Dragons & Butterflies: Sentenced to Die, Choosing to Live (71 page)

In November, I acquired a foam mattress for my bed. Until then my ‘mattress’ had consisted of about eight blankets, which had gathered a lot of dust and absorbed a fair amount of sweat. In Building 8 they manufactured hard foam mattresses, which cost 1 700 Thai baht each. The foam was 5cm thick and over a metre wide. With my Stanley knife I cut this down to the standard size permitted for every cell. I had a fitted blanket made by one of the tailors. Although slightly hard, it was a thousand times more comfortable than the blankets had been. Jai bought me a new pillow, which was so soft that for the first few nights I couldn’t sleep. Comfort was not something I was accustomed to any more.

With the leftover pieces of foam I made cushions for my chair. The Thais in prison did not believe in wasting anything; everything had a function or could be used for some purpose or other, and I learnt from their example. Six years of sleeping on a bunch of folded-up blankets had taken its toll on my body, and my back was a constant worry for me.

I received the news that Arcadia, the Jewish orphanage where Joan and I had spent most of our childhood, was relocating to the Johannesburg suburb of Sandringham because Hollard Insurance Company had bought the property at 22 Oxford Road. The Arc had been home to thousands of kids, who had filtered through its gates since the early 1900s, and the news was hard for me to digest. All the familiar open spaces would now have office blocks erected on them. At least the main building would remain; the plan was that it would be restored and be declared a national monument. We Arcadians were losing part of our heritage, and I was sad to hear it. Gone would be the days when ex-Arcadians would meet there to play football, attend synagogue during the high festivals, or just walk through the grounds reminiscing about our shared childhood.

On 19 October, another four Americans were transferred back to prisons in the US. Two of them had arrived nearly three years after me. They were also drug-related cases. It was so unfair that some foreigners would serve more time than others for committing exactly the same crime, and I struggled with the bitterness this always made me feel. Some of us prisoners had even contemplated holding American prisoners hostage, killing them if we had to, just to attract attention to the unfairness of the Thai justice system. Luckily, we didn’t go that far.

Six days before my 41st birthday was Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. I fasted for the first time since my days in Arcadia. It was difficult: the weather was very hot, and praying all day took its toll on me, leaving me dehydrated, run-down and weak. There was always the concern in the back of my mind that, in my state of frailty, I might get into an argument or a fight. During Ramadan, the Muslims would fast for one month. They were not allowed to eat or drink water from dusk to dawn, whereas we Jews abstained from sunset to sunset when we fasted. The guards were very accommodating when it came to religion, allowing many Thais who may well have been Buddhists to convert to Christianity. These guys worshipped with the foreigners. The Muslims were allowed to spend their days in their cells and cook their meals at night.

Meanwhile, I remained hell-bent on mastering the medium of carbon powder. I devoted many months to practising my skills, often stumbling and sometimes becoming frustrated, but I persevered all the same. Eventually I made a breakthrough. I achieved my goal of painting a portrait that was an almost perfect photographic replica. Watching life take form on a blank piece of paper filled me with awe. I would stare at my painting in disbelief. My hands seem to have a mind of their own. This portrait was of the great Lubavitcher Rebbe Menachem Schneerson. It was uncannily lifelike. His very essence seem to come through his eyes. My talent, I believed, was a gift from the angels and something I would never take for granted. I would use my skill to bring joy to others.

I started to mix colour poster paint with the carbon powder. Chai Long was less than impressed, but he couldn’t help but be amazed at my creativity and the progress I had made in such a short time. He told me I was his best student ever. Then something strange happened. I was halfway through painting a carbon-powder portrait when he criticised me for doing something wrong. He took the painting from me and worked on it himself to correct my mistake, and he made a complete mess of it. I couldn’t believe my eyes. He had deliberately spoilt my picture. It was almost as if he wanted to prevent me from advancing. Maybe he thought that, now that I had mastered the technique, I would have no further use for him.

After this incident I never let him touch any of my paintings again and, unfortunately, our friendship took a turn for the worse. Shortly afterwards, Chai Long got moved to a prison in the provinces. I was upset because there was so much I still wanted to learn from him, but that was prison life – people came and went. Some people make an everlasting impact on your life, while the memory of others fades with time. It is sad in a way, and the loss of Chai Long reminded me of my friends who had died. All we have left of them are our memories and the impressions they made on us.

Chai Long was instrumental in bringing me closer to my dreams of being recognised as artist. I remain indebted to him.

Back home, my family were totally blown away by the pieces of art I was creating. Their opinion was a driving force in my quest to prove my worth. I was no longer a useless drug addict. Not only had I kicked the habit but, importantly, I had also turned my life around. By finding purpose, life had taken on a whole new meaning for me. Did I have any regrets? Yes, I regretted a lot of stuff, mainly having become a junkie in the first place and the people’s lives I had destroyed. I also regretted the women I had abused and the hell I had put my family through. Yes, I knew I was a poor excuse for a human being and that I probably deserved to be condemned for life. Forgiveness, like respect, is something that has to be earned. I knew I had a long way to go before I would be fully redeemed, but I was trying.

Whenever new prisoners arrived, whether foreign or Thai, recently arrested or transferred from another prison or building, these prisoners always posed a threat. To get a name or to establish themselves, they would look for fights with prisoners in positions of power, especially the younger boys. I got involved in quite a few such incidents, where I would use a weapon to defuse a situation or prevent it from getting out of hand. Normally, those of us who had done hard time and had been together for years would assist and protect each other in such instances.

In those early years a prisoner could request to have photographs taken. I made a point of taking photos of myself twice a year to send back home. It was important for my family to see that I was healthy and keeping strong. At Easter and Christmas, the Christians would hold celebrations and the missionary workers from outside, headed by Father Oliver, would organise a special contact visit, during which gift packages were handed out. These consisted of toiletries, clothing and foodstuffs. In addition, the prisoners who were the leaders of the church inside the prison would collect money from the Christians and the other inmates to throw a party on Christmas Day.

The guard in charge of the photographic section would come into our building and take photos. When the photos were developed they were placed in an album with reference numbers beside each one. Prisoners could then order as many pictures as they required; one photo cost 20 Thai baht. On one such occasion, photos were taken of prisoners in shackles. In some of the photos the prison walls and the watchtower were visible as well. Somehow these pictures made their way onto the internet. There was an investigation. The guard responsible was removed and prisoners were no longer allowed to take any photos at all.

An ex-Arcadian and a good friend of mine, David Sandler, who lived in Australia, had taken it upon himself to maintain contact through a newsletter, which he circulated to Arcadians around the world. He and I started communicating and, through our correspondence, he encouraged me to think about writing a book about my life. He also contributed funds towards my wellbeing and continued to do this for years. Writing a book was something I planned to do anyway, but at this time my main focus was my art. David started compiling a booklet, and he asked all ex-Arcadians to contribute by writing about their childhood experiences there. I thought it would be fun and nostalgic so I contributed enthusiastically. Once the booklet was printed and posted off, a lot more ex-Arcadians became aware of my situation and started corresponding with me. The stories of the different people were fascinating and inspired David to collect more of them and bring out a sequel. Reminiscing about years gone by was every prisoner’s daydream, and writing about them was cathartic. I suggested to David that he should write a book himself.

When Joan and I were living in Arcadia, the children would spend weekends or Sundays with their families. When I was about 16, there were two of us who never had anywhere to go. A Jewish family, the Simons, who lived in Glenhazel, approached Arcadia wanting a male friend for their only son, Clifford, and their three daughters. I was asked if I’d like to go along and meet them. I reluctantly agreed, but, as it turned out, they were the most amazing family and we became very close. Mrs Simon – Phyllis – actually wanted to adopt me. As tempting as it was, I felt it wouldn’t be fair on my mother. Only orphans were adopted, and Joan and I weren’t orphans. We remained close friends, though, and I spent almost every Sunday and sometimes all weekend at the Simons’ house, right up until the time I finished matric. After school, sadly, I lost touch with them. In prison, Phyllis’s oldest daughter, Karen, and I started corresponding, and in March 2001 I received the sad news that Phyllis had died of cancer. I was heartbroken at having lost contact with the Simon family and so, in honour of the kindness and love Phyllis had shown me, I painted her portrait and sent it as a gift to her family. If I had allowed them to adopt me, I couldn’t help thinking, my life could very well have turned out differently.

David Sandler’s Arcadia research and connections triggered so many stories for me, but for the time being my own book would have to be put on hold. I had been commissioned to paint so many portraits that I could see myself being kept busy for at least the next two years. My time was precious, and sometimes there were not enough hours in my day. At this time I also took on two students and was teaching them portraiture. The days would fly by. ‘Not a moment to waste’ became my motto.

Every time I completed a painting, which could take anything from a week to a month, I would take a day off. On Saturday, which was my Sabbath, I didn’t work, and I tried to keep the Sabbath to the best of my ability. Saturday was also football day and the day I spent just generally relaxing. Painting a carbon-powder portrait can be very pressurising, and no two faces are alike. Every portrait I have ever painted has presented a challenge. In between portraits I would do a fun painting or two, in either watercolour or poster paint, and usually these would be abstracts, expressing my inner state of mind and my emotions.

Some four years back I had petitioned to have phones installed in the building. In June 2001 we were informed by the prison authorities that this was finally going to happen. This was a victory for us. The plan was to put two telephones just outside Building 2 on the way to the visit room. Here a new building had been erected, with one section for a computer room and another for an executive conference room. Applications for a telephone card had to go through the embassy. Prisoners would only be allowed to call immediate family, and the embassy had to confirm officially that the number you had submitted was that of a family member. I was over the moon. We would be allowed to call home twice a week, for five minutes at a time. Every building was given a specific day and time. Thirty prisoners would be called at one time, and when we went out we were required to wear our light-blue prison shirts. You could wait up to an hour before it was your turn, but, still, the luxury of being able to talk to your loved ones was great.

In July 2001 we saw the first transfer of two British prisoners, who up until then had refused to be sent home to the UK. Life in a Thai prison was much easier for them. If I had had the choice to serve my time in a South African jail, I would have jumped at the opportunity. Prison is prison; everything is relative. For me, the most important factor would be more the proximity to my family and less the time I would still have to serve behind bars.

My Norwegian friend Kjell also transferred to a prison in Norway. I helped him carry his things to the gate, where we shook hands. We hugged and I wished him well on his way. Another goodbye, and this one was really hard. My eyes filled with tears, of joy and of envy, too. On the one hand, I was happy that he was one step closer to freedom; on the other, I wished it was me. I vowed to myself that this would be the last person I would allow myself to get close to, and also that never again would I walk anybody to the gate. At that moment I hated our government, and I was ashamed to be South African. To rub salt in the wound, a month and a half after Kjell left I received a letter from him informing me that his prison in Norway was like a five-star hotel compared to Bangkwang. Two weeks later he was granted a royal pardon by the Thai monarch. It was the first time I’d ever heard of somebody being granted a royal pardon
after
they’d been transferred out of a Thai jail. Nevertheless, it was fantastic news. Kjell had served over four years, which was much longer than he would have received in any other country for a similar offence.