start too.

He indeed became mother. A mother. The

mother. To many people, to a whole
community. Slowly embracing each and every
one of them, today helping this, tomorrow
advising that, solving a problem here, lending a
shoulder to cry on there. A mother. A mother of
all things.

I thought it was genius. genius because it was

so simple. And it worked. You should see him
walking down the street. He literally has to stop
people from kissing his feet, has to pull them
up. Now, I don’t say that this is a good thing, I
mean, worshiping a person is always
problematic, but for him, it worked. He
succeeded.

You know, the name garbage guru was

originally an insult. Some two-bit criminal
shouted this insult at him as he was dragged
away and pushed out of the slum by the guru’s
body guards. It was a curse word, but it made
the garbage guru laugh, and he said, well well,
I think I have found my title. I am now the

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garbage guru. From the garbage I come, to the
garbage I go, blessed be the garbage. The
garbage guru has spoken. And he laughed so
hard he fell back on the couch, with that
famous plastic cover making a crackling noise
as his body landed and rolled to the side, still
laughing hysterically.

The legend of the garbage guru was born.

If I already told you about that incident, I might

elaborate about the two bodyguards. As I said,
the guru does not believe in violence. But he
does believe in the prospect of violence, and
that is a very important tool. As a wise man
once said – if you want peace, prepare for war.
And I think it was Roosevelt or some other
American president who said – speak softly
and carry a big stick. And he was. He was
prepared for war, and he had two big sticks. his
two beloved trustworthy body guard. Dog and
Subway.

Dog was a funny character. I mean funny as in

weird, not as in humorous. He was not really
the joking around kind of guy. He was smaller
than you would expect a body guard to be, but

27
he made up for it with sheer crazy. He was
really a wild dog. Or at least that is what the
legends were saying, he was a vicious insane
rabies infected dog that you don’t want to mess
with.

It started when he was a teenager, and one day

a group of bullies were taking the rounds of
kicking his school backpack around them when
he snapped and just started barking at them.
From the shock, as most of them were running
away, one fell on his back, hit a rock that was
on the road and broke his spine.

That was of course an accident, but that is not

what the people were whispering around the
slum. And that is how a legend starts. Dog
never had to fight even one fight in his life, and
he was the scariest person around, he just had
to start a slow silent growl and people would
back off. Fast. It was effective on such a basic
evolutionary level, that it was almost like
magic. How to make people disappear? Growl.
And the name Dog was now his for life.

Now, Dog was not a stupid guy, in fact, he was

quite educated and a big bookworm, but kept

28
this hobby quiet, on the down low, in his room
when no one sees. Because an image is an
image, and you can’t ruin a good story by
sticking to the truth, no, that is a dumb thing to
do, and as I said, he was quite a smart guy.

All people saw was a monk like small guy, with

a vicious reputation and a dark past, and that
was perfect for him. No one knew about his
private life, if he even had any, and no one
knew what he was doing in his room all those
nights, never going out to drink with the guys,
never dancing in clubs or doing any of those
activities young people do.

every evening, after work was done, he came

home, carrying a couple of small bags of food
from the corner stall for dinner, and a carton of
milk. And then the curtains closed and just a
soft light came from the desk lamp.

Dog had a hobby people did not know about,

the stock exchange. A couple of years ago he
found some video online about investing in the
stock exchange from the comfort of your home,
and he thought he might as well give it a try.

29
He had a nose for good picks. He was not sure
why or how, but most of his choices were quite
successful, quite profitable. He took some risks
that paid out, and a couple of years later he
now has a pretty penny saved up. Not a lot, not
a hidden treasure, but more than anyone would
expect, than anyone would imagine a slum
garbage guru bodyguard would have.

Now, Subway, the other bodyguard, well, he

was almost the opposite of Dog. He was also
quiet, very quiet, but in a vaguer kind of way. If
Dog’s silence was always tense and always
seemed to be just the quiet before the storm,
Subway’s silence was, well, just silent. Empty.
It was a silence that was puzzled, as if
something should have been said but isn’t, like
something is missing. It was almost an
uncomfortable silence, an awkward silence. The
kind of silence that make you want to talk
about something, anything, football, women,
the weather, you know, something unimportant
that you can talk about because the silence is
too, well, silent.

Being silent is a great characteristic for a body

guard. They don’t have to talk; they just have to
30
be there. Be there in case there is trouble, or just
to make sure their presence is frightening
enough so there will be no trouble. And
Subway? Well, you can’t get more silent than
that.

He was not mute or anything, he just, how shall

I put it politely, never had anything to say. He
would answer questions with yes and no. he
would avoid any conversation about his life or
anything personal. He would scurry away
when things started to be, well, interesting.

He was boring. And he loved it. He got his

nickname because he loved Subway
sandwiches, and every time he went to the
center of town, he would come back with a bag
full of them. Subway. Yummy. He was happy
when he had a Subway sandwich. Really
happy.

You may say I am just being mean, and I

shouldn’t look down on people just because
they are not interesting enough, but think about
it. When a person gets a nickname that is the
kind of sandwich he likes to it, because frankly
that is the most interesting thing about them,

31
well, he might be really boring. I am just
saying.

He made up for the lack of words with his

girth. He was built like a cement pillar. Broad
shoulders that went down to broad chest and
broad stomach, and broad pelvis, and broad
legs. He was literally built like a fridge. He
wore size forty-six pants without a hint of fat
on his body, there was no curves or anything
resembling a human figure, it was a straight
line down from head to toe. A fridge. And that
freaked people out. When you are a body
guard, freaking people out is a good thing, even
if it is just because you do not have any actual
waist line.

I want to say he was a gentle giant with a

golden heart, but the truth is that he was just
normal. Just a normal person, a little good, a
little bad, a little greedy, a little kind. He was
usually going with the flow, moving where the
wind blew him, where the consensus was,
where the group was. He was not into all that
thinking thing; it was too much trouble.
Subway. He liked Subway sandwiches.

32
Dog and Subway were with the guru for the
better part of a decade already, both started as
carton folders in the warehouse, doing odd
jobs, cleaning around, they grew up here, they
knew the story, they lived it. Now they get paid
to do nothing. And a good bodyguard is one
who knows how to make sure they have to do
nothing, because when a body guard has to do
something, it is usually already too late, and
besides, doing something is hard and it is hot
today, and who has the energy for that
headache. And they were very good at doing
nothing. It came naturally to them. All they had
to do was be themselves, make a scary face
when someone gets too close or too loud and
make sure they can continue to do nothing.

Guru was not a big talker, so they actually

spent a lot of time, the three of them, sitting in
silence. Waiting. Not for anything in particular,
just waiting. For something, for anything.

It was a Tuesday morning when he came in to

the warehouse and found the three of them
sitting there, waiting. For him. Or for anyone,
but he liked to think they were waiting for him,
that they knew he was coming. He liked
33
thinking like that, the big connection of the
cosmos, we are all the same and all together
and the plan is written and fixed and we just
have to have faith.

It was a Tuesday morning, but it felt like a

Sunday. It was election day and a day off for
the office workers. The streets were full of
people enjoying the sunny day, idling around,
having long conversations in the market, sitting
for a fried snack in the corner café, a day off.

Most of these people that were on the streets

did not work during normal days, and if they
did it was usually something easy and
comfortable, after all it was the slum. Now
don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that
people who live in the slums are lazy, but they
are usually a little less motivated to be a go
getter and run around for jobs and things like
that. Life has kicked them a little too many
times, kicked the optimism out of them, and
there was nothing left, especially not the kind
of energy you need to actually better
themselves and their lives.

34
That was the big problem of the slums, they
were keeping people down, letting them
survive but not have enough energy to do
anything more than that. Always tired, always
poor, always worried, always afraid. So, most
of them gave up and just did the minimum
possible to survive. Nobody here talked about
savings or investments, especially in the last
couple of years, they were worried about the
rent, the little they had to pay for the hut or
shack they lived in, they were worried about
dinner or when is the next time they will be
even able to have one.

But on official holidays? When everyone is on

vacation? They enjoyed doing nothing even
more than usual, they really had fun. And the
street was full of people, eating, talking,
smiling, it was a nice sunny holiday.

No one was really concerned about the

elections. This guy will win, or that guy, what is
the difference? They come take pictures with us
two weeks before the election and we never see
them until the next one. So, who cares? Corrupt
idiots all of them. Let them steal all the

35
government money they want, we don’t have
money anyway. Who cares?

As he closed the big door behind him, the

sounds of the streets were muffled and
sounded like a far soundtrack of some movie,
background noise of happy people. Something
that for a second made the guru smile, as it was
not the usual sounds coming from these allies.

You see, this is how you become a guru. I

mean, I would probably be there thinking to
myself, what a lovely sound of people having
fun, so sad that it is just a couple of times a year
and the rest of the time it is dreary and
depressing here, while the guru thought, that
sound is lovely, I like that sound, what do we
have to eat with the tea?

Yes, concentrate on the positive. And tea. And

something small to eat with the tea. A cookie.
Maybe a pastry. One of those pineapple
pastries, they are nice.

Concentrate on the positive. Enjoy the moment.

Live the moment. That is how you become a
guru. And the guru smiled. I could say this is
deep and enlightened, but the truth is that he
36
was just simple that way. He really was
concentrated on the now, and he really did like
people having fun and enjoying life. There was
nothing too spiritual about it, there were no
years of studying occult texts and words of
wisdom, no months full of meditation and
contemplation.

No, he was just simple that way. And he was

aware of it. And that made him smile again. I
am lucky, he thought to himself.

He tried to meditate when he was young, but

never got the hang of it. He prefers taking naps.
He just calls them meditations. He put a small
curtain in the second floor of the warehouse,
with a buddha statue, a couple of incense
holders, a big colorful poster of some
enlightened Chinese god, and a mattress. His
meditation room. Every day, after lunch, he
would go meditate on the mattress for an hour
or two. Lying down on the mattress, closing his
eyes, and meditating until he woke up. Usually
because he was hungry or needed to pee.

It seemed to work. He was indeed very relaxed

after his daily meditation.

37
The visitor walked closer to them, and it took a
second or two for their eyes to adjust to the
darkness of the warehouse after the open door
brought in all that joyful sunlight that hurt their
eyes. When he walked closer, they saw it was
jailee, the fruit vendor.

“guru, I am sorry to disturb you, but I am in a

bit of a problem”.

38
The dealer

The guru gestured to him and jailee sat down in

the wooden chair in front of the couch. Dog
went to put some water for tea and Subway
was standing menacingly behind him thinking
about parmesan cheese bread, or wholewheat,
“maybe I should try the spicy mustard sauce
next time”. you know, Subway thoughts.

“guruji, you know I never ask for anything, but

this is important, it is my daughter”

Now guru was intrigued, he knew jailees

daughter well, and could not imagine what
problems she could be involved in. she was the
more wholesome, kind, serious person there
was, always got top grades, always helped with
the family work and her chores, always polite
and always respectful.

“She got into the university last year, on full

scholarship. First one in our family. What am I
talking about, she is the first one in our family
who finished high school. Most of us didn’t
even make it to tenth year.”
39
Dog came back with the tea and poured a cup
for the guest, put an empty cup in front of the
guru and the teapot in the middle of the table.

Jailee took the pot and poured into gurus cup.

No one is sure when this habit started, but it

caught on. It was a small symbolic ritual
everyone who came to see the guru had to pass,
pouring the tea for the guru before they ask for
help or advice.

It made them feel better. First, they give to

guru, and then they ask. Well, they usually also
bring some gifts. I mean pouring tea is symbolic
and nice but a big bag full of fresh fruit, or a
couple of portions of fried fish in curry are
nicer.

Every person who came brought his own thing,

whatever they have, whatever they make,
whatever they are. It kept the guru well fed.
Very well fed. With some nice appliances in the
warehouse too. He just got a new fancy digital
air fryer from someone a couple of weeks ago.

It is still in its box but the guru was very proud

of it, and put it in clear sight so anyone who

40
comes in can see it. In its box. One day he will
try to see how it works or what does it actually
do. no rush.

Jailee poured the tea, waited for guru to sip,

and leaned forward, almost whispering.

“It is her new boyfriend; I think he is a drug

dealer”

Oh, that was bad news, yes, that was not good,
that might actually be a real problem. The guru
had a very deep dislike to drugs and especially
to drug dealers. He saw the effects of drugs on
people, in the jail where his mother worked, but
also on the streets of the slums, close to home,
as real as it gets. He saw what it did to people,
to families, to the victims of the crimes
committed to get the drugs. he did not like it,
not at all.

In fact, there were no drug dealers living in the

slums, well, at least not big ones, the small-
timers pill-here a bag-of-weed-there variety
were always around, but the real negative
elements? Well, they were, eh, helped out. They
were not thrown out, but the guru managed to

41
convince them that maybe it is better if they
will be somewhere else.

The final straw was when he got every kid in

the slum to catch rats, paying them two baht
per rat, live ones only. And then freed them all
in the drug dealer headquarters, while nailing
shut the doors from outside. Oh, if you could
have been there to hear the screams, at least
two of the guys inside were shot by their
friends who were trying to shoot off the rats.

I am not talking about a small bag of rats, this

was a huge wooden crate, the ones they use to
bring potatoes from the countryside. Hundreds
of rats. And the whole slum was outside
cheering. Then they poured a little bit of lighter
fluid under the door, and set the front door on
fire, that was fun.

In ten seconds, the rat trap prisoners had

enough, kicked the burning door down off its
hinges and tearing out all the nails, and the
whole crew ran out covered with rats, running
as fast as they can, and they just kept on
running.

42
People will talk about it for generations to
come.

Now, the aftermath was that guru had to pay

all the kids again, to catch those rats again,
because now they were running around
traumatized and looking for a new home, but it
was worth it. At two baht a rat, once to catch
and release and then to catch again and take
out of the slums? Totally worth it.

And there were no real drug dealers in the slum

since then. But this, this can be a problem.
When the kids go out to the real world, to the
world out there, he cannot protect them
anymore. In the slums they were all his kids,
even the adults, but out there, his power means
nothing. Out there it was a real wild world, the
slums are easy, the slums are simple, you obey
a couple of simple rules and you will be ok, or
at least survive.

Out there? That is a completely different kind

of game, with no rules, with too many people
and too many words, and ideas, and
temptations.

43
If she met a drug dealer out there, well, very
little that he could do about it.

“Does he come to visit her?”

“Yes, all the time. He drives in with his open

Mercedes and parks it in front of the house. In
the middle of the slum. Like nothing. That guy
has balls I will tell you that. Any other person?
The car would be on blocks in ten minutes. But
people know not to mess with him. A red open
Mercedes.”

“Let me know next time he comes; I will have a

word with him”

The guru finished the tea from the cup, and put
his hands together in a wai gesture to bless the
guest but also to hint that his time is up.

“Thank you guru, thank you so much”

He backed out of the room and as he opened

the door, the light from outside immediately
flooded the room again, making everybody
flinch and blink as the door was shut with a
loud thump.

44
Guru sat there thinking for a while. It was not
an easy problem and he had to find the perfect
way to handle it, the perfect words, the right
attitude.

He looked at Dog.

Dog looked at him.

“Fish curry or fried rice?” he asked.

“We had fried rice last night” Dog answered.

“Fish curry it is.” He concluded; with such a

serious tone it made them both smiled.

When you have a problem that is complicated

and needs a lot of thinking and analyzing and
such, it is always good to sleep on it as they say,
or at least eat on it. Do something on it, just
don’t think about the actual problem. Then the
solution will come.

It doesn’t always work, but the guru and his

bodyguards found the system to be very
efficient, because if eating on it doesn’t work
finding a solution for the problem, at least it
found a solution for lunch. Or dinner. Or
breakfast. Or a snack.

45
Yes, eating on it seems to be responsible for
some expansion in the waste line of the guru,
pushing him to wear more spiritual clothes,
you know, loosely hanging and wavy, that
symbolize freedom but actually just hide a nice
big belly.

They say that the buddha belly is big because it

has the whole universe in it. Not sure about the
universe but the guru belly had a whole buffet
plus desserts in it. But it did help him think.

Dog came back with three plastic bags hanging

on his arm and a tray with three plates of white
rice. He sat up the table for lunch and the three
of them sat on the floor and started eating
slowly and with intent.

Guru taught them about intentional eating,

where you are connected to the food, the
ingredients, where every part of the dish came
from, who grew it, who caught it, thinking
about the farmer, the fisherman, the
truckdriver, the boy who washes the dishes, the
whole chain that led to that moment in time
where they can enjoy this food.

46
The truth is, that it is not like the guru does this
every time he eats, because let’s face it, that is a
lot of energy for just something to fill your
stomach, all that thinking. But he pretends to
do it, because it means he doesn’t have to talk,
and he doesn’t like to talk during meals. This
way people think he is concentrated on the
mindful eating thing, so they don’t disturb him.
Told you he was not stupid.

The phone rang. Ok, it was time to go. Dishes

were quickly put in the sink, washing face and
hands and they were ready. Time to go to work.

As they walked outside, guru was thinking of

what to do when he comes to the drug dealer,
what tactic should he choose, be soft, be hard,
be threatening or coming in love. He decided to
wait and decide later. This is usually the best
decision.

The car was red. Very red. But not gaudy red,
not lipstick red, it was dark red, like expensive
wine red. It was spectacular. Open top, shiny
chrome, smooth lines. Top of the line. It was
high quality.

47
And the kid who was sitting in it, humming to
some tune in the radio, looked high quality too.
I mean, he did look like a punk, with some
strange hipster hairdo and clothes that look just
a little too expensive to be actually cool, but
that were trying really hard to be just that. He
was a pretty boy. didn’t look like your typical
drug dealer. Maybe he was high up the chain,
but then again, he is too young.

“That is one beautiful car” the guru said as they

approached.

The kid looked at them, smiled, turn the music

down, and gave a big wai gesture. A profound
gesture, deep, of full respect.

Then his smile grew even bigger, and he said

“right? Isn’t she amazing? Got her two weeks
ago, and I am still so excited!”

Now guru was a bit taken aback, a bit off his

balance. That was not really what he expected
from this potentially bad drug dealer. He was a
kid. A kid with a fancy car.

“So, your daddy got you this for graduation?”

48
The kid laughed. “What graduation? I dropped
out after two semesters, was enough for me.
Waste of time. “
guru felt a wave of antagonism starting to rise
inside his stomach, but he pushed it down and
just tried to get as much information as he can
get, before making up his mind about the guy
and what to do next.

“so, he got you this car for your birthday, cool.

That is a good dad”

The kid looked at him and tilted his head a

little, like dogs do when they don’t understand
something.

“Dude, my dad? Are you kidding? my father

drives a fifteen-year-old beat up Toyota pickup.
One day I will get him one like this“ he said
and patted the side of the car with apparent
deep love.

“You are kind of young to be able to afford

having a car like this, no?”

It was a direct question, but he couldn’t help it,

he was running out of patience and it was hot.

49
The kid laughed. “You old people don’t get it.
It’s not about the age, it’s about the hustle, it is
what you make for yourself. Dude, it is all
about potential, all about the drive. I told you;
university is a waste of time.”

Guru smiled. He was young once too. He

thought he was invincible and that he knew
everything too. He liked that. The kid reminded
him of himself. Maybe a little sleazier and
greasier version but still.

The kids continued. “Dude, I made this month

in crypto and NFT more than what my father
makes in a year. People can’t stop buying it. It
is crazy”

The guru was not sure what the kid was talking
about, but he didn’t want to show his
ignorance. Saving face and all, guru or not guru
you have to be human in the end, and he had to
hide the fact there is something he doesn’t
know.

“Yeah, I heard about the NFT. It’s a party thing,

right?”

“Party, what party?”

50
“Party, you know, you take it in a party, no?”
the guru tried again but was already aware he
was not on the right track and there might have
been some misunderstanding here.

“Dude. What are you talking about? Nft ? Non-

Fungible Token”

“Oh, I see,” said the guru.

He did not see. He did not see anything and he

didn’t like this feeling. But he was a guru. So,
he breathed in slowly, thought for a second,
and said:

“I was just talking about nfb this morning, over

breakfast, with my friends here (and he nodded
at Subway and Dog who were standing behind
him). Yes, we had quite a lovely discussion. So,
tell me, if YOU had to explain to them what is
nfb, what would you tell them?”

“nft. Not nfb. It is a token. A non-fungible

token. It doesn’t exist, that is the whole beauty.
It is just digital. It is real but it doesn’t exist and
people pay a lot of money to invest in it.”

51
“I see…” guru started again, but he had to
admit to himself that he still did not see
anything.

“It is the future, dude. This is where the big

money is. Crypto. Nft. I mean, look at this killer
car. Don’t tell me it is not amazing”

“I see… “he repeated again. He just couldn’t

think of anything else to say at this point.

Dog, who was standing behind guru, to his left,

knew everything there is to know about chain
blocks and crypto, and was also invested in
some of these platforms, but he felt that it was
not his place to chip in and help. Mentally he
was hitting his forehead with his hand
repeatedly, but he just stood there and stared
menacingly, doing his job.

The kid was smiling in a way that made the

guru uncomfortable. It was a confident smile of
someone who made it, who got it, who found
the secret to something. He knew this smile
because it was his trademark, his own brand. A
guru smile.

52
“Dude, check out the sick sound system man”
the kid turned up the volume again to some
rhythmic music-like noise, and he started
swaying with it, his smile transforming from
enlightened to idiotic, and again became just a
silly teenager with a flashy car.

At least he is not a drug dealer. He was almost

sure he was not a drug dealer. Nft and crypto. I
see. He still didn’t see anything. But he started
to understand what he doesn’t get.

“So, you sell things that don’t exist and people

pay you money for that? Sounds a little
shady…” at this point, the guru forgot he had
to keep on the mask of knowing things, and
was just really interested in this new thing he
just learned.

He was intrigued, I mean, he didn’t know a lot

about business, but he did make a nice living
out of garbage, so he knew the basics, you have
something people want, and people pay you for
it. Business is not that complicated in the end.
But this was different, this really did sound like
a scam.

53
“People buy them and I take my commission.
3% of all sales. If everything goes as planned,
next year I will buy a nice condo. Maybe
something near the river.” The kid was
beaming with pride.

“I see. Must be quite a job going around and

selling those nft things. I see why you need a
good car”. The guru was starting to respect the
kid on some level. It still seemed to him like
this is just a big scam and something smelt
fishier than Subways breath, but it seemed to
work.

The kid laughed. “Oh no, it is all on our

platform. People come to our site and buy
there. I work maybe two or three hours a day
updating the numbers, keeping the system
intact, you know, making sure the tech guys are
doing their job. And the money comes in.”

Ok, now he was impressed. Making money is

one thing, but making money without working,
now that is remarkable. That is special. The kid
might be on to something.

“But, you know, it is not really all that legal in

the end….” The guru winked to him. He tried
54
to be friendly, now that the kid really got his
attention.

“Oh, it is hundred percent legal, we have our

business license, and our forex license and we
pay more taxes than we actually should, just to
be on the safe side. Our legal department is
very good. Cool guys too, you would not think
lawyers could be cool”

Now the guru was really shocked. Making

money, without work, and it is legal. Maybe all
this talk about progress is real, maybe we are
advancing in the right direction, this kid still
has milk on his lips and he got that car, that is,
well, remarkable.

He could not help himself. he had to get some

more answers.

“so, people buy from you something that

doesn’t exist, you take a commission, and then
you buy a fancy car”

“Oh, I did not buy it, it is in leasing, I am not

stupid. When you buy a car you lose half the
value the minute you drive off the lot.”

55
The kid was not stupid. He might be a Douch
bag, but he was not stupid.

“But yes, the idea is that they buy and I get my

cut.”

“And then… they… have it” said the guru

slowly, looking at the kid trying to figure out
by his response if he was right, still trying to
grasp the whole concept of this new thing that
he just discovered.

“yes” said the kid. Showing more patience than

was expected.

“But it doesn’t exist…” the guru continued.

“no. it doesn’t. it is digital.”

“So, people pay you so they can have

something that doesn’t exist…” said the guru,
trying to be nonchalant and not show the actual
shock he felt.

“Yes, because, you see, maybe other people will

want that thing too, and buy it, and then it’s
value will go up, and you can sometimes
double your investment.”

“Investment in something that doesn’t exist.”

56
“Yes. That’s NFT. It is all part of the crypto
revolution. You know about crypto, right,
daddy?”

Ok, now he was just starting to be cheeky.

Daddy. Who is he calling daddy? Breath in,
breath out, relax, breath in, breath out, relax. He
decided to ignore that poke. Sometimes even
the bear ignores the pokes, especially if it is a
guru bear.

“Is there good money in this crypto thing?” the

guru asked. He understood that he was not
really all that modern in the end, and sometime
he did feel like the world passed him by as he
was sitting in his palace enjoying the moment.

“You tell me, look, this is a real diamond” the

kid showed his earing. It was indeed a very
shiny diamond.

Guru remembered how only ten years ago,

walking into this slum with a diamond earing
meant you would walk out with one less ear, at
best. But those days have passed, thank God.
Not because of some police operation or
anything, no, the police was always useless and
will always be useless, he ignored them when
57
he could, they were a non-entity in his life, just
something annoying, like a mosquito that
comes once in a while to suck your blood.

No, it was the community that threw out, threw

up, threw away the real negative elements, the
violent ones, the sick ones, the evil ones. And
you cannot live in this world, especially in the
slums without believing in evil, that evil exists.

Some things cannot be explained by anything

else; it is not even sickness; it is just evil. I guess
in other parts of town the evil is more polite
and wears suits so it is harder to see the danger,
it is harder to see the damage too. In the slums
it was simpler, more basic, and there were less
disguises and masks, evil was there. And once
in a while you had to clean house and get rid of
it. In some way or another.

Just last year the kids of the slum drove away a

bully, a no-good little crook bully, who chose
the wrong kid to kick in the middle of the road,
who thought he was strong but did not
understand what chain reaction his actions will
bring. That is the downfall of many people, not
understanding that everything is connected,

58
and nothing is a coincidence and every action
has a reaction, and the dominos start to fall here
but you never know where they will turn.

The kid he kicked, who was a punk himself, but

that is beside the point, was also a member of a
known crime family in this town. Not in the
slums, in town, real criminals, old school.

No, no, it is not the case that the family came to

punish the bully, no, not at all. It was just the
kid. And his friends. He felt that as part of such
a distinguished family, he has a responsibility,
and as he was almost entering puberty, he felt
the need to prove himself.

And they started what was a genius torture

campaign against that bully.

Small things. Cutting his tv line, the pirated

cable tv line that went to the main box. Five
minutes before the end of a crucial soccer
match. Or five minutes before the end of a
thriller action movie he was watching. Four
times all in all. With perfect timing, and no
traces.

59
This group of kids was not an official gang, but
they were known around as those sneaky
bastards so I guess that would be their official
name. sneaky Basterds with sticky fingers.

Other than the tv line, they also closed his

water valve on fixed intervals. Just the main
valve behind the house. Sneak in, close,
disappear. They didn’t do any damage, they
didn’t break anything, they just drove him
crazy.

And then the deliveries would come. All

ordered for his address and his name. twice a
day. He ended up putting a sign on the door
telling delivery guys that they were scammed.
They were not happy about it.

It was nothing serious. They just drove him

crazy.

Very basic stuff. Ringing the doorbell at three in

the morning. Calling his phone at four. They
were kids, and this was on the summer holiday
so they had no school for six weeks, they really
didn’t have anything better to do. having a
sleep over and putting an alarm clock for three

60
to run over and ring his bell. That is fun. That is
an adventure. That is what kids do.

Anyway, to return to our story it took five

weeks. One day he was gone and the place was
empty. So, if you ever asked yourself how long
does it take a group of kids to make a complete
stranger clinically insane and drive him out of
his mind? Five weeks. I am sure they could
have done it in four, but it was summer and it
was really hot.

These days, you can bling as much as you want,

carry as much shinny stones on your earlobe as
you want, and chances are you will still be ok.
Maybe harassed a little for being too
flamboyant. Because after all, that was one big
ass diamond earing.

But now the guru was relaxed. It was not a

drug dealer, just a Douch bag. He cannot
protect the young girl from douchebags. No,
that would be a full-time job. He excused
himself with a wai gesture and went inside to
talk to the worried father.

Dog and Subway stayed outside, guarding. Or

standing. Ok, standing. But it looked like they
61
were guarding, even though they were both
lost in thoughts, Dog about the future of world
currency and how it will affect the local
economy and the actual monetary system, not
to mention the impact on all social interactions
as we know them today, and Subway, well,
Subway was thinking about a Subway
sandwich. They have these new meatball subs
that look delicious.

So, it will probably be that next time, the

meatball sub. Or the tuna. He liked the tuna. So,
it will be meatball subs or tuna. Their tuna
sandwich is really good. Maybe tuna. Yes. It
will be tuna.

62
Fridge connection

Boris looked worried. Real worried. He

scrambled into the warehouse, and wai-ed
several times as he was approaching the throne.
The plastic layer that was protecting the leather
throne couch made a squeaking voice as guru
straightened up and sat straight to welcome the
visitor.

Boris sat down. And dog handed him a glass of

cold water, which he drank in one sip and put
on the table in front of him.

“I am screwed” he looked guru in the eyes. “I

am royally screwed. I need to borrow money, I
have to buy a new fridge”

Boris, as his name might tell you, was Indian.

Nobody knew why his parents named him
boris, and neither did he. He was boris. And he
was Indian. Not Russian Indian, not a white
Russian, Indian. As Indian as you can be. With
the wobbly head and all. And he had an Indian
restaurant right in the end of the slum, a nice
one too. He was an excellent cook.
63
“My fridge died, I just got supplies yesterday
and will have to throw everything away. I need
to buy a new fridge today. I need to borrow
money”

Guru never loaned money. It was a law for him.

He gave money when needed but he never
loaned. or borrowed for that matter. The whole
concept seemed yucky to him. And then there
is interest, and payments, no, it really is all too
yucky.

“Can’t you fix it?” he asked.

“The technician said it will cost almost like a

new fridge, better get a new one”

Guru thought for a minute. Then called dog

over.

He whispered something in his ear, and dog

nodded for yes.

“Good, good” said guru, opened his phone,

raised a finger to boris, to let him know it will
be a minute, and made a call. He walked away
as he was talking, going in circles in the
warehouse, and after three minutes came back

64
to the throne, which made another annoying
plastic creaking noise as he sat down.

“In half an hour a technician will come to fix

the fridge. And it will not cost you anything”

“ANYTHING?” boris was almost in tears.” no,

guru I cannot, I will pay you back.”

“Nonsense, nonsense.” Said guru with a big

smile, patting Boris on the back. “don’t worry
about it, it costs me nothing too”

“But who will pay? What do you mean

nothing?” asked Boris, a little worried.

Guru looked him in the eyes, with his hand on

his shoulder, and said: “Relax, go to the
restaurant, the technician will be there soon.
When everything is fixed, you invite me to
dinner and I will tell you how”

Boris wai-ed and bowed around seven or eight

times more and then scurried out, running back
to take care of the business.

The next day boris came back, smiling and

relaxed, and asked guru to give him the honor
of cooking for him tonight, and at what time to

65
expect them. Guru was happy. He liked Indian
food. Everybody likes Indian food. And as we
said, Boris made excellent Indian food.

As the evening came, a slight breeze passed in

the slum’s streets, with a hint of jasmine
flowers but also spicy foods, literally a breath of
fresh air, and it was a lovely walk to visit Boris.

You could smell the cooking from a block

away, and their mouth started to water already.
Boris welcomed them at the door and brought
them to the central table, which was already
full of plates of delicacies, colorful, fragrant,
moist, seductive, it all looked so good.

“Please, please, dig in, enjoy, I will join you

later on” said Boris and ran back to the kitchen
to take care of the other customers.

Guru said hello to a couple of customers from

our community, smiled to the others, and sat at
the head of the table. He looked at all that
amazing food, then closed his eyes and prayed
god, any god, he is not picky, will give him the
strength to eat all that and not die from a
massive coronary, his face plonked in a large
plate of curry. That is no way to go. No, he
66
wanted to die in his sleep. Not with a piece of
nan stuck to his forehead as the medics fish him
out of his curried grave.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that most of

the others have followed him in prayer. They
must be thanking something for something. He
liked that. Maybe he should try that too. So he
closed his eyes again and thanked the big
something for the small something that he is
going to receive now. For a guru, he was not
very spiritual. Or deep. Or maybe it was
because who can really be spiritual and deep
when you are hungry and sitting in front of
such great food.

They started tasting the different dishes, and at

the beginning they were trying to keep a
serious face and not make those joy noises that
they wanted to make, but after a round of all
the different plates they were moaning out
loud, and I think for a second there the guru
was purring. That was literally the best food
they ever had. Mostly because it was prepared
for them, with gratitude, with love, with a real
connection.

67
When they could not stuff another grain of rice
to their mouth, all three sat back and relaxed,
and as the young waiter took away the empty
dirty dishes, boris came with a plate of sweets,
a pot of tea and four cups. He looked at the
three semi-conscious poor souls and laughed.
He sat down and poured the tea.

“Here, this will wake you up. Look at you. I

thought you guys could eat. You left so much.
C’mon”. He laughed and almost choked.

Guru took a sip of the tea. That was some

strong tea. And hot. And sweet. But mostly, oh
hello world wakey wakey strong. Like coffee.
But stronger. He risked taking a cashew cookie
and put it in his mouth, and to his surprise and
delight, there was still enough space and it
went perfectly with the tea.

Boris looked at him, small smile, big eyes. “Tell

me, I want to know. How did you do it?”

The guru laughed. “Right, I promised I would

tell… ok, ok.”
he sat upright, smiled at boris, and started:

“Actually, it was not that complicated”

68
Guru settled in his place, trying to find the most
comfortable position on the small plastic tool,
and in the end decided on leaning forward so
he can put his arms on the table for balance.
These small chairs were perfect for sitting down
for a quick meal, but they were anything but
comfortable. He missed his throne, but was too
lazy to walk all the way back to the palace on
such a full stomach. Even as it is, he found it
hard to convince some of his blood to flow to
his head and not just to the belly to help the
digestion process.

“It was not that complicated” he repeated, took

a deep breath and started.

“You see, khun mon, you know mon, from the

post office. He just moved to a new place a
couple of months ago. He got married you
know, and needs a bigger place now that he
starts a family. I gave him a couple of pieces of
furniture I had laying around in the warehouse.
A bed, a coffee table, a nice couch that really
looked almost new once we got the cat smell
out of it. Things that were hanging around and
could be of better use.”

69
Guru breathed in, and continued.

“His uncle, owns the hardware store on main

street. The big one. You have seen it, the one
with the blue neon sign. So, I called khun mon
and asked for a favor. The start of the chain. He
got his uncle to sponsor the new uniform for
the school’s soccer team. The old ones look
really bad. It was like hobo leage, the homeless
finals.”

He stopped. Took a sip from the tea, and went

on.

“Now, the coach of the team, khun fran, was so

thankful, it really made his day. He was
looking for sponsors for a couple of years but
because of the whole situation, well, nada.
nothing. He really had his heart set on new
uniforms for the kids. He was ecstatic. So as a
sign of gratitude he did a small favor and
hooked up the cable tv to khun toi. The pirate
one of course. You can see all the channels all
the time. That was his “business” when he was
not coaching the kids. And he did it for free.”

Another sip. Another pause.

70
“khun toi was happy with the new cable so he
agreed to give the old baby carriage that they
don’t use, as their boy is already running
around like crazy making havoc everywhere, to
khun max who just had a baby girl.

Khun max loved the new gift, a new baby

carriage like this can cost a lot these days, they
are all fancy, you know, they look like
expensive sport cars but for babies. Or maybe it
is designed like this for the fathers, so they will
feel more cool walking around with their small
treasure.

It was a beautiful gift, and to continue the

karma, he talked to his boss, the dentist from
canal street, and convinced him to give a full set
of braces to khun lek’s son, free of charge. He
had to use some piece of information he had on
his boss, something slightly spicy and weird
enough, to close the deal, but you have to do
what you have to do.

So… khun lek’s son got new braces, and lek, in

return, fixed the roof at khun cello’s house. It
has been dripping for a couple of years already,
and that khun lek, I tell you, he is a magician,

71
good hands, good head, he can fix anything. He
really can.”

Another sip from the tea, and as he saw boris

face lit with anticipation to hear the ending, he
continued.
“and khun cello? Well, he is the brother of your
fridge technician, who was happy to drop by
and do the work as a favor.”

There was silence.

“See? Not that complicated.”

Boris opened his mouth, wanting to say

something, but closed it again. Then thought a
little, tried to organize things in his head, and
opened his mouth again.

“So khun mon got the sponsor for khun fran,

who got the cable for khun toi, who got the
baby carriage to khun max, who got the braces
for khun lek, who fixed the roof for khun cello,
who sent his brother to help me. Wow. That is
complicated.”

Guru smiled.

72
“khun mon got the sponsor for khun fran, who
got the cable for khun toi, who got the baby
carriage to khun max, who got the braces for
khun lek, who fixed the roof for khun cello,
who sent his brother to help you. very simple.”

They all laughed. And then guru continued.

“Very simple. Each person just did one nice

thing to one person. That is all. Simple. I do
something nice to you, you do something nice
to him, in the end it comes back to me. Karma.
It’s nothing new, always worked like that. I just
make it…well, faster. More effective.”

He winked. And Boris made a face as if he

understood. He knew about karma obviously,
but was still puzzled and slightly shocked at
the chain of events that just happened around
him, without him being aware of it, the energy
that moved from person to person until it
ended up fixing his fridge and solving his
emergency.

“Just push the first domino, do the first good

thing, and wait. You will be surprised”

73
Guru smiled to himself as he heard these words
coming out of his mouth. He was still
sometimes entertained by the fact he is some
kind of guru, and when he dispensed these
kinds of profound truths, with a serious face,
after a good story, well, he actually did feel like
a guru.

He felt good. And full. And sleepy. And the

story ended, and the story was told, and there
was just one thing to do when you are in this
situation.

They said polite and sleepy goodbyes to boris

and the waiters, and headed back to the palace,
walking ever so slowly, like snails, snails full of
good Indian food, sleepy snails.

They walked through the streets, which seemed

longer than they remembered, longer than they
were on the way to the restaurant, longer than
anything they ever had to walk. Fighting the
urge to just stop and lay down in the middle of
the street, just two blocks more.

They got in the palace and each found a quiet

corner to close their eyes. That was a long day,
guru thought to himself, and they definitely
74
earnt that nap. He burped a curry flavored
cloud and drifted into a quiet, peaceful sleep.
Best nap he had in a long while, waking up just
in time for some tea and cookies before going to
bed for the night.

75
Government gig

Eight years ago, the governor decided it is time

to fix up the sewer system. after every rain
brought flooding and traffic problems, they
finally decided, up there in the ivory tower of
government that it is time to do something
about it.

And they did. They did not actually fix

anything, and the floods continue to this day,
but they definitely did something. They dug a
lot of streets, they took a lot of pictures at the
construction sites, wearing hard hats and
shaking hands, they got the news to cover these
improvements to the city, you know, they did
what government does best.

After five months of digging and making noise,

and blocking traffic, and dust everywhere, after
five months of playing the game of look what I
am doing, everything was done and the peace
came back to the streets of the slum. The first
year, the flooding was a little less than usual.
And that was it. second year it returned to
76
normal. The water was not impressed by the
works, and they probably did not see the news
and did not know that the problem was solved.

Nobody got very excited about it. as I said, the

usual government games.

Other than khun tarapong and his wife. They

were packing their bags now. Guru heard they
were moving and decided to pay them a visit.
The couple were in their seventies, and were
well loved in the neighborhood. He was a
retired veterinarian, and was always happy to
help with a rescued puppy or kitten, and was
always kind and gentle with the older pets.
They were a nice couple.

Guru walked by and looked in through the

open door.

“Good morning! Anyone at home?”

He peeked inside and heard mrs tarapong

shouting

“Come in, come in guruji, I will be with you in

a minute”

77
The Livingroom was full of big carton boxes.
He sat down on the couch.

“Tea?” she yelled from the next door.

“Yes please, one sugar. Thanks!”

A minute later she waddled into the room with

a tray, two cup of teas and a small old plate
with some biscuits on it. he loved old people’s
biscuits. They always have the best biscuits, old
style, brands that you never see around the
normal shops any more. He took one and
dunked it in the tea.

“So, you are moving? That is it? you are bored

with us?”

She smiled. She was a nice woman.

“Never! You know I love you and I love this

place. But we move to the seaside. You know,
the air is better there. And we bought a nice
cottage near the beach.”

Guru was impressed. And puzzled. And

curious.

“Bought a cottage at the beach? Did you win

the lottery?”
78
She laughed. And looked at him amused.

“You don’t know the story, do you? well, very

few people do”

Ok, now he was turned on, he loved a good

story, and a story he doesn’t know and most
people don’t know and he is going to hear right
now, this day is just getting better and better.

“Remember the sewer works? Eight years ago?

Well, it seemed that most of the work was on
city land and they just dig and dig and do what
they want, but for one part of the pipe, the only
way to get to it was through our back garden.”

Garden was a big word for what they had in

the back. It was a small parcel of land, three
meters wide and eight meters long, with some
old empty clay pots and one rusty chair. But it
was their back garden.

“My husband, as you might know, is not fond

of the governor, or governments, or any of
these high positions telling us what to do and
what not to do. so he said no.

They had no choice. He said he would sell them

the land. For twelve million baht. That was
79
exactly four times what it is worth. They said
no. he said fine.”

She stood up and went to the kitchen to bring

more biscuits. These ones disappeared
somehow.

Guru was waiting, on pins and needles, waiting

for her to go on. She came back and sat down.
Without thinking he took a biscuit and ate it,
his eyes always fixed on her, like he was
hypnotized.

“so, a lawyer came, and said that they can’t

force him, and they really want to pay him, so
what he can do is give him a temporary
consultant job, with very nice pay, for the next
six months, until the works are finished.

He will get paid every month so they can come

in two or three times and work in his back yard
for a couple of days.”

Guru started to understand. Nice story. But

still, it didn’t add up.

“That is nice, and I am sure the money was

good, but that doesn’t really pay for a seaside
cottage…”
80
She laughed. And laughed. She tried to talk, but
started to laugh again.

“You don’t understand. They made a mistake

in the contract…” she started laughing again,
like a small girl, like a small girl who was
caught doing something naughty but funny.

“There was a line there, that said the contract

automatically renews itself every six months,
unless there is a request to stop it. eight years.”

Guru chocked on a piece of biscuit and quickly

took a sip from the tea. Now that was a good
story.

“he actually went to them to complain, after

two years, the money just kept coming every
month to the bank account. He went to yell at
them that they are wasting tax payers’ money.
They sent him from this department to that one,
and back. So, he gave up.”

“Eight years” guru said. “Eight years”

She smiled at him. “Eight years of a monthly

paycheck, a very very nice monthly paycheck,
for doing nothing at all. We saved the money.
Bought a nice condo for our daughter, and
81
what was left goes to the cottage. Thank you,
governor. We never expected to have a
retirement like that. See? Governments do some
good things too!”

khun tarapong walked in with a big smile.

“Hello darling, oh, and hello guruji! Nice to see

you!”

He turned to his wife and kissed her forehead.

“The lawyer confirmed, if he stays here and he
has the same family name, the contract is still
valid. technically. unless someone asks any
questions.”

He turned to guru.

“You will have a new neighbor. Our cousin. He

is a good kid. He will be taking over this house
when we move, we just bought…”

“a nice seaside cottage,” said guru. “Yes, I

heard all about it. that sounds really lovely”

“Right?” khun tarapong face was radiant.

Guru bid them both farewell and a bright

future, and headed back to the palace. On the
way he thought about how things actually
82
work in this world, and if he is missing
something, some secret, some law, something.
It was all so random and yet so poetic.

And governments, he really should look into

that. It can’t be that easy, I mean It cant be just
money laying around and you just have to pick
it, but on the other hand, seeing the morons
who run things and the general intelligence of
politicians around the world, it can’t be that
hard.

A poodle could do that. Maybe a labradoodle.

They are trendier. Yeah, a labradoodle would
be the perfect candidate for, well, any
government position. But he should really look
into it.

But then, as he was settling down back on his

throne, and looked around him, and he thought
to himself, this works, this is working, this is
efficient. It was. His business, his life, it was
working. He thought about government.

Government is incompetence by definition, the

worst, longest most expensive way to do
something that doesn’t even need to be done.

83
And from there, the incompetence just brings
more chaos.

He doesn’t like chaos. He likes order. In

moderation. Flexible order but still order. He
liked things the way he liked them. Chaos
might be profitable, at least on the short run,
but in the end, it is too much headache. Guru
did not like headaches.

No, government was not for him. Let them

have it. them, those who can stand it. he is
happy here. In his palace, on his throne, in the
slum. His slum.

84
Protection pendant

The knock on the palace door was a silent one.

A weak one. A whisper of a knock, hesitant, a
mouse knocking on the door.

They almost didn’t hear it, but then the door

opened to a crack, and the light came in and
forced them to look. Rara was outside, peaking
inside, looking around.

“May I come in?” he said softly.

Dog stood up and went to the door, opened it

wide and point with his head, go in, go.

Rara approached the throne, slowly, carefully,

like he was walking on egg shells, or maybe
walking on smoldering coals like those Indian
monks. He was walking as if he was not
confident in his own ability to walk, not
trusting his body.

Then when he reached the chair in front of

guru, he checked it, to make sure it is safe and
strong, and then checked it again, and turned it

85
around, and then finally sat down. You know
how dogs always do that thing where they turn
around a couple of times on the same spot until
they find the right direction to sleep in? it was
the same thing, but a little funnier.

He did not look good. He did not look bad, but

he did not look good. He looked worried. And
afraid. And full of blue and black marks and
what seems to be three deep scratches going
down his cheek. One of his eyes was half closed
and blood shot. There was a strange not so
small shaved rectangle over his left ear. And
when I say not so small, I mean there was a
huge shaved rectangle over his left ear.

Guru did not say a word.

Dog did not say a word.

Xian did not say a word.

Rara did not say a word.

They just sat there. Waiting. It is not that they

did not want to say something.

Guru looked at dog and made the face. The tea

face. Dog went to the water heater and started

86
making tea for everyone. They just got fresh
oolong tea that was so fragrant you were
oolonging to be in the oolongated tea fields of
the Chinese emperor himself.

He brought the tea over.

Rara thanked him and smiled, took the

perfectly brewed tea and spilt half of it on his
leg lifting the cup, shrieking in pain and
standing up, making the rest of the tea fly and
hit his face, as his knee hit the table with an
audible bone to metal encounter.

He cursed. And sat down again, wiping the hot

tea off his trousers, and then off his face. His
shoulders shook as he was starting to sob, and
he planted his face in his hands.

Guru was still speechless. But he was starting to

enjoy the show. Not in a mean-spirited way, no,
not at all, he would never take joy in the
suffering of others. Not at all. But this had to be
interesting. He was not sure where this is going
but it had to be interesting, it had to be
entertaining, the preview of the main attraction
got him hooked already. The trailer worked.

87
A minute passed, and the sobbing subsided.
Rara raised his head and looked at guru with
the most pathetic poor face you can imagine.
He opened his mouth to say something but at
that moment, the leg of the chair he was sitting
on gave up and broke right in the middle,
throwing him to the floor.

The chair he checked. Twice. A relatively new

chair. Ok, maybe not a new chair but it was a
good quality chair. Ok, maybe not the best
quality chair you can find, but for a warehouse
in the slum it was definitely above average, yes,
that’s it, an above than average chair. A strong
chair. A chair that held much heavier guests. A
chair that should not break like that.

Rara was still on the ground, as xian and dog

immediately stepped in to help, and when they
picked him up, he was like a sack of potatoes,
not making any effort to help them or himself,
just letting himself be picked up and placed on
another chair. Also, an above average chair,
where he was slouching and sighing
repeatedly.

88
“It is like this for a week. Eight days actually. I
am fucked. I am fuckfuckfuckfucked.”

Guru was starting to feel that he might have a

point. He looked like someone who is fucked.
Well, actually, he really looked like someone
who was fuckfuckfuckfuckfucked.

“Eight days. Eight days since I lost my

chatukam. I had it since I was eighteen years
old. It was a fancy one, I don’t know if you ever
saw me wear it, I usually put it under the shirt,
but It was beautiful. a true real protection
pendant from the hoi-am tiger temple. It was
amazing. And you could feel it. You could feel
the energy. I am so fucked.”

Guru actually remembered what amulet he was

talking about, what pendant, he remembered it,
and agreed that it was indeed a special artifact
that must have some magical attributes, if only
because of its sheer beauty.

“I went to get my hair cut yesterday. The barber

sneezed” he pointed at the shaved patch above
his year.

89
“On the way over here I stopped to look at the
flowers in the corner, and a bee stung me right
in the eye”

Guru was listening. He was, well, it is not nice

to say, but he really was entertained.

Rara took off his shoe, he was missing the nail

on his big toe.
“It fell off on Monday, after I dropped a car
battery on it. Was black for two days then just
fell off.” He put his shoe back on.

Rara took off his shirt. All three have gasped.

His back was full of scratches, some of them
looking quite deep, like he was whipped for
days on days.

“My daughter asked me to go feed her cat

when she was on a weekend out of town with
her friends. The cat is the devil. The cat is the
devil, if the devil was meaner than the devil. I
almost didn’t make it to the front door.”

Guru tried not to laugh. He knew raras

daughter, she worked in the health clinic down
the street as receptionist. She often brought her
cat with her to work. A cuddly white furred

90
fluffy purring precious sweet cat. Not exactly
the devil incarnate. But then again, he was not
rara.

“wait” rara said, and started to look for

something in his pants pockets. He pulled out a
note, a ticket, a fine. “Got this yesterday, for
parking my car illegally. In the same place I
park it every night for the past eight years.
Look at that.”

Guru looked at the paper and gave it back to

him.

“This morning, my landlord gave me notice

that I have to move out as they discovered toxic
black mold in the house, and that can kill you.
so, from tomorrow I am homeless too”

Guru stopped smiling. At this point he was

convinced rara has indeed become a magnet for
bad luck and cosmic kicks in the butt, and he
was worried about sitting so close to him. He
was worried about rara being in the palace. He
started to look around, moving his stare from
one side of the palace to the other, as if trying to
look for, I don’t know, fires that spontaneously
start, maybe some water damage that breaks
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the thick wood pillars, the whole structure is
built on, something. It was not funny anymore.

“Three days ago, I went to eat chicken rice at

miss’ lou restaurant. There was a pebble in my
rice. Broke a tooth.”

Guru put a loving hand on his shoulder.

“it will be ok” he said.

He said what he had to say, what he was

expected to say, but he did not really mean it. It
will be ok. Maybe. I don’t know. He didn’t
know, nobody knows. Maybe it will be ok. Who
knows?

“I need to find my protection pendant, guru”

Guru nodded, and sat back in his throne.

Thinking to himself.

“Are you sure it is all because the protection

pendant?” he asked.

“Guru, it has to be, I mean look at all that bad

luck. Look at everything that is happening to
me, it has to be, it is not normal, I cannot live
like this, and I will probably not live long if this
goes on…”
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How can you try and explain to someone that
this is all just superstitious and that it is not
real, just old womens tales and folklore, that
there is no protection and there are no spells?
The world doesn’t work like that. How can you
even start?

“it doesn’t really work like that, you know”

guru finally said.

“What? How do you mean?” rara asked, with

big open eyes.

Ok, guru did not really think that one through,

and did not have a follow-up, so he just
nodded, and winked and said again. “This is
not how it works. Relax”

Rara did not relax. Nobody ever relaxes when

you tell them to relax. People have different
reaction to being told to relax, from screaming
to hitting you with a shoe, but relax is never
one of those reactions.

“So how does it work?” he asked.

Ok, now guru was in trouble. He had no idea

how protection pendants work.

93
He knew people paid a lot of money for them,
and that there was a big market to exchange
them, collect them, but he was never really into
all the witchcraft and supernatural stuff.

He knew it existed, there was no doubt about

that, but it was just not something he would
think about. He was more zen. Or lazy. Or both.
Depends on your point of view and how do
you define zen. Or being lazy. Or both.

“Do you believe it works?” the guru asked.

“What? The pendant? Of course. It is protecting

me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, it protected me all these years. I am

alive, no?”

The guru tilted his head to the side a little, like

dogs do when they try to understand
something.
he caught himself doing it, and it made him
smile. It was half voluntary and half not, half
natural and half part of the game, part of the
role, part of the conversation, like a dramatic

94
pause, it was a tool, a nonverbal tool, a
movement that says so much with so little.

“so, nothing bad ever happened to you? is that

what you are saying? You were protected?”

“well,” rara started, and then stopped, and

thought for a second “well, no, some bad things
happen. But a lot of bad things did not
happen.”

“What things?” the guru was starting to enjoy

himself.

“I don’t know. Bad things. Very bad things.”

“For example?”

“I… I was never in a big car accident. I had a

couple of dents and fender benders, but I was
never in a serious car accident.”

“That is good. That is very good. You know, I

was never in a serious car accident either. But I
don’t have your protection pendant”

Rara pointed at the guru’s chest. “but you wear

this.”

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The guru looked down at his pendant. “This?
This old thing? This is for luck, not for
protection. I won it in a cards game many years
ago. Remember the shaving cream sales man
with the glass eye? I won it from him. It was a
lucky day, so I wear it for luck. Not protection.”

Rara was confused.

“But everybody wears protection pendants. It is

not just me. Everybody knows. Everybody does
it. It works.”

Guru made a face. It was the kind of face you

make when someone says something that forces
you to actually make a face, make that face,
make that kind of face, and he said: “but does
it, really?”

Rara was taken aback again. “it works. A lot of

people wear them. It protects them”

Guru made that face again. “but does it, really?

Does it? I see a lot of bad things happening to a
lot of people wearing a lot of protection
pendants….”

Rara thought for a minute.

96
“But think of all the bad things that could
happen, worse things, much worse things.”

Guru sighed.

There really is very little maneuvering space

when arguing with faith, with beliefs. By
definition it is not rational, and it is a waste of
time trying to rationalize it.

“And what about the people who don’t wear

protection pendants, and nothing bad happens
to them?”

Rara was not phased for a second. “They are

lucky, they can afford being so irresponsible. I
am not lucky. Look at me, do I look lucky to
you?”

Well, even normally rara was not the kind of

person you would point at and say, you know
what, here is a lucky guy, a truly lucky guy,
someone who got it made, who has it all. No,
he was very average, maybe slightly less than
average, or maybe it would be more accurate to
say he was very average but managed to have
an air of slightly less than average, below
average, just a little, just a smudge, one crank

97
lower, not that it made a difference, it was just
in the whole vibe he gave, his essence, a little
less than anything. Just a little.

And now? Now that he is in this kind of state?

Laugh all you might, and you might as well
laugh, because by now it really was funny, it
was not funny. He was a mess, he was a
shadow of a man, a ghost, haunted by himself.

And all because of some silly protection

pendant. It really is amazing, what people will
believe, what they choose to believe, what they
are able to believe, all these superstitions and
nonsense and religions and all. I mean, ok,
maybe some of that is not that bad but in
general, you know, people believe any bullshit
if it is wrapped nice enough.

Guru often thought about these things. He likes

to dive into these kinds of thoughts, why do
people believe things, what religions are really
made of, you know, deeper thoughts.

He thought about the protection in question,

and why would rara need it, and how does it
really effect his life, in a pragmatic way.

98
“The pendants that these people wear, the other
people, ALL the people, all those people, are
they stronger than the pendant you had?”

Rara thought for a minute.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, I paid a lot of

money for mine. It was special. Very old. Very
old. I paid a lot for it; it wasn’t something you
just buy like this. It was blessed by monks you
know.”

“aren’t they all blessed by monks? I mean, the

monks make them, don’t they?”

Rara was almost insulted. “But depend what

monk, some monks are better and some
blessings are better. You have to know which
monk gave the blessing.”

Guru smiled. “And you know who blessed

your pendant?” he asked

Rara looked at him and answered slowly.

picking his words carefully. He was too tired
and mentally exhausted to actually put up a
fight, but he started to feel like he had to defend
himself.

99
“Well, no, I don’t exactly know, I mean It was a
famous monk, very big. From that temple, you
know, the famous one. A long time ago. I paid a
lot of money for it.”

Guru took in a deep breath.

“Sometimes good things happen; sometimes

bad things happen. You can protect yourself
from bad things. If you wear a coat and take an
umbrella, there is less chance you will get a
cold. If you work in the garden in the early
hours of the morning and not at noon, there is
less chance you will get a heat stroke. If you
lock your door, there is less chance your things
will be stolen. If you look where you walk,
there is less chance you will fall. That is
protection. That is all you need.”

Rara was sitting there with his eyes wide open.

At this point he really was so spent that he was
in almost a trance mode, and would believe
anything he was told.

“You are the blessing rara, you don’t need a

blessed protection pendant. You don’t even
know where it came from. It did not protect
you. you protected you. it is just jewelry. Here
100
is my blessing, to you – may you always be
protected, and never believe that your
protection comes from anything out there,
especially not superstitious and magic.”

Rara was still sitting there, his mouth was now

slightly opened too.

Guru smiled.

“You are blessed, you are protected, you are ok.

You don’t need anything”

Rara started to speak, but almost without any

voice

“But the pend…”

Guru stopped him.

“You are free from superstitions. You are free.

You are blessed. Go.”

Rara tried to talk again, but the moment he

opened his mouth, guru just put one finger to
his lips in that international gesture of no,
don’t, no, don’t speak, no, nope, no, shh, no.
nope.

101
Rara looked at him, and then smiled. A big
smile. A real smile.

He wai-ed in respect and walked out.

We have to live in the twenty first century.

Superstitious nonsense like that is really a part
of the past. We always believe in nonsense, we
always have believed in nonsense, and we will
probably always believe in nonsense. Because
that is what we do, humans, we need to believe
so we do. believe what? Well, anything I guess,
we just need to believe in something.

And that was the first time rara was free, free
from superstitions, free from ancient traditions
that have no place in this modern world of
ours, free from the fears of folklore and some
magical powers that we need to serve.

There was value in those things, of course, he

knew that, he was not ignorant, he just made
the choice, the informed intelligent smart
modern choice, of taking a different attitude to
life, to beliefs, to everything around him. It was
the best choice he ever made. And he was free.
Finally free. That was a good thing.

102
He was happy. For the first time in his life, he
was happy.

Two hours later he was hit by a bus as he

crossed the street, and died before his body hit
the floor. but at least he died happy. Sort of.

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Your generation sucks

“If you have never eaten a beating cobra heart,

don’t call yourself a man, a real man. Once a
year, on my birthday, I go to the cambough and
get me a nice fresh cobra heart. It keeps you
young. You don’t get to look like I do at my
age, without a little cobra blood in you.”

And he did look remarkably fit for his age. Not

that anyone knew what was his age, he
probably did not know himself, there were very
few records kept back then, when he was born,
in the same house, in the same slum, as his
whole family.

But he looked like someone who is young for

his age, or someone who should technically
look much older but does not, which is a cool
trick that most people wish for.

He was your typical when-i-was-growing-up

kind of old man, a role model, at least in his
own eyes. He was the old world personified,

104
and he loved it, he loved playing the part, the
get-off-my-lawn old man.

“Everything now is fake. And of very low

quality. And disposable. I remember, I
remember when we grew up, well, you know
what was what, you know where was where,
you guys are so confused, no wonder you don’t
do anything.”

He puffed on his pipe. A classic old wooden

pipe. Not the local long stem pipes they use in
the countryside, no, a British kind of pipe. A
professor’s pipe, a lord’s pipe. He liked his
pipe. And he liked puffin on it. It was a great
dramatic pause. A prop in the play of life.

“Everything is upside down, and you have too

many rules, you can’t say this, you can’t do
that, what is wrong with you people? You are
all over the place. Poor things. Like chickens.
And you know what? In those stupid skinny
jeans? You really do look like chickens.”

There was always a crowd for his rants. He was

entertaining. People liked him, and he didn’t
mind when they laughed at him and his old
ways. It was again just part of the show. There
105
was an interaction, there was some teasing,
some taunting, there were pokes and there was
a lot of laughter, but it was always in a positive
nice way. The old and the young in an eternal
struggle of power.

The other reason there was always a crowd is

because his fruit juice stand was under a big
tree, next to the convenience store, a shaded
and central point, in the crossroad of two of the
main routes in the slum, which meant there was
always nice wind there, especially in the
afternoons, as the setting sun ushers in cooler
air and a very pleasant breeze. People came, got
a nice cup of juice and would sit there for a
while, on small plastic stools. Taking a break.
From everything.

A nice break, in the shade, with some good cold

juice, and of course, finding out what is the
problem with the world today, what is wrong
with us this week. Juice and a lecture. Shade
and a sermon. And he had his following. I am
really not sure if people came for the juice or for
the stand up. For the show. For the recent
update on why they are stupid.

106
He would challenge the young ones, the fresh
meat, to hand wrestle him. An old fragile man.
C’mon kid, let’s see what you got. You are so
skinny; your hands are like toothpicks. Bring it
on. I kick your ass.

And he did. And they loved it. They laughed

and ran away. He kicked their ass, this old man.
Because he was cheating. You see, when he was
thirteen, he was already working construction,
and one day he fell from the second floor and
broke his wrist. As there were no doctors
around, and it would cost too much to take him
to the hospital in the center of town, they just
tied it up to a bit of wood and hoped for the
best.

The best did not happen, but the ok did. The ok

usually happens when you wish for the best.
Which is ok. It healed. Sort off. He could not
move his wrist any more, but it was strong as
hell now. So, it was ok.

And it worked perfectly when arm wrestling as

he just had to keep his hand there and let the
other guy exhaust himself for a while before
easily flipping him over and winning the

107
match. He was cheating. And it was ok. It was
fine. It was funny.

When I was growing up people never cheated

in arm wrestling. No, he never said that, but it
would have been funny If he did.

108
Treasure Tuang

Don’t say the word treasure, don’t say the word

treasure, don’t say the word treasure. Guru
repeated the mantra as he was staring at
treasure Tuang, trying to listen to what he was
talking about, but in his head, he just repeated
don’t say the word treasure.

Treasure Tuang was called treasure Tuang,

because of the treasure, the treasure that cannot
be mentioned, that should not be mentioned.
Treasure Tuang was once part of the treasure
trio.

They were famous. Well, two of them were

famous. Two out of a trio is not bad. And the
third one was very happy not to be famous.

The treasure trio was responsible for one of the

most elaborate and brilliant heists the city ever
new. Part of the crown jewels were being
cleaned and fixed, and the trio, who found out
about it through a friend of a friend of a friend
of a neighbor whose cousin was working as the

109
janitor in the building where the work on the
jewels will be done.

It was a heavily secured building, but as the

police was trying to avoid problems during that
time that the jewels were serviced, it was kept a
secret and only a handful of people knew what
was happening, so they did not bring any more
reinforcements or added any security measures,
not to raise suspicion. It was easier if it was a
secret.

But you can’t real keep a secret in this world.

People talk. People love to talk. Especially
when something special is happening, when
something extraordinary is happening. Like
having incredibly expensive, some might say
priceless, jewelry in your building, in your lab,
in your safe.

Now, I have to mention it was not really the

crown crown jewels, I mean it was not the
actual jewels that the queen was wearing in
official ceremonies and were seen on TV, it was
additional crown jewels, extra crown jewels,
sometimes used in private occasions,
sometimes displayed to the plebs, but mostly

110
just kept somewhere in big safes with many
other jewels, necklaces, rings etc. it was still the
crown jewels but not the major ones, and as
such, there was slightly less hysteria about their
security measures. I mean, they were still
amazing jewels with incredible value and price,
but they were considered slightly less sacred,
even by the royal staff and the police and army
security details.

Using some connections on the inside, and

probably a lot more luck than brains, the trio
managed to lift a small portion of those jewelry.
Not a lot. Just the part that was laid out for the
day’s work. They decided to leave the rest, as
opening the main safe again will take too much
time, and let’s face it, they knew, especially at
this point, with those jewels in their hands, that
they got so far with more luck than skill, and
being greedy will spoil the whole operation.

They were lucky to get in without being

detected, and they were lucky to bag the loot,
but less than three days later they were caught
by some random policeman who thought they
looked suspicious, as they fit some vague
description some witness gave.
111
They were caught in a car parked in an illegal
place, and they were caught with all the tools
on them, so it was easy to make the case. Well,
against two of them. Two were caught. The
third one, he got away. Sort off.

At that night of the robbery, as they were

running away from the job, they stopped to
hide the loot, knowing it would be better to get
rid of the evidence, just in case they were
caught. They moved from one hiding place to
another, from safe house to an abandoned
shack. Every time they sneaked in and out, just
shadows in the dark, and one of the times,
when they were climbing out of a window of
the safe house, tuang, our third burglar,
slipped, his leg got caught in the curtain string
and he stumbled upside down and hit his head
on the concrete wall.

They tried to wake him up. They didn’t try too

much; they were in a hurry. They tried to wake
him up but they both thought that if he dies,
that means the treasure is divided by two, so
they did not really try that much. They thought
if they left him there, he would be dead by
morning, and so he was left near the wall in the
112
empty back yard of an abandoned house, in one
of the smaller allies of the slum.

He was not. He was not dead by the next

morning either. Which is when he woke up.
With a horrible headache. He stood up.
Everything hurt, but the head was the master of
ceremonies, the emperor of ouch. He walked
into the street blinking his eyes.

He knew that street. Somehow. Did he know

that street? He felt like he knew this street. He
was here before, he was sure of that, he was
here and he knew this street. Or maybe it was
another street? He tried to remember the name
of the street but came up with a blank. He did
not know that this was the street next to the one
he was born in, a street he spent all his life in.

After wandering around and answering

questions incoherently, seeming not to
recognize anyone of his neighbors and other
slum dwellers, he was brought to the doctor.

The doctor said that the damage might be

temporary and that he might gain his memories
at some point, but that all depends on many
things, and luck, mostly luck.
113
He did remember his childhood, which was a
good sign. And his name. and his address.
Well, actually he gave the address of a place he
used to live in fifteen years ago, but still, it was
something.

What he didn’t remember were things that

happened in the near past, in the recent past, in
the relevant past, things like where they hid the
loot. He actually remembered a little bit about
the heist. He had a couple of flashbacks, and
when he saw on the news that his two friends
are in police custody, he put two and two
together.

He didn’t tell anyone. At first. But as I said, you

can’t really keep a secret in this world, and once
he confided with one person that he thinks he
was part of this famous heist and that he
doesn’t remember where they left the loot, it
took two shakes of a lambs tail for the rumor to
spread around.

He denied everything of course, but by now

everybody was whispering.

The two other robbers were not very successful

in adapting to their new environment in jail,
114
and after being beaten up by the guards for
refusing the tell where the jewels were, one of
them died of some infection in his cell, and the
other was stabbed with a sharpened toothbrush
because of some silly argument with a much
bigger and much meaner inmates. These things
happen a lot in prison you know.

When Tuang heard about their untimely

demise, as sorry as he was, because they were
sort of friends in the end, well, even though
they did leave him to die, a cowardly and
greedy act indeed, he thought more about the
treasure then about them. The loot. The stolen
jewelry.

He started to go to the building where they did

the heist, and walk around the street, trying to
remember where they ran to first, where they
hid, what was the safe house they snuck into.
He spent days walking around, looking around,
even sniffing around, not knowing what good
will it do, but who knows, maybe it would
help. He had to find that treasure.

Now, at this point, the head injury was labeled

by the insurance company as a work accident,

115
because of some bureaucracy and some forms
someone filled out wrong, and that meant a
government disability status and payments for
life. Not high payments, but you could live of it.
If you had little expenses anyway, and not a lot
to do other than walking around looking for
that stolen treasure you misplaced somewhere.

It has been sixteen years since that robbery.

Fourteen years since the two other burglars
passed away and left Tuang as the sole keeper
of a secret he forgot.

And that is why you don’t say the word

“treasure” around him. It starts a three hour
melt down, a long sad angry rant, some waving
of hands and sighs of desperation, and usually
ending with Tuang storming away muttering
some obscenities under his nose.

And now Tuang was sitting there in front of

guru, with a big grin on his face.

“Here, guru, this is for you, you always treated

me well. I will always remember that”

116
He handed guru a bottle of whiskey. Single
malt. In a beautiful carton tube, you know, a
real fancy one.

Guru was surprised. He really was. Tuang was

not known as a man of means, what with living
on a government disability paycheck and
wasting most of the money on beer. a lot of beer
and cheap cigarettes.

He wanted to ask him, you know, if he found

the treasure, but he knew what would happen
if he mentioned that word, that trigger word,
the treasure.

Tuang beat him to it. He leaned forward, and

whispered “I found it”

Guru was shocked, he really was, this was the

most surprising thing he heard in a long time, it
really was, it was amazing, it was unbelievable.
It was like a fairytale story, not real life, but
here was the proof, in the form of a very
expensive bottle of whiskey, a bottle of whiskey
that would cost three or even four months’
worth of those disability checks, so it must be
true.

117
“Do you know my wife, my new wife?
Marlin?”

Everybody knew marlin. She was, well, a

handful. She was as mean as she was ugly, and
she was prone to violence, both verbal and
physical. Well, ok, maybe she was not that ugly,
but she was mean so it made her look extra
ugly.

Everybody were a bit surprised when Tuang

married her, just a year ago, but I guess that
when you are a drunk living on government
disability checks, you don’t really have that
many choices.

“Well, last week, I went to cash in my check,

and on the way back, well, you know, it was a
really hot day that day, and the bank is really
far, and I was sweating. It was really hot. So, I
got a little thirsty, and I thought to myself, man
it is really hot, and the bank is so far, and I am
getting thirsty, maybe I will just stop for
something cold to drink. Some cold water.

Or maybe a coke. Yes, a coke will be nice, a diet

coke. So, I stopped and had one beer. just one
beer. and then I was still hot so I thought I
118
might as well have another beer, because there
is no rush and I don’t want to go back outside
as it is still too hot.”

Guru started to smile. He knew that story too

well, that kind of story. there were many
drunks here in the slum who told that story in a
thousand different variations.

“Well, by midnight, the money was gone, and I

was, well, a little tipsy. I am not saying I was
drunk, but I was a little, you know. It was a
very hot day, and the bank was far, and I was
thirsty, and my pockets were full, so….”

Guru nodded in agreement.

“I managed to get back home, but it seems that

for some reason marlin was not in a good
mood. Maybe she had a bad day, I don’t know,
sometimes it happens. And for some strange
reason when she saw me, well, a little, tipsy,
she got in an even worse mood. Sometimes it
happens. And when she heard I drank this
month’s check, well, she was in an even worse
mood. You know, sometimes it happens.”

119
Guru was holding back his laughter as the story
evolved, with tuang telling the chain of events
in a very solemn and serious face.

“Anyway, for some strange reason, I really

don’t know why, she was very upset and she
took a big frying pan, you know, the thick one
we use to fry the pork skins, and, well, God
bless her heart, hit me over the head with it.
You know, a small hit, she did not mean to hurt
me of course”

At this point guru was literally choking in order

to not laugh.

“Now, marlin, God bless her heart, is not a big

woman as you know, but because she loves me
so much, she found strength in that moment,
and holding the pan with both hands and
taking a big swing to the back, well, she did
knock me out. Yes, she loves me that much”

Guru made a noise. It was the noise a pig

makes when it is about to be slaughtered, I
think, a kind of a muffled choked sound. His
eyes started to well up, and he could not hold it
any more.

120
“She is a kind woman marlin. A good woman.
She did not want to hurt me of course, and was
terribly worried when I passed out. She was so
worried she went and made a cup of coffee and
sat by the kitchen table to read the newspaper
trying to calm herself as I was bleeding on the
floor under her feet”

Guru swallowed and excused himself with

hand gestures as he ran to the bathroom. You
could hear his laughter behind the closed door
but he came back out with a stern and serious
face and only his slightly wet eyes gave away
what happened.

“Anyway, when I woke up, I had a horrible

headache, and I saw double, and my ears were
ringing, but I knew.

The drain behind the toilet in the old Manora

house. You know, that abandoned building that
used to belong to the Manora company, the one
that made those tin cups thirty years ago and
was burnt down for the insurance money.”

Guru leaned forward, sitting on the tip of his

chair. Now Tuang really got his attention.

121
“And it was there. I ran there, and it was there.
In a brown leather sack, in a green nylon bag,
buried right behind the sewer pipe, in the toilet
of the old Manora building. It was there.”

Guru felt his jaw drop. You say that expression,

but until you feel it for yourself, until you feel it
on yourself, you don’t really get it, that feeling
of losing control of your jaw as it drops and
your mouth opens with amazement and shock.

A car honked outside.

“Oh, guru, this is our taxi. We have to get to

our flight. I really wanted to thank you for
everything. You were always good to me. I
wish you a wonderful life. Be blessed, my dear,
be blessed!”

He wai-ed and ran outside crying.

“I am coming, I am coming, no need to make a

fuss”

Guru was left there, on his throne, with his

mouth open, for at least ten minutes more. And
that, that was the last time anyone saw Tuang,
treasure Tuang, or his loving wife marlin in the
slum.
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Dumb as a doorknob

Chino was dumb. Dumb as a doorknob.

I don’t want to be mean; I am just stating a fact.

Dumb.

Now when I say dumb, I mean really dumb, as

I said, dumb as a doorknob.

When chino came over, Guru was always

switching between big smiles of entertaining
things to come, and loud sighs at the annoyance
that comes with it. But he was a patient man.
Actually, he hated being patient, he hated
waiting for things, or for people. And he hated
dumb people, well, unless they were
entertaining. And chino was entertaining.

I am not talking about the time he ran to the

palace to tell guru that aliens are coming when
someone painted his hubcap and left it to dry
on the balcony. No, I am talking about running
to the palace to tell guru that tiny dwarves are
coming and we have to protect ourselves, and
then guru asks him if maybe he just saw some
123
people who were far away, and chino thought
for a second and said, oh yeah, right. And
walked out.

Or the time he came to the guru for advice. Not

running this time. Somber. Deep in thoughts.
He just needed some of the wisdom of the guru.
You see, the problem is that when he puts his
left shoe on his left hand, he can tie the laces
with his right hand, but then he cannot tie the
laces when he puts the right shoe on his right
hand.

It is not often that guru is literally speechless.

He just sat there. With his mouth opening and
then closing again, like a big goldfish, until he
managed to whisper a soft “why?”

“Why what?”, asked chino.

“Why do you put your shoes on your hands?

Why?”

Well, chino looked like he was just asked a

really idiotic question, “I wanted to know how
it feels. We put them on our legs every day,
why not our hands?”

There was silence.

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“Velcro”

There was some more silence.

“Get shoes with Velcro. Like tennis shoes. Then

you can close it with your mouth.”

For a second there was even more silence,

poured generously over the other two silences,
creating a huge big pile of silence that could be
physically felt.

“You see! THIS! THIS is why you are the guru!”

chino stood up with a huge grin on his face,
gave a big theatric bow, and in full majestic
stride walked out.

As I have always said, if you are going to be

dumb, at least be entertaining.

Now, true, chino was an exception. He was

really dumb. He didn’t qualify to be disabled or
retarded, or how you call it today, he was just,
as you say, ahm, not lucky when it came to
thinking.

He had a pretty good life. He was always

smiling, because ignorance is indeed bliss, and

125
he made a little money doing delivery on his
bike for the flower shop.

Yes, there is a flower shop in the slum. Don’t be

so shocked. It’s a flower shop, not a guci shop.
Everyone likes flowers, yes, even poor people.
Well, actually especially poor people. You will
be amazed what a little flower can do in the
grayness of a tin shack house.

He worked for the flower shop, and they even

let him sleep in the shop. Like security. Like he
could secure anything. There is more chance
that the flowers will secure the shop, than he
would, but this way he had a place to sleep.

And everybody loved him. He was a good guy.

Always lending a hand, always giving a
compliment. “nice haircut, you look younger”,
“where did you get that dress? You don’t look a
day over seventy!” “Is that a new cat or did you
have a baby? So cute!”

And everybody used to give him things,

because he was so nice. A ripe mango, a bag of
spicy curry, fried banana snacks, even an
occasional can of beer. He always was grateful

126
and pointed at the giver with a big smile, and
for some reason that made people feel good.

You know what, he even had a girlfriend. True,

he had to pay her a little, but she charged him
family rates because he is chino, so it was not
that bad, and people did not even look at him
in that judgmental way they look at her other,
ahm, boyfriends, because he was chino, you
know, they did not expect him to have a real
relationship, poor thing.

He was a loveable moron. A good-hearted

idiot. And the beauty of the slum is that it is a
closed ecosystem. He was protected from the
real world. He was safe.

Now that I think about it, maybe he is the

genius one, and we are all stupid. Maybe it is
all a scam. He works very little. Gets free shit
from everyone so never has to buy anything,
and spend his money on prostitutes. and then
comes back to sleep surrounded by beautiful
flowers. Damn. He is tricking us all I tell you;
he is a genius. Or maybe not.

Today he came in with a real problem. Not a

chino thinks it is a problem, a real problem.
127
His bike was stolen. And it was important that
they were found immediately, because inside
the aluminum body of the bike were the
blueprints for a nuclear device and enough
plutonium to destroy a small city.

Ok, facing a couple of raised eyebrows, at least

one of them belonging to the guru, he admitted
that ok, maybe he saw that in some movie, but
he really needs his bike back because he cannot
do his deliveries without them.

Considering most of his deliveries were in a

five-block radius, the size of the slum, you
could do it in ten minutes by foot, but as he
explained, without the bike he is not a
messenger he is just a guy holding some
flowers, and that can be embarrassing.

Again, his logic was flawless. I am telling you.

he is a genius.

“No really, don’t laugh. I am going with

flowers down the street, and husbands look at
me like I come for their wives or girlfriends or
both, it is not nice.”

128
There was a muffled chocking sound, as the
guru tried his best not to burst out in hysteric
laughter, imagining chino, being a threat to any
husband. For what he was, being chino, he was
not ugly or anything, but he was the most, how
shall I put it, un noticeable person around. He
was unremarkable in any way, not too short,
not too fat, not too thin, with features which
were as normal as you can get, and then a
couple of notches more on the normal scale. He
was almost invisible. Well, unless he was
talking. And he was talking a lot.

The only thing that might be remarkable about

chino was his haircut. It looked like the haircut
your mother would give you when you are
seven years old, well, if you were not her
favorite child. It just looked, well, stupid. There
is no other way to say it. His hair was stupid.
Here. I said it. If I have offended anyone, well, I
am very sorry, but it did. It screamed “I eat
sand and ride the short bus to school”

So yes, we should protect the poor husbands

from the risk of don juan della chino walking
down the street with pretty flowers in his
hands, ducking the fainting lust driven wives
129
who throw themselves at him. Sure, that is the
least we can do.

“We will find your bike”

Now, guru, had a strange feeling in the bottom

of his stomach, like a physical deep heavy
dejavu, and for a moment he asked himself if
this is where he saw his life going, being a guru
that has to find stolen bicycles like some
treehouse kids gang in an old children book?

He looked at Dog and Subway, and shook his

head to get that image out of his mind.

He tried to be zen about it. What do the bicycle

actually signify? How does chino fit in the
cosmic plan of existence? He was lost for a
moment in these deep thoughts.

“When?” chino asked.

He looked a bit surprised. As he drifted in his

thoughts, he completely forgot that chino was
still there.

“When what?”

chino, as usual, made a face like he was asked

130
something stupid, which was always extra
funny, because deep down you know that in his
head, in his logic, you are indeed sounding like
an idiot now, asking a question that is
supposed to be obvious to any normal person,
or at least to chino.

“When will you find them?”

With any other person, the guru might have felt

slighted or even disrespected by such a
question, but chino just really wanted to know
when. The innocence of a child. What a defense
mechanism. I am telling you; the guy is a
fricking genius.

“We will get to it after… “chino made a sour

hurt face “as soon as…” not that face again,
“we have to first…” ok, ok, enough already, ok,
stop making that face for god sake, we are all
just humans here, please stop…

“Let me get my bag”

Chino smiled a big smile.

“Well, as long as it is not too much to ask, guru,

I would never think to impose”

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Again, not a hint of sarcasm, real genuine
childlike innocence. God, why can’t we smack
children over the head with a slipper like in the
good old days. It was infuriating. But
entertaining. And a good spiritual exercise. Oh,
it was. The guru already felt his hand
automatically starting to rise and he willed it
down to his side with sheer mental strength
and fortitude. But one day, one day, just one
smack… a nice healthy big smack around the
back of the head… for all those times, for all
those missed slaps. Oh, a man can dream, can
he not? And guru dreamt. And smiled to
himself. And chino, unaware of the imaginary
slap he just got, smiled back.

The adventure of the stolen bike. The garbage

kids gang. He could not get it out of his head.
He needed freckles. If he is going to be the
leader of a kids gang, he wants freckles. He
never had freckles as a kid. Too dark. Maybe he
had them but you could not see them.

In his mind he was a redhead with freckles like

in some film he saw when he was young. Why
did he stop watching films? He tried to think
about it, when was the last time he went to the
132
cinema, or even watched a movie on tv. Must
have been a couple of years at least. Strange. He
liked movies. He remembers he liked movies.

They opened the big warehouse doors and

stepped outside, blinking at the bright light,
letting it engulf them, soak them with the
energy and the heat.

Let the adventure begin! Onward!

“Maybe I should get my sunglasses, it is

awfully bright. Do you want me to get yours
too?”

Guru nodded his head and Subway hurried to

the desk and came back, handing him his
glasses. Rayban. Aviators. Obviously. He is not
one of those new Oakley gurus, no, he is old
school.

And so, the adventure begins!

“What about miss saila rice pot. We got her the

new one, maybe we will pass by on the way
and deliver it? She will be very happy.”

Guru nodded his head again.

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Subway came back holding a big box with a
small ribbon on top. He got the ribbon. He
thought it would make a nice addition.

And so, the adventure begins!

They slowly started going down the street, in

the kind of walk people who live in hot
climates have, slow, deliberate, not making any
unnecessary move, saving energy, not getting
too heated up, not sweating, like they were
gliding on the hot asphalt. It was just a couple
of blocks away anyway.

He liked miss saila, she reminded him of his

grandma. She was a million and two, had no
teeth at all, and you could hardly see her eyes
throw all those wrinkles, but she was usually
smiling, and often opened the door singing a
nice old tune in a delightful old crow’s voice,
devoid of any musicality, but making up for it
with sheer positive energy.

In fact, it was the positive energy that held her

together, and if she thought a negative thought
all her limbs would just drop off and her organs
would burst. This was at least what she

134
believed, and for all I know, she might have
been right. It does make sense.

Positive energy is always nice. For a bit. They

did not come in, just handed her the package
and got a kiss each, smearing lipstick on their
cheeks. She begged them to come in for tea, or
maybe she can cook some rice for them in the
new cooker, but they insisted, they had a
mission, they were on the job, the people
needed them.

She bid them farewell with a traditional

goodbye song wishing them happy trails, and
indeed they were getting happier and happier
the further they were from her.

Walking down the street, toward the small

flower shop, to start their official investigation,
they nodded their way forward, always
greeting someone, smiling, making a friendly
gesture. The friendliness was not only evident,
it was felt, in the air, making it thick, thick with
love, but still, thick, it was like walking on the
beach, when you walk in the water, not too
high water, just up to your shins, and every
movement is forced, take your foot and move it

135
forward through the water. It was a hot day,
and not a lot of people were outside in this
morning hour, but still it seemed like forever
until they reached their destination. They
quickly entered the airconditioned flower shop,
and sighed in relief.

Yes, it had air-condition. And it was a flower

shop. Stop being so shocked. Maybe you should
review how you see slums, or the word slum.
You know, poor people these days, well, maybe
not all of them, but in general, being poor today
is better than being poor a hundred years ago.
In the end of the day, it is just easier to survive
these days. Maybe not more than surviving, but
still, you could live. Sort of.

And yes, it was rare to see an aircon here in the

slum, in the middle of the have nots, but it was
a flower shop and they needed it. An old
factory aircon, without a casing and without
any controls other than an off and on switch,
that they attached to the window, and a big
compressor in the back. It worked. The air was
cool. That is all that matters.

136
At the end of the day, they put all the flowers in
the back room in a special fridge, and turn off
the aircon, but sometimes in the hot summer
nights they will keep it on, otherwise even the
green leafy decorations will die, and chino,
chino is sleeping there like a baby in the aircon
while everyone around him sweats and suffers
with some fans and wide-open windows.

“guruji, welcome, what can I do for you?”

The owner of the store came strutting over. His

face was covered by a mask, you know, the one
we used to go around with, when the news was
telling us we have to or we die. He apologized.
“Oh no no, not the virus, God no. I am allergic.
To flowers. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

“I have known you for thirty years and never

knew that, why would anyone open a flower
shop if he is allergic to flowers?” the guru was
truly intrigued.

“Oh no, it is just the new lilacs I ordered. I saw

an ad on the internet. Seems I am allergic to
lilacs. I would throw they away, but they are so
damn beautiful, I don’t have the heart, so I
wear the mask.”
137
He pointed at two pots in the corner, with lilacs
so pretty they looked like an oil painting of
lilacs. It was obvious he was right, and that a
runny nose and red eyes is a small price to pay.

“I will take them all” guru said.

“Really?”

“Yes, can you send them to the palace?”

There. Another problem solved. No wonder he

is the guru. And those would be so nice near
the sofa, there is even a big vase he can use.
Another problem solved, and the brave
detective treehouse group can go on with the
mystery of the stolen bikes.

“By the way, did you happen to see who took

chinos bike? We are looking for them”

“Why, I put them in the back. He left them right

in front of the door and people could not walk
in.

Ok. That was a very disappointing adventure,

the guru thought to himself. But on the other
hand, and being a guru, he was always aware

138
of the other hand, on the other hand, it is
almost time for lunch.

He called chino over. It seems that chino missed

most of the conversation as he was busy trying
to free his hand that somehow got stuck in the
thin neck of some plastic ornamental flower
vase. He came over when he heard his name,
his hand still in the vase.

“Yes?”

“Your bikes are in the back. Mystery solved.

Anything else?”

Chino looked at him for a second and smiled.

“no. I don’t think so. I’m good”

And walked away to the back to get his bike.

Guru was left there standing. It seemed that

after every encounter with chino, after every
conversation with him, he was there standing.
Or sitting. But it was the same thing. He needed
a couple of minutes to digest what just
happened, to think about the exchange of
words.

139
He was still standing there as the shop owner
went to prepare the lilacs for the delivery.

“Chino, come eat lunch with us”

Guru almost did not believe the words that

came out of mouth, but some part of himself
didn’t want the adventure to finish, not so fast,
not like this. It was actually fun. He felt like a
child again. He liked to be part of the treehouse
detective gang.

He gave a big wai gesture to the owner, who

returned the gesture, and they headed back out
to the heat.

And there in front of the shop, they stood.

Blinded by the light, trying to think what
should they eat for lunch.

There were not many options, not in walking

distance, and at this time of the day, at almost
noon, what is considered accepted walking
distance is one block, and even that is a lot.

They decided on madame tsu boat noodles.

Best boat noodles in the slum. With real duck.
Two minutes later and they were already

140
sitting on the small plastic stools, waiting for
their order.

“so, tell me chino, what is new with your life?”

“I saw a ghost last week.” Chino whispered.

“Right outside my window”.

Guru sighed.

“it was scary as hell, I almost crapped my

pants.”

Guru sighed again, starting to regret he invited

chino, but in the same time also appreciating
the entertainment value and remembering why
he did.

“Tell me more, that sounds very dangerous”

“You bet your life one it!” chino leaned

forward, “I tell you; you have never seen
anything like that, a face so white even death
will run away from it, and snakes tied up on
her head, and the smell, oh my god, the smell”

Guru sighed and smiled simultaneously.

“Tell me chino, does misses toro still live next

door to you?”

141
“Yes, guru, of course”

“The misses toro who likes to put so much

makeup on she looks like the mcdonald clown?
And has those curlers in her hair all the time,
making it look like curling snakes? The one
who likes to go on that famous cabbage soup
diet that make you fart all the time?”

“yes, guru, that one”

“and… you don’t think….you don’t…. I

mean….” The guru was trying his best to keep
a straight face, he was not going to be caught
making fun of a stupid man, not in public.

“What, guru? What is it?” chino was leaning so

much toward him, he almost fell from his stool,
and was saved only by the fact the food arrived
and he had to lean back so the waiter can put
down the noodle plates. The smell was
incredible. A cloud of tastiness floating in the
air above the plates.

They dug in without saying another word.

When he was finished, guru pushed the plate

forward, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and
looked at chino.
142
“So, chino, tell me. That ghost. Did it happen to
come out of misses toros house?”
chino eyes opened wide. “How did you know
that? I was going to go there and warn her that
there is a ghost in her house but I was afraid of
the ghost”.
“chino. Darling. Sweet child. Do you think
maybe your ghost is misses toro?”

“Missis toro didn’t die. I would have seen the

funeral ceremony. What are you talking
about?”

“No, chino, she is the ghost. White face, rollers

in hair, smells of hell and sulfur, going in and
out of her house”

Chino looked like he was struck with

something heavy.
“noooooooooo….
That…..noooooooo….NOOO…ok. maybe.
Ok.yes. yes.”

“so, there is no ghost?”

“No ghost” chino said in a defeated voice.

“But you have to admit….” He continued

143
“Misses toro is scarier than most ghosts”

Dog spit out a spoon of soup and noodle as he

burst into laughter. Yes, he was correct. She
was. Without doubt.

They asked for the bill and Subway paid and

left a nice tip. They would always tip big. It was
kind of their thing. You know, be generous to
the people. They didn’t want to get up, so guru
sent Dog to bring some fruit over, and he soon
came back with fresh sliced mango, papaya,
and a plastic bag full of jackfruit.

The fruit were refreshing and they enjoyed the

silence for a couple of minutes.

“So now you have your bicycle back, you can

do your deliveries, everything is good, right?”

“right” smiled chino.

“But its ok, it is just temporary, I am going to

retire soon” he added, with a smile.

“that’s good, that’s good, yes, it will not be

forever, we work, we toil, we get our reward in
the end”. The guru always sounded more
guruish when he was with a full stomach,

144
eating fresh fruit in the shade, and enjoying the
slight breeze.

“No, I mean soon. I have a plan”

Guru smiled, and the twinkle came back to his

eyes. That should be good. Was a good idea
inviting him to join them. This lunch has
already paid for itself several folds.

“Please, do tell me” said the guru, leaning back

in his seat, comfortably.

“No, I will show you. come”

Ok, guru was not pleased with the recent

development and tried to protest but chino was
adamant, there is no time, quickly, come. Come.

He brought them back to the flower shop where

he took them behind the shop to a shack in the
back yard. There was usually just a broom and
maybe a shovel in that shed but as they entered
now, they saw a big yellow old bedsheet
covering something in the back. Something big.
Almost reaching the ceiling.

Chino looked at them, looked at their puzzled

faces, and then with great pride stepped over

145
and took down the bedsheet with a big tada
and ceremony.

You know those times in life where it is

absolutely crucial that you will not laugh? That
you will be serious and not start laughing
hysterically, and this is when it hits you, and no
matter what you do you cannot hold it in? well,
yes, that was exactly that kind of moment.

With a proud face chino revealed a wall of

huge, family size, three plies, slightly perfumed
and textured toilet paper. A wall of these big
packs of toilet paper.

“Twenty-nine packages. I wanted thirty but

they started asking questions why I buy so
much toilet paper so I freaked out and didn’t
come back again. Twenty-nine family size three
plies, slightly perfumed and textured toilet
paper. No sireee, I am not going to be a flower
delivery boy forever, no siree.”

146
Quantum cats

And then there was a cat on his lap. Without

warning. No one actually saw the cat coming in
or jumping on his lap. He was just there.
Looking up at him. Waiting. Quantum cats do
that. They like being patted. They have found it
to be something very pleasant. They did not
know what it was about it, that made them purr
uncontrollably, they did not have something
like this on their home planet.

Quantum cats love humans. Humans have

food. And they like to give them massages.
They talk too much, but as long as the cats
pretend, they don’t understand what they say,
it is not too bad. Unless you are one of those
who chose to be a cat lady cat, but those are
weirdos, I mean, those are, how do you say,
special cats. They like it that way.

Quantum cats love this planet in general. It has

so many interesting things in them, so many
things to see, to hunt, places to explore, pieces
of string to play with, red dots to catch. This
147
planet is one huge amusement park. And for
the lovers of the extreme sports, you had dogs.
Running away from them, taunting them, but
also playing with them if they are small and
teethless. Dogs are cool too. Some cats have
them as pets now, and they love it. No, dogs are
not from another planet, dogs are local. They
come with the furniture.

So they just love this planet, the quantum cats,

they come here for vacation, for their fifteen
years off, the relax and eat well and sleep a lot.
Maybe see the local sites, experience the local
culture. You know, vacation. Some manage to
pull it for a couple of years more, some leave
early, but all in all, earth gets really high votes
on yelp and TripAdvisor.

You see, the problem with coming from an

advanced civilization, and I mean a really
advanced civilization, not like humans imagine
advanced civilization to be, is that most
advance civilizations, while being effective and
mostly healthy, are usually not fun. Well, not
real fun. They are public service production tv
show fun, they are dinner with your
grandparent’s fun, they are educational board
148
games fun. They are not fun. Not real fun. Not
waking up in an unknown location with your
underwear on your head and “go!go!go!”
written with lipstick on your chest. It is not “I
have to make a series of calls to apologize to
people now” fun.

Here they could sow their wild oats. Or just

nap. Most of them just nap. But they could sow
their wild oats if they wanted to. Maybe after
the nap. Or tomorrow. Will see what’s for
dinner. When I am too full, I don’t really like
sowing wild oats, or getting out of the house in
general.

Quantum cats usually hide their quantumness,

they don’t want to scare people, you know,
people are simple, they frighten easily and
especially by things they don’t understand.
They probably still think that the real physics of
the universe is just magic. So they try to act as
non-quantum as possible, which is harder than
you would think.

For example, walking. Why do you have to

walk to the other side of the room if you are
already everywhere in all possible locations

149
now? It just doesn’t make any sense. And boy
do they freak out when you forget to do that.

Guru never freaked out. He just accepted it. For

as long as he had this cat, sorry, that is the
wrong way to put it, from as long as the cat had
him, or just moved in to the warehouse, and
that was around eight years ago, he only saw
him walk a couple of times, maybe five times.

Most of the time, he was just there. Or not. And

then he was. And you looked for a second to
the other direction and he was gone. And you
catch a glimpse of him from the other side of
the room.

Anyone who worked for a cat, as a feeder,

massager, and general servant, know these
situations of “are you coming in or going out?
Decide now, no don’t stand at the door and
miao. Are you going in or out?” and noticed
they change where they nap every couple of
hours, so they will not be bored with the nap,
can understand the real nature of quantum cats
and their Schrodinger problem.

150
Am I here? Am I there? Am I even alive? you
call that a life? That’s living….ayyyy… I tell
you, when I was young…

And this cat, he was old, he was spoiled, he has

been around the block a couple of times and he
could not give a fuck anymore, he just was and
was just there, or not.

Guru didn’t mind. As I said, he was not startled

by a cat appearing on his lap. It was normal, it
was natural, it was where cats should appear,
nothing wrong with that, nothing out of the
ordinary. He did not think why is there
suddenly a cat in my lap, he thought why
wasn’t there a cat in my lap before.

He liked cats. And cats liked him. They loved

him. Not like they loved Subway, but that was
not fair. As you know Subway got his name
because he loved Subway sandwiches and his
favorite was tuna. He really loved Subway
sandwiches. So was constantly smelling of tuna.
It drove the cats crazy. Because he never had
any tuna. For those cats, I think this trip to our
planet was quite frustrating, like going to a big

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nice resort and then just seen photos of the
huge amazing buffet that is not there.

Guru never smelled of fish. Just expensive

aftershave and cheap cigarettes, but the
quantum cat loved that smell. The cat would
breathe it in, and then settle down, relaxing
every muscle in his local physical body until he
was more of a blob on a knee, and closed his
eyes.

Napping is important. Guru learnt it from the

cats. He learnt quite a few things from cats, but
napping was the most important one. Napping
is good for you, it is healthy. And it changes the
whole world. You go to nap and you wake up
to a new you and a new world too. Like magic.
So many things are like magic in the end, so
many things that should seem natural, are
magic.

Cats are like politicians. They don’t actually do

anything, they expect to get the best possible
food, for free, and they rely on the fact that if
they rub their tail on your leg, or come sit in
your lap, that would make you feel nice, so you
will give them more food. Exactly like

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politicians, don’t do anything, expect to get
everything and tell you things that supposed to
make you feel good.

If politicians could catch mice, they might

actually be as useful as cats. I have never met a
politician who can catch a rat. They wouldn’t
even try, because they wouldn’t want to. That
rat might be a family member. A rat who was
not smart enough to buy a suit and go into
politics.

Guru woke up from his noon nap. His usual

noon nap. Every day, if possible, of course, he
would take a shower after lunch, open the air-
condition in the small room upstairs, and slide
between the clean sheets for an hour of healthy
happy full stomach and empty head nap. It was
his special hour. His holy hours. He had quite a
few things, quite a few habits, which became
holy. Untouchable. Things that are too
important to be left to chance, things that have
become a tradition already, part of his being.
And napping was definitely on top of the list.

And today, the cat joined him. He rarely does,

and when it happens, guru felt privileged, like

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the fact the cat chose to nap with him was a
medal, a sign of a real connection. Napping
with someone is something special.

The cat was doing his post nap cat yoga

exercises, stretching his legs, doing the
crouching dog position in a cat version, put one
leg behind his ear, something a lot of human
yogis still have a problem with, and started to
lick parts of his anatomy that humans, yogis or
not, will never be able to reach.

Cats are always post nap or pre nap. If you see

a cat that is awake, you know it is just a
temporary thing, probably woke up because he
was hungry and wanted food before the next
nap. Cats have their priorities right. I am not
sure if it has to do with the quantum thing, or
are they just lazy, but it seems that knowing
what time really feels like, and how it is built,
gave the quantum cats a complete release from
any sense of urgency or even motivation to do
anything. Everything has already been done,
and is being done, and will always be done, all
at the same time, as it is only silly creatures like
us humans who still see time as linear.
Quantum cats see time as it is. In fact, in their
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language, time is referred to as – that which is
always happening. The sun rises, the sun sets,
world emerge and collide, supernovas turn into
cosmic dust and nothing ever changes. Time
passes, and cats nap. Time passes, and humans
prepare the food. Time passes, but there is
always more of it. you never actually run out of
time. Well, until that moment when you really
end up of time. Your physical body at least. But
that is just for you, for the rest of the world time
never ends. It can’t. Sometimes it wants to, but
it can’t. It is not easy being time. It is not always
fun. It is basically a job that is based on a lot of
waiting. And they waiting some more. And the
same tomorrow. If there was a tomorrow, but
there isn’t, it is always today. Always now.

And now is the best time for a nap.

As the cat finished stretching and scratching

and licking, he sat there and looked around.

It was not a bad gig. Cats are not judged by

their clothes, or their car, or even taste of music.
You know, all the things humans are judged by.
All the things we use to judge others. Their
position in life, their position compared to me,

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to others. But cats do judge other cats by their
job.

And he had a cushy job. Technically he was

supposed to do something, something useful,
like catching mice or something like that. But
that was not his first visit here. He was like that
one old guy in the prison yard, who knows all
the unwritten rules, and how to play the
system, what works, how you survive, how you
thrive, how you make the best out of your stay.
He was wise beyond his years as you say, and
as he didn’t really work by those rules of years
and such, it was wise beyond everything else,
well, at least everything else around it.

It took him two weeks into the job to convince

the younger cats, the ones who walk around the
streets all day just looking for trouble and
harassing the female cats, the ones who have no
goal in life, just passing the time strutting
around looking for troubles, to do his job for
him.

He sold them a dream of a big house full of

yummy mice for them, a buffet of squirmy long
tailed grey snacks. it was so convincing; they

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would have paid him for the pleasure of doing
his job. They would come in, hunt for a bit, got
their mouse and ran away. Without even saying
thank you. which worked perfectly for him. The
mice population were under control, he did not
have to do anything, and now the young cats
owe him a favor. He was wise indeed. As wise
as a politician. You might prefer to use the
word cunning, but that is because you probably
have an anti-politicians bias.

Politician is a spiritual state in which a normal

mortal human rises above the mundane pesky
annoying parts of life, things like work or the
truth, and manages to live in a state of
maximum irresponsibility and freedom. There
is nothing a politician, a really good politician,
cannot get away with. There is no work a
politician, a really good politician, cannot
avoid. There is no truth a politician, a really
good politician cannot twist in his favor.

Cats and politicians. Two forms of evolution

which prove that work is for the stupid ones,
for the gullible ones, the weak-minded ones.
Work is something other people do. work is
something to be avoided, and how you avoid it
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says a lot about you. a real politician would not
only avoid the job, he would make you feel bad
for even asking them to do it, and after
throwing a tantrum and going for a nap, while
you do the work, will wake up and take credit
for everything that was done. And maybe take
a nice photo with the finished work to send to
the paper. Politicians like photos. They are
good at being in photos. Smiling. Shaking
hands, pointing at posters, holding a baby, you
know, they have the natural talent of seeming.
Seeming like they are busy, seeming like they
are serious, seeming like they are important.
Videri quam esse.

Cats don’t like photos. Well, the normal ones.

Not that there are any cats which are actually
normal, but I mean relatively normal. For cats.
The normal cats don’t like cameras and don’t
like their photo taken. Probably some body
issues. They didn’t have a body before they
came here, and all that pampering made them a
bit too fluffy and, well, what is the cat version
of dad-bod?

But there are the not so normal ones. You can

see them on the internet. In pics, in videos, in
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gifs. Wearing dresses, and hats, and doing
tricks, and singing in cattish, and making cute
faces to the camera, that innocent big eyed cat
look which, let’s face it, is just the cat version of
human females doing that strange duck lips
thing in their pictures. Attention sluts. Willing
to do anything to be liked.

The cat who ruled over the palace, with guru as

his assistant, was not one of those. He was not
cute, and he did not care if people liked him, as
long as they gave him food and patted him and
massaged him. It is not that he was cynical, he
was just brought up to know not to get too
attached to the staff.

Guru made a post nap coffee. This was his

coffee. In the morning Dog would make the
coffee, or sometime bring a cup of that fancy
coffee from the corner shop, and when there
were guests, it was again Dogs’ job to offer
them some drinks, but the post nap coffee, this
one guru insisted on making on his own.

It was part of his post nap ritual. You need

rituals in life. He liked rituals. Those small
things we do, on a regular basis, that become

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part of our lives, part of who we are. Rituals
were like reminders, in the middle of the
chaotic day, the unexpected events, the
emergencies, the drama. Rituals were small
islands of sanity in the sea of silliness that is
life, in the ocean of annoyance that is life.

He made a light coffee, as recently he started to

worry about his health. He was not a young kid
any more. The machine starts to show signs of
fatigue and age. So he cut down to just two
cups of coffee, the second one, the post nap cup,
a lighter one.

It was ok. It was not that he needed to actually

be too awake or even alert. The plans for the
rest of the afternoon were siting. Maybe
standing up for a bit and even some walking
around would be acceptable, but the basic plan
is just, well, sitting

Not even waiting for anything. Maybe dinner.

It is always nice to wait for dinner. But other
than that, it was just sitting. Guru spent most of
the day sitting. He was thinking while he was
sitting, sometimes even close to actual

160
meditation, but even that was on a very low
fire, not to lose too much energy.

There is enough to do in life, and everything

comes to him in the end, all the people with the
problems, all the small adventure, all the
stories, they always end up coming to him. He
doesn’t have to go out to look for something
interesting to do. the mountain comes to
Muhammad each and every time.

So, he might as well just sit. And relax. And

enjoy the silence. And the coffee. And the cat on
his lap.

It is nice to have a cat on your lap. Especially

when that cat falls asleep on your lap, and
purrs as it snores, in a very cattish way,
adorable way. He patted the quantum cat, and
the cat adjusted his body, still sleeping, in an
even more comfortable position. That made
him look even more adorable.

Yes, it is nice having a cat sleep on your lap.

I don’t have to pee. Said guru to himself. I don’t

have to pee. He breathed in and repeated it one
more time. I don’t have to pee. I don’t. I am

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comfortable, I don’t have to pee. At all. I don’t
have to pee.

This cat was nice, when he was asleep. When he

was doing its angel face and purring and
snoring. It was also nice because it was not
moving, and I will tell you why. it is not really
common knowledge, but there are a lot of
misconception when it comes to the universe
and existence. A lot of things which are still
unknown to mere mortals like us.

Most people would not be able to grasp them

anyway. For example. When quantum
physicists run into anomalies in their
calculations and equations, and things don’t
add up as expected or fit their projections, it is
because they are not aware to the fact that the
center of the cosmos, the actual center of the
universe, was this cat. They just did not know
it.

How could they? They were just mortals, and

scientists at that, and how could they really
have known that? If it makes you feel any
better, the cat did not know it either.

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He did suspect he was the actual center of the
universe, but deep down, all cats feel that, so it
did not turn on any red lights in his mind.

Now, normally, that would not really have

been a problem, but this cat, well, he was still
young and full of energy and he kept on
moving, moving here, moving there, and the
center of the cosmos moved with him. To the
left, to the right, up the book shelf, under the
couch.

it was not very dramatic movements, just your

normal quantum cat playing around, but as the
center of everything kept moving, kept jigling,
kept sliding from one side of the carpet to the
other, it did give a lot of people sea sickness.

Or car sickness.

Or cat sickness. Universe sickness “

163
Garbage granny

Guru was wearing the same shirt he always

wore. Well, not the same one, obviously. He
had three of them. Dark blue shirt, with a
Chinese collar and loops to close the buttons. A
slightly heavy shirt, strong. It was the kind of
shirt worker’s wear. A real blue-collar shirt.
Well, a blue Chinese-collar shirt.

He liked those shirts. And they were like

uniforms. Guru uniforms. Because they were
simple. And strong. And were part of tradition,
part of history, part of this place. Fifty years
ago, everybody was wearing them. Well,
workers. Farmers. Builders. Real men. You
know.

It was made of a very cheap fabric. Thick,

rugged, not very pleasant to the touch. But it
was ok. Underneath the blue shirt he wore an
extremely soft t-shirt. An almost unnaturally
soft t-shirt.

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He bought it in the big central mall. He did not
go there often, but once in a while he liked to
visit the center, go to a mall or two, have
something interesting to eat, because they
always have these new tasty inventions in the
center. Some trendy new food that is suddenly
everywhere. Once every couple of months he
takes Dog and Subway, and they take a field
trip. A trip to another world. A cleaner world.
Airconditioned. That smells of perfumes and
delicacies. They were tourists.

Subway would disappear for an hour as he

went to get his Subway sandwich, and Dog was
not really interested in all those fashionable
things, he just stood there beside guru, doing
his job. It is not that guru needed a bodyguard
in these trips, if anything, he was safer than
usual. There were very few dangers in the
malls. Maybe indigestion if you eat too much.
Or getting a cold if you step in from the heat,
and you are drenching with sweat, and
suddenly the aircon hits you hard.

A couple of years ago, as he was walking

through some department store, half looking
around but half just enjoying the aircon and the
165
scented air, he decided to try a t-shirt. It was a
very expensive t-shirt. Center of town
expensive, not slum expensive, real expensive.
This one t-shirt cost like all the rest of his
clothes combined.

He went into the changing room and Dog stood

outside to guard the stall. The minute he put it
on he got it. he understood. He understood rich
people. He heard divine singing as eternity was
caressing his body thorough the softest material
you have ever felt, fabric made of angel’s hair
or something similar. It was an amazing
experience. Better than sex. Better than a frilled
cheese sandwich.

Guru loved grilled cheese sandwiches. He used

to have a sandwich maker in the palace. You
know, the kind you put in the sandwich and
you press hard until it is flat and crunchy. He
got it as a present from his niece for one of his
birthdays. After two months he gave it away, to
a nice family down the street.

It was not a healthy thing to keep in the palace.

Not at all. Not only did he start to be rounder
and rounder, he started to smell like a grilled

166
cheese sandwich. He started to sweat cheese. It
was not a good thing to keep in the palace. Not
at all. Very dangerous. Very. So he gave it
away.

He was standing there, in this miracle in the

form of a shirt, dreaming of grilled cheese
sandwiches, and life was good. Everything was
good. Everything was lovely. And soft. So soft.

He had to buy this shirt. He wanted to buy this

shirt. No, he needed to buy this shirt. His life is
now divided to the pre shirt and post shirt
periods. Nothing will ever be the same. He
could not go back to his old life now, his
shirtless life, his softless life, his angel hair
fabric life.

It took him almost half an hour to actually go to

the cashier and make the purchase. It was
expensive. It was very expensive. He was not
comfortable paying something like that for a
shirt. He knows people who spend that amount
on their monthly rent. Yes, it is slum rent, but
still.

He walked around in circles, pretending to look

at other items in the store, before he managed
167
to do it. it was not about the money, he had
more than enough in the bank, it was a matter
of principle. But now he understood the rich
people and that his principles might be just
jealousy and pettiness.

People should wear shirts like that. Everyone.

A shirt for every worker. A soft expensive angel
hair fabric shirt for every worker. Yeah, that is
not going to happen. But he can enjoy it. he
should enjoy it. he deserves to enjoy it.

He bought the shirt, and was thankful that God

was standing behind him and did not see how
much he paid. He was still embarrassed, but he
did it.

And this shirt, the softest shirt in the world,

was under that rugged rough blue work shirt.
And it felt good. He did feel like he was
cheating. Because the outside looked rugged
but the inside was a hug from a cloud. He did
not want to cheat anyone. But is it really his
problem if they don’t know that he wears a
comfortable soft shirt under his work clothes?
What they think about him is not his
responsibility anyway, he is just wearing a

168
shirt, that is all. There is no meaning to that
blue shirt, it is just a shirt.

Guru didn’t like lying. Even to himself. and he

knew that he was lying. The blue shirt was part
of his image, part of his brand. It was his
uniform. And it said I am not special, I am not
above anyone, I am a simple worker. A simple
worker with a t-shirt that costs a simple
workers monthly paycheck.

He didn’t want to think about it anymore. It

gave him a headache. He knew that he was
wrong and it pissed him off. He just was not
sure which one of the arguments was the
wrong one, but as he held both views
simultaneously anyway, he had to be, by
definition, wrong. And right. But mostly
wrong. If only because we tend to put more
weight on our wrong decisions, and skip our
good ones.

It is like when you are in bed at night, trying to

fall asleep, and your brain suddenly turns on,
and you end up thinking and thinking, well, at
that point you remember twenty three percent

169
of the good decisions you made in life, and
eighty thousand percent of the bad ones.

He did not want to think about it anymore.

Enough

“Dog” he called.

Dog came in. “yes?”

“What are we doing today?”

Dog thought for a second.

“it’s too early for lunch, right?”

Guru nodded.

“We can go to garbage granny house. They are

clearing it out today”

Garbage granny died last week. She was old as

dust. Some say past a hundred, but no one,
including here, knew when she was born. She
was famous in the slum. Everybody knew
garbage granny. The older generation knew
here as watermelon granny, as she used to sell
watermelon on the corner of main street.

She had a good life then, her son used to bring

cheap watermelons from the wholesale market,
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and she would cut and clean them and sell to
the usual clients. It was a good job. Then her
son died in a car accident. A stupid accident. It
was not even anyone’s fault. A driver got a
heart attack and died on the wheel, and as he
sped through an intersection, he hit her son
who was crossing the street, before stopping on
a nearby house fence.

Without her usual morning watermelon

delivery, she had to close her stall, and spent
the last fifteen years collecting garbage and
bringing it every evening to the palace.

Guru always paid her well above the value of

what she brought. He liked her. She was
grouchy and mean and her back was crooked
like a hook. But there was something about her.
About her energy. She never stopped for a
second. She pushed on. And on and on. A day
before she died, she was still picking the
garbage cans for some valuable items for sale or
to recycle. The morning she died, she still went
out of the house at five o’clock to give rice to
the monks who pass every day to collect their
alms and lunches. She then went back inside,

171
got into bed and closed her eyes for the last
time.

The three of them went out into the hot street.

Put on their sunglasses. Took a deep breath and
walked over to the other side of the slum. These
were hot days. Very hot. The air was like soup.
Normally guru would have preferred staying in
the cool palace and enjoying a relaxed morning
away from the sun, but as he was escaping his
own thoughts, it was a small price to pay.

Ten minutes later, and they were outside

garbage granny shack. Dog slipped into the
mom-and-pop shop nearby to get a couple of
bottles of water. They needed that. refreshed
and ready, they walked in.

It was a small and dark shack. Made of metal

sheets and some wood planks, a raggedy shack.
There was a bed, a small low table for eating,
and a wardrobe with old clothes. In the corner
was a sink and shower head.

The place was surprisingly clean and tidy. A

tidy clean shack in the far corner of the slum.
And it actually smelled nice. Guru noticed there
were a lot of air fresheners hanging on the
172
walls. You know, the kind that look like a tree.
They were in different smells, and gave the air
a strange ambiance of cognitive dissonance.

There was a rice cooker and an electric water

pot on a bench near the wall, a couple of plates
and cutlery and one glass. An old glass. A glass
that was scrubbed and scrubbed for
generations, making it almost paper thin. It was
like an expensive crystal wine glass now.
Funny how that works, when you are poor
enough you seem rich.

It was known, in the slum, that in cases like

that, when there is no family, everything found
in the deceased place, was gurus. At least he
had first call. But there was nothing here that
could interest him. Nothing of value. The
wardrobe itself maybe, but it looked heavy. Not
that he would have to lift it himself but he was
thinking about his workers. He was lazy for
them too, out of some sense of responsibility.

No, better leave it for the vultures. They will

take everything. Nothing to worry about. He
will just leave the door open, as a sign that the
game is on.

173
Meanwhile, Subway was going through the
wardrobe and found something in one of the
pockets. It was a necklace. Very very thin
necklace, very delicate. And it looked
expensive. It looked like high-quality gold.
Very very thin gold, but still gold.

Guru looked at it for a minute and put it in his

pocket.

The next day, right after breakfast, guru and the

bodyguards went to the temple. Guru asked for
a special blessing for garbage grandma and
gave the necklace as her last donation to the
monks. That should bring her some good
karma. She deserves it after the life she lived.
He also added a big bag of sugar, a five-kilo
sack of rice, some milk cartons, and two packs
of Yorkshire tea. That made a nice donation all
in all.

She liked Yorkshire tea. Every evening when

she would bring in the garbage she collected,
guru invited her to sit down and relax for a bit
and have some tea with him. Every evening she
would reply, “tea? Do I look like I have time for

174
tea? What am I, the queen of England? Tea. Tea
he asks”

But on rare occasions, after she finished her

usual response, she did sit down, and she did
have a cup of tea. And a biscuit. She liked the
Yorkshire tea guru always had in the palace. It
was strong tea. Imported. He first tasted it a
long time ago when a British backpacker had a
couple of tea bags on it. he managed to get hold
of some boxes during the years, but now you
can finally find it in the supermarket in the
center. The foreigners’ super market, the fancy
one, where they have all the strange imported
things.

She used to slurp her tea very loudly. Almost

loud on purpose. She said it tasted better that
way. And it was too hot to just drink as it is.
And it was more fun.

She didn’t talk much, but when she did it was

always about the people from the old days, the
characters of the slum in its early days, when it
was still a slum, but the rest of the city was
mostly poor too, so the difference was small.
Now the whole city grew and became rich and

175
the slum remained a slum. And the characters
that used to live here, the stories they had, the
adventures they had just to stay alive,
generations over generations, full family trees
with roots deep in the dirty broken streets.

She didn’t talk much, but when she did it was

impossible to stop her. It usually started with a
sigh.

And then they knew it was coming, they knew

it is going to start pouring down now.

“People don’t have respect for anything

anymore. We used to have respect to things. To
other people’s things, to our things. Today
people throw away things that are perfectly
good. And they break things. They are not
careful. We used to keep our things, take care of
them.

I remember the first fridge that came to the

slum. The hooni family. It was 1978. The whole
slum came to see it, to admire its modern look
and the strange humming sound it made. It was
a miracle. You know what is the real miracle?
Go to hooni’s house. His children live there
now. They still have that fridge. I swear to God.
176
You go and see. Same fridge. They fixed it a
couple of times, but it works. 1978.

People used to care. Ayyyyy. I tell you; it is

good I will die soon. I don’t care. Nobody cares
anymore.”

“don’t say that, granny, we care, we will be

very sad if you will be gone”

“pfffffff. Poppycock. You will be sad for an

hour. Everything breaks now and everything
goes to the garbage. You are lucky, guru, you
chose a good job. Garbage is always garbage
and every year we make more and more
garbage. we are all in the garbage. We are all
garbage. We are all being thrown away.”

She finished her tea. And stood up, full of

determination. She grabbed her cane and
looked guru in the eye.

“Tea. Wasting my time with tea. What am I? the

queen of England?”

And she turned and walked away without a

goodbye.

177
He liked her, the guru. He really did. She was a
dinosaur, a relic of the past. He wished she had
more time to tell him stories of the good old
days, but you know, stories, who has time for
stories? What is she, the queen of England?

178
The new guy

it was a sad day, but Subway had to be

replaced. There were auditions for a new body
guard today.

It was nothing dramatic, he was not fired or

anything like that, he just got married. I bet you
imagined some mafia goon body guard being
“replaced” as he is thrown of the pier wearing
concrete boots, but the palace was not really a
mafia headquarters. It was just a warehouse. In
the middle of the slum.

Now some of you might say that getting

married was worse than being thrown off the
pier wearing cement boots, but he seemed very
happy about the whole thing.

On Sunday, Subway married the love of his life,

the lovely miss Subway, who he met when she
was working, well, can you guess it? In a
Subway shop. She was sure Subway came in so
often because he wanted to see her, and there
was no reason to break that dream, but the

179
truth is that he really did come for the
sandwiches, and he never noticed her until one
day her mask fell off and she smiled at him.
Two months later they got married.

She was perfect for him. And I don’t mean just

because she worked at a Subway. I don’t think
she can stay there for the rest of her life. But
what do I know. But no, that was not the thing,
the thing was, the thing that made her perfect
for him, was that she had anosmia. That means
she had no sense of smell. It ran in her family,
her father had it and so did one of her brothers.

For Subway, that was perfect. Tuna Subways

seem to linger in the breath for a while, and that
was the perfect solution. I think a lot of men
would love to have wives who have anosmia. I
think a lot of the wives married to these men
wish indeed that they had anosmia.

So they were perfect together. She was not the

brightest lightbulb either, so together they
could have a wonderfully boring wonderful
life. And they seemed truly happy. And now
they are married.

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Next week they are moving to the vacation
town by the seaside where her brother, not the
one who has anosmia, has a successful noodle
shop, and they will try to start a life there.
Being a big tourist location there are a couple of
branches of Subway sandwiches so Subway
was optimistic and was looking forward to start
a new life with the new wife.

But that left a space to be filled. A position. The

truth is that guru didn’t really need two body
guards, he was not really involved in anything
that required more than one body guard, if that
at all, but two seemed symmetric. It was one on
each side. It was more respectable. You need
two. You just do.

It is never easy to find good help, and when it

comes to bodyguards it was even more
difficult, as it was the fine line between cop and
criminal, it calls a certain kind of people, a
certain kind of personality, and in a lot of cases,
well, that could be slightly problematic.

There was Chokchai, who filled in for Subway

in the past when he managed to break his leg in
some heroic adventure of slipping in the

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shower. He was ok. But he made this noise,
sucking his teeth, and that made guru
contemplate suicide, or more accurately murder
suicide, so he was out of the question.

And there was joe, three fingers joe. Rumor was

that he cut his pinky off with a aluminum food
tray in prison, to get out of doing hard labor. It
did not work. I mean, It did work, he cut of his
pinky. But no one cared, and next day he was
back in the work force with a bandage. But the
story worked. People stay out of the way when
someone who has cut his own finger off passes
by.

He is a possibility, yes, but he does have this

annoying habit of repeating everything that is
said to him. It is kind of cool in the beginning,
but after a while it can drive you crazy.

And Tawan, Tawan is always available. But

that is not really, well, that is, let’s say that
Tawan is the last choice. Being slightly
psychotic makes him a liability, even if he is
just a toy psychotic because he is all talk. All
sizzle and no steak. But still, he had some
disturbing thoughts and behaviors.

182
He actually came to guru when he heard
Subway was thinking of moving away.

“Guruji, you know I can do this. I can be the

best body guard”

“Tawan, my dear, we still don’t know what is

going to happen, I still have not decided what I
am even going to do, there is still a lot of
time….”

“c’mon, man, give me a chance. I can do it. I can

do anything you want. You pay me I kick
anyone’s ass for you”

“Yeah…” said guru “I don’t think I need

anyone’s ass kicked, but I will keep it in mind,
just in case…”

“And I will do it for cheap. I am not greedy”

pushed Tawan.

Guru was twisting on his sofa. “it’s not really

about the money….”

Tawan stood straight with his chest up and said

“for free, I will kick his ass for free, just point
me at the guy. For you guruji”

Guru sighed.
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“Tawan, dear Tawan, my good friend Tawan, I
thank you. I appreciate your loyalty. We will let
you know.”

Tawans face shined with optimism as how wai-

ed guru and walked out.

Guru looked at Dog. And looked at Subway.

And sighed again.

Change is not good or bad, your reaction is

good or bad, he reminded himself. he didn’t
like change, and at times like this he didn’t like
to be guru. He wanted to be pissed off at
Subway for leaving him and to be frustrated
and annoyed. But he did not have that
privilege.

The interviews continued, and guru was

amazed at how many annoying people are out
there. Ok, maybe not annoying people, but
people with annoying habits or characteristics.
He was looking for those, because he is going to
be spending every waking hour with that new
employee, and that Is a very long time when
you have very little to actually do during the
day.

184
A lot of people were interested in the position.
It was a good job. Well paid, good food, not
much stress, the hours are long, yes, but it was
mostly just sitting and waiting or doing some
small errands.

People came. And were sent away. This one has

a creepy laugh, the other one has a strange
mole on his forehead, this guy wears a leather
jacket and gold chains, that one has a manbun.
No, no no. there were some women too, coming
in strutting like a cock, standing in front of him
with their arms crossed and a fierce look in
their eyes, like their role model from some
movie.

He was far from being a chauvinist, the guru,

but he was not ready for a woman bodyguard.
Not because they were not good at it, damn,
they looked scary enough standing like that
staring at him with determination and
empowerment. No, it was the fact he would
have to spend all day, every day with them.
Women were complicated. From his experience,
it was better to avoid them as much as possible.
For a peaceful life. If you want adventure and a

185
rollercoaster of emotional drama, please do find
a nice woman. He liked a peaceful life.

In the end, a decision was made. It was not an

easy decision, and it might not have been the
best decision, but the guru likes to be decisive.
Because determinism and fate and bla bla bla,
but mostly because he just wanted to get it over
with. Anything. Get anything over with. Just
get it over with and move on. Preferably to
lunch. Or a nap. Hey, no one said a guru has to
have a hard life, he is not a monk, he suffered
enough, and still does, and you know what,
with his new choice of body guard? He will
probably suffer even more now.

The chosen new body guard, was short listed in

a very short list, but just because the
competition was really outstandingly
unimpressive to say the least, and more
accurately in the category of hell-no for most
candidates.

Xian. Chinese Xian. A quite guy. Just slightly

taller than the guru. A quite guy. Who used a
little too much gel in his hair, combing it all
back like an old-time greasy gangster. A quite

186
guy. Who used to teach some martial arts once,
I don’t remember which one it was, but he was
supposed to be really good at it. A quite guy.
He had a new baby girl this year so was looking
for some fixed income and a career, which
meant he was well motivated. And, did I
mention he was a quiet guy? That was the
reason he was chosen.

Guru was worried. And that was the solution.

Xian was not big on small talk, and he hoped
that this will lead to a very quiet and peaceful
work relationship. They agreed on a monthly
payment, and Xian bowed and walked away
with a little smile.

Guru liked silence. It was never really silent

here, there was always some noise, the house
breathing, some mouse in the corner, a
yawning cat looking at the mouse pretending
not to see it, a bird on the roof, a dripping
faucet outside, a generator clicking away. There
was always background music, a soundtrack.
But that was his silence. His favorite music.

When it was not too hot, he used to go to the

park. It was not far from the slum. No, parks

187
we still don’t have in the slum. A park is such a
luxury these days that poor people cannot
afford one. But he went to the nearby park. To
listen to the leaves. That is how he called
getting stoned and taking a nap under a big
tree. His favorite meditation. Get that energy
straight from the roots, with the leaves singing
you a lullaby in the wind.

You have to find your silence. What silence

works for you. some people like crowds, the
humming of a crowd. I know a guy who can
only read in coffee shops because the buzzing
of the people around him is the white noise he
needs to concentrate on the book. We all have
our silence, we just too lazy to find it, to find
out which one is it. The guru liked the
warehouse silence and the park silence. Silence
is good. Silence is holy. Silence is peaceful.

The first day on the job, Xian walked in with a

stride, trying to make a serious bodyguard face
but failing at hiding the big smile that was
under the charade. He was happy. It was a
good day.

188
“Fresh steamed buns. Wife make this morning.
She is not pretty but she makes hell of a
steamed bun”

He put a plastic back full of steam buns on the

table in front of guru.

“I will take a good steamed bun over a pretty

face any day of the week” said guru, as he
reached into the bag.

“The ones with the sesame are with barbeque

pork and the ones with the cross are with
shitake mushrooms. The small ones are sweet
sour chicken.”

Guru thought to himself, well well well, that

might have been a really good decision, hiring
this guy. This feeling was nice. In his stomach.
He liked to be right about things, to make the
right decisions. And it felt good. It felt nice. In
his stomach. Or maybe it was the barbeque
pork steamed bun, because that felt really good
in his stomach too. He thought about it for a
second and then let it go.

A few minutes later, he again felt that fuzzy

warm feeling, and now he was sure he made

189
the right decision, as all three of them were
sitting there, eating steamed buns, in silence.
Beautiful silence.

190
The ghosts next door

Guru did not like ghosts. Nothing personal. I

am sure some of these ghosts were very nice
and just misunderstood, as there is still a life
bias, people are racist, when you are alive, they
will treat you nice, but once you are dead
suddenly you are scary and disturbing their
life.

Lucky enough, in this country, a country that is

still celebrating its superstitious nature, a
country that still has a connection to the earth,
to the energy, to all the spirits out there, some
of them natural, some of them ghosts, some of
them helpful, some of them naughty and even
harmful, a country where there is still respect
for the old ways, for old wisdom, that has been
conquered by cement and steel and glass, tall
towers rising to heavens, huge malls, roads as
wide as a river and as noisy as hell, but still
managed to keep the values and traditions of
our ancestors, the knowledge most countries
chose to forget in the race to be oh so modern.

191
In this country you still respected the dead,
brought them food, talked to them, promised
things, shared your prayers with them. In some
cases, they were indeed just part of the
extended family, or a roommate. It was natural,
it was accepted, and in most cases it was nice.

Small wooden houses in the garden, a place for

the ancestors to live in, for the house spirit to
live in (because these days most people live in
rented homes, so the house ghost is not
necessarily a relative who passed away, it was
more like furniture that came with the place
when you signed the contract. So, there are two
beds upstairs, and the Livingroom couch and
dining table, oh and a strange old man who
walks around the garden at night in pajamas,
and occasionally slams a window or two when
it is hungry and wants some treats.

And the ghosts got their treats. Treats? Full

meals, carefully prepared and displayed nicely
with some decorations, a couple of flowers, a
drink. The drink was important. Red Fanta. For
some reason, maybe because they were
believed to be Chinese, the ghosts like red
drinks, and Fanta was their brand.
192
I am not sure what they drank before Fanta was
a brand, and before red Fanta was invented, but
now it is common knowledge that Fanta is the
brand. There are some other red colored drinks
in the fridge of the local convenient store, but
you wouldn’t want to be a cheap bastard and
give your house ghost some cheap off brand
red drink, would you?

For foreigners who came to visit or even live

here it all seemed very strange, a quirky funny
custom, building small houses for the relatives
and ghosts, filling it up with small dolls, a
grandpa doll and grandma doll, a couple of
small painted demon warriors, a monk or two,
and animals. A lot of animals.

People give their ancestors gifts so they can

enjoy them in the afterlife and the most
common gift, other than food and drinks and
flowers of course, was farm animals. A lot of
them. The more the merrier. And zebras. For
some reason, maybe because there do not come
from this part of the world, zebras were a
special thing, a rare animal to be gifted only to
the holy of the holy, to the old members of the
clan who look after us.
193
You could see spirit houses with huge hordes of
zebras. It was cute. It was funny. It was
interesting. And for the locals – it was
important.

The locals always find ways to communicate

with the other worlds, by prayer, by using the
right kind of incense and right kind of flowers,
by celebrating everything that is unreal, that is
out of this world, above this world, well,
sometimes below this world if you are talking
about the less nice kind of ghosts, the less
friendly type.

It was something that you do. you don’t ask too

many questions; you just do it. Because
everyone does it and because deep down you
know it works, you know it is important, you
know the ghosts and spirits are really there,
around you, and you have to treat them nice
and be kind to them, bring them gifts, bring
them food and drinks, and in general just be
nice to them, saying good morning and good
night, bowing, showing you care, showing you
still remember, showing the chain was not
broken.

194
The ghosts were a little like cats. They say a dog
can find his owner but a cat can always find his
home, the house he lives in. it is an instinct.
Dogs are attached to the spirit of the owner;
cats are attached to the spirit of the place.

House ghosts are the same, they belong to a

certain house, a certain plot of land, their plot of
land. I don’t know how it works in those new
big condos, with hundreds of people living on a
piece of land, maybe this is the reason you
don’t have many ghosts in those condos, or at
least sighting of these ghosts.

They probably don’t know how to use the

elevator, being old and from another
generation. And dead. Not sure if they can
push the elevator buttons, and let’s face it, a
hundred-year-old ghost is in no condition to
walk twenty floors up the stairs.

The problem with house ghosts, is that once

there is one of those horrendous condos being
built, or even just a commercial building, where
do they go? They belong to the land, but all the
noise, and digging and banging and drilling,
you can’t live like that, even if you are dead.

195
What sometimes happen is that they move next
door. Which can be a problem.

You see, house ghosts get hungry and when

you don’t feed them, they come to your dreams
and complain. It’s not even nightmares, just
standing there in your dream, looking at you.
with a look in their eyes that might be
interpreted as disappointment, why don’t you
feed us? Don’t you care? What do we ask for?
Once a month put a nice tray with some apples,
maybe a banana, some fried rice with chicken, a
couple of sweets for dessert. Nothing special.
Oh, and the red Fanta, don’t forget the red
Fanta.

Is that too much to ask?

Now, here, in this part of the world, that is

normal, that is the way things are, this is what
you do. once a month, or on special occasions,
you put a tray of food for the house ghosts.
And they are happy, and you are happy, and
you don’t have disappointed looks in the
dreams.

I don’t know why all these movies make ghosts

seem so scary and mean. Usually they are just
196
like us, but dead. A little bored, a little hungry,
a little not sure about their place in the
universe. Just like us. But without all that
breathing and being hassle.

Guru knew ghosts. And he knew ghosts can get

annoyed. Well, you know how old people get
annoyed by anything? Well, think about that
but for two hundred years. Get off my lawn is
just the start. And construction sites, they really
annoy ghosts.

When Chutima came and told him her story, he

knew exactly what happened.

“It is three weeks since they started building.

The noise is unbelievable, it is just next door.
Whole day long it is in my ear, and then at
night, the dreams. I have not had a good night
sleep in weeks. I keep turning and turning.”

She looked pale. And tired. And annoyed. Not

like a ghost, just the irritable nature of someone
who has not had a good shut eye in a while.

“I put extra trays with food for the house

ghosts, but it is not enough, the dreams stop for
two days and then come back. I am paying

197
more on their food then mine. Guru, what do I
do?”

Guru understood exactly what happened. An

infestation of ghosts.

Refugees from next door. He has seen it before.

And it is never an easy problem to solve. Yes,
you can bring the monks and bless the house
etc etc, but that is just being mean to the ghosts,
throwing them out. That is not a very
enlightened thing to do, or compassionate.

They are refugees after all. They run away from

a disaster-stricken area, a new construction site,
to the first home they found. It is not their fault.

No, he will not involve the monks. But he did

have an idea.

“You live in Sukotal number 3 right? The

construction site is number 5? Just by the
corner?”

“Yes, yes, exactly” she answered, jumping a

little as she almost fell asleep in her chair.

“I see, ahm. Ok, I have to go visit a friend. Will

you be at home later today?”

198
“Yes, guru, anything, I will wait for you. please,
do something”

“don’t you worry” guru smiled. “I think I can

try something. We will see”

That evening, just after six, guru and his two

bodyguards came to Chutimas house. The noise
from the building site next door was indeed
loud and annoying.

When Chutima opened the door, guru said:

“Here, I am hanging this on your door.

Tomorrow tells me if it worked.”

He showed her a small scroll, with Chinese

writing in it. He rolled it and tied it with a red
string, and hung it on the door, right under the
eyehole.

Next morning, Chutima arrived to the palace

with a big smile on her face. She had a good
night sleep and it showed. She was even
bringing three cups of coffee from that fancy
place outside the slum.

“Guru, you have done it again. I don’t know

how to thank you!”

199
Guru smiled. And sniffed the coffee she handed
him. That was good coffee, real good coffee. He
was not a coffee expert, and did not understand
what all the fuss was about, what is this coffee
culture people talk about, but he knew good
coffee when he smelt it.

“No dreams tonight?”

“Oh, I had one dream, guru. Just one. There

were people looking at me, and then they faded
away. And I slept like a log. So good. Oh my
god, I needed that. I feel like a new person”

“Good, good” guru smiled and took a sip.

Wow, that really was some good coffee. He was

impressed. Much better than the instant
discount brand they have here. Maybe he
should get a coffee machine? God knows he can
afford one. No, he doesn’t want to be one of
those people who have a coffee machine. That
is not him.

“but guru, please, can you tell me what spell

you used? What charm? What was the magic in
that Chinese scroll?”

200
Guru took another sip of the coffee. Letting it
cool a little before swallowing it.

“It was not magic. I don’t know any magic, and

I don’t know people who know any magic.”

He paused. Took another small sip, and put the

cup down on the table.

“But what I do know, is that before the

construction site was put up, this was the home
of the Waranli family. I knew them. Chinese
couple. Childless. They lived until they were
four hundred years old or at least looked like
that. As cheap as can be.

One coat, one soup, one fat cat to hunt mice.

They were so cheap the wife literally sown
closed her husband’s pockets. Their bank
account was like a black hole, what comes in
never gets out. When they passed, we
discovered that a lot was actually coming in
that bank account.

The husband made a good investment in some

shipping company many years ago, and it
became a huge international brand and he kept
on getting checks every month.

201
They lived like poor people, but could have
bought most of the slum if they wanted to. Just
the fact they were still living in the slum, while
they could move anywhere they wanted, that
shows you how cheap they were. Oh well, takes
all sorts, I guess. Being cheap is a disease. A
sickness. Poor people. Poor rich people.”

Chutima was drinking in every word.

“I did not know them. When I moved in five

years ago, they were gone for at least a decade.”

“oh, they were actually ok people. Just cheap.

Very cheap. But when I found out it was really
them, well, it was easy”

“So, you made a Chinese curse or blessing, just

for them?” she asked

Guru laughed.

“No, I told you, I don’t know any magicians.

But I do have a friend who writes Chinese, and
I asked him to write a note, that says that as
they moved In, they are now expected to pay
rent and this is their part for the month. I knew
that will make them move to somewhere that
was free.”
202
He started laughing, and everybody joined him,
but they were not sure if he was joking or was
that the truth. They were not sure if it mattered,
so they continued to laugh, and then it
subsided, and silence came back.

Chutima thanked him and went to continue her

day, and the three of them sat back and enjoyed
the coffee. It was really good coffee. Maybe he
should get a coffee machine. No, no, again, not
his style.

“Dog, in the convenience store on the corner,

do they sell coffee?”

“They sell something like coffee.”

“I see”. Guru had an idea.

“Find me a good coffee machine, Dog.

Something nice, you know, and a couple of kg
of good coffee. Imported. And give it to them.
Then we can have good coffee.” He opened a
desk drawer and took out a roll of cash, looked
at it for a minute, trying to think how much is
there, and then gave it as it is to Dog.

“As you say boss” he got his bag and stepped

203
outside, on a coffee mission. That is going to be
fun. A chance to get out of the slums. He can
stop by the big bookstore in main street. What
time is it now? Yes, he still has most of the day.
Going to be a good one.

204
Toy car

You know how people say I know a guy who

knows a guy? Well, he was the guy. The second
guy, not the first one, the first one was another
guy, but he was the guy, THE guy. Anything
you needed; he was the guy. Or he knew a guy.
Maybe a guy who knew a guy. But he was the
real guy, the original guy, the guy to go to
when you know a guy who knows a guy.

And today guru needed “the guy”.

“What can I do for you, guruji?”

Guru smiled. He liked that question. He always

did things for others, sometimes even when he
didn’t really want to, just because he was guru
etc., he had an image to keep. And a lot of times
people wanted to do things for him, out of
gratitude or appreciation, but the sad truth is
that most of the time they did things he did not
ask for, or want, or needed. It was more for
them to feel good about it, about their
gratitude, it was for them, not for him.

205
When someone actually stops and asks you
what they can do for you, now that is special.

“a 1970’s matchbox red mustang sports car”

“Nice. You need a new car? I am not sure I can

get you this model, but I can get you a red
sports car by, I don’t know, tomorrow
morning?”

“a 1970’s matchbox red mustang sports car”

guru made a gesture with his hand, with the
thumb and the first finger, showing the size of a
small toy car. “it is a toy car. This big.”

“1970’s matchbox red mustang sports car” the

guy repeated.

There was silence.

“I see. Ok. Whatever you need, guru. “

He wai-ed and walked out.

Guru smiled to himself. he saw the end of this

story, and he liked it. He often did that, smiling
at the potential end of a good story. For a good
story, you need a good ending, an entertaining
ending, a wise ending, a funny ending. He
liked writing the story of his life. He
206
remembered hearing some smart person say
once – the best way to predict the future is to
create it, and he loved that idea.

It was not always successful. A lot of times you

make a beautiful waterproof plan and still, life
manages to find a way to get what life wanted,
without asking you. sometimes it blew in your
face. Well, a lot of times. But he still enjoyed it.
The whole process, the whole game.

He never told anyone his plan, at least not the

real plan, the moves under the surface, the
weird connections and homemade
synchronicity, he never told anyone what is the
goal or the expected result. So, no one knew if
he failed or not, because no one knew what he
was doing, or al least try to do. and he always
had the story. Even if things did not turn out
the way he planned and wanted, in his mind
they did, in a perfect ending for a good story.

And this had the potential to actually work. He

was less concerned with the problem he was
trying to solve, and more with how it will be
solved. Will he manage to solve it in a poetic
beautiful way. It was like a kung fu monk, who

207
practices martial arts all his life, and the form is
just as important as the function, the sizzle as
important as the steak.

He was the martial artists of solving problems.

Probably because they were usually small
problems. He was the garbage guru after all, in
a slum, in the middle of a huge metropolitan
beast. He was small time. A toy guru. He
solved problems that had to do with neighbors,
with small businesses, with local dispute, and
when I say local, I mean really local, this street
is fighting this ally, as local as you can get.

Small problems. But he still tried to make the

solution pretty and funny and wise. He saw
that as part of his responsibility. To the
community, to his staff, to the spirit of stories,
to the muse of a good joke, a smart retort. It was
what he does. It was what he was.

A week later the guy came back. With a big

smile.

He sat in front of the throne, and out of his

pocket came out two small matchbox car boxes.
Original. Intact. Pristine. One red. One blue. He
put them on the table in front of guru.
208
Guru took the red one, opened the box. Took
out the small toy car and looked at it. he then
stood up and went to the crate in the corner and
rubbed the toy on the rough wood for a while,
checking it, hitting it on the crate nails.

He finally gave it a final check. Yes, now it

looked like a toy, a real toy, not some museum
piece.

“These toy guys are tough. I tell you; these kids

are mean. And they know their business. Damn
kids. Almost drove me crazy.”

Guru sat back down.

“How much do I owe you?”

The guy laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I

didn’t pay. This guy wanted a fortune. It was
stupid money; I am not going to pay that. I am
not an idiot. I am telling you, these toy nerds,
they are born traders, it is scary, they look like
you can drop them if you flick their forehead
with your little finger, but when it comes to
negotiate about their collections? They are
fearsome. Like a dragon protecting his hoard.
He wanted stupid money, and mama did not

209
raise stupid. Naa, I got him a date with my
sister.”

Guru eyes opened wide.

“don’t worry about it. she is easy. You don’t get

to be twenty-four with three kids from three
different fathers by being picky. Not sure if the
guy will survive, he didn’t look all that healthy,
but at least he will go out with a smile”

They both laughed.

“so he gave me the red one for a date. And the

blue one. I don’t know, maybe it fell into my
pocket while we were talking. I don’t know.
Anyway.”

Guru handed him the blue one, and spoke

“I owe you one, and now go give him back the

blue one. He might be your brother-in-law in a
week”

The guy sighed. He put the blue toy back in his

pocket and left without saying goodbye.

210
Guru sat back on the throne, the plastic wrap
creaking its familiar noise as he made himself
comfortable, and stared at the red toy car in his
hand.

The light came in through the half-closed

blinds, and the dust in the air made everything
feel surreal, as he continued to sit there, staring
at the toy and making a very dramatic face,
pretending it was a scene in some movie. The
hero is looking at the reminder of his lost youth
etc etc. you know, the artsy movies. The ones
without any car chases or jokes. He actually
liked those movies. He didn’t watch a lot of
them but he liked the idea. He liked the fact
they are there. He watched the superhero
movies, and the lone ex-cop saving the girl and
killing the terrorist movies, and some comedies
if they were really funny, oh and ghost movies
of course, who doesn’t like ghost movies. But
he also liked the artsy sophisticated movies, at
least the idea of them being there as artsy and
sophisticated. And this moment was a perfect
artsy sophisticated scene.

Just missing some background music.

211
The cleaning lady came in with a mop singing
an old folk tune from the mountain regions. No,
that was not it. definitely not. That was not the
background music he was looking for. that was
a lovely song but not the soundtrack to his
scene. Oh well. Cut. He put the red car in his
pocket and threw away the box.

Guru called Dog over, and asked him to run

some errands. An hour later he returned, and
whispered something in gurus’ ear, something
that made guru smile.

The next day, guru woke up still with a smile.

He was optimistic. He was, literally, a man with
a plan. the man with the plan. It was show time.

You see, it all started two weeks ago, with a

broken fruit stall and a lot of noise and
mayhem. Well, maybe not a lot of mayhem but
a lot of noise. Some mayhem and a lot of noise.

Well, that is not true, it all started thirty-four

years ago. When the slum was much more
slumish, when the streets were tough, when the
grey was much greyer, the dirty dirtier, the
people more people. It all started thirty-four

212
years ago, on a Wednesday lunch break at the
local temple school.

The temple school was the only school around.

There were a lot of schools out there, in the real
city, but in the slums, who would build a school
in the slums, it is full of poor people. In the
slum they had the temple school, which was
just a temple, but the children were sent there
to learn. There were no real teachers there, just
the monks, but it gave the kids some kind of
structure and discipline, if very little actual
education.

The three of them were inseparable. They were

together from sunrise till their mothers
screamed their name in the evening, calling
them home for dinner. They were the best of
friends, went on adventures together, collected
frogs and strange insects from the local canal,
did their homework together. Well, ok, made
excuses to why they didn’t do their homework
together, they were one person with three
heads, and all three heads were coming up with
new plans for mischief and fun.

213
Until one day, when they were not. When the
pact imploded, when the group drifted apart,
two of the three parts becoming life enemies.
One day, that started a thirty-year-old rivalry, a
war.

In those thirty years there was a lot of yelling, a

couple of broken bones and missing teeth, quite
a lot of damage to private and public property,
and more over acting and drama than your
local soap opera. It was a pissing contest; it was
not really a war. It was kids war even when all
involved were adults and forgot what it is like
to be a kid. It was petty and annoying more
than anything else.

Two households in war. But there was no

Romeo and Juliet story. Just two kids who
started something and it snowballed over three
decades.

And now it ended up with poor old Buriporn

being unemployed because his fruit cart is
broken.

Nobody meant to break his food cart, no one

wants anything bad for old Buriporn, he was a

214
decent fella, and always sold just fresh fruit,
clean and cut nicely.

But someone was pushed, and he lost his

balance, and the floor was full of pieces of
pineapple and mangosteen. They quickly
apologized and paid for the fruit that was
spoiled. They offered to pay for the cart too, but
he just told them to go to hell. He was pissed
off. It was not his fight, and it was a stupid
fight. Nobody even knew why these two
families were fighting, it was just stupid.

When guru heard about the incident, he

immediately sent Xian over to help fix the cart.
Xian stopped on the way to get khun Lek. Khun
Lek can fix anything. That was his gift. In a
place like the slum, this is a very important gift.
Here you don’t throw away things when they
stop working, you fix them. Here, you use the
things that normal people threw away and you
fixed them. Guru always thought that this was
a much better system, and with people like
khun Lek, dead appliances and furniture found
a new life, a reincarnation, in the slum. He was
not sure if it was heaven or hell for the
furniture.
215
You might think that being a slum, it must be
hell, but maybe for an oven toaster, to be
thrown away to the city dump was the actual
hell, and being saved and fixed was their
heaven. For an over toaster, existence is to be of
service. If it is not of service, what is the point?
So being fixed and returning to be of service,
well, that must be like salvation.

But guru had enough of this story. thirty years

was enough. And why did it all start? What lit
the fire that could not be extinguished for three
decades? A small red matchbox car.

They loved that car. It is the only real toy the

three boys had, it was an import, a toy that
traveled half the world to get there, it was
American. They liked America. America was in
the movies; America was the modern world.

And one day it was gone. one Wednesday, at

lunch break, it was gone, and that is when
things fell apart. They accused each other of
stealing it, of wanting to have it and not share
with the trio, it was getting ugly.

Guru did not really participate. He was not the

fighting kind, even then, so he just took a step
216
backwards and let the other two fight and
throw dirt and accusations. You stole it! No,
you did it! Give It back or I will kick you! I
don’t have it, you have it! I will tear your hair
out you thief.

And that was it. No more trio. No more

adventures. No more fun. War. Tiny war, of
small children, but still, war. And it never
ended.

A couple of weeks ago, guru visited an

engagement party of one of the nicer families in
the slum, a nice party by nice people,
celebrating a nice start to a nice life. Guru was
happy to be there, happy to be part of the
celebration.

And it was an opportunity to catch up with

some old friends he had not seen in a while, a
long while.

As he was sitting outside smoking a cigarette,

khun Bua came out and joined him, holding
two glasses of whisky. Khun Bua was a year
older and they started reminiscing about the
good old days and the temple school. They
laughed. They did have fun there.
217
Then khun Bua went silent for a second and in
a low voice said to guru:

“Guru, I have a confession”

Guru took a sip of the whiskey and looked at

him.

“Remember the red mustang? The one that

started that famous fight you trio had? I took
it.”

Guru almost choked on his drink.

“I didn’t mean to, I saw it there and you guys

were playing ball, and I just put it in my pocket,
I don’t know why”

Khun Bua looked at his shoes. Obviously, he

was still ashamed at what he did, even if it was
as a child, even if it was thirty-four years ago.

“And then when you guys started fighting bout

who stole it, it was too late. A couple of days
later I threw it in the canal so no one will
know.”

Guru put his hand on his shoulder.

218
“Thirty-four years, that is enough time to be
punished. I see you suffered enough, don’t
worry about it.”
khun Bua looked him in the eyes and tears
were starting to flow down his cheeks.

“But they are still fighting, it makes me crazy.

Because of me. Sometimes I don’t sleep at night,
thirty-four years.”

Guru smiled.

“don’t worry, Bua, I will fix it. Better late than

never. Now finish the drink and wipe your
face, by the sound from inside they just brought
out the cake. I heard they got a special coconut
cake from a bakery in the center of town, a
fancy one.”

Fast forward and guru was ready. He sat on his

throne, playing with the red toy car and waited.

There was a commotion outside, he heard

yelling and that was the sign, and he sent dog
and Xian out there. A minute later they both
came back, carrying inside, by the collar, the
two fighting parts, and literally placing them on
the chairs in front of guru.

219
Out of respect they stopped fighting, you
cannot fight in the palace, you cannot fight in
front of the guru.

“Why did you invite me here today, if you

knew he will be here? That scum thief! Don’t
you know I can not be in the same place as he
is?”

“Are you kidding me? You can’t be near me?

You are a crook! A cheap scoundrel. Guru, why
did you invite me if you knew this criminal will
be here?”

Guru laughed. Well, inside. As usual he knew

that no matter how funny the situation was for
him, laughing will just make things worse.

And he spoke. “shhhhhhhhh. Quiet!”

They both sat back in their chairs. They were

eight years old again. They had to behave, they
sat back and although their faces were still
showing how upset and angry, they were, they
kept quiet.

Guru reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out

the red toy car and placed it on the coffee table
in front of them.
220
Now, if they were silent before, now they were,
well, is there a word for more than silent? If
silence is zero when it comes to zero to ten,
what was happening now was minus five. It
was as if any kind of sound was sucked out of
the room, leaving a vacuum, less than nothing.

Their mouths were wide open, but they were

not breathing, the shock was unreal, surreal,
and so so real.

“Thirty years you guys are fighting because of

this. Thirty years you accuse each other of
stealing it, accusing each other of being
dishonest, a thief.”

He knew he had to talk fast as they were still

not breathing and it was starting to be
dangerous for their health.

“Well, I took it. Yes. I took it. I am the one.”

He waited a second. Curious to see how long

they can keep without oxygen.

“You have no reason to fight with each other. It

is all my fault. It was always my fault. I am
sorry.”

221
The sound of air being sucked into their mouths
as they finally breathed in, could be heard three
blocks from there.

“If you have a problem, it has to be with me. Do

you have a problem with me?”

Oh, that was a good move, he knew he got the

check mate here. They didn’t have a problem
with him, no matter what he did, or at least
claimed he did, thirty-four years ago.

“Well….” They started, almost in unison, and

then closed their mouth and looked at the toy.

“Do you have a problem with me? Or are we

ok?”

Of course, they were ok, and they nodded.

They didn’t really have a choice. Nobody had a
problem with the garbage guru. Well, at least
no one who wanted to live in the slum. And
they knew it. And it was the natural order of
things, so they not only accepted it, but
accepted it gladly.

222
“Now… you see, none of you is a thief. None of
you is a crook, none of you is a liar. It was all
just a misunderstanding, right?”

They looked at him.

“RIGHT?” he asked again.

“Right, guru, right, of course. It was all a

misunderstanding.”

“Shake hands now”

They did not want to. You could see they did
not want to. They reached out their hands but it
was like they are disgusted by even the thought
of touching that other person, that person who
up until two minutes ago was a disgusting
horrible person, an enemy.

They did not want to. But they did not have a
choice. Not here, not now, this was guru’s
palace and this was gurus slum and this was
guru’s world.

They shook hands, and then, after ten seconds

of holding each other’s hand they both broke
into tears and the handshake became a hug.

223
“I am so sorry!” “No, I am sorry!” “I am so
stupid!” “No, I am so stupid!” and so on and so
forth, and guru was sitting there, now finally
being able to smile, and a big smile it was, a
real smile.

He picked up the toy car. “So, who wants this?”

Both of them started to laugh. “You keep it

guru, you can have it.”

It was almost a miracle, seeing how they both

changed completely, their faces becoming
softer, their speech sweeter. They started to chat
and laugh and catch up after thirty years of
distance and hate. They were talking about
their children and about things that happened
and this and that.

Guru nodded to dog, who came over and

gently directed them outside, still talking,
almost not noticing him, two old friends who
can’t be disturbed in a long-awaited
conversation.

It is never too late.

224
It can sometimes be late, sure, it could have
ended a decade ago, but still, better late than
never as they say.

Guru was content. Or happy. He never knew

what was better, being happy or being content,
but now he was the better one. He sacrificed
himself to solve a problem, but without actually
sacrificing himself at all.

When he was a child, there was a tv show

called the A team, and every week, they solved
a problem and the leader of the team used to
look at the camera, smile, and said “I love it
when a plan comes together”

Guru did just that. He looked at, well, where

the camera was supposed to be, smiled and
said the catch phrase. “I love it when a plan
come together”.

Dog looked in the direction guru was facing,

trying to see who guru was talking to, but then
just shrugged and sat back in his corner.

225
The job

“Guru, I got a job”

Suddenly everyone stopped what they were

doing and they were staring at chan. As you
say, you could hear a pin drop. But there was
no pin dropped, just the noise of some
annoying fly, who stayed over from breakfast
and was sleeping on the cupboard but was
abruptly woken up by the deafening silence,
and was now buzzing around trying to figure
out what was happening.

“I am so sorry” said guru, with real empathy

and a low soft voice. “ I am so sorry, how did
this happen?”

Chan was almost crying. It was obvious he was

embarrassed and did not know what to do with
himself, moving from side to side on his chair,
playing with the buttons on his shirt. He was in
clear distress.

226
“I don’t know, I guess, I don’t know, I was just
not careful enough. My daddy warned me to be
more careful, he did.”

Dog and Xian moved closer, pulling their chairs

over. It was now a support group.

“I met this guy, and he seemed nice, and we

started to talk, and now I am the factory
production manager. I start on Monday.”

Guru wanted to laugh. But he didn’t. there

were a lot of times when people came to him
with their problems and he wanted to laugh.

Through the years he learnt it was not a nice

thing to do, so he practiced holding it back
while making a concerned face.

Well, it was more a constipated face, as he was

not much of an actor, but it was close enough to
a concerned face.

Chan took a deep breath, and went on.

“no one, no one in my family had ever been

in…. no one… no one, three generations back,
two uncles and aunts in every direction to the

227
sides, no one… a job… a real job… they will not
talk to me. What will I do?”

Guru had to bite the inside of his cheeks. He

was not going to laugh. He could feel a taste of
blood in his mouth.

He tried to control himself, and then asked.

“Factory production manager?”

Chan was almost weeping, holding back the

tears.

“Factory production manager. Starting

Monday”

Guru had to smile, a little. It was impossible not

to. Even for a guru.

“But you have seventh grade education, you

never produced anything, you never managed
anything and you have never even been inside
a factory in your life.”

“Right? But now I am the factory production

manager. It will be a stain that will stay with
me forever. I might have to move. The shame,
the shame. A job. A real job. Me! A job! I am
finished. I am done. That is it.”
228
Guru sighed. That was his life. This was the
kind of problems people came to him with.
Really. That was it. The perfect example. But
what can you do, you don’t become a garbage
guru by sending people away just because,
well, just because they are not all that normal?

Guru actually liked normal. Normal was

peaceful, normal was quiet, normal was
predictable. Most of the people in the slum
were normal.

They were poor, but normal, and being poor

was normal in the slums. In the high society
neighborhoods being poor might be special, but
here? Here in the slum, it was the most normal
thing there is.

Chan came from a long family of small crooks

and thieves. Pickpockets, hustlers, no good and
mischievous, always looking for something to
pinch, for someone to sting.

The only good thing about them, was that they

were lazy. All of them. It was in the genes, I
guess. So, they only stole what they needed to
survive, but most of the time were just idling
about doing as close to nothing as possible.
229
It was an interesting perspective, but when you
live in the slum, when you grow up in the slum,
you get used to hanging on to every bit of
possible optimism, even if it means you
celebrate the fact your local thieves are lazy
enough to steal only on rare occasions, a breed
of criminals where the natural slothiness
outweighs their greed.

They were good thieves; you would have to

give them that. Could take your watch off your
wrist with a handshake. And when you do
shake hands with them, you would be wise to
also count your fingers when you pull your arm
back.

They did have a small, tiny, moral part to them,

and in a couple of occasions when they stole
something that had deep personal value, or just
from someone who was going through a rough
patch, they actually gave back the loot. They
were not happy about it but still, they did it.

“Oh, sorry mate, I didn’t know you just got

fired. I wouldn’t have stolen your wallet if I
knew. Honestly, on my mom’s grave I
wouldn’t, I swear. I thought you were a job

230
person and you know, it’s ok, you have money.
Here you go, buddy, and really, I am so sorry.
Have a good day, and good luck. Really, I mean
it, good luck”

They were not bad people; they just stole to

avoid working. For them it was like a religion.
And now, the prodigal son has fallen, the lazy
angel is tumbling from the heavens of not
doing anything, to the hell of job people, work
people, normal people, down there people.

There used to be seven of them. Six brothers

and one sister. There are four left. The sister
lives in Canada with her new husband. She got
it made. They own a couple of hair salons, but
she doesn’t work, there are managers for that.

one brother died in a motorcycle accident when

he was fleeing a crime scene. He stole a
motorcycle from a passerby, to try to get away
from the police cars that arrived, but soon
found out that watching motorcycle stunts in
Hollywood movies and actually doing them,
especially when it is your first time on a
motorcycle, is not the same thing.

231
Another brother is in prison, for, well, I don’t
know what for this time, but it doesn’t matter,
he is usually there for something. He actually
has quite a good life there in prison, his friends
are there, he knows all the tricks, he gets
respect as a repeat guest, not to mention three
meals a day and free laundry service.

The jail here in this town is quite a horrific

place, with very little positive sides to it, but
when you are a regular, when you are and
insider, well, you can get by quite well. A little
dirty, a couple of stabbings here and there,
some bloody riot, a cockroach in your bed, you
know, small things that you can adjust to.

Where was i? the sister in Canada, one died on

motorcycle, one in jail, ok, another one left this
world, quite recently, a couple of years ago. He
had an accident at home. He fell backwards,
straight on a knife that was standing there. Six
times.

That is at least what the police report said. His

wife and the police officer split the insurance
money. She really did hate him, he was a nasty

232
guy, this one, but in the end, it was just
business. You do what you can do to survive.

So, four are left, and he was the youngest. He

was the pride of the family, he was slick, he
was smooth, he was a player and a hustler, he
knew the streets and played them like a violin.
He was the hope of the whole family, for the
future generations.

As the realization of what happened to him

weighed even heavier with each passing
minute, chan looked more and more depressed,
slouching in his chair. He was done. That was
it. he had a good run. But that is it.

he will have to throw himself under a tram or a

bus. Tram is better. Busses can turn away in the
last second. But trams are slow. Too slow.
Maybe a truck. There are not a lot of trucks
passing through the slums, and the ones who
do make that journey in the narrow streets of
this maze, drive extra slow and extra carefully.

He will have to go to the highway for a really

good truck. A fast big one. But that is far. All
the way to the highway, and he will have to
take a taxi, he can’t come with his car. This
233
whole killing yourself is starting to cost him
money now, and time, and energy. No, might
as well live. Too much of a hassle.

“Factory production manager,” said guru.

“Factory production manager,” said chan.

“So….” Guru started.

“So….” Chan continued.

“So, Monday?”

Chan started to cry. Really cry.

“Monday” he managed to say between sobs.

“And where is that factory? That new job? Is it

far?”

“I have no idea” said Chan, wiping the snot off

his face with his sleeve. The tears almost dried
up and he seemed to calm down a little bit.

“You have no idea?”

“Not what so ever. It didn’t come up.”

Guru started laughing. Ok, this is a good one.

234
“so, you don’t know where is the factory. That
is not a problem, we can look it up. Easy. No
problem. Relax. We will find the address and
how you can get there. What is the name of the
company?”

“I don’t know,” said chan.

Guru sighed. “Let me guess, it …. Didn’t come

up?”

“Right.” Said chan.

Guru sighed again. And laughed to himself

again.

“We are going to be here for a while, dog, get

us some steamed buns please”

Dog stepped out and not two minutes later

came in with a bag full of steamed buns with
barbeque pork.

He handed one to guru and one to chan.

Chan just held his bun, and did not eat. He was
still visibly distraught and his face were
distorted with worry, his eyebrows clinched
together and wrinkles painting a map of rivers
on his forehead.
235
Guru enjoyed the bun. It was fresh and moist.

“So…” he said as he swallowed the last bit and

cleaned his teeth with his tongue in a squeaky
voice. “You are starting a job on Monday and
you don’t know the name of the company or
the address of the factory. I see. Do you know
who hired you?”

“Well, the guy at the bar. The one with the suit.
He was nice.”

Guru decided that this was not even worth a

sigh, he was sighing too much today, so he just
pretended to roll his eyes.

“And do you know the name of that guy?”

Chan thought for a minute.

Then he thought for another minute.

Then another one.

Guru lit up a cigarette as he waited. He was not

sure what he was waiting for, but his belly was
full, he had his post snack cigarette in hand and
he was being amused by this show, the Chan
show.

236
“You met a man, you don’t know his name,
who offered you a job in a company, and you
don’t know the name of the company, and you
have no idea where the factory is.”

“I really should have been more careful” Chan

kept muttering to himself.

“I think you are ok,” said guru. “I don’t think

you have a job”

Chan eyes brightened as his face lit up with

optimism. “Are you sure, guru? Are you sure?”

“I can positively say that I am almost sure. You

can never be sure, but I am positively sure.”

Chan looked better, like the color came back to

his face.

“So, I didn’t catch a job?”

“You didn’t catch a job. But you were close.

Very close.”

“I really should be more careful. I really do. I

should be more careful” he kept repeating to
himself, and then, without stopping, stood up
and went out.

237
Guru looked at Xian. Xian shrugged. Guru
looked at Dog. Dog shrugged.

Ok, that was what it was. Show is over.

Guru looked at Dog.

“Stir fried noodles or chicken with rice for

lunch?”

238
Scorpio clouds

When guru went out to stretch his legs in the

sun a little after breakfast, he looked up and
sighed. A cloud in the form of a scorpion was
floating aimlessly up above.

That is not good. Guru did not like scorpions.

He was stung by a scorpion once. Well, almost
stung. He was startled by a scorpion once. Well,
a photo of a scorpion, but still, you don’t leave
nature magazines open like that when there are
four-year-old kids running around. It really
traumatized him. It was a close up. Of a
scorpion. he still shivers a little when he thinks
about it.

And a scorpion shaped cloud? That is even

worse. Strange things are going to happen soon.
Not bad things, just strange things. A scorpion
cloud brings lust. He liked the horse clouds,
that was always a good sign and always put
him in an optimistic mood. Bulls were ok, so
were cocks. Cat clouds were a clear warning to
be careful, cats always signify protection and if
239
you see one it means you are in danger, but it
also means you are protected, so it’s not that
bad.

Snail clouds were the best. He liked days with

snail clouds. But I am not sure if there is any
deep spiritual meaning to them.

As he looked at the clouds moving slowly, he

thought to himself, yes, today is going to be
busy, better prepare, and energetically strutted
toward the convenience store, Dog and xian
quickly joining him, doing the whole tough
bodyguard face thing.

He bought two packs of cigarettes. Same brand

he smoked since he was nine. A large carton of
chocolate milk, A box of cheap coconut cookies,
two bags of crisps, one onion cream and one
barbeque, a sixpack of soda water, and two big
boxes of paper towels.

There will be crying today. Scorpions always

bring crying.

Two hours later and the first box was finished.

Dog quietly took it away and put a new one in
front of magy.

240
“What shall I do? guru? What? What?” she was
leaking from all possible cavities, with tears
and snot and spit mixing in, well, what is inside
teenage girls I guess. And it is gross. Very
gross. And it was all coming out.

Guru was quiet. He knew not to interfere.

She had to dry up first, before there could be

some form of communication.

“and he anbfblsowsssooooo and I

donnnnnnnnnnkkkjjjsssssssnnn ,s ssss
sjfjfjwhy!!! Why?? Guru!”

Dog and xian took one more step back, not to

get any of that teenage essence on them, but
also a little out of fear. That demonic creature
there was not normal, it was not anything that
they ever saw or that they could imagine.

For a fifteen-year-old girl, she was quite big.

Not fat, big, tall. In a good way. Athletic. She
was definitely not a woman yet, not even close,
but it is starting to show, in her body, in her
face but most of all in those akward attempts to
try and look older, act older, be older.

241
“they said nalsfbjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj anmhjjj and and
kkkkkkkkfffffffffaslss,,, I don’t lie………..das
dsa das das daskkkkkkkkkkl told
him………..addadaadm….”

Dog creeped closer carefully, putting a glass of

cold water on the table in front of her, and
quickly backed away again. Guru closed his
eyes.

He though about his childhood. He never got to

do the whole teenager thing, he was busy
building an empire, his garbage empire. He
never got to be wild and spoiled and
irresponsible. He opened his eyes and looked at
her.

“stop” he said.

“bvvvvvvvvvvut abb guru ashjd she and kkk

hwykk why”

“stop” he said again.

“I don’t unddddddddddabsr ,mwhy you”

“no.” he said. Quietly.

242
“why.” She finally stopped to breath” why.”
Another deep breath.” Why are you so mean to
me?”

“NO” he said. This time louder.

“I didn’t do anything, I am just…”

“NO”. this time he looked her right in the eyes

when he said it.

She paused. Then took a deep breath. Super

deep. Closed her eyes. And opened them again
but this time with a huge smile from ear to ear.
“Ok. Thank you. you are right. “ she stopped
and took another deep breath, composing
herself. “Of course, you are right, guru. Kisses. I
will come tomorrow bring you some jackfruit
na!”

And she stood up, waved good bye in a cute

Japanese kind of way, made a wai and walked
away.

Dog was shocked.

Xian was shocked.

Guru was shocked.

243
Among the three, I think guru was the most
shocked. He had no idea what just happened.
He had no idea what he did or why, and
definitely not why it worked. But it did. The
monster ran away. He won. He beat the, well, I
don’t know what it was. But he beat it. If he
beat that he could beat anything. He was
invincible. He was God. He stood up to go get
some tea from the pot, twisted his ankle and
dropped to the ground like a sack of potato. In
a second dog was lifting him up and he was ok,
everything is ok, nothing happened, I am
invincible.

“I will just sit down; can you bring over the tea
please.” He was invincible.

“Oh, and bring a towel or something, the whole

table is contaminated with demon juice. She
was leaking it all over the place. That is just not
sanitary, I tell you. teenagers should be locked
up in their rooms until they are closer to being
human. “

244
The colonel

Everyone just called him the colonel. Because of

his moustache. He had a moustache of a
colonel, an Indian colonel. It was a glorious
moustache. Always sculpted perfectly with
imported moustache wax that had an
unidentifiable yet pleasant smell to it. Like
tobacco and vanilla and sawdust and whiskey
and peanut butter. Or maybe that was just his
breath. He did have peanut butter for breakfast.
So maybe it was just vanilla and sawdust and
whisky. The whisky was probably from last
night. Yeah. So it was vanilla and sawdust.
Well, it was a pleasant smell.

As it was, almost by coincidence, he was

actually a colonel. When he was young. He was
an army man. But that was before the army was
corrupt, before it became a business. Today
anyone leaving as a colonel has a nice house
with a couple of cars, all from tea money and
envelopes under the table. When he retired, he
got a watch. It was not even a gold watch. And

245
a book about the army. At least he gets respect
and people call him colonel. But I am quite
convinced people would have called him
colonel even without a military past. The
moustache. The moustache. Yes, a moustache
like that earns you respect.

He had a wooden leg. It was beautifully made.

He kept in hanging on the wall in his
Livingroom. Oh, his legs were fine, he just
thought that wooden leg was beautiful. he
found it a long time ago by the side of the road.
It was outside town, near one of the suburbs, so
there was no one to ask if it belongs to anyone.
he took it and cleaned it up. He was not sure if
it was an antique or just old. He often
wondered the same about himself.

He spent a lot of time thinking about who

would lose a wooden leg out on the way to the
suburbs, and came up with a couple possible
scenarios but it always kept on puzzling him.

Anyway, colonel was heading down to see

guru as he ran into dog outside the convenience
store. Guru sent him to buy some Alka-Seltzer
and coffee. Guru was under the weather. If by

246
weather you mean six beers, five shots of vodka
and a couple of Jägermeister in the wedding
last night.

It was a big one. His sister got married. Not real

sister, adopted. Well, he adopted her when she
was in her twenties, but still, she was his sister,
and he was her brother. And he was so happy
for her and her new husband. A husband he
interrogated for hours and even had some
friends follow him and snoop up on him, before
a blessing was given for the auspicious event.

She was happy. He was happy. They toasted

and toasted and now he is not happy. He is not
happy at all. He is in pain. Not even in pain, he
IS pain. He could feel his pulse like a drum in
his head, his stomach felt like it was trying to
climb out through his throat, his eyes were
throbbing and he wanted to die, and now,
immediately, without even one more second of
misery.

The colonel heard the story, put an ancient but

still strong hand on Dog’s shoulder and told
him not to worry. He will take care of
everything.

247
Dog already bought the Alka-Seltzer and the
coffee so he thought to himself, why not, no
need to rush back to the palace, guru will be
dying in an hour too. It was not very nice
thought to have, but hey, what can you do, you
can’t be a saint all the time. And he was bored.
And he was not invited to the wedding.
Nothing personal, it was a small event on
purpose, just family, but still. He did not party,
and the guru did, so the guru can pay for it. No
rush. What? Like you never had these kind of
thoughts and calculations.

He followed the colonel, who went through the

streets, almost in zig zag, going into a shop
here, then running to a stall in the other side of
the street, then back again for some fruit and
forward again for some eggs. By the time they
got to the palace, he was carrying eight plastic
bags, with Dog following behind him.

Colonel stormed into the palace and went over

to the coffee corner to get a big cup.

He opened all the bags and started to mix the

ingredients. He asked Dog to bring a big
bucket.

248
When the potion was ready, he took the bucket
and put it near guru’s head. Guru was on the
throne, half sitting half lying down, trying to
breath. He was breathing through his mouth
which gave a soft whispering ghoulish noise.

Like a tormented ghost or an ancient demon.

Jägermeister can do that to you. guru was not
fond of drinking. And now he remembered
why. The cost, the cost. He was contemplating
suicide but it was too painful to move, so he
will just have to stay there in this position until
he dies of natural causes or old age.

He opened one eye as colonel placed the bucket

near his head and handed him the cup.

“Drink. Everything. One sip. Cmon. Cmon.”

He groaned. And tried to curse. He wanted him

to go away. He was not drinking anything. He
will hit him. If he could move his hand. Or
open his eyes. One eye opened again. That was
too much already, he was exhausted.

“drink drink, I don’t have all day. Cmon cmon”

249
Colonel raised the cup to gurus’ lips, closed his
nose with his finger and thumb, and poured the
content of the cup into guru’s mouth.

Guru tried to fight, but could not get out of his

grasp and ended up swallowing everything.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three

Mississippi.

A volcano waterfall of vomit shot out of the

guru, who only by the power of a miracle,
managed to turn his face toward the bucket. It
was projectile vomiting, it was a force major, it
was not natural. One spurt, two spurts. Pause.
Breath. One spurt two spurt. Pause. Breath. Dry
heave dry heave. Pause breath. Everything is
ok. Its done. Finished. No. one spurt two spurt.
Pause. Breath. Ok, now its done. Nope. One
spurt two spurt. Pause .breath. Breath. Breath.

He stood up, pointed at colonel and with a

mouth still wet and yucky said “I will kill you!
what the hell was that! You are insane! What
the hell?!”

Colonel laughed.

250
“Castor oil, fresh clam, fermented fish,
lemongrass, soy sauce, ketchup, plum sugar,
chilly powder, yogurt and 70% alcohol”

He laughed again as guru was trying to get his

breath back after all that volatile vomiting.

“I will kill you; I swear I will kill you!”

The colonel laughed again. “You are standing.

How is your head?”

For a second, guru stopped being mad about

the horrible experience he just went through,
and stopped to think. His head did not hurt. I
mean, he was as far from fresh as a daisy as can
be, but he was not suffering any more. Wow.
That actually worked.

“Dog. Make some tea. Quick. I have to get that

taste out of my mouth “he said as he spit a little
into the bucket. “And take this thing away from
me before I throw up again”

As the bucket was taken away and the tea was

brought over, guru wiped his face again and
relaxed.

“Thank you. sorry I wanted to kill you”

251
“oh don’t mention it. many men have tried to
kill me. I am used to it. I was in the military you
know. Army colonel unit five five three
khrungtep region, class of seventy-one.”

“Right, I heard about that. You must have seen

some things”

“Oh, don’t get me started. It was hell, I tell you.

hell on earth. War is horrible. We did not have
any war here, but it is horrible. And the fear,
that they would come and kill you when you
sleep, all that hate, all that violence.”

Guru felt for the colonel. He knew what army

people go through; he knew that they come
back different. Changed. He understood.

“Were you on the border? In front lines?”

The colonel laughed. “Me? I never left Bangkok.

I was a cook. It was more dangerous than the
front lines. The soldiers hated my food. And
they were mean. Really mean. The names,
bump into me in the hall, things pushed from
my hands, I tell you, I slept with one eye open.”

252
Guru started to laugh, but the colonel did not
see what was so funny and made a slightly
insulted face.

“sorry” said guru. He did not want to belittle

anyone’s experience. It must have been tough.
Being such a bad cook you actually fear for
your life. The air was frizzing with a tense
energy.

“so” guru finally asked “how did you become a

colonel if you were such a bad cook?”

“well, “said the colonel, who relaxed a little

now and rested back in his seat. “I was on a
three year service. And they knew that if I
finished the two and a half years I had left, as a
cook, someone is going to die. Probably me, but
somebody. So, they promoted me. They sent me
to officer school.”

Guru laughed to himself, while keeping a

serious face.

“I did ok at officer school, and soon became the

lieutenant responsible for the supplies in the
northern part of the city. And then another
promotion, and another. I was a very good

253
officer. Officers don’t need to cook. Or do
anything else for that matter.”

Guru couldn’t hold it back and chuckled a little.

The colonel was not insulted. In fact, he started

laughing too, and guru joined him, this time
without being afraid, laughing a healthy big
laugh.

The colonel wiped away a couple of tears,

regained his breath and said.

“you see, in the army, as an officer, you will be

promoted as long as you manage to do nothing
at all. If you do something, that is a liability. Let
the recruits do things. Or maybe junior officers
if they don’t know what is going on yet.”

Guru laughed. “It is a beautiful system”

“yes” the colonel agreed. “the turds always

float to the top. That is the way it works. How
are you feeling now?”

The guru stopped for a second to check himself

and see how he was feeling now, and strangely
enough he really felt fine. He felt ok. Normal.
Like nothing happened.

254
“Castor oil, fresh clam, fermented fish,
lemongrass, soy sauce, ketchup, plum sugar,
chilly powder, yogurt and 70% alcohol” said
the colonel, Winked, Wai-ed guru and headed
out.

Guru decided he needed a shower. He still

smelled of, well, lots of unpleasant things.
When he came down again, clean and fresh,
this time like a daisy indeed, everything
seemed better. The world was a better place, a
beautiful place. That is the magic of hangovers.
When they are gone everything is better.
Everything.

255
The NGO gang

The NGO gang was known around the slum.

They were not really trouble makers, but for
some reason they always seemed to be trouble
adjacent. If there was trouble, they were not far
away.

They got their name because they were the

official models of at least half a dozen NGO and
other charity organizations who came to the
slum. Every couple of months, there was a visit
to the slum, by do-gooders and charity
professionals.

They would come with a nice big executive car.

Usually, a group of three or four people. They
parked in the middle of the slum, and walked
around taking pictures and talking and talking.
They were not talking to the people who live in
the slum, God forbid, no, these are poor dirty
ignorant people, no, they talked among
themselves. This is why they come in a group,
so they will have someone to talk to.

256
Obviously, if they cared to talk to the locals, to
the residents of the slum, they would learn a lot
about life in the slum, about life of the poor, the
people who live day by day, trying to make a
living somehow, trying to survive.

They would learn about the dreams of the

people who live in the slum, about their
problems, about possible solutions, about what
they need to succeed, what they need to thrive.

If they cared enough to talk to the locals, they

could actually make a difference, but in the end
of the day? Talking to people would just bring
more work, it would bring in ideas and plans,
and maybe even some useful action. No, that is
not the goal of the suited people in the big cars.

Their goal was to come to the slum. And take

some pictures. And talk and talk and talk. And
then go back to their airconditioned offices in
the center and their big inflated monthly
paychecks. Maybe make a brochure. They liked
brochures. With pictures of poor people. Poor
kids preferably. Poor poor children. Dirty, with
wild hair and sad eyes. Poster children.

257
And the NGO kids? They were perfect for the
part, and they knew how to play that part. They
used to dirty up their t-shirts with some dirt,
rub a little of It in their hair, to get that dusty
look. And the sad look on their face? Well, that
was Oscar worthy, to say the least. They knew
what to do, they knew how to do it, and the
kind enlightened blessed angels who came to
the slum, took some photos, gave out some
candy and chocolates, and got into their big car
and disappeared until the next visit.

I can’t blame them. The slum is dirty. And

smelly. And hot. Come in, take pics, get out as
fast as you can. Then go have some nice lunch
in a fancy restaurant on the expense account of
the NGO. I really can’t blame them. This is how
it works. And there is always money to spend,
so it is ok. There is never a problem getting
more funds. More donations. How can you say
no to such sad dirty poor children? Of course,
you will give some money.

As long as around twenty percent of the money

raised actually get to the people who are
supposed to get that money, nobody asked any
questions. Twenty percent and the rest goes to
258
monthly paychecks, nice offices, big fancy cars,
and lunches. A lot of lunches. Not to mention
the dinners.

The money donated goes to feed people. Not

the poor people, but it does feed people, the
NGO people.

The kids knew what it is all about, they

understood how the system works. And they
knew exactly what these people were, they got
it. they understood that these are just well-
dressed parasites, the ticks and fleas of society.
It was bordering on fraud, but everyone played
the game, everybody, in the charity business,
liked the game, they needed the game.

One of the main problems of every NGO is that

it has very little interest to solve a problem.
They live off this problem, they have a
paycheck because the NGO exists, and the
NGO exists because the problem exists. If they
solved the problem, they would be
unemployed.

Guru despised those people. He saw them

come and go for the past twenty years. He
heard them promise things, and he even smiled
259
for a couple of pictures when he was younger
himself.

He saw them come and go and nothing

changed. Same as politicians, they promised
and made big plans, and made beautiful
ceremonies and parties where they announced
those plans and made some more promises, this
time to the naïve people donating their hard-
earned money.

Once in a while, an NGO executive found out

that after a visit, his watch or wallet was
missing, but no one in the slum saw it as
stealing. I mean, it was the NGO people, not
good people, so it was ok. And people lose
wallets all the time. Obviously, those NGO
people didn’t even think about coming back to
the slum to look for their wallet. No, that was
dangerous, and dirty, and sweaty.

No, better to just order new credit cards and

call it a loss. And the loot was divided between
the NGO kids and their families. Just a couple
of weeks ago, a “lost” wallet of one of those
full-of-themselves self-proclaimed do-gooder,

260
paid for a big pizza party for all the kids, and
there was enough to take home later too.

Guru was always entertained by the antics of

the NGO gang. It was good hearted kids play.
And some petty crime. But in the end, they
were good kids. They never stole from good
people, just the NGO people. They never took
anything from the people who had so little, but
they were happy to pawn a watch swiftly
removed from an NGO executive who got a
little too close to them.

It was about respect. They respected their

neighbors and friends, and they had zero
respect for the NGO fraudster. And when you
have no respect for someone, they are not really
a victim, it is just a lesson you teach them. A
learning experience. It was a good thing.

Guru tried to talk to some of them, back in the

day, when he was young and naïve, when he
was less cynical, less pragmatic, less rooted in
reality.

They were always happy to talk to him. He was

an important figure in the slum, and they were

261
important figures in their own eyes, so they felt
even more important, talking to him.

They talked, but they never listened. It used to

frustrate him in the beginning, but after a
couple of years and many different NGO
vultures visiting the slum, he understood it was
pointless to even feel bad about it.

He understood that they were part of the eco

system, the nature of the slums. It was the
ancient law that says that rich people will
always find new ways to become richer by
using the poor. And it worked. They got paid
hefty sums for doing nothing, the people who
donated felt they are really making a change in
the world, and the ngo gang had a new nice
watch to pawn or sell. Win win.

This week, the NGO gang got to be in the

newspaper, in another useless article about the
problem with poor people, or something like
that. They were there on page six, looking dirty
and poor and making an innocent face to the
camera. I bet the camera man is still looking for
his spare battery case. it was new and of very

262
high quality. Yes, It got the kids a nice small
sum in the pawnshop.

They were famous. When you live in the slum,

you have to take what you are given. Some
people are famous because they are good
actors, or big shot musicians, but they got
famous by making faces to the camera, and that
was ok too.

Today, guru needed the NGO gang. There was

work to do. something important.

You see, some of these charity people, of these

fake charity people, were there for other
motives too. Some of them, not all, but some, a
few, are there for much worse reasons, not only
the charity fraud, but the kids themselves.

Guru never understood that. How some people

like children. I mean like, in a bad way, not just
like them. Like like. You know. Things that
should not be done, or even thought. Not with
kids.

It was sad, but it was what it was. The only

defense he had, to try and protect the slum
children, was to identify them fast as they

263
come, and make sure their visit will be the last
one in the slum.

Today, one of these people came for a visit,

driving his big black expensive car right to the
middle of the slum, in front of the palace. He
did not know what mistake that was. If he was
less obvious, he might have managed to
survive this visit relatively unharmed.

But it was luck, or fate, who made him park his

car right outside the palace. And guru walked
out and looked at him with a very unamused
face. Guru went back in, and told Dog to go
bring in the gang. They were already outside,
surrounding the car, getting ready to play their
part. Their poor dirty role.

They shuffled inside and guru gathered them

around him and started whispering the plan.

They all nodded enthusiastically. And so it was.

They all went outside, and guru put on a

friendly smile and went to the guy, who was
still sitting in his car, enjoying the air-condition,
not wanting to go out to the sweat and smells of
the street.

264
He invited him to come in for some tea. The
guy was surprised, but did not want to refuse.
Guru was a respectable man here, and he was
slightly afraid to refuse him, he did not want
any trouble. That was ironic, because if he did
not want any trouble he would not come to the
slum, especially not for what he came for.

Guru led him inside and they sat down as Dog

brought two cups of tea and some cookies.

Guru looked at him and said:

“You know, you remind me of someone I once

knew. He lived here in the slum”

The guy was slightly surprised, but pleasantly

surprised. It was always good to make a
connection with the locals.

“Yes, that was many years ago. He looked like

you. “

Guru paused and took a sip of the hot tea.

“He had some problems, poor thing. He had

urges. Urges he could not control. Very sad.”

Now the guy started to feel uncomfortable, a

chill went up his spine, and then down again.
265
This was not going as he planned. He expected
to hear thank you and what a great noble job
you do, but this…

“He used to touch children. That is not a good

thing. Poor guy. Sick. What can you do.”

Ok, by this point, the guy was ready to get up

and walk out, but was afraid to move. He was
in the slum. Alone. With the guru and his two
menacing body guards, who seem to get closer
and closer to him as guru talked.

“Poor guy. One day he disappeared. Nobody

saw him anymore. They did find his hands in a
construction site down the street. Cut just
under the elbow. They burned them in the
temple, you know, like we do.”

Sweat was starting to pour down the poor

guy’s forehead. Guru stood up and showed
him the door, walking with him, with one hand
on his shoulder.

“It is too bad this is your last visit to this slum;

we will miss you. oh well, what can you do.
your last ever visit to this slum. Right?”

266
The guy was literally shivering by now and just
nodded. Guru opened the palace door and after
a second of being blinded by the street light,
they saw the car parked out front.

The whole car was scratched with nails and

screwdrivers. All of it. all over. The back seats
were open, and on the seats were piles of rotten
pla-ra fish heads. You know, the smelly
fermented fish you bury in the ground for a
month and is considered a delicacy. The
smelliest thing you could think off. That is a
smell that does not go away. Big piles. Rotten,
steaming. The smell was violently offensive. It
was like being punched in the face.

Guru had to smile but immediately stopped

and made a serious frighting face again.

He liked those kids. They knew what they were

doing, they were not amateurs.

Now, for the grand finale, they also smeared a

nice handful of dog poop on the stirring wheel.
Just because. Some of the kids argued that it
was too much, but hey, what can you do, when
you piss people off, shit happens. On your
stirring wheel.
267
Guru opened the car door for the guy, who
almost threw up at the smell, saw him sit down
and look disgusted at the wheel, not daring to
touch it.

Guru looked at him through the window

“Grab the wheel, start the car, and have a nice

day. So sorry it is your last visit here”

The guy did not know what to do. he closed his

eyes, put one hand on the wheel and started the
car. The kids closed the back seat doors and
moved away.

The car drove away. Slowly. Very slowly.

Maybe because he wanted to be extra careful, as
he knew he was in enough trouble and
miraculously got out in one piece, or maybe it
was just the shock of it all.

Guru took out a small stack of cash from his

pocket and gave the kids.

“Go get some ice cream. Good job. I am proud

of you. but never do it again! You hear me!
Never!” and he winked.

268
The kids ran away screaming with joy, going to
get their cold sweet reward, guru and the
bodyguards went back in the palace and sat
down. Guru finished the tea in the cup and
looked at Dog.

“so, what do we get for dinner?”

269
Carpenter

The new shelves were ready, and were

delivered to the palace on a sunny day, just
before new year. They were beautiful. not
fancy, not at all but they were beautiful.

Guru opened the curtains to let more light

come in as he looked at them and admired the
work. They really were something to behold.
Strong, simple, classy, and they fitted exactly in
that space between the throne and the table that
held the hot water pot and the tea bags. Tailor
made, perfect fit, nice work, who could ask for
more.

Guru smiled and handed Toi an envelope with

the payment, plus a little more, a tip, something
extra he prepared in advance because he knew
that the final product would be of quality, even
before he ordered it, and Toi did not
disappoint.

He was the best carpenter in the slum. Without

any doubt. Three fingers Toi. Best carpenter. He

270
had the natural talent of taking any old wood
panels thrown away from the docks, take them
apart and strip them down and make beautiful
new creations of the wood, without even a hint
of their industrial low dockside heritage.

Three fingers Toi. You can always tell the

craftsmanship of a carpenter by the number of
fingers they have. There was some sacrifice
involved, some lessons were learnt. Well, at
least two of them.

I don’t think anyone ever called him four

fingered Toi when he just lost the first one,
maybe it was not catchy enough, but by the
time the second one hit the workshop floor, the
name was official. Three fingered Toi. Not to be
confused with big Toi.

Big Toi was not that good. Ok, he was not bad,
and if you wanted a quick bathroom setup, he
was the best, but he was not three fingered Toi.

Three finger Toi was a celebrity. He was the

face of gentrification, he was the hipsters
carpenter, the influencers cabinet man, he was a
brand. Three fingered Toi.

271
It started with one coffee table. By chance. Some
student needed something for her new condo
apartment, and passed by the small workshop,
under the dock’s express way, where Toi was
displaying his work. A couple of chairs, some
nice benches, some tables.

It really was a very nice coffee table. It looked

rugged and dark, but Toi built it with such
precision and perfection, and then polished it
with several layers of lacquer, that it looked
almost surreal, think of a transparent gem stone
and inside it a piece of drift wood that was
under water for decades.

It was a contradiction in terms, and it was both

beautiful and gawdy as one.

She fell in love with this coffee table, and ten

minutes later overpaid for it and left behind her
a puzzled Toi who still was not sure what has
just happened, what language she was
speaking and why she insisted on taking
photos with him and his three fingered hand.

The next day there were two people waiting

outside the workshop when he came over in the

272
morning, still trying to wake up, sipping an old
style Malaysian white coffee from a paper cup.

They bought a bench.

In the afternoon a sports car stopped in front of

the shop. Two chairs.

As he was closing a group of students came

walking by and stopped in front of his shop.
They were arguing if this is the place. He told
them this was not the place. It was not even a
place, not to say the place. And he has to close
up anyway, and it is late, and he has to go get
dinner.

Five minutes later, they were calling a pickup

truck to come take the dinner table they just
bought. And after they took his picture, waving
his three fingered hand, he left and went to eat
something. It was late and he was hungry.

He took out the notes from his pocket and

counted them as he walked toward the center
of the slum. He made more today, then in the
past two months combined. Nice. He is going to
treat himself to something special today.

273
Boat noodles. Yeah. He liked boat noodles.
They are called boat noodles because they used
to be sold in the small boats in the floating
markets around town, but now the boats are
gone and just the name remained, and the name
meant spicy and meaty and smokey and
smooth, boat noodles meant a special
experience, a special occasion.

Today he will have boat noodles. And maybe

some desert.

Shaved ice with sweets and nuts. That will be

nice. He forgot how nice It was to have a pocket
full of cash. Well, it was easy to forget, it is not
like it was something that happened too often,
no, a pocket full of cash was a rare occasion.
And he liked how it felt.

At home, with a full belly and a smile, he lay in

bed and counted what was left. Not much, but
still a lot more than usual.

He spent a little bit, and a little bit is left. That is

not bad. He closed his eyes and sleep swept
over him softly as a warm desert wind,
ushering him to peaceful dreams and a good
night rest, a really good night rest.
274
When he arrived to the workshop the next
morning, the first clients were there already.
They brought their own coffee set, with a small
gas balloon, they had a guitar and some drums.
He was starting to feel a little bit strange about
the whole thing.

Some more clients came, and they seem to

know the ones who were already there, so they
joined them for coffee and some guitar playing.

He went inside and looked around. There were

not too many things left, a couple of stools, one
more bench a dining table. He better start
making some more things.

As he was taking a mental inventory and

making plans, a couple of the clients walked in
and started looking around. They bought a
stool. It was red. And small. And very cute.
And strange, the finish did not fit the material,
the form did not fit the functions, it was, well,
unusual. So they bought it.

The strange thing is that they did not go away.

They stayed. They took the stool they just
bought, went back to the group that was sitting

275
there, and sat down, they were not going
anywhere. And now they even had a stool.

It lasted for a couple of weeks. It was like a

gypsy camp that suddenly appeared in the
edge of the slum, in the border of the slum,
where the docks start, a gypsey hipster camp,
of people who just came. Because. Who knows.

Some of them bought furniture. Three fingered

toi was working hard and even got three
assistants for the simple tasks and the
roughage.

The people outside the workshop didn’t disturb

him. It was strange. They didn’t even talk to
him. Other than when they bought something.
He was not really there, not as a real person, he
was a selfie prop, a three fingered anecdote and
a coffee table with a good story.

And for him it was perfect. He didn’t like

attention, he didn’t like talking, he didn’t like
people. For him it was perfect. And they were
not so bad. The music was not good, but at least
it was not the electric boom boom music that
the young people liked, and they do smell
strange but you get used to it.
276
It is like a mix of overpriced coffee with vanilla
and rosemary, some sage for good energy, and
some brand name aftershave with hints of
coconut oil and damasks steel.

It is the unholy scent of pretentious life like

experience. A life flavored experience. You
know, the life that you get when you exchange
real experience with made up meaningless auto
adoring self-projection.

After a month it faded away.

One day they were gone. It was beautiful.

seeing how nature works, how the universe
works, the mysterious ways of the native
animals, he hipsters and the snapspters and the
vlogers and the mockers and all of them. How
the seasons change. How fast they are gone.

After a couple of minutes more of chatting with

guru and laughing at some silly jokes they
made, three fingered Toi went home. It was a
good day, and the envelope in his pocket made
him smile and whistle a nice tune from some
old movie he loved.

277
He lit a cigarette and looked around him at the
empty lot. The quiet lot.

He finished the cigarette, flicked the butt to the

bushes, and went inside to work on a new
chair.

278
Poster Ploi

Poster Ploi was the best barber in the slum. He

was. Probably because he was the only barber
in the slum. There were hair dressers and there
was even a “salon”. The “salon” was for the
ladies, and the young ones, you know, the
generation of men who think they are ladies.
Not ladyboys, no, they knew exactly what they
were, no, I mean the metrosexual thing, that
basic vanity men should not have. Not real
men. Not men like we grew up to know men, to
think of men.

Men go to a barber. To have their hair cut.

Because it is long. And it should be shorter, so it
should be cut. Like the grass. You have to keep
your head lawn tidy and clean. A barber is
cutting the hair that is trying to grow up
rebelliously, that tries to be wild, the barber is
there to educate the hair, put it in place, literally
and figuratively. The barber was the guardian
of order, of what is good and what is
acceptable, and agreed upon.

279
Yes, every generation there is the normal that
we all agree upon, and hair is where you can
see it best. Fashion and hair. But hair is a more
effective way to understand a society, as it is
more general. Fashion is still al luxury, but a
trendy fashionable haircut? You don’t need
much to afford that, and it was the easiest way
to tell the world that you are modern, that you
are hip, that you are lit, that you “get it”, that
you are part of it, part of the tribe, part of the
movement, you belong.

Sometimes people try to lie using hair. You

know it when you see it. People who should
not be flaunting trendy fashionable hair styles
but do, because they feel the need to, because
they try to be something they are not. It never
works. But it is always funny. In a way. I don’t
want to laugh at people who try to be
something else, we all do it sooner or later, we
all fall for that trap as we look for ourselves, the
real selves, the one we will never find but keep
on looking for, until we give up and are too
tired, and just settle on something that looks all
right and feels comfortable enough.

280
Like seeing an old man who dyes his hair black
and shiny, but it doesn’t fit his grey eyebrows,
not to mention all those grey long hairs that
grow from his ears. Ear hair is the official sign
that you are old. Not grown up, not mature, not
an adult. Old. The ears stop working and long
hairs grow off them. Like weeds in a cemetery.

Poster Ploi was the best barber in the slum. He

knew how to wrangle a head full of hair, like a
circus lion, instead of holding a chair and a
whip, he was holding scissors and a comb, but
it was the same, the same battle, the same fight
for control, for order, for all that is good and
holy and right in this world.

Fifteen minutes later and you would step out a

new person. A head sculpted to perfection,
every single hair standing in the right place,
strands hugging each other with happiness and
utopian bliss, shiny and healthy, and all under
a pleasant cloud of aftershave and talcum
powder that smells like old time. I am not sure
where and if they still manufacture this kind of
talcum powder, or if there is a treasure trove
somewhere of hidden packs of fragrant calming

281
powder, being released to the public though an
underground network of ancient barbers.

He was named poster Ploi, because he was once

a model for some hair product, and he got the
poster with his smiling face on it, framed and
hanging in the middle of his barber shop.

In the poster he has so much brilliantine in his

hair, so much oil, that if he went swimming it
would cause an ecological disaster and bring on
a wave of protests. He was oily and smiley and
had a thumb up to show the world he was ok,
everything was great. A thumb up to the world.
To a world that usually gives you the finger,
but you ignore it and give it the thumbs up.

Every time he finished a haircut, he would look

at it from all sides, turn you around in the chair
to check all the views and directions, cut a last
wild hair here, comb a little there, and then
when it was done, when it was perfect, when it
was approved and certified as a good clean
haircut, he would step back, stand near his
poster, smile and do the thumbs up thing.

282
He would stand there until you nodded and
agreed that it was done, it was finished, it was
perfect.

But now, he became a bit of a, well, a problem.

You see, he was in his eighties by now. And

you see, he didn’t see. Well, he saw figures, and
he could recognize faces if they were really
close, and if he recognized the voice, or if they
told him who they were, but that was mostly it.

It was not so bad. A lot of old people lose their

sight as they grow old. But not a lot of them
wave scissors at you and insist that you must
have a haircut, and please come in, sit down, it
will take just ten minutes, fifteen minutes tops.

Usually, people who should be without any

doubt declared legally blind, should not have
access to razor blades. It is just good business.
And a lot less messy.

People started to avoid that part of the street.

And when they saw him standing outside his
shop, squinting his eyes trying to see if anyone
is coming by, they would just turn around and
walk through another alleyway.

283
Needless to say, the business was not blooming.
He had three clients. Two of them were bold.
Well, they had a dozen hairs between them, so
they were technically bold. They would come
for a shave and a polish. And the third one was
his son in law. He would come for a quick
machine cut once a week. Out of kindness. He
thought to himself that machine cut was the
least dangerous option, and he would bring
Ploi some snacks and fresh fruit and check up
on him. He would stay there for an hour
chatting away, until it was time to go back to
work.

“Guru, I think it is time for me to retire.”

Guru smiled. It was not really news, was it.

Actually, ten years ago was the time for him to
retire, and everybody other than him knew it.

“I don’t want to retire”

Guru stopped smiling. Both because it was not

funny, the old man sounded really sad, and
because he was worried that the old man was
not going to give up that easy, that he would
hang on with his nails, and continue to terrorize

284
the neighborhood waving scissors and razors
around.

“I will die. If I don’t have to open the shop

every morning, what will I do? I will die. I
don’t want to die, I am still a young man, I have
my whole life in front of me”

Guru coughed. In a polite way. But still.

“ok, maybe I am not young, but I am not dead

yet, I don’t want to sit at home and wait to die.
And it is not like I have too much money saved
for retirement you know…”

Guru sat back in his throne, and made that face

he makes when he is thinking, when he is
saying don’t disturb me I am thinking. He liked
that face. And then he smiled. That was an easy
one.

“Tomorrow morning, I want you to come early

to the shop and tidy up. We will be there before
noon.”

Ploi looked surprised. “Who is we? Who will be

there?”

285
“don’t you worry about anything” guru said,
“just get the place tidy and nice, now, please
excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”

The next day, just before lunch time, the

doorbell in the barber shop rang, you know,
that small bell that hangs above the door and
alerts you when there is a customer.

Guru walked in with a young man wearing a

skinny suit with pin stripes and wide lapels, a
big hipster hairdo, somewhere between
rockabilly and a banker from the twenties and a
beard with so much product in it, you could not
tell if it was hard as marble or soft as a cloud, as
it looked both.

There was a crowd of small children outside the

store, staring at them.

For Ploi, it was just a black human form in front

of him, everything was blurry, but he did
recognize that smell. My god, they stopped
making that aftershave forty years ago. He
heard there was someone who kept selling
them but he thought it was an urban legend.

286
The kids outside were making a lot of noise by
now, getting more and more excited and guru
closed the door behind them.

Guru took out his phone, and took one photo of

the nice young guy and Ploi standing near his
poster, both doing the thumb up thing and
smiling.

Ploi did not really understand what was going

on, but that was not a new feeling for him, and
he was actually quite fond of not
understanding what was going on. You don’t
get to be a barber for fifty years if you need
excitement or anything too deep in your life.

He just smiled, and wai-ed and as they went

back out to the street he sat back in his chair,
and waited. Maybe someone will come. People
need haircuts.

The next day guru came to visit again. This

time he was with two young men, almost as
hipster as the one of yesterday, but slightly
more on the normal side, the not extravagant
side of the suits and tattoos. They still had the
tattoos and the hairdo but were wearing normal

287
clothes, well again, compared to the visitor
from yesterday.

They looked around and whispered a little

among themselves, as Ploi was asking guru
who they were and what did they want, but
guru just smiled and shushed him.

One of the young guys came over to guru, and

nodded his head.

“Can do. sure. No problem.”

Guru smiled. He smiled. Ploi smiled. Ploi did

not know why he was smiling, but he felt that
everyone was smiling and it would be rude not
to. Guru turned to Ploi, put one hand on his
shoulders, and looked him straight in the eyes.
He knew that Ploi did not really see all that
well, so he waited a second for him to try and
focus before he spoke.

“This is what we are going to do. this are khun

joe and khun jill. They are renting out this
authentic vintage retro barber shop. They will
pay you a percentage of all the haircut they will
do here.

288
You are the owner now. You don’t have to cut
hair; you just sit here. They will do the work”

Ploi, who was never the fastest one to get

things, mulled it over in his head for a minute
or two.

“so, what do I do?”

Guru, with his hand still on his shoulder,

repeated.

“You are the owner of this vintage retro

authentic barber shop”

“Vintage… retro” repeated Ploi slowly and

deliberately.

“Authentic barber shop” finished guru.

Guru sighed, and knew that he would have to

explain it slowly.

“You are too old, my friend, too old to work so

hard. So, I found a solution. the guy who came
with me yesterday for that photo with your
poster? He is a musician, khun katuk. I don’t
know what they call that style those hipster
play, but it is very popular. It is not so bad,
some of it. It has guitars. He plays guitar. He is
289
famous I think, well, maybe half famous. But he
is famous for being a trendy dandy hipster.

Hispters, trendy dandy hipsters like all this

bullshit of authentic and retro and vintage, you
know, old stuff, second hand stuff. These kids
are worse than us old folks, they miss the good
old days but they never seen them, they don’t
know what they are talking about.

They love old and authentic and trendy and

things like that, so I gave them what they want.

One picture on that social media place, where

the young people like to go, with khun katuk
saying that this authentic retro vintage old
school barber shop needs new barbers, and I
had people standing in line. It worked
perfectly. Even better than I expected.”

Ploi was swallowing every word, trying to

follow up.

“You see” guru continued, “khun katuk, or as

we used to call him nosebleed katuk because he
used to get into fights all the time, grew up
right here, two streets from your shop. And he
owes me a couple of favors. I will not get into it,

290
but in general, if you are a teenager who likes to
get high, don’t steal a car, and if you do, don’t
crash it into the police captain new motorcycle.
Just saying. It takes a lot of dealing to get that
under the rug. He was happy to help. “

A couple of weeks later and everything was

going better than planned. There were clients
coming in from all over town. True, not a lot of
people are hard core enough to go to the slum
to get the authentic vintage retro haircut and a
picture with the owner, but the ones who did
make the effort? It was like a badge of honor.
Me? I only cut my hair at the vintage retro
authentic barber shop in the slum. What do you
think I am, some kind of poser? A fake?

And they came. And they got a cool haircut.

And they ate lunch and snacks next door, and
they bought some fruit, because it is amazing
how much cheaper it is than in their fancy
supermarket, and the whole block prospered.

There was this one guy who came with his

Harley Davidson, parking it in front of the
barbershop. All the kids would run up to touch
it and admire how shinny it was. He was a

291
fireman. A hipster fireman. You never knew
there were hipster firemen? Well, there are,
maybe they don’t have manbuns because of the
helmet and all, but they do like to be stylish
once they survive their days work.

Guru liked him, he was a good example for the

kids. You can be cool and have a Harley and be
a fireman. You don’t have to be a drug dealer, a
murderer, or god forbid a politician or
something like that. You can be a good guy and
a cool guy.

All in all, the whole area was now a little nicer,

a little more hospitable, cleaner even, the whole
block seemed as if it actually made an effort,
tried a little, something that in the slum is not
that obvious. Even the buildings themselves
seem to have given up, they looked like they
lost, the battle, the war, everything, they were
there but only because they had no choice, and
suddenly, suddenly it was as if some life energy
came back to them, they seemed to stand taller,
with their shoulders back, almost proud. Ok,
proud is a big word for the slum, but relatively,
they were proud, they seemed proud, they felt
proud.
292
It was not really clear if people came for the
actual haircuts, which were really not bad, the
two young barbers were very skilled and they
loved what they did, and it showed, or to take
picture with Ploi and the magic thumb when
they were done. They all posted it on their
pages. Thumbs up.

And it was always his private thumb up to the

world. As we said before, In a world that is
usually giving you the finger, the basic thumbs
up of everything is ok, or everything will be ok,
is a rebellious act. His small private simple
rebellious act.

It is amazing how small things can change

whole buildings, whole blocks, whole cities. It
is amazing how just a couple of people can start
such changes. Small and slow maybe, but still,
there, working, moving, growing, changes that
we asked for, some we did not, changes that we
planned for, most that we have not, changes.
Everything changes.

Ploi stopped guru outside the barbershop.

“guru! How are you! come, come, let me give

you a haircut, for free! Please, on me! I have
293
free time now, just for you! I can be your
private barber, guru!”

Guru mumbled something as he walked a little

faster. Running slow in walking movements
was more accurate. He would have run if he
did not think that would be rude, but he was
definitely escaping, evading the scissors and
razorblades, saving his life, or at least his ear,
and as he shouted something back to Ploi, he
disappeared around a corner, where he
stopped, bent over and tried to catch his breath.
He was too old for that shit. Next time he will
walk through the other alleyway.

Guru looked up to the bright blue sky, smiled,

and gave a big thumbs up to it all.

294
saving rosalinda

Between you me and the lamp post, that was

one nice lamp post. It was old fashioned,
ornate, a steel box made in a time when things
were made to last, meant to last, when
everything was important, on some level at
least. Important to someone. Important enough
to keep this one lamp post there, in the same
place, the same spot, the same geographical,
geopolitical, geospiritual and geo everything
spot.

And these things matter. The energy something

has, often depends on its age, on how long it
exists and where it is and has been. Being static
and immobile might not seem like a difficult
thing, but when you think about it, even
mountains are being moved these days, with
tunnels going through them.

Their tops blown up for mining, their shoulders

shaved and sent to faraway places to build the
rest of the world, even mountains cannot fight

295
the change of time, so a lamp post? One stupid
lamp post?

For that lamp post to survive all these years,

true, not as many years as a volcano, but still, a
lot of years, for that lamp post to survive all
these years, well, you really needed some
divine intervention. Some protection from
reality, a shield from father time, mother
progress and all their annoying siblings and
cousins, you know, the fashion, the illusions,
the greed, the modernity and the meaningless
of it all.

And this lamp post, well, it survived all these

years out here, as part of our lives, the slum
lives, but it had noble upbringings, an almost
royal blood in its veins. Yes, you see, this
particular lamp post was stolen from the
private garden of none other than the governor
of Bangkok. Well, the guy who was the
governor of Bangkok thirty odd years ago. It
was a wedding present.

How unique was the slum? How unexpected

and bizarre? Well, it was the kind of place
where a stolen fancy lamp post from the

296
governor’s own garden was a normal and
acceptable wedding present. Because it was
pretty and because it has a story. It had to have
a story, everything had to have a story.

Yes, there was always a story, and then when

you peel it off, there was another story, and
then another one, like an onion. Multitudes of
stories, some of them strange, some of them
funny, most of them stupid and a lot of them
just don’t make sense no matter how you look
at them, stories over adventures over mishaps,
incidents and implications, improbable
decisions and impractical jokers.

And the lamp post, this lamp post. it saw all of

them. In its corner. Defiant. Beautiful. a rose
among the thorns. The dirty smelly thorns of
streets of the slum.”

Wedding presents are always special, they are

always more than what they seem, their value
measured in myths and legends, in generations
and stories, in the actual life energy of society,
of families, of growth.

A birthday present is simple, hey, you survived

a year, here is something nice. And a cake.
297
Maybe a paper hat. People love paper hats.
Birthday presents are a reward, they are a prize,
three hundred fifty-six days of suffering, of
going through the excruciating pain of being
alive, the mind-numbing boring minute by
minute, hour by hour, another day, another
week and another month. You have earnt that
present and you deserve it.

A weeding present? Well, that is different, it is

an advance payment on celebration, it is a
deposit you put on a new relationship, that
might or might not be a success, that might or
might not bring joy, bring happiness, brings
something good into the world, something of
additional value, maybe even something of
beauty.

If you are less optimistic, than yes, you can see

it as a reward, like a birthday present. Here,
you made it, no one thought you will find
someone to love you, but what can we say, you
have surprised us all and did it, so yeah, here is
a present. And a cake. And the cake is even
bigger than a birthday cake, a much better cake.
True, you have to share it with someone else,
unlike a birthday cake, but still, wedding cakes
298
are usually pretty amazing, as a basic rule, so it
is ok.

And the lamp post? That was the most famous

wedding present there ever was. At least in the
slum.

“Come quick guru, they are trying to kill

Rosalinda!”

Guru stood up and straightened his shirt. You

would think that if someone was being killed,
he might have been a little more hasty and
would jump faster, but it was not the first time
they came for Rosalinda, and he knew what to
do. Rosalinda was not in any real danger. But
they did try to kill her, or at least disconnect
her. Rosalinda was that famous lamp post.

It was called Rosalinda after the original

Rosalinda, the legendary Rosalinda. The
legendary Rosalinda was called that way
because of her beauty, or to be precise her
Spanish beauty, her latin beauty, her latin
charm. She looked like a movie star from a
Spanish old film.

299
It was in the fifties when Rosalinda, the original
one, the flesh and bones one, not the metal and
light one, was star of the slum. She was without
doubt the most beautiful girl around, with dark
raven hair that was wavy like the sea, unlike
the straight thin hair most local girls had, and
two big eyes that were almost disproportional
to her small face, almost cartoonish in their size,
eyes that were always open and always
smiling, eyes that seemed like they came from
far far away, from some latin country, from a
Spanish book, a stranger to the slum, a stranger
to asia, a stranger to this world.

She was the pride of the slum, and the woe of

her father. He knew there would be trouble
ahead, he knew that these kind of eyes are
dangerous and that he had to protect his
daughter with everything he had, with every
protection spell, with every blessing, with every
lock on the door and with seventy eyes of his
own always looking at all direction ,ready to
kick away the curious kids, the lustful teen
agers and the no good contender on her heart.

By the time Rosalinda was a teeneager he was

exhausted, but he was always ready, always on
300
watch, always there, always mean to everyone
who came to close, who became too friendly.

Rosalinda was not aware of the commotion, as

she thought all girls got that amount of
attention on a regular basis, that all girls had so
many suitors and followers, fans and fanatics.

Everyone called her Rosalinda because of her

looks, but she thought that was her real name.
she was oblivious. Maybe she wasn’t that smart
to begin with, which sometimes is the case with
the overly attractive, where the universe
compensated on the lack of brain with
unimagined beauty, or maybe she was just
being pampered and protected on such a level
she really did not have to think too much.

She new she was Rosalinda, and everyone new

she was Rosalinda, and the name was perfect,
and she was perfect and everything was
perfect. Well, except for her fathers night sleep.
That was very far from perfect. In fact he h
asent had a decent night sleep since she was
five years old and it was starting to be obvious
there was something special about her.

301
By the time she was ten the children actually
wrote a song about her, a kind of a nursery
rhyme which they sang in front of their house,
driving him crazy.

“big eyes big eyes come to play, big eyes be my

wife today. Big eyes big eyes come to play, be
my wife with me you stay”

They would sing and run away laughing and

he would go out and throw his flip flops at
them and shout obscenities. He would swear
and curse and the vein in his forehead was
bulging like a vine.

But that was just the beginning. That was

nothing compared to what was going on a
couple of years later as she blossomed from a
beautiful little girl to a romantic magnificent
teenager. The kids were now singing a different
tune.

“big eyes big eyes, show me your ass. Big eyes

big eyes come make a mess. Big eyes big eyes,
give me a kiss, lets run away I will show you
bliss”

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And he would run out and throw things at
them and curse. An old man in his nineties, he
was running after them, her poor father. He
was not really in his ninties, he just looked that
way. He was in his fifties, but he was so tired,
so exhausted, that he looked ageless, like a
forest or a mountain, he was skin and bone and
his eyes sunk in black holes of three decades of
not sleeping at night.

Now, Rosalinda was as a good girl as can be,

innocent and disciplined, she was everything a
daughter could be, and more. She was a decent
student, maybe not the best in the class but
always did her parents and her teachers proud.
She helped with the house work, the cleaning
chores and the cooking, and in weekends and
evenings she would help with the family store.

She knew something was special about her but

did not really figure out what it was, and she
knew that she had to listen to her father and be
careful of young boys, because there is
something that they all want, and even though
she did not know what it was, she knew they
should never get it.

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As years passed, she grew into a serious lady. A
seriously beautiful lady. A woman. She skipped
that whole akward teenage phase and went
from little girl to a full woman in a year or so.

And that, well, that brought in the serious

suiters.

At this point, her father was just a shadow of a

man, but even he could almost breath in a sigh
of relief as he looked at his good daughter,
obedient, educated, always smiling, always
agreeable but always serious too. She did not
go to dances, she did not, how they say, hang
around, she was home most of the time,
working, helping.

But even he saw she was starting to look

around. She spent a lot of time looking at
newspapers, especially the ones which came
from other countries, you know, with the
pictures of movie stars and dinner parties and
scenes from movies made over there in the
holly woods.

He knew it was time for her to find happiness

with a man, with her own family, but he knew
he would have to choose that man for her.
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Young men started coming to the house, calling
for her, asking to see her.

He was not impressed. He was not kind to

them. Some of them were not so bad, but he
was mean to all without prejudice. “Hello
mister khunsari, is rosali…. “and he slammed
the door at their face. “Good morning mister
khunsar, I was wondering if… “and the door
went bang. There were too many of them, a sea
of zit faced greesy haired boys, a never-ending
supply of hormone driven horrible kids.

The lucky ones managed to take a step back

before the thick door hit them right in the nose.

It went on for a couple of years.

And she grew more beautiful, her body

plumper and healthier, her cheeks redder and
more radiant, and those eyes, those eyes, even
they grew bigger, if that was even possible to
begin with.

Most of the contenders in this game of love

were really so far beneath her worth, it was
easy to see why there should be a door

305
slammed in their face, but there was one who
stood out. Kata.

He was the son of the butcher, a good boy. A

good student, a good worker, a good friend and
brother, a good son and pride to everyone who
knew him.

He was going to be an engineer. There were

three brothers in that family, and his older
brother practically grew up in the butcher shop
so it was obvious he would take over the family
business. That took a lot of pressure of his
shoulders, gave him some freedom. In a lot of
families, the children are almost forced to
follow their parents’ footsteps in the family
business, a shop, a factory, a small company, it
was the way things were. Having that problem
solved straight on, meant he could be what he
wanted to be.

kata wanted to be an engineer. He looked

around and saw that the whole world is
growing, and that we are building amazing
things all around, huge buildings, trains,
airplanes, factories and machines of
technological wonders. He saw that the future

306
is being built by men and magic and he wanted
to be part of that magic.

He just finished his first degree, and he was

ready to start his masters degree, in the big
university in the center of town.

He was worthy, and more important, Rosalinda

liked him. She smiled when he was passing by.
She was not smiling to anyone else. Well, not
anyone of the boys. She was always smiling to
the normal people she met, but not the boys.
Her daddy warned her, a smile is an invitation.
A smile is a gate left open for the thief. A smile
is for children, and old people and relatives and
such, but never to the boys.

But she smiled to him.

And her father saw that. He did not say

anything, but he saw, he knew, and although
he was still afraid for the fate of his daughter
and her future, he also knew that this was a
good choice, the best possible choice.

It was a good choice, but hell if he is going to

make it easier for the young lad. He is going to

307
have to earn her. He was going to have to prove
himself.

It started one day, when the young lad

gathered his courage and came over to that
famous door, that door that was slammed so
many times it was showing it’s hinges and
there were more broken splinters on its sides
than an old pirate ship. It was a miracle that
door survived all these years.

And this day It was not slammed.

“May I talk to Rosalinda please?” kata said, in a

very polite and quite voice.

He was wearing his university uniforms. He

ironed them himself. with the silver pin on his
collar, showing he graduated in his first degree,
and his hair combed to the side. It did make
him look like what we would call a nerd, or a
geek, but this was the look he was going for, the
good boy. Because he was. And he had to make
sure it was clear.

Rosalinda father looked at him, and said

nothing.

It was strange.
308
It was like something was wrong with the
universe. Like it was against the basic rules of
nature. The door was supposed to be slammed.
There should be a big thud and the patter of a
teenager running away, hopefully crying after
the door hit him in the face.

But there was nothing. Just silence.

kata smiled. For a second. Then stopped. He

was not sure if he should smile or not. If he
should be nice or scared, polite or, I don’t
know, he just stood there.

Rosalinda father looked him over, from his toes

to his head.

“Come back when you are ready to get

married” he said.

And closed the door. Not slammed. Closed.

Slowly. Politely.

That was weird. There was a wave of

uncomfortable energy which spread, like a
bomb shockwave, throughout the slum,
something in the universe changed, something
happened.

309
A week later, the boy came back. And he
brought his father. He was ready.

Rosalindas father opened the door, and as he

saw the two men, the serious father and the
nervous student besides him, he knew. It was
time. It was serious. It really was time.

But hell, if he is going to give up without a

fight. No way. He did not sacrifice his whole
life protecting his daughter for just giving her
up like this. no way.

But wait, lets go back to guru and the lamp, the

Rosalinda of the slums, the light of the slum,
the classic beautiful lamp post. Guru whispered
something in Dogs ear, and went outside.

As he approached the big truck that was parked

near Rosalinda, Dog came hustling back with a
paper bag and an envelope, and handed them
to guru.

City municipal power and water was the sign

on the truck, and two men were idling around
in the shade waiting for someone to give
instructions for the work. Near every municipal
truck you will find idling men waiting for

310
instructions. They spend most of the day
waiting for instructions, most of the week, of
the month, most of their career, waiting for
instructions. They didn’t mind, waiting was
better than working, and if the truck was big
enough there was always a shaded area to wait
for instructions in.

It was easy to find who was in charge. It was

usually the person on the phone. If the workers
were always waiting for instructions, the boss
was always on the phone trying to get those
instructions from someone up the food chain.

Guru knew the guy. He was a good guy. He

came to the slum a lot, with the big truck, to fix
some lines, dig up something, replace a fuse
box, you know, small things.

This time he was sent to remove Rosalinda. Yes,

Rosalinda, being the lamp post of the slum for
the past six decades or so, was really out of
code, and the electric company wanted to
throw her away and replace her with one of
those nasty ugly grey cement and steel lamp
posts.

311
Well, not on gurus watch. Not today. A few
whispers, a couple of “no really I couldn’t” and
some smiling winking “oh but I insist” and the
boss called on the workers to come back in the
truck.

He showed them the paper bag, with the bottle

of whiskey in it, and the envelope, with just
enough cash for a really nice lunch, and
everybody smiled as they drove the truck away
without arguing too much.

Yes, this was a historic landmark, it was

Rosalinda. It was the Rosalinda. And it held the
story of the real Rosalinda. Yes. Where was i?
oh right, Rosalinda and her father.

Kata and his father were still there, standing in

front of rosalindas house. Quiet. And her father
was squinting and looking at them in a tough
gaze, a stare that was not very kind, that was
not very forgiving, not an angry stare but a
fierce one. The kind of stare you give someone
who comes to ask about your beautiful
daughter.

312
“What?” he said.

There was silence.

The student coughed, and opened his mouth.

No sound came out. He tried again, but there
was nothing, nothing came out. His father
looked at him, and laughed.

“My son wants to marry your daughter. We

have come to discuss the terms”

Rosalindas father looked at them both. The

student was standing tall, stretching himself
trying to make himself look bigger, chest puffed
and chin high. You could see he was scared
shitless but he made a remarkable effort trying
to look brave.

“bring me the sun, and you can marry my

Rosalinda”

And the door closed. Again, not with a bang,

not with a thud, it was not slammed it was just
closed. Kata thought to himself, that must have
been a good sign, right? Now all he had to do
was bring the sun and it will be ok. Right?

313
It was three weeks before kata had the courage
to come back. He knocked on the door.

Rosalindas father opened the door, looked

outside, looked to the left, looked to the right,
and then looked at kata, once again judging
him with his stare, from his toes to his head.

“Yes? Where is the sun?”

Kata breathed in. and coughed. And

straightened his collar.

“it is impossible. The sun belongs to the

emperor, and it is too hot. When I tried to
capture it and tie it down, the rope burnt.”

Rosalindas father was, well, shocked. He did

not expect that answer. He really didn’t. he was
amused. The student had such a serious face as
he went on. It was great acting if he ever saw
any.

“There is no rope that can stand the heat of the

sun, and without any rope I would never be
able to steal it before the emperor would see. I
would end up in jail or worse and could not
marry Rosalinda. It is impossible”

314
He stoped to breath.

“But I can build Rosalinda a beautiful house

where we can live, and take care of her and
start a beautiful family, with a lot of beautiful
grandchildren for you”

“So, no sun?” asked rosalindas father.

“It is impossible. No one can give you the

emperors sun.”

“I see,” said the father.

“So…. bring me the moon. When you have that,

come back and you can talk to Rosalinda, for
one hour.”

And he closed the door.

Two weeks later kata was back.

Rosalindas father looked at him standing there,

with empty hands, and again, did the whole
show of staring at him, head to toe, in a
judgmental way.

“Do you have the moon in your pocket, son?

Are you hiding it behind your back?”

Kata lowered his face. “No sir”

315
And then he raised his face again and went:
“well… you see…”

Rosalindas father was holding back a snicker.

He actually grew to like that kid. And he
waited to hear his excuse this time.

“The moon belongs to the king, and the kind

likes to have his moon shiny and bright so he
has his men polish it all the time. Whenever I
try to catch it with a rope to bring to you, it
slips out of the noose. It is just too slippery. It is
not my fault. It is science. It is just too slippery,
I mean just look at it, you can see it is shiny, I
am sorry but It is impossible to steal it from the
king”.

Rosalindas father chocked a little as he held in a

laugh. “I see…” he finally said.

“I cannot steal the moon for you, but I can build

Rosalinda a beautiful house where we can live,
and take care of her and start a beautiful family,
with a lot of beautiful grandchildren for you”

Rosalindas father sighed to himself. he really

could not argue with that logic. He wanted to,
but he couldn’t. that is the problem with those

316
young kids, they are smart. They have good
excuses too. But hell, if this is going to work, no
way, even the best excuses and the most
scientific explanations will not be enough.

He looked kata in the eyes and squinting a

little, said: “ you know what. Bring me a star.
Can you do that? Bring me a star and I will let
you take Rosalinda for a dinner”

Kata sighed.

His forehead had those thick borrows, line so

deep you can plant potatoes in them, wrinkles
that should not be on young man’s face.

He waited for a minute. The door was still

open. Rosalindas father was still there, looking
at him. Judging him. But with kindness.
Judging him. But it seemed like by now he
wanted him to win, he wanted him to succeed.

Kata bowed his head and turned away to the

street, walking away slowly, consumed by his
thoughts. Rosalindas father was still standing
there as he vanished into the slum’s long street,
and only then did he go inside and closed the
door.

317
Three weeks later kata knocked on the door.

Rosalindas father opened with a big smile.

He was happy to see him. It was the first time

he was happy to see someone in a long time,
the first time in many years he was actually
looking forward to someone visiting, to some
conversation. He really did grow to like the kid.

“Star? Yes? Do you, have it?”

Kata smiled, then the smile disappeared, then

he smiled again, then it went away again.

“I apologize, but they are all fake. All the stars.

I checked. These are not real stars you see up
there, these are just light bulbs. He governor
owns the stars, the real ones, and he hides them
in his safe. The governor was aways jealous of
the emperor’s sun and the kings moon and he
hides the stars in a big chest under his bed,
afraid that someone would steal them.”

Rosalindas father started to laugh. But kata

kept a straight face.

“I checked. I went up there and checked them.

All of them. They are all just light bulbs. They

318
look like stars but they are fake. The real ones?
Under the governor’s bed. There is nothing I
can do about that. If I try to steal them, I will go
to jail and Rosalinda will be alone.

I cannot bring you a star, but I can build

Rosalinda a beautiful house where we can live,
and take care of her and start a beautiful family,
with a lot of beautiful grandchildren for you”

Rosalindas father could not hold himself any

more. He just started to laugh and laugh, and
then hugged kata.

“ok, ok, you bastard, you win, you win”.

Kata was shocked and thanked him again and

again, while walking away, trying to get out of
there before he changed his mind. He still did
not believe what has just happened, and that he
actually managed to do the Impossible, to win
her father’s heart, not only hers.

At night he turned and turned in his bed,

making a mess of his bedsheets and blankets, as
he could not settle down and fall asleep even
for a second.

319
]it was around three o’clock when he gave up
on his attempts to have some rest, and sneaked
out of the house through his bedroom window.

He picked up two of his friends, who were at

first reluctant to go out in the middle of the
night, but soon understood they did not really
have a choice, and that their friend has lost his
mind, so they might as well entertain his
wishes.

It was the first rays of sunshine, the first sign of

dawn, when they came back to the slum,
carrying a beautiful street lamp, a classic design
with ornaments and decoration, a lamppost
that was fit for, well, maybe not an emperor, or
a king, but definitely for a governor, as this is
where it came from, the governors private
garden.

Boy, was the governor pissed off when he

found out in the morning, that his garden has
been vandalized and that one of his lamp posts
has been stolen. Who would dare do such a
thing? And who would be stupid enough to do
such a thing? That did not make any sense.

320
He immediately called the head of police and
insisted that a full investigation would take
place, and that all available police officers and
recruits be put on high alert and be sent out to
find the stolen lamp post.

All of that was not necessary. The news of the

stolen lamp post passed the city like fire in a
hay field, and people came from all around to
the slum to look at the new steel tree that grew
there, in the middle of the intersection, a
beautiful lamp post that was planted there for
all to see.

And then the story started to spread. Everyone

in the slum new Rosalinda, and they all loved a
love story with a happy ending. And it was
even before lunch when the rest of the city
learned about what happened, about the sun
and the moon and the lamp post, about the
young love and determination and the quick
thinking of the young groom to be.

The newspapers sent journalists and

photographers to document this fable, this fairy
tale and by evening the name Rosalinda was on

321
everybody’s lips, and the city was a better place
just for hearing the story around it.

Even the governor, although he was still

somewhat upset because his lamp post was
stolen had to admit that this was the most
beautiful love story he heard in a long time, and
the next morning, he gave an interview to the
biggest magazine in the land, where he told the
reporter how it was actually his own idea, and
how he gave the lamp post as a wedding
present to the young couple. Now, People
applauded him everywhere he went. It was a
win win for all.

Guru looked at the lamp post. Rosalinda was

safe for now. In a couple of months or maybe
years, the city workers will try to take it down
again, will try to modernize the street, without
any consideration to the fairy tales we grew up
on, but for now it was safe.

Guru smiled, nodded to his guys, and they all

started walking back to the palace, feeling a
little better than before, for some reason, just a
little better, like the universe was back on track,
and the sun was above, and the moon will

322
come later, and the stars will shine, and
Rosalinda, well, there will always be a
Rosalinda, even if just in our stories.

323
The ugly couple

They were the ugly couple. They were known

as the ugly couple. They referred to themselves
as the ugly couple, and for some strange reason
It worked. It worked for everybody, it worked
for them. They were not really ugly, well, not
really really ugly, so that is why it worked.

They were not pretty, that is for sure, but they

were not ugly enough to be offended when
referred to as the ugly couple.

The whole point was that they were not pretty

but still found love. And at an older age at that.
They were both in their fifties, they were both
chubby and unimpressive, they were both dull
in manner and in wit, and they were in love like
teenagers, a real puppy love, but with the
wrong bodies, forty years too late. It was almost
not appropriate, not polite.

You know how teenagers do that kind of

“ewwww” when they see their old parents kiss
or make sexual inuendoes? It was like this, but

324
everyone were those teenagers. It was a
consensus. Ugly people should not be, well,
what is the word, romantic. Or just happy.
yeah, happy, they shouldn’t be happy. and
these two, as I said, like puppies. Damn
puppies. Stealing kisses, pinching each other’s
ass when they thought no one was looking,
tickling each other, and winking. The winking
was the worst part.

Because then you had to imagine what they

were winking about, and as we know, when
humans are left to imagine things, they imagine
the worst. In this case it was the worst and it
was naked worst. Ugly naked worst. Ewwww.

And they didn’t care. They were flaunting it.

Well, I guess they were not really flaunting
anything, they just lived their lives. Like normal
people. How dare they. Ugly people enjoying
life like normal people. The audacity. He would
pinch her ass when she passed and they both
giggled, and she would tickle him and they
would snug and eskimo kiss, right there, in the
middle of the supermarket.

325
It was disgusting. And cute. Very cute. And in
some perverse and cynical way charming, and
romantic, and horrible, and beautiful and get a
room already. It was something people did not
want to see in public, but could not take their
eyes of it. What was the line in that book? Like
watching a snail slowly walk on a razor blade.

They were adorable. They really were. And

they were a symbol of rebellion against time,
against age, against everybody.

A simple rebellion. A happy rebellion. Being

happy when there were not supposed to, when
they were supposed to sit and mope and cry
over opportunities not taken and paths not
chosen. But instead, they just said fuck It, we
are going to have fun. And they did. And it
worked.

Most of marriages end up in divorce. In fact, it

is a known and agreed upon fact, that the one
major reason for divorce is marriage. Without
marriage there is very little chance for a
divorce. It is just that simple. But the real reason
a lot of marriages end up in divorce is because
people have vivid imaginations and they expect

326
too much. They think they deserve more; they
think they deserve too much. Too much is just
enough, and even there we can negotiate.
People expect things, and the world laughs. Or
sighs. I bet it is mostly sighing, because
laughing is ok for the first couple of times, but
let’s face it, with the amount of people and
what they expect, I am sure the world is bored
of laughing at them, and now it is mostly
sighing. And nodding its head. And sighing
again.

Their marriage? Nothing but bliss. They don’t

expect anything. They did the small ceremony
in the butcher shop, as they were both meat
lovers, with a nice barbeque of fresh cuts
outside the shop, some plastic chairs, an
improvised table cloth, that used to be an
advertisement for some pizza chain, but had a
clean white side that can be used for special
occasions.

A couple of beers. Some plastic plates. Some

more beers. A small frier to make fires, and a
cooler with some beers. And another ice bucket
with some more beers. And a case of beer on
the side, ready to be put in the ice when the
327
cold ones were finished. There were
hamburgers and sausages and some beers too.
And a lettuce salad. Because health and all and
you know. And some more beers. It was a
happy evening. Guru brought a bottle of his
single malt whisky and they shared it in small
shot glasses.

Twenty people, and some passer byes who

stopped just to say congratulations and toast
the happy couple. It was a small event. A nice
event. Nice people. Nice meat. nice beer. They
were happy. Everybody was happy. Everybody
was happy for them, as people were truly
surprised. everybody was indeed surprised,
even the happy couple was surprised.

what can you do? when life gives you lemons

you make a lemon merengue pie. And have
another beer. they were surprised but they
didn’t fight it. They didn’t question it. They
didn’t even think about it too much. They let
themselves be happy.

Maybe this is the problem with most people,

that they are surprised when they are happy
and then do everything, everything they can, to

328
sabotage it, to ruin it. Because surprised is bad.
what I am used to is good, surprised is
dangerous, it is unpredictable, it is, well,
surprising.

Guru was happy for them. He really was. He

was sitting there and enjoyed a nice hamburger
and a cold beer. he looked around and saw
happy faces. It was a very pleasant evening. He
felt good. He felt relaxed.

He realized that he liked these people. These

remarkably unremarkable people. He liked
them, and he liked their way of living, the way
they chose to live, to accept life.

He especially liked the fact he did not have to

pay for the wedding. He usually had to pay for
the weddings in the slums, or at least contribute
a nice sum of money.

Poor people don’t really have the luxury of

having a nice wedding party, and guru always
thought it was his duty to help out, especially
in these occasions. The way he saw it, marriage
was so hard as it is, let them at least have a nice
wedding to start. So, he helped.

329
A month or so before the wedding, the ugly
couple came to visit the palace. He already
heard the rumors that they start to plan a
wedding party, so he was waiting for that visit.
He actually prepared a nice envelope with a
hefty sum of money, waiting for them in the
drawer near the throne.

They walked in giggling and smiling and came

to sit in front of him, putting a small carton box
with Chinese steamed buns on the coffee table.
Dog went to make some tea and they started
chatting and gossiping with guru.

They handed him the invitation for the

wedding, and when he pulled out the envelope
and handed it to them, he was surprised they
refused.

“no guru, we just came to give you the invite.

No need for that. If you want, you can bring a
bottle of whisky to the party, that would be
nice.”

He was surprised, and even more surprised

when they looked at each other and started
laughing. They were a happy couple, you had
to give them that. If they were not ugly maybe
330
they could have been called the happy couple
or the laughing couple.

“we got enough money for the party and a lot

more actually. Do you remember my uncle
from lopburi? Well, he passed away.”

Guru tried to remember which uncle they were

talking about, and could not think of any
mysterious millionaire uncle in lopburi.

The only relative he could think of was drunk

Dano, which was as far from being a millionaire
as can be. As far as he rememberd Dano was
working as a cleaner in the local gas station.

“Dano, drunk Dano. You remember him. Nice

guy. He was really a nice guy”.

Now guru was intrigued. As someone who

collected stories, he smelt there was a good
story there. There must be.

“So, I did not know Dano won the lottery

before he died” he said.

They both laughed. “no guru, he did not win

the lottery. But almost. You see, when the old
gas station closed down, and that big one, you

331
know, the chain one, opened, he was sad. Very
sad. Mostly because he lost his job, no one
would let a drunk work in a big chain gas
station, but also because he really loved that old
one, he worked there for over thirty years.”

Guru took another steamed bun. They were

good quality buns, not the normal ones.

“When it closed down, he took all the signs, the

commercial ads, and even a lot of the old oil
cans and stuff like that to his home, just as a
reminder.

A lot of small things. Things that were

worthless but meant the world to him. It gave
him a little comfort. It was a reminder of his
life. He would drink his cheap rice whisky and
look at the signs. And it made him happy”

Guru could relate to that. He was in the

garbage business and he knew how much
emotional attachment old stuff can have,
personal memories, life pieces, stories.

“Anyway, he passed away six months ago. His

liver finally gave up. He just went to sleep one

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afternoon and never woke up. It was a peaceful
death, a good one. “

Guru made that face, that nod you give people

something like that, and you need to show
some sympathy or some condolences but
without saying anything, just a nod, a slight
turn of the head, a sign you are with them, that
you relate, that you feel it too.

“When they broke down his shack, clearing the

place to build some better building in it’s place,
like the do with the old rickety houses of the
old people, you know there is always someone
waiting for them to die, so they can build
something better, get some more money from
rent and things like that.

So, when the broke down his place, the head of

the construction team asked it we wanted all
that old stuff, because he has a friend in town
who has an antique shop, not antique, how you
call it today, vintage, retro stuff.

Vintage, yes that is the name. so anyway, guru,

you will not believe it. All the signs? The empty
oil cans? People love it. They look for it these
days. And the older the better, brands that
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don’t exist anymore, parts of the culture, the
local culture, the countryside culture, they love
it, they can’t get enough of it.”

Guru’s eyes opened wide.

“You will not believe it, they sold everything in

a week. I got a call from the construction guy,
and a week later he came over and brought us a
check. Two hundred and ten thousand baht.
For that old junk!!!”

Guru almost choked on the bun he was

chewing and took a big swig of the tea.

That was a lot of money. It was not lottery

money or retirement money, but that was, let’s
see, a normal worker gets around ten thousand
baht a month, so that was almost two years of
paychecks. A lot of money.

“We are set. We both have our jobs and a little

saving and this money? This money? we are
going to use this money to enjoy life. Maybe
travel a little, maybe eat in some fancy
restaurants, and start with a nice small
wedding party. With some good food, and
some beers too.”

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Guru was happy. he was happy for them. And
he was happy because it was one of the rare
times that people came to his palace, came to
visit him, without asking for anything, without
telling him about their troubles, about their
misfortunes. It was a rare occasion where
people came to share good things with him,
and share good steamed buns as well, which
was always a treat.

He was happy. they were happy. everybody

was happy. maybe, he tought to himself, maybe
it is karma. After all, we all know that karma is
fixed, I mean that karma is under that law of
energy conservation, there is nothing more and
nothing less, the energy stays the same, just
changes form and position, it is always the
same energy just changing direction and goal.

So maybe this is the thing. Maybe ugly people,

well, maybe they get a better life, a more happy
life, a more relaxed life, maybe that is how
karma rewards them for not making them
pretty or handsome. That could be the case, yes,
maybe this is what it is.

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He looked at his reflection on the shinny metal
tea pot and thought to himself. well, I am not
ugly but thank God I am not too handsome.

They finished the steamed buns and the tea,

and the ugly couple went home, leaving the
guru with the invitation to the party and the
new understanding of the karma law of beauty.

336
Big Ned big noodle eater
Big Ned sat there, in front of guru, slouched, his
head forward, his face in buried in his hands.
Sobbing softly.

Guru waited for him to calm down. Patiently.

Ned did try to talk, to say something, but all
that came out were whimpers and strange
voices, half words and unclear sounds. Finally,
after a couple of minutes of this turmoil, he
raised his head, blew his nose into a dirty
handkerchief he was holding in his hand, and
said:

“I am ruined, I lost it”

Guru was puzzled. “What did you lose?

Something important? Expensive?”

“I lost it, guru, I lost it. I completely lost it. “

“What? What did you lose? Tell me.”

“I lost it, guru, I lost my appetite”

Guru smiled. Appetite. Ok.

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“I lost it completely. It is gone. I lost my
appetite. What will I do?”

Guru continued to smile, but the more he

thought about it, the more he realized it was
indeed a real problem and no laughing matter.
You see, Ned was famous. And he was famous
for one thing, he was famous for his eating. He
was not fat per se, but he was big. This is why
people called him big Ned. And big Ned was
famous for his eating, especially noodles.

Yes, nobody could eat noodles like big Ned.

Nobody. And I am not just saying that, I mean
it, officially, no one. He won every noodle
eating competition in the area, in the region, in
the country, in the world. Ok, maybe not the
world, or even the country, but he did win any
noodle competition in the city, well, the ones he
entered. And he did enter a lot of them, so that
meant something.

He was thinner than expected. he just had a big

appetite. For noodles. Other foods did not
spark him up the same way. He could still eat a
lot. He ate fifty-two or fifty-three hotdogs in the
last competition on the beach, and he cleaned

338
twelve pans of clam egg fries in five minutes for
another one, but it meant nothing for him, he
just did it for the prizes. A t-shirt here, a couple
of tickets for some music show, sometimes even
vouchers for some free food. It was nice.

But it was not like the noodles. Noodles were

his favorite, more than favorite, noodles were
his calling. He just hoovered them all down
without even stopping to breath, with pauses
for large gulps of the soup. It was not a talent, it
was a superpower, an ability, and it was
beautiful.

Ok, maybe beautiful is a big word, but it was

amazing. It was as if the noodles were under a
spell and made their way into his mouth by
themselves, he just had to open and swallow,
open and swallow. It was like a dance, an
enchanted dance of noodles feeding themselves
to the master.

He was like that since childhood, they used to

call him the noodle monster even back in
kindergarten, and the noodle hoover in high
school, noodle vacuum cleaner.

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It was deep inside him, a hole that needed to be
filled with noodles, and only noodles would do
the trick. It was really in his nature, in his DNA.
It even affected his relationships. Yes, he was
engaged once to a lovely girl from his class, but
her family broke it up, because they suspected
he wanted to marry her for the basic reason that
her uncle owned a noodle shop, and not
because of real love.

I cannot tell you if this was really the case and if

his motives were just the uncles noodles, but it
was enough to cause tension and friction in the
family. The uncle came to her parents to
complain and cried that if this monster will join
the family, he and his noodle stand will go
bankrupt in two months.

Now, no one would think that eating noodles is

a real job, I mean even Ned did not see it as
anything but, well, eating noodles. His favorite
food.

But then the internet came, and things changed.

Everything changed. Everything became more
stupid and superficial but no one really cared
because it brought money. The more stupid and

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superficial reality was, the better It paid. For
people like Ned.

He was a star. He became a star. No one really

knew how it started, but there were videos of
the Ned the noodle eater all over the place.
Even tv shows had clips from the internet
showing Ned the noodle monster hoovering in
unbelievable quantities of long tasty noodles.
Yes, it was that dumb, that the tv showed what
the internet showed, and there were newspaper
articles talking about how the tv now shows
internet clips.

Ned was a celebrity. There was no noodle shop

in town where he would not get applause as he
walked in the door. He was the movie star, the
Hollywood star, the Broadway star, the
everyday modern hero. The man who became
famous by eating, the man who became a
phenomenon without even trying, without
breaking a sweat.

And then the advertising people came. You see,

advertising people are like the ticks of society. I
would say vampires, but vampires are cool and

341
mysterious and have a rich cultural
background, while ticks are, well, ticks.

And advertising people are ticks. Blood sucking

parasites who make a living out of other
people’s blood and spreading horrible disease
in the process.

And they smelt money, they smelt blood, they

knew a star when they saw one, and they saw
one being created right here under their nose.
Sharks can smell a drop of blood in the water
from miles away, and ticks can do it in ten time
that distance.

They started coming to the slum, with their

fancy cars, and ridiculous suits and they
smelled the air, looking for that hero. They had
sunglasses that cost more than what the people
in the slum would make in a year, and their
shoes were worth two years of these wages.

They were polished and smelled of expensive

perfumes and after shave, and you could not
look them straight in the eyes without having
your skin crawl and your stomach turn. They
were the most amazingly beautiful shiny scum
that there could be. They were not even bad or
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evil, no, to be evil you need to have some
substance, some soul, even if a dark and rotting
one, you needed to be something, while they
were, well, ticks. Empty. Their vacuum was
evident, and you knew that nothing would fill
it up, not money, not power, not respect. They
were not greedy, they were just parasite, they
did not have a rhyme or reason for why they
are so disgusting and corrupt, it was just their
natural state.

And they found him. Not that it was hard, all

you had to do was go to the noodle shop in the
middle of the slum. Duh. There was no big
mystery there. Ned the noodle eater? He is in
the noodle shop. And they all came.

They came and they offered him his own tv

shows, and YouTube channels, and to go on
tour all over the country, and be the guest in
grand openings of restaurants and food stalls,
they came with offers that he could not refuse,
and he didn’t.

He signed every paper that was put in front of

him, every contract and agreement, he shook

343
every hand and smiled at every empty hollow
businessman who walked into the noodle shop.

Obviously, some of the contracts he signed

went against the other ones he signed
yesterday, exclusivity deals, same dates and
other contradicting details. He didn’t care. He
always insisted on being paid in cash, in
advance. And the most important? He always
made sure to get paid, but a little. He was never
greedy. Why is that important? Well, He took
anything he could get, but never asked for too
much, keeping in mind that if the sum was
small, there would be no reason to make any
problems when the deal did not go through.

He was not trying to cheat anyone, but by not

really respecting most of the deals, he made a
nice living without actually doing much, not
even eating noodles.

He knew the people who threw money at him

were not good people, so he had no moral
problem in stiffing them up and, well, yes, you
might even call it cheating, a bit.

he got envelopes with cash, and he got free

products, food products, cooking and kitchen
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ware, clothes, he even got a motorcycle from
some trendy food truck who wanted him to
ride around with the logo nicely displayed. His
niece enjoyed the bike. He preferred to walk.

And now here he was, slouched, broken, a shell

of a man.

“I have been to the doctor, they did all these

tests, nothing. Healthy as a horse. I just lost my
appetite. What will I do? what will I do, guru?
What will I do?”

Guru felt for him. It really was a problem. Well,

for someone like Ned. He though to himself
that he, the guru, could actually benefit for a
spell of losing his appetite as lately his shirts
are starting to be a little tight, and he starts to
be rounder around the edges, but for Ned, for
someone like Ned, yes, that could be a real
problem.

“oK, let’s try to think about it. Are you sure you
don’t know what happened? What caused it?
Did something happen to you? something
changed?”

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Ned looked at him for a minute, thinking. He
was not really good at it. It was not his thing.
He knew people who were good at it, you
know, thinking, but he was good at eating
noodles. He left the thinking to other people;
this is why he is here talking to guru.

“Well, I don’t think so, well, I don’t know.

Other than my new girlfriend my life is almost
the same”

Oh, now we are starting to get somewhere.

Guru’s face lit up.

“New girlfriend?”

“yes” answered Ned with a smile, “you know

Ketika, the butcher’s daughter?”

Guru new Ketika, she was a chubby little thing,

always smiling, always happy. not the prettiest
girl in town, or in the neighborhood, or even
the street but she definitely had something very
cute about her.

“We have been together for a couple of weeks

now, she is nice. I like her. She is very nice. I
think we will get married soon”

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Guru laughed.

“ok, ok, so this is it. You are just in love. It will

pass.”

Ned face lit up. “realy? You think so? It will

pass? In love you say?”

Guru nodded “don’t worry, you are in love. It’s

like a bug. Like the flu, it will pass in a couple
of weeks, maybe a couple of months tops.”

Ned was relieved, his shoulders straightened

and even a little color came back to his face.
Guru laughed again.

“don’t worry, It is natural. It is the first phase,

you lose your appetite when you find someone
you love, someone to get married to, and then it
balances out.”

Ned looked perplexed.

“balanced out? What do you mean?”

Guru breathed in, sat comfortably and started

to explain. He lliked explaining things. As a
guru part of his job was explaining things to
people, and it was his favorite part of the job.
Well, actually getting food from the people who
347
came for advice was his favorite part of the job,
but explaining things was a close second.

“you know khun fai? Mister fai?”

Ned nodded “you mean fat fai, right?”

Guru laughed again. “yes, fat fai. You know he

was not always fat, right? When he was young
he was actually the captain of the slum football
team. He was thin and handsome. Then he fell
in love. Like you he lost his appetite.”

Ned’s eyes opened up. “and it balanced out?

He got better?”

Guru smiled. “I don’t know if you can say he

got better, but it definitely balanced out. You
see..”he breathed in with a dramatic pause”
what happens is that when you are first in love
you are happy, and being happy fills you up,
you don’t need food”

Ned looked lost, the concept of not needing

food seemed incredible to him, unreal.

“yes, yes, even you, Ned, even you” guru said.

“even for someone like you, it is the same. You

fall in love and you lose your appetite, you are
348
full by this love, not by noodles. But….” And
here he gave a big grin before going on” soon
enough this falling in love stops and you are
married, and your wife nags you, and annoys
you, and you have to start being tidy and put
your clothes away and not just throw them on
the chair near the bed, and you have to do the
dishes, and chew with your mouth closed, and
go visit her mother on Sundays…. Soon that
hole in you comes back, and you get your
appetite back. Trust me, it is just a matter of
time.”

Ned looked happy. really happy. it was

Christmas in April.

“are you sure, guru? Are you sure?”

guru nodded.

“Trust me. You are happy now. It will pass

once you get married, and then everything will
be already. See, fat fai? He got married. Now he
looks like humpty dumpty. This is how it
works. I am telling you it will be ok. You know
the saying – why are married guys fatter than
single ones? A single guy comes home, sees
what’s in the fridge and goes to bed, a married

349
guy comes home, sees what’s in the bed and
goes to the fridge.”

Ned seemed visibly relaxed. He knew it was a

good idea to come to the guru. He knew it.

He thanked him and wai-ed a couple of times

and left with a hint of a smile, a start of a smile.
A happy smile. Yes, he was happy. he was now
really happy. but he knew it would be ok. It
would pass soon enough!

350
Magic Shampoo

“Guru, do you have a minute?”

At the door was Simon. The baker. He used to

be a butcher but he doesn’t really like meat, he
does like sweet buns, so he became a baker. He
had a good life, doing what he likes. He liked
baked goods, and good music, and pretty
lamps, especially candles. In fact, his dream
was one day to open a small candlesticks
factory.

Simon was a nice guy. Really. One of those

people you look at and say, yeah, he is a nice
guy. A normal guy. A nice normal guy. He was
not the best baker, or the most hardworking
one, he was not the best businessman, and his
shop was more closed then open, he was not
even a significant part of the community, he
was as average as can be. In a good way. And
he had a good life. In a good way.

There was just one fly in his ointment, his hair.

Or to be more accurate, the lack off. He started
losing his hair in his late twenties and by now,
351
in his forties, he was, well, you know those
people who don’t really have any hair to speak
of, but don’t want to shave it all and get that
slightly too trendy shiny look? So, it ends up
like they have some kind of furry rash on their
head. It was not a pretty sight.

And it disturbed him. A lot. He spent a large

part of his income on all these snake oil
remedies and procedures to make your hair
grow. Electrodes stimulating your scalp, special
herbal shampoo from China, a plastic shower
cap full of some stinking lotion, that he slept in
for a week. When he walked to the bakery cats
and dogs start whining and ran away.

He tried them all. Even going directly to the

famous forest monk up north and paying a lot
of money for hair bringing blessings.

“Guru, I am stupid.”

Guru did not disagree. He just sat there

waiting.

“Guru, you know my hair problem, right?

Everybody knows. Everybody laughs at me, I
know.”

352
Again, guru did not disagree. He did think that
if Simon would shave his head it would solve
the problem, but he was smarter than trying to
say anything about it.

“I always buy those medicines and shit. It’s like

an obsession. I cannot see an advertising for
some new hair growing trick and not get it. I
cannot. I don’t sleep at night when I know that
somewhere out there, is the key to my
happiness. Somewhere out there is the help I
need.”

He looked depressed. Really depressed.

Admitting he had a problem, and saying it out
loud made him feel both ashamed and proud in
the same time, but it definitely made him sad.

“But this time I got in too deep. Some bastard

cheated me. It was a business deal. New hair
cream. It worked for him. He was bold and
now he has full head of hair. Full head I tell
you! and it happened in three weeks.”

Guru stopped him, raising a hand.

“So, in three weeks he went from completely

bold to having hair?”

353
“Yes, yes, I tell you, it was a miracle. I saw it.
Not long hair of course, It was just three weeks.
But it was a full head of hair.”

Guru raised his hand again.

“Simon. If I shave my head today, I will be

completely bold, right?”

“Right, of course” said Simon

“and Simon, if I wait three weeks my hair will

grow back right?”

“riiiiiiight…” said Simon, starting to see where

this is going. Well, actually he didn’t really see
where this was going, he just didn’t like the
feeling he had about where it is going.

“so, in three weeks I will go from complete

bold, to full head of hair”

“riiiiiiiight…” Simon said once more.

“Just like your partner”

“riiiiiiiiight… guru, I told, you I am stupid. I

just can’t think straight when I see these hair
growth solutions, I can’t help it. Some people

354
lose their head over women, some over drugs
or drinks, this, this is my disease.”

“How much did you lose?” asked guru.

“Everything, I ordered twenty big boxes of the

magic shampoo, twelve bottles in each. I
borrowed money for the advance payment
because there was a discount. It was a very
good deal. A very good deal. And in three
weeks his hair grew. He was bold and it grew”

“He was not bald; he shaved his head.”

“Right, right, of course, I am so stupid.”

Guru sighed.

“The worst thing? You have to smell that shit. It

is like a million-year zombie ghost took a dump
in some garlic fermented fish paste and bottled
it up for sale. It is beyond horrible. I can’t even
look at the boxes without gagging a little, dry
heaving.”

Guru sat back in his throne. He asked Dog to

make some tea. There is work to do.

“So, Simon, tell me about this business partner

of yours, everything you can think of, what
355
brand shoes he wears, what car he drives, what
kind of cigarettes he smokes, what accent he
has, anything that you can think of, anything.”

Two hours later, as Simon bowed and thanked

guru, while rushing out back to his store, guru
was giving instructions to Xian and Dog. He
had a plan. Well, sort of a plan. An idea. Yes, an
idea more than a plan.

He was never a big fan of plans anyway; they

rarely ever work out in the end. Ideas are
better, more flexible, more open, ideas are a
starting point, and from there everything is
possible. Well, almost everything. Most things.
A lot more things than we would think are
possible. That is something he learnt on his way
to being a guru, the guru. People just don’t
believe enough. In general. And when they do
it is in the wrong things, but it is really all about
faith and belief, and what you can do is a lot
about what you believe you can do.

And he had an idea.

Dog came back with his five friends, and two

plastic bags from the convenience store. He
poured their content on the table. Scissors,
356
shaving cream and razors. Guru smiled at him
and they started. Soon enough the five friends
were bold as can be, bolder than a bold eagle,
shinier than an egg. It was beautiful.

Dog went out again and came back with Simon.

Guru went upstairs to the bedroom and came
back with a light blue dinner jacket. A nice one.
A little old fashioned, but still fancy. He
handed it to Simon.

Dog took out his phone, and the photoshoot

began. Five pictures, of Simon in his jacket
smiling and raising a thumb, and a bald guy
standing next to him, making a very sad face.
Good, good. That was perfect.

Simon was sent back home to wait for further

instructions, and Dogs friends were paid for
their time and their hair and were told to come
back in exactly three weeks for the second part
of the job, and there will also be a bonus then.

When they came back, their hair was just the

right length. Well, hair sprouts. Tiny hairs, like
you would expect from three weeks of growth
of normal hair.

357
They took some photos of the new hair and the
clients smiling and glowing with delight.

Dog took the pictures home and fixed them up

nice on his computer. He added some titles and
text. Something simple. Like “wow” and
“amazing” and his favorite was “science
miracle!”
he printed all of them and it was time to begin.

Simon came to the palace to make the call.

Guru coached him for an hour and when he
was ready, he took the phone and dialed.

“hi, listen, I need more merchandise. Yes, yes, I

sold everything. It is amazing. I need two
hundred more bottles by Friday!!! And then
two hundred more next week… you know, in
the beginning I didn’t believe you, but man, the
clients are so happy! their head is full of hair, it
is really a science miracle!!!”

The supplier sounded shocked, as expected, but

Simon was such a good actor, and had such
enthusiastic energy, that it was contagious.
Simon invited him to come over the next day to
see the photos and the new marketing and
advertising campaign he did. “I got the best
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photographer and the designers are amazing, it
looks like an international shampoo
commercial, I am telling you, we are going to be
so rich!!! You bring the stuff; I will market it.
We will buy a villa in three months!”

The next day, wearing the blue jacket guru

loaned him, Simon met with the scam artist,
who was still suspicious, in the coffee shop just
outside the slum. You know, that chain coffee
shop in the small old mall over there. It was a
quiet place.

When the guy arrived, Simon was there, sitting

with Xian. For this occasion, Xian borrowed a
suit from his cousin who works in one of the
big hotels in town, and guru gave him a very
expensive pair of sunglasses and a handful of
his strongest after shave.

He looked brilliant. In all senses. Shiny and

brilliant, and he smelled expensive and all.

The scammer seemed a bit worried when he

saw him, but Xian gave him a big smile and
shook his hand so enthusiastically, he calmed
down even before they sat down.

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The before and after photos were spread on the
table, with the marketing slogans printed in big
fonts and bold colors. They looked great, they
looked Fabolous, they looked like real
advertising shots, like serious advertising shots.
Dog did a really good job.

“So, you are the genius behind this miracle”

Xian said, with a foreign accent. Well, with
some kind of accent. He was not much of an
actor but he did try, and it sounded, well,
foreign. Ok, maybe not exactly foreign but it
did sound strange enough to be considered
foreign.
“yes, yes, my invention. Yes” the scammer
smiled back.

“good good. Very good. So, you will get ten

percent of the sales. Ok darling? When can we
deliver your miracle? Yes? Tomorrow? Yes? We
make money. We happy. you get ten percent.”

Now the scammer was confused. “ten percent.

No, that is not how it works, you pay in
advance, or I get at least fifty percent!”

“fifty percent!” Xian laughed “ Simon, your

little friend is crazy. Oh, my god. He is funny.
360
Fifty percent. Why? You put money for
advertising? You pay model? You pay
magazine? Eh? Yes? You buy big bill board in
center of town? Yes? You? who is you? funny
guy”

Simon choked a little. He was terrified but also

tried not to laugh. This was a great show. A
ridiculous stupid show, but it was a great one
indeed.

Xian stood up.

“Simon, darling. Baby, when you get good

supplier, you call me, yes? You get normal man,
you call me, yes? Yes? Ok? I don’t waste time. I
go now”

The scammer stood up too.

He was not sure what was happening or why

he stood up, but he felt like he had to do
something, anything.

“Wait. No. sit. Sit. Please. We can talk.”

The hook was in. from now on it was easy.

Twenty minutes later they shook hands and

agreed that they will all go in with equal parts,
361
a third of the business each, and each one will
invest a sum of money to pay for advertising
and branding and billboards and all the
expenses involved.

If it works it works, I mean the pictures, look at

the pictures, the scammer thought to himself as
his brain was making calculations of sales and
profits. I don’t know how it works, but it
works, I mean, look, you can see it works.

They settled on a meeting next day, in the same

place.

The scammer was still a bit confused, not sure

what happened, or what is going to happen
next, but he thought to himself – well, it is what
it is. It works. if it works it works, who knows,
maybe I did stumble on something good by
mistake, and anyway, what does it matter? If
these idiots want to put more money in it, that
is just pure profit for me, isn’t it? Even just the
advertising budget, that is enough, then he can
let them go.

He went home feeling good. Feeling optimistic.

He was whistling to himself as he opened his

362
home safe and took out a thick cash roll, held
with a thick rubber band.

He only had eight boxes of the “magic”

shampoo, but thought to himself that this
should be enough until he can make some
more. He smiled as he loaded them in the trunk
of his car.

It was a good day, and tomorrow will be even

better. That night he slept like a baby, and in
the morning, he went to his favorite coffee shop
and ordered a big full breakfast. It was time to
indulge, to spoil himself, he was going to be
rich soon anyway, and he might as well get
used to the lifestyle.

He got to the meeting point early, he was

excited and couldn’t wait. Lucky enough, Xian
and Simon were already there. Well, they were
there for an hour already, as they had some
things to prepare, and they were not alone.
Xian brought four of his friends, friends from
the days he ran that martial arts gym. Big
friends. Skilled friends. Friends who did not
like scammers and really liked helping other
friends.

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The scammer was still whistling to himself as
he got out of his car, but that was a very short
whistle. It is hard to whistle when someone is
hitting you in the gut and puts an old empty
rice bag on your head.

It only took thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes of pure joy. Pure bliss.

Thirty minutes after the scammer got to the

meeting point, he woke up. He woke up naked.
Covered with his nasty shampoo, puking on
himself from the horrid smell, in his car, that
was beat up with crowbars and baseball bats,
and was parked outside the local police station,
all four wheels missing, and standing on blocks.

It was amazing how much shampoo you can

pour inside a car, and the guys mixed it up with
some used frying oil from the local Chinese
restaurant just to make it stickier and fun. The
screams of the scammer as he was vomiting on
himself and trying to open the locked car door
were bringing out the policemen from the
station, and a small crowd was starting to form.

364
Simon was there, standing on the other side of
street. His phone in hand, making a video of
the scene, as the sun shone brightly on his
beautiful bald head.

365
Teachers Pet

There are teachers and there are teachers. I

mean, there are teachers who are teachers by
profession and there were teachers who are
teachers by fate. Or maybe the profession was
their fate. You know, the teachers who are so
much more than teachers, that inspire, that
really help and push, that are there for a reason,
and that reason, that only reason is the
students, the pupils, the children.

There are not many teachers in the slum, it is

not a place of knowledge, it is not a place of
learning, it is a place of survival, of getting by,
of keeping your head above the water.
Education is a luxury. It is something that is for
serious people, for normal people, for other
people.

Everybody knows that education is the key to

success, to a better life, but if you are in the
slum, if you are from the slum, if you are the
slum, you have the slum DNA in your body,
you don’t really think that much about success,
366
and you don’t even bother to dream of a better
life.

I mean, everybody does, at one point or

another, this is how we humans are built, we
always try to advance, we try to build better
things, better realities, a better future, but when
you get kicked in the head enough times, when
the world has slapped you around a bit, when
reality spits in your face on a regular basis,
well, you dream less. You dream smaller. You
dream to finish the week. The month. You
dream of paying your bills. You dream of
maybe getting a new pair of shoes for your son
before he starts the new school year. You dream
of things that are attainable, that are realistic.

There are not many teachers in the slums, but

the ones who are there, the ones who grew up
there, who made a life there, who decided to
stay there, well, they were usually special.

You don’t choose to work harder than anyone

around you, while getting paid less than
everyone around you, still struggling to pay
your own bills, while trying to help others, if
you are not special.

367
Some people call that stupid. Some people call
that delusional, some people call it insane, but
in the end of the day, that is how you describe
special. And the slum teachers, the people who
decided to pull the children in the slum
upward, forward, into a modern world, a world
of data and knowledge, of research and of
learning, those people, well, they are without a
doubt special.

And he was special. Really special. After they

built him, they broke the mold. I know it is a
cliché, but sometimes the world is made of
cliches, some of the best bricks that make our
reality are cliches’. Sometimes we are cliches.
There is nothing wrong with it. It just means we
found something that works, that worked
before, and that will probably work again.
There is a reason why clichés are cliches, why
they become cliches, there is a reason why they
stood the test of time, of cultures, they have
street cred.

A good cliché is just the most efficient way to

say something. The easiest fastest way. It is like
a code, like a name. it has been said before and
will be said again, we have the way to say it, so
368
why not use it? Just for the sake of being
original at all cost?

It was a cliché, and he was a cliché. And his

wife was a cliché too, the cliché of the teacher’s
wife coming in with the hot tea, making sure
the study is clean, that the kids don’t play ball
outside and disturb the work, that takes care of
the children that come, straighten their collar,
tidy their hair, make sure they ate something
today, that they are ok. Yes, she was a cliché
too, a wonderful cliché.

He retired so long ago that most of the parents

of the kids he teaches now were students in his
retirement ceremony. It was a nice one. The
vice governor came to congratulate him. Well,
he sent his assistant, but he brought the official
blessing of the vice governor. And some really
nice flowers.

He retired so long ago that he could have

almost retired again soon from his current job
of volunteering to be the official teacher and
tutor of the slum. But by the looks of it, he was
not going to retire from this retirement job
soon. He looked half dead already, but that

369
other half, well, that was held together by pure
belief, by optimism, determination, by being
delightfully delusional it spread around and
made everyone around him smile. A
momentary detachment from reality as we
know it, as we see it, as we are stuck with it, a
momentary ray of light in the, well, not even
darkness, just muckiness. In the dirt that is our
lives. A ray of hope. A wonderful cliché.

He was a role model and he knew it, and he

lived up to it. At ninety and something he
would wake up every day at five o’clock, took
an old broom and went outside to clean the
sidewalk in front of their house. Well, the sandy
patch of road where a sidewalk should have
been, if this wasn’t a slum.

Then he would take a green hose and slowly

and careful water all the pots of beautiful plants
along the wall, pots over pots that his wife used
to prune and clean and take care of. Beautiful
flowers in the midst of a sea of large leaves,
colorful and healthy, fresh and fragrant. There
were at least twenty of these pots, stacked on
shelves to make it look like they were part of
the actual wall, an organic part of the house.
370
Then his wife would bring outside two bowls of
rice soup, with some pork in it, and they would
both sit outside, surrounded by the plants and
eat their breakfast, while watching the street
slowly wake up.

The first students would only arrive at seven, to

get a quick lesson before the school bus comes,
going over their homework, preparing for the
new day to come, getting in the right mindset
to learn, to better themselves, and they still had
some time. A nice cup of tea to help the
digestion, and his wife would take the two
small stools back inside, and would open all the
curtains, letting the sun and air come in, to
refresh the old room, before they come.

After school, there was a group of children who

came by to do their homework together, to help
each other, to study in a place that is quiet and
comfortable before they go back to their own
homes, homes which were usually noisy and
small and full of other people and noise. This
was their haven for a couple of hours after the
school day was finished.

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He would stand by the door waiting. There was
a big mirror by the door, he liked to check his
appearance when he was going out. A large
mirror which was so old the reflection inside it
looked almost magical, the glass was so worn
from cleaning and the silver back was
crumbling off, which gave the reflection an
almost magical quality, it was cloudy and deep
and, well, looked old. An old reflection of an
old man in an old mirror, living an old life in an
old house in an old slum in an old world.

He fixed his eyebrows. Tucked them in. it was

time to cut them again. Maybe tomorrow
morning. He had impressive eyebrows. And
when I say impressive, I mean huge. It was like
his eyebrows had a face around them. They
were bushy and long and wild, with black hair
and grey hair and the occasional white hair
which for some reason grew faster than the rest
and was protruding out of the hairy consensus.
He had to trim those once a week at least. They
were out of control. He always had big
eyebrows and that was part of this schtick as a
teacher, these were scary eyebrows. Hiding
eyes of fire, lit with passion and belief, these

372
eyebrows were his trademark, his mask, his
uniform.

He was a gentle man but I am sure there are a

lot of his ex-students who still have nightmare
of these eyebrows. They were potential
traumatic, without any doubt.

He tucked in a couple of renegade rebel hairs.

Checked there was nothing stuck between his
teeth from breakfast, and waited.

It was quiet. The quiet before the storm. It was

a nice storm. It was a polite storm. It was a
positive storm, but no matter how you look at
it, having a dozen small kids coming over is
always a storm. Just the amount of collected
energy, the electric potential in the air. That was
enough to spark the universe into a learning
frenzy.

Guru was on his way back to the palace from

one of his rounds, a long walk he used to do
every couple of days, for exercise but also to see
what was going on, who was doing what, what
has changed, what stayed the same. You know,
keeping his finger on the pulse of the slum.

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He stopped by the open door and smiled.

The teacher looked at him, with a serious face,

frowning his eyebrows in a menacing way
looking down at him.

“did you come to do your homework?”

guru laughed. “not today, teacher”

“aaaaaaaaaaaay… you were always a lazy bum

you! God knows how you became a guru” the
teacher said in a low bariton thundering voice.

And then he could not hold that face any more,

and started to laugh.

They hugged for a long moment.

“Everything all right? Do you need anything?

Anything I can do?”
the teacher smiled.

“No, darling, I am fine, we are fine. We got

some really good chicken yesterday and we will
grill it for dinner. Good chicken, soft meat, you
know, for old teeth.”

“if there is anything, just let me know, ok?

Don’t be shy. I know you, stubborn like a
mule… don’t be stupid, anything you need, just
374
let me know. Give me a call. Ok?”
“ok ok…” the teacher brushed him off “ like we
need anything. Pfff… we are ok. Go away, you
will scare the kids!” he winked.

They hugged again and guru went on his way.

He really loved that teacher.

He loved a lot of people in the slums, which

made his job as the local guru easier, but there
was something special about the old people
here, some charm, some deep worldly energy,
they survived a lot, they have seen a lot, they
have done a lot. He had respect for them.

He loved the children too. But in another way.

In an optimistic, potential way. It was different.
The old ones earned his love. It was more than
just your basic unconditional love of a local
garbage guru to his flock, it was their prize,
their reward, they earnt it. Kids got that love for
free, just because of some promise of the future.

He smiled to himself as he thought about it.

This is one of the things he liked about these
long walks, it was his time to think.

375
Think about everything, think about anything.
And now he was extra happy, because he was
thinking of love, of his love, of their love, of his
love for the old, and his love for the kids.

Yes, that special love for the old and the kids.
Yes. Ahm. Yes. It was just all those in the
middle that pissed him off occasionally and
made his role his eyes in despair. Just the ones
in the middle…

376
Unliked
Paisan was globally and genuinely unliked by
people. Unliked. Not hated or something like
that, no, unliked is not being hated. Being
Hated is easy. Anyone can be hated and you
can hate anyone. It is simple. Unliked is tricky,
it is almost a talent. It is a delicate thing, that
requires equilibrium and harmony, well,
disharmony more probably, but something in
that area.

We know people we like. We feel it, sometimes

immediately, like at first sight, sometimes it
comes later, creeps up on us, but we know it
when it happens. And some people, well, we
have no response to, they are not relevant, they
are a backdrop, we don’t like them, but we
have nothing against them either. Not here nor
there. Not useful and not harmful, not black or
white, just grey.

And then there are the people we dislike. That

make out skin crawl, that make us cringe, and
swallow our spit loudly, and sigh. There are
levels of dislike, and many reasons why we

377
dislike someone. Could be their behavior, could
be their attitude, could be what they actually
do, and could be, well, sometimes you don’t
need a reason to dislike someone. You just do.
and that is that. And that is ok. It is kind of an
ancient defense mechanism, an automatic
response to someone.

And he was the holy grail of not being liked, he

was the hidden fountain of not being liked, the
source, the black hole that sucks everything that
is likeable and leaves just the empty shell of the
poor guy behind, being unliked, being treated
bad, being persecuted. Well, ok, maybe not
persecuted, but when people don’t like you,
well, that is not nice, and your life is not nice. It
is not a good life.

He was unlikeable. He really was. But it was

really subtle. He was not a real asshole, he was
not too mean, he was not abusive, he was not
even too annoying, and there were a lot of
really annoying people around. No, he was just
the architype of the “I don’t know, there is just
something about this guy that rubs me the
wrong way”.

378
And he knew it. That was the strange part. He
knew people didn’t like him. And yet he still
came over, he still started conversations, he was
nice to people. People were not nice to him, but
he was nice to them. He thought to himself, the
interaction is the prize, and it is ok if no one
really likes him, it is not too bad.

Being unliked was not that bad, all things

considered, and he indeed consider all things.
All relevant things that is, all things that
mattered. And all things considered, being
unliked was much better than, I don’t know,
being annoying, I mean really annoying, drill in
your ear and dig under your skin annoying.
Being unliked was better than, let’s see, having
a really bad breath. You know, that stench of
death that comes with obliviously not being
aware of it and insisting of whispering
something in your face.

The strange thing was that two years ago,

Paisan got married, and not only married but to
a lovely beautiful smart woman, a nurse, a
good woman, a remarkably good woman.

379
It was not one of these things that were
obviously strange, like, I don’t know, a bird
sitting on a cats head, like you see in those
videos on the internet, but it was, how shall I
put it, unnervingly unusual. It seemed like a
mistake. I am not saying that she made a
mistake, I would not be that mean, but it seems
like the universe made a mistake. Something
went wrong in the karmic process, in the
choosing of mates. The universe got confused,
or maybe distracted by something. Probably
one of those internet videos of a bird sitting on
a cat’s head.

She really was a nice lady. A decent lady. A

good lady. And guru always had a soft spot for
nurses, because his mother was one, his role
model, the center of his ideological identity.

And she was always friendly, friendly to him,

friendly to everybody. A lot of nurses grow
bitter with the years, but she never did, she
always had a smile, a kind word, a warm touch.
She was a real nurse, someone who can make
you feel better. On every level. To nurse you
into good health, better health, perfect health,
both physically and mentally.
380
And what was she doing married to him? One
of those mysteries of the world.

Guru loved mysteries, but more than all he

loved solving mysteries. And one day the
occasion rose to solve this one.

It was a couple of months ago. He was not

careful and scraped his leg on some metal hatch
of one of the old crates in the palace. An old
wooden box that was laying there for ages,
probably before he even bought the place as a
young guru.

And it got infected. A nasty infection. He hated

hospitals but was forced to go there when his
leg started to throb and change colors. A couple
of injections later and he was back home, but
needed to have his bandages replaced every
day, so was making regular visits to her small
clinic, for a quick visit, a new bandage and a
cup of coffee.

He brough the good coffee. The one from that

fancy new coffee machine he bought to the
corner store. And she always had cookies.

381
Star shaped sugar-coated cookies. I think they
came with the medical supplies. Cookies are
very helpful in making people feel better.

One day, after his bandage was changed, as

they were sipping on the coffee and biting
small pieces of sugary stars, he looked at her
and could not hold it any more.

“i…eh… I don’t know how to ask it, I mean, I

don’t want to be rude or anything, but it is
wrecking my mind. Tell me, how can a lovely
lady, a wonderful lady like you, be married to
such a guy. Such a guy that well, most people,
you know, a lot of people, well, eh, don’t really
like”

She looked at him for a second, looking almost

insulted, and then started to laugh.

“you people are so funny. You don’t

understand anything.”

She sipped from her cup and sat back, looking

relaxed, and still smiling she continued.

“you think I don’t know people don’t like him?

I am not stupid, I am not blind. And don’t start

382
with ‘eh ahm, some people, you know eh ahm’”
she laughed as she mimics gurus voice.

“I know, I know, all people, everybody, they

don’t like him. I know. But tell me, do you have
a reason? Is he bad? Is he stupid? Is he mean?
Did he steal from someone? Hit someone? No.
people just don’t like him. They don’t see what
I see. “she paused for a second ”You just don’t
‘get it’ do you…”

Guru started to smile again. She really was a

nurse, the epitome of kindness, I guess.

“and you people don’t understand how the

world works”

She finished her star and brushed some sugar

flakes off her dress.

“People who are naturally liked, don’t need to

try hard. They are liked, they have charm, they
can do what they want, they can get away with
murder. People who are not naturally liked,
well, they work at it, they make an effort to be
nicer, to be kinder, to be smarter.

383
They are disadvantaged and have to put more
energy in succeeding, in being part of society.
And paisan? He is the perfect example.”

She stood up and started washing the cookie

plate in the small sink.

“Yeah, you don’t ‘get it’. he is the most

considerate husband you could ask for. He
helps with the house work, he provides
everything we need, he comes back home
straight from work, sometimes bringing
flowers, sometimes a treat, we cook together,
we watch tv and go for walks together, he
listens to me, we share a very good life.”

Guru smile got bigger. He was starting to get it,

and it felt good. It felt good because he learnt
something, a lesson, he learnt something that
made him feel good, feel better, feel like a better
person.

“you see” she continued “ it is like they say,

that men with, ahm, how would you say it, men
who are not endowed with, you know, big
measurements, down there, well, they make the
best lovers. Because they try more. They have
to try more. Well, paisarn, he is like that,
384
because people don’t like him, well, at home, he
always try more.”

She opened the door and guru stepped into the

light outside, still smiling, wai-ing to her with
gratitude and affection.

“And by the way” she whispered and winked

to him. “Speaking of which… paisarn? Hung
like a horse”

They both laughed as she closed the door.

Guru squinted his eyes for a couple of seconds,

still getting used to the sun, and then, still
smiling, walked back to the palace, thinking to
himself how lucky he was to have these kind of
friends and acquaintances who keep reminding
him how stupid he was, how little he really
understood the world around him, and how
wonderful life can be, if you just make an effort
to, well, “get it”.

385
Not Single malt

Guru did not like drinking. He especially

disapproved of drunks, you know, full time
drunks, but even social drinking was not really
his thing. Drinking is for birthdays and
weddings and funerals. That’s it. And new
year’s day. That’s it.

And if there are special guests of course, it

would be impolite not to offer something. He
had a bottle of single malt whisky for that.
Really nice whisky. Expensive too.

So yeah, sometimes you need a drink to

celebrate, but on rare occasions, on special
occasions. And he saw too many drunks in his
life, too many lived destroyed because of
drinking. More than drugs.

Or at least it seemed that way, because drinking

was more common, it was really everywhere.
Drugs still had bad connotations, and you were
never really part of society when you were
using and abusing drugs. Drugs was a disease,

386
drinking was just bad judgment, in his eyes at
least.

He did like that single malt whisky. Clean. In a

square glass. A whisky glass. He had six of
them. Oh, sorry, five of them. One broke. What?
Four of them. Seems two broke. Sorry? Oh, and
one has a crack. He had three of them. Real
whisky glasses. He was proud of them. It is not
that they were especially expensive or anything
like that, it is just that they looked cool, they
looked like whisky glasses. Real whisky glasses.

If you already drink real whisky, you might as

well drink it in real whisky glasses. You can’t
drink it from a coffee cup for example, we are
not barbarians. You also can’t drink it from that
Fanta glass you got for free with the sodas. This
is expensive whisky. Serious whisky.

When he went to parties, and unfortunately, he

was invited to most parties in the slums, being
the garbage guru and all, he usually brought
with him a bottle of that single malt. Just so he
will have something to drink. He was not a
stuck-up snob or anything like that, but in this
case, he was not going to back down.

387
It’s the hangovers. Single malt hangovers are a
little better than normal hangovers. Well, at
least they are fancier, and at least you can think
that it might actually was worth it.

People who have single malt hangovers are

better than people who have cheap beer or rum
hangovers. This is the way it is. The way of the
world. Always have been, always will be.

It was a code. Old knights code. I mean, just

look at that beautiful Scottish emblem and
shield on the bottle. And it was single malt.
Pure. Pristine. Prestigious. Perfect.

He did get them in bulk, which meant he saved

a lot of money. Guru was not really a retail
price person. You don’t get to be a garbage
guru by paying premium. He made sure it was
always the real deal, and not some of those
cheap knockoffs you see around, but it was
always a case that fell of a truck, or some fire
sale, you know, when the shops sell everything
cheap before they set the store on fire for the
insurance.

He had quite a lot of them in his bedroom.

Quite a lot of bottles. All the same brand,
388
although one case, that is hidden under the bed,
behind a suitcase of dirty clothes, was labeled
twelve years old.

He was saving those for a special occasion. He

has not tried it yet. And he loved the suspense.
He really did not like drinking, but he liked the
special occasions, the reasons, the celebration,
and twelve-year-old single malt, well, that
would be some smooth celebration.

He got that bottle from his good friend, a

writer, a drinker. Or actually, an ex-drinker,
who had to get rid of his personal bar and, to
his great pleasure, chose guru to be the
recipient of the better bottles.

They say that only you can change yourself.

That you really have to be accountable to
anything that happens to you, because in the
end it is all your choices, your attitude, your
energy. You are the only one who can change
yourself, and you should never expect anyone
else to do it for you.

Only you can do it, and that is a good thing. It

means you don’t have excuses; you really have
to make a choice to change yourself, and work
389
on in. from the inside. No external force will do
it for you.

Well, ok, sometimes there are some external

forces that we cannot ignore, sometimes we do
have to admit that those outside forces, those
experiences, those incidents, can and will
change us, or at least start a change in us that
we will need to continue.

Sometimes these things are subtle, a sign that

might be missed, a calling, a slight push in the
right direction, a small pull in the right way,
and sometimes they are a bizarre gardening
accident cutting your Achilles tendon with one
of those string grass mowers. Not so subtle, but
very very effective.

This is how a book worm is born. He was nine

when it happened. By the time he was twelve
he did not even have a limp any more, but
these two years being stuck in bed, well, the
damage was done, the addiction to books was
already part of who he was, who he was
becoming. He was up to his eyeballs with
stories and heroes, with fables and mysteries,
with history and futuristic science fiction, and

390
he loved it. He was drowning in the new
possibilities out there, all those books, all those
wonderful adventures and beautiful details, all
that knowledge and knee bending dramas,
laughs and lessons, tears and triumphs.

Yes, this is the origin story of this book worm,

how he got his super powers, the power to
read, and read and read some more, and get
more books and read some more, and go look
for new books, and read some more, and go
search for more new books and read some
more.

It was not a very exciting super power. Well, at

least to the naked eye. Sitting in a comfortable
chair with a cup of tea and reading a good book
is not really what makes adventure tales and
will not fill an hour and a half action movie.

But inside. Inside the book, inside his head,

inside his heart, the production was amazing,
no expenses spared, no cutting corners, no
marketing plans to follow, no, inside his head
the stories were perfectly displayed in the best
possible way.

391
It was the best Hollywood production that ever
existed. Or maybe Bollywood would be more
accurate, as it did have long dance scenes and
songs too. In his head he created a masterpiece.

Now, the real superpower, which he discovered

only later in life, was the reverse process, of
taking all that imagination, all those pieces of
inspiration from the hundreds of books he read,
and pushing them out into the world, giving
birth to something new, a new story, a new
book.

It was obviously a painful process, like every

birth, with a tremendous cost, both physical
and psychological, but it was a price he was
willing to pay. A price that was just a natural
thing for him, part of his life, or his destiny, his
fate, his growth, his development.

When the pain was too much to bare, he used

the usual method people often go for – drugs,
alcohol and food. A lot of food. Because of his
writing pains he got a, how shall I put it,
roundish form. More of a pear actually, with a
heavy bottom and thin chest with chopstick

392
arms, devoid of any muscles. You don’t need a
lot of muscles to hold a book, or a pen.

And he did have quite a drinking problem. Or

just a drinking habit. What is the difference? I
guess it is hard to tell. Maybe it is just a budget
thing, if you have enough money, and your job
is to read and write at home, maybe drinking is
not that much of a problem.

And he had money. Quite a lot of it actually. He

was very good at that writing game, inventing
people and scenes and stories, making up
worlds and describing them in detail, often
being witty and funny, but sometimes also dark
and brooding.

He was a good writer, and there is always work

for a good writer.

He met her in one of his book signings. It was

in a small local shop, as he was not really a
famous writer or anything like that, but he was
a published author, which is very respectable as
it was, and he did have quite a nice following,
fans who loved his books and admired him.

393
She was one of them. and indeed, she admired
his books. She was not a big fan of his drinking
or the fact he chose to still live in his old family
home on the edge of the slum, but she was so
enthralled by his fiction, that reality was not an
obstacle.

It was not love at first site, as he was not that

attractive, and much worse was a bit thick and
did not notice she was throwing herself at him
in every possible occasion. Or maybe it was just
a coping mechanism, maybe he really did not
believe anyone could be attracted to him, to
love him.

A lot of people seem to have that disease, and

more often than not they are actually the ones
worth loving.

It was a slow excruciating battle up hill, where

she advanced toe after hill pushing forward
despite his behavior and the fact, he ignored
her for almost a year.

A slow battle that she was determined to win,

and he was too weak and ignorant to what was
happening, to actually try and resist, not that he
really wanted to.
394
Two years into that one-sided relationship, a
relationship he was not even aware he was part
of, he found himself fifteen kilos less, with new
clothes and with a lot of high-quality booze in
his private bar that no one touched any more.

And one day the dime dropped. One day he

realized that he lost a battle he was not aware
of, and that it was the best thing that happened
to him. And that is when he did that final step
and took those fancy whiskey bottles to the
guru.

It was indeed a win win situation for all.

The only thing that remained from his old life,

other than his writing of course, was the old
family home in the slums. There is something
about slums, that is not only intoxicating, but is
part of the residents DNA, it was his place, and
even his new wife understood it, and to her
amazement, she actually learnt to enjoy it,
especially the neighbors and the community
sense.

So, he now got rid of his drinking problem, and

was very happy to be left with what some
would call a wife problem. It actually cost a lot
395
more than drinking, is slightly more addictive
and sometimes it is even less healthy than the
drinking one, but it does have its perks. And
boy did he love those perks.

He sipped his hot tea and smiled, looking at her

cutting vegetables for the morning breakfast
salad.

“Shall we go to the park today? It seems like a

nice sunny day outside” she said, her back still
turned to him. “I can make some sandwiches”.

Single malts are great, but not single

sandwiches in the park are better.

396
The game

Guru remembered when Bittle first arrived to

the slum.

It was many years ago, and he was a drunk

disturbed good for nothing young man.

That was the first impression he left, but as life

goes, as people grow and change, thirty years
later, here he is, in his full glory, standing in
front of him - a drunk disturbed good for
nothing old man.

Ok, so sometimes first impressions are a good

indicator of the future, and some things were
meant to be. some people were meant to be.

Bittle always liked to stay at least two or three

steps ahead in the game. He was never really
sure what the game was, but he knew it is
better to be ahead than behind. In the game.
Any game.

There must be some game here, there has to be

a game, and he has to be ahead. He asked
around if anyone knew what the game was,
397
and people just looked at him as if he was crazy
or stupid, or crazy and stupid. They did not
know of any game. What game? We are
working here, there is no time for games. Go
away.

He needed the game. Any kind of game. You

see, he had nothing else, he really needed some
game and to be ahead in that game.

Now, it was obvious that his game was not

chess. I would even say that it would not
checkers. Maybe tic tac toe, or something like
that. He was not the sharpest tool in the shed,
and trying to be a step ahead was a goal that
was not realistic, not for someone who spent
most of his life like a headless chicken
wandering around aimlessly.

There used to be that famous chicken who

would play tic tac toe, and occasionally even
win. He would probably lose to that chicken,
but he had to love the game. He just had to.

He was not bad, I have to give him that, there

was not a bad bone in his body, but he really
was good for nothing. You know what, even

398
nothing did not want him around. He was not
even good for nothing. Or anything.

And he was always there. Somehow. He was

always in the periphery of your vision, sitting
on the side curb of a street you walked down,
hanging around the convenience shop in the
hot day, enjoying the aircon as he aimlessly
looked at the shelves, never buying anything,
stumbling down an ally at night as you get back
from work.

He was not menacing or anything, and he was

not smelly and dirty like a bum, but he had that
unique quality of a soi dog, a slum dog, a
useless accessory that comes with the dirty
streets. Like a flower pot. Without a flower.

He was a peaceful drunk, a nice drunk. He was

always drunk, or at least always seemed drunk,
gave that specific drunk quality only
professional drunks have. He was not a violent
drunk, or a nuisance. No, you would not find
him passed out on the curve of the road or in
the middle of an alley, but he was often seen
leaning on things, you know, just to make sure
the world is still stable, he was holding on to

399
things, like a baby’s security blanket. Walls,
lamp posts, convenience store shelves, and
sometimes the occasional person. But only
people he knew, only people who knew him,
only people who accepted his arm in a
voluntary surrender.

Bittle was holding on to them, not only to keep

himself stable, but also to make sure they do
not run away, as he always had something very
important to tell them, and from his experience,
most people are stupid and will walk away in a
middle of a conversation, missing the amazing
pearls of wisdom he has to bestow on them.

And it was not only useless wisdom, you know,

abstract wisdom and smart sayings, no, it was
usually a brilliant business plan, a get rich
quick scheme, a novelty item that he thought of
and could make millions, a trick, a plot, a
maneuver. It was always the big next thing, or
at least the medium next thing that followed
the big next thing. Ok, sometimes it was the
rather small but still significant next thing that
will come after a few next things would come
and prepare the market, but it was always

400
brilliant, always original, always special. It was
not called the next thing for nothing.

The world is full of things, small and big, and

they come in a certain order. That order might
change once in a while, but there is always the
current thing and the next thing, and the next
big thing, and that was the thing to look for. If
you want to be a step ahead in the game that is,
and brittle wanted that more than anything in
the world. Any thing even the next big thing.

He was the first one to admit it was slightly

confusing and that it usually gave him a
headache when he thought about it too much.
All those things, the last, the current the next,
the big the small, the game, the steps, it was all
so confusing if you are not careful, if you dive
into that rabbit hole without remembering to tie
a rope to your waist, with the other side tied to
a table leg of something just as solid.

For Bittle alcohol was that rope. A little beer, a

little whiskey, a little rum, a little vodka, maybe
a brandy. It was not really that important, the
choice of what rope you use to tie yourself to
reality with.

401
Some people would think that drinking was the
opposite to tying yourself to reality, to securing
yourself to what is actually there, actually
happening, what exists, but they did not know
Bittle, and they did not know what it is like to
be him. No one knew, even he did not know,
but he knew how to survive, how to keep sane,
how to keep himself anchored just enough to be
alive, to continue to be alive, to function.

Ok, maybe he did not do anything more than

just functioning., but that was something too,
that was an accomplishment, and that kept him
in the game, and as long as he is in the game, he
can be one step ahead. For what? He did not
know. But as long as he was functioning, as
long as he was in the game, as long as he could
try to be one step ahead in the game, it was all
right.

Now, as no one, including him, actually knew

the rules of the game he could just suspect that
he was one step ahead in the game and it was a
good thing. And it was his thing. It was his
special talent. If only people would listen. If
only people would give him and his ideas the
respect they deserve, that he deserves, if only
402
they did not manage to run away no matter
how much he tried to hold them as he leaned
on them for a minute or two.

Bittle was sitting in front of guru, with a big

smile. But he did not say anything.

Guru was sitting in front of Bittle, with a

smaller smile, but still a smile, but he did not
say anything either. He waited. He knew it
would come. He knew something would come.
Some incoherent drunk rant. It was not his first
conversation with brittle. It was not the first
time he heard the game and step talk, the thing
talk.

He waited. It was a slow day, and it was too hot

to go outside anyway, so he might as well be
entertained by Bittle and his nonsense.

“I found it” he finally said.

“I see” said guru with a thoughtful and serious

face. “I see”.

“No, I mean it. This time I really found it” Bittle

insisted.

403
“I see, I really see” said guru, still keeping that
serious face.

“you don’t believe me” Bittle smile vanished

for a second but then came back, and it not only
came back, it grew bigger “but that is ok. I can’t
blame you. I know, I know, this is not the first
time I come to you, not the first time, not the
first, not the second, I know. It is ok. I know
who I am, I know what I am, I understand.”

Guru was slightly taken aback. He did not

expect that. He didn’t expect such honesty and
being so coherent and straightforward. He
didn’t expect Bittle to be so self-aware.
Normally he was not aware of much, not even
where he was, so seeing him being so self-
aware was strange, almost unnatural, it was,
well, wrong.

“I have found it. I have found the reason. I

know what it is all about”

Ok, now guru felt better. Bittle was delusional

as always, just in a different mode, in a
different phase, with a different look. He was
still the crazy old drunk Bittle talking nonsense
and trying to get ahead in some game, some
404
made-up game, some imaginary game only he
understood.

“I am not drunk” Bittle said “I am not. For the

first time in many years. Really, I am not
drunk”

Guru leaned forward towards him.

Bittle smiled, opened his mouth and breathed

in guru’s face.

Man, that was foul, that was stinking as hell,

but guru had to admit to himself, that did not
smell of alcohol. He managed to conceal a small
dry heaving and leaned back again.

“I see. Good for you, Bittle, good for you”

Bittle looked him straight in the eyes and

whispered.
“I have seen it. I know. I don’t need to drink
any more. I know”

Guru waited. He was not sure what Bittle was

talking about, but he was now involved,
interested, he was all in, that was the strangest
conversation he had in a long while, but it was
fun, it was, how do you say, deep. He liked

405
deep conversations but he did not have the
opportunity to have them too often, not where
he was, where he lived, who he lived with.
Normally it was all right, the mundane
everyday life was more than enough for him,
but he did long for something deeper once in a
while.

“I know. It is here. The next big thing is already

here. And it is amazing. You will see. You will
see it too. It is already here”

As he said those last words, he suddenly stood

up.

Guru stood up too. He was startled. He was

surprised.

Bittle swiftly went around the small coffee table

to guru and gave him a big hug. His clothes
smelt of mold and dust and some things that is
better not to imagine, but the hug was warm
and real. More real than most hugs.

He let guru go, and without saying anything

walked out of the palace.

That was the last time anyone saw Bittle.

406
That was the last time anyone heard lonf rants
about the next big thing in the slum. That was
the last time guru felt that kind of hug from
anyone. It was the combination of a lot of last
things, but also the possibility of new things,
maybe the next things, maybe even the next big
things.

After all, they are supposed to be already here,

and if you just understand the game, you
would know that too.

407
The end

It is a sad day today. Maybe sad is not the right

word. I mean there was a definite element of
sadness, a melancholy perhaps, no, sadness,
sadness is the right word, a sweet sadness,
sweet and sour sadness, I like sweet and sour
chicken, that is one of my favorite dishes they
have, sweet and sour pork is good too, yes, that
is delicious. I like a lot of the foods they have.
But where was i? oh yes, sadness.

There is also some sadness in an ending. In

most endings, the sadness is the lion share of
the emotions involved, followed by a sense of
release. Not always, but more often than not, an
ending is indeed a form of release.

For me it was both in equal measures. I really

liked it here. I mean really liked it. I don’t like
to use the word love, as it is such a human
thing, such a weak feeling, it is something that
mortals do, that mortals have. I am not saying it
is a bad thing, but let’s face it, it does create so
much trouble. Some would even say that most

408
problems these humans have are because of
love, because of what they love to do, who they
love, how they love.

We don’t do that. Well, we do, but only a bit,

and only on rare occasions. I love their food.
Yeah, they got some really delicious food here, I
will definitely miss that.

And I love the touching. Well, I love the

touching but for five minutes and then, well, It
is hard to admit it but I love biting that hand
that touches me, that pats me, I love to see them
jump. It is fun.

There are things that are fun here. I would tell

you more about them, but time is running out.
That is one thing I don’t like here, that whole
concept of time you mortals are prisoners of.
No wonder you have only evolved so far, and
that is not very far, to tell the truth, when you
keep dying and time runs out for you.

But now it is time.

I appeared on gurujis lap one last time. And

like every time, he did not ask any questions,
just patted me and scratched behind my ears.

409
Oh man, how I will miss that. Who knew
scratching behind the ears would be such an
orgasmic thing. Yes, I will miss that.

But now, I looked at him, and there was real

love in my eyes. And in his eyes too.

I am getting soft. So soft. It is disgusting. Maybe

it is really for the best that I have to leave now.
It was a pleasure documenting him and his
story, it was an honor documenting everything
that is happening here in the slum. It really
was.

I hear it happens a lot. This is why the

committee made this law about replacing us
reporters every fourteen years. Too many of us
became too soft to be objective, they became
addicted to this planet, and I can tell you, I
understand why, but this is not a game, this is
work, this is a duty. This is not just a holiday
here on earth, we have to keep track of what
these creatures do here. We made them slaves
that take care of us and feed us and look after
us and all, but we cannot pretend they are our
equals, we know where is there place on the
food chain, and also all the bad things they can

410
do, so we need to always keep track of them,
make sure they are not doing too much
damage.

Actually, the original time slot we reporters

were assigned was seven years. It is only later
that it was changed to fourteen, because seven
was not enough, the reporters did not want to
come back, they started to make excuses and
even avoid their journey back.

It was just embarrassing. When the cosmic

energy form of a thousand nebulas and galaxies
has to reach an invisible long arm to try and
grab the reporter hiding under the universe’s
proverbial coffee table, flailing it blindly trying
to catch a tail or a paw, that is just unbecoming.
So, a compromise was found and we got
fourteen years here. For some it was still not
enough, but the majority agreed that it was a
good deal for all.

Those humans, they are a tricky bunch. The

legend I grew up on, that we were taught in
school, is that the earth was an experiment, a
place where our quantum laws were not
evident, and that humans were invented

411
because the universe got drunk one day, well, a
millennia, but it was a day for her, and decided
it would be fun to do something wacky,
something weird, something different.

And boy did she do just that. These humans she

created, they defy everything, they are stubborn
and stupid and can’t be controlled. It is
amazing they even obey things like gravity.
They are as unpredictable as can be.

This is why we need to be here. You would

think that being everywhere all the time and
knowing everything all the time would make
our job easy, right? Knowing what everything
and everyone in the universe thinks and feels,
knowing all the possible options and all the
possible endings, not to mention new
beginning, would solve our problem, right? We
can just sit back and know what these humans
are up to. But it doesn’t work that way, not
with these humans. These humans. And I am
not saying it in a negative way, “oh these
humans”, no I am saying it in a fond loving
way, they are really special. Annoyingly
special, infuriatingly special. Unbelievably
insufferable special. In a good way.
412
It was also confusing, as there were so few
dimensions here, that I would often get
confused and as he was confused these things
got blurry, and I knew that sometime I am him
and sometimes I am I and we are always the
same but my, or his, which is me, has a position
in the universe depending on my, or his, which
is me of course, point of view.

I like to talk about himself in third tense, about

myself I mean. It is easier. This is why kings
and emperors used to do it. It is clearer and it is
a sign of being part of the big picture, not just a
tiny momentary ego. But it does get confusing
at times.

He missed all the other dimensions. I really did.

He did. We did. See how confusing it is? This is
why we are the best reporters, the best story
tellers, because we don’t have a fixed position
in time and space, we don’t have an anchor
other than the two noble truths, we are here,
and we like to take a nap now.

And tuna. The three noble truths, we are here,

we would like to take a nap now, and we like
tuna. Everybody likes tuna, that is a cosmic

413
reality that is valid even in corners of the
universe where there is no tuna, or even fish, or
even anyone to like anything. Tuna is good.
Which is very bad, if you are tuna, but hey, we
didn’t ask them to be so tasty, they started it.

So we have to be here. Nearby. We have to see

their world through their eye, with their
limitations, with their boundaries, so we can
understand them. And do we? Hell no. no one
understands humans. “These humans”, no, you
have to be insane to understand them, you have
to be crazy. But we try. And we have sent
thousands of our delegates to document them,
so we can try. We have collected gazillions of
facts about them, and maybe one day, it will all
make sense. Until then? We will continue doing
our job.

I did my job diligently, and was often

congratulated for it by my superiors. I told the
stories as they are, as they were, and as they
will probably be forever, the human stories. I
tried to make them fun, because they are, in real
life, life is fun. And funny. I tried to make them
fun and entertaining because maybe this way
they would pass the lessons better. And I
414
enjoyed reporting them in that way, in a not so
serious way, in a light hearted loving way. Here
we go again, that word. Love. I really am
infected with this place.

But now it is time. My service is done here.

Soon they will send a replacement. I hear he is
already on his way. And me? Well. Last look
around, last long purr on his knees, last scratch,
and it is three, two, one.

Guru was not phased for a second when I

disappeared. This is why he is the guru. The
garbage guru. My garbage guru. Our garbage
guru.

The end.

415