Dragons & Butterflies: Sentenced to Die, Choosing to Live (77 page)

Some of our other cell members were surfacing by now. One was Philip, Mikhail’s friend and co-accused, who came over and started slapping Shlomo around, trying to wake him up, but to no avail. Philip said that when they opened the door he would take Shlomo to his house and let him sleep it off for the day. ‘No fucking way,’ I told him. ‘This is a matter for the authority to deal with.’

I called the key-boy in the corridor and told him in Thai that Shlomo had taken a lot of medicine and I thought he was dead. Fortunately, the key-boy managed to alert one of the guards and our cells were opened earlier than usual. Shlomo was put into a wheelchair, which had by now replaced the wheelbarrow as the regular emergency mode of transport to the hospital. Later that day we got news that, when they couldn’t revive him at Bangkwang, he had been rushed by ambulance to Lard Yao prison hospital. He was still alive. If I had listened to Philip that morning, Shlomo might very well have died.

During my visit with Jai, I asked her if she would go to Lard Yao and check up on Shlomo, and see if there was anything he needed. Amazingly, Shlomo survived his attempted suicide. He had taken 100 Valium tablets, and that’s a lot of pills.
Hashem
wasn’t going to let him get off that easily. A troubled conscience was worse than a life sentence. Jai, bless her soul, visited Shlomo regularly until he returned to Building 2 about a month later. He was very pale, but he joined the gym and it wasn’t long before he regained his health.

Besides being Jewish, and although he was Sephardic and I was an Ashkenazi, Shlomo and I had one other thing in common: our love of movies. Between my family, Jai and the movies I bought from the guards, I had accumulated an extensive collection. Among them was the
Saw
series. I managed to watch 30 minutes of the first one, but it was far too gruesome for my liking. Shlomo, on the other hand, enjoyed them thoroughly and watched each movie with such intent I imagined he was looking for new ways to chop up his next victim.

In the third court, Shlomo received a 33-year sentence for the murder of his wife.

Over the years, Akow the Cripple had devoted almost all his time to playing backgammon, and he had improved dramatically, until he was eventually playing against the top-ranking players. Joseph, an Israeli cellmate, was one of the champions and they often played in my house. As a rule, I never got involved in a big game, but I enjoyed gambling. Whenever the Cripple played, he would attract a crowd taking side bets. The Cripple generally played very safe, never leaving a piece open if he could, whereas Joseph was more of a chancer and would risk pieces being hit. On one occasion, a fierce game between the two of them was under way and, as usual, a crowd had gathered to watch. Joseph was down over ten grand. I watched a few games and was getting frustrated by all the mistakes Joseph was making, so I offered to sit in and play the Cripple myself, hoping to win back my Jewish brother’s money. So Joseph and I partnered up. Unfortunately for us, the dice went in the Cripple’s favour. He threw double after double. Whatever dice he needed to kill me and close his house at the same time, he did on every throw, causing me to lose every game. Within an hour I dropped an additional eight grand. This was so unlike me – why I got involved, I don’t know. I was pissed off, especially as the Cripple would laugh happily every time he caught me. In the end, I decided to cut my losses and come back fighting another day. Luckily, I kept a pool of money that I’d won gambling on the English Premier League, which I used to pay for certain of the privileges I enjoyed. Handing the money over to the Cripple, who had won it fair and square, hurt my pride more than anything else. Joseph had lost I don’t know how many thousands over the months to the Cripple. In his view,
Hashem
may have taken away the Cripple’s use of his legs, but in return He had blessed him with luck.

Actually, the Cripple was kicking everybody’s arse. There were other times when I played him, but, although I won some of the games, I never won the money back that he had taken off me that day with Joseph.

For those with addictions, temptation was always there in prison, enticing you to take a chance. Compulsive gamblers were as bad as, if not worse than, drug addicts. It seemed like a more difficult habit to kick, but at the end of the day it boiled down to the same thing: you have to reach deep to overcome your vices.

Here I’m reminded of a saying by the poet William Blake, who wrote something about ‘the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom’. In my own interpretation, moderation is the key to maintaining a balanced lifestyle. However, in my own
experience
, abstinence is the only answer. My addiction had not only almost killed me, but it had also destroyed the lives of so many of the people around me. Perhaps Blake meant: why subject yourself to the evils and destructive forces of life before you arrive at the conclusion of your misguided choices?

On the Thai news channel, we were riveted by the dramatic account of a robbery that had gone down in Phuket. Three Russians had held up a bank, and in the course of events a Thai security guard had been shot and killed. A nationwide hunt for the robbers was under way. After a few days, they were apprehended while trying to make their escape in a small boat. During the arrest, one of the Russians was shot in the leg. Whenever a foreigner was arrested and appeared on TV, we all knew that it was only a matter of time before we would get to meet him. The last stop was always Bangkwang.

The Russians were tried and sentenced; one was sentenced to death; the second received a life sentence; and the driver of the getaway vehicle was sentenced to 33 years. Because of the notoriety surrounding their case, and out of fear of the Russians attempting an escape, the prison authorities split them up. Yegor came to Building 2, Felix was thrown into Building 6, and the third guy was put on death row in Building 1. Naturally we welcomed Yegor into our room.

When Pittaya Sangkanakin took over as Director of Bangkwang, he put a stop to all private enterprise in the prison. The guys who sold coffee and soup in the corridor at night and food during the day had to cease their business activities. The Director didn’t want prisoners making money off prisoners, he said; if you disobeyed the regulations, you faced the prospect of being moved to another prison. Dikor, the guy who now ran the gym, and also enjoyed the luxury of a private room and house, became nervous. He wanted to sell the gym. I was not interested. The gym was a headache. Every month you had to run after members to collect their money. Dikor was asking for 10 000 Thai baht, which wasn’t much, considering how much it had cost to build the place, but none of the other foreigners was interested in buying it either, mainly out of fear of being moved. Yegor the Russian was keen, though, as he worked out every day. Many foreigners used the facility, including me when I wasn’t playing football, and losing it would be a huge blow. Exercise was a vital part of relieving stress and preventing depression in prison, and for many inmates it was a form of self-rehabilitation. The foreigners pleaded with me to change my mind. I was the only one who could save the gym, they said, and not get into trouble. Yegor came to me with the suggestion of us being partners and, after giving it some thought, I reluctantly agreed. Knowing how desperate Dikor was, I offered him 8 000 Thai baht, which he grabbed. And so the alleged Russian bank robber and I became the proud owners of the gym.

In Thailand at this time, there was another very high-profile criminal case in the news. It related to the daring theft, in 1989, of a large quantity of jewels from the palace of Saudi Arabia’s Crown Prince, Faisal ibn Abdulaziz Al Saud, in Riyadh. The thief was a Thai worker, and among the stolen items was a rare blue diamond. The estimated value of the jewels taken in the heist was over US$20 million, and the case became known as the ‘Blue Diamond Affair’. The Thai worker managed to get the gems back to Thailand, to his home district of Lampang in the north. Lieutenant General Chalor Kerdthes of the Royal Thai Police was assigned to the case. The worker was arrested and some of the jewels were recovered. Kerdthes himself took the jewels back to Saudi Arabia to return them, but it was discovered that they were fakes – including the blue diamond. Two diplomats, one of whom was Abdullah al-Besri, and a third person were assigned by the Saudi government to travel to Thailand to investigate and to try and track down the real jewels; they were joined there, in November 1989, by a Saudi Arabian businessman close to the Saudi royal family. On 4 January 1990 the businessman was gunned down by masked assassins outside his home, and the following month al-Besri was assassinated in Bangkok, as were two other Saudi diplomats. The Thai police apparently managed to find the jeweller who had swapped the real jewels for the fakes, but before this could be established, the jeweller’s wife and son were killed in an accident.

The real facts of the case remain a mystery and the jewels have never been recovered, but in 1994 General Kerdthes was arrested on suspicion of the murder of the jeweller’s wife and son. He was tried, found guilty and sentenced to life on one of the charges.

After his arrest, the General was first held at Bangkok Special Prison, but in 2002 he was moved to Bangkwang and put in Building 2 – my building. The prisoners referred to him as ‘Par Chalor’ (father Chalor), and the respect he commanded from guards and prisoners alike was extraordinary. This was a man who was once at the helm of the country’s police force, responsible for the arrest and assassination of many perpetrators of crime, and now here he was, no better than your common criminal and the equal of any one of us inmates.

The General was a short, stout man in his sixties. He was slightly balding and had some difficulty in walking. The authorities gave him a house to stay in, and he immediately recruited an entourage of more than ten bodyguards. In the corridor opposite our cell was another room, which had a toilet, a shower area and a curtained-off section where a person could sleep comfortably and enjoy a bit of privacy. This was where the General stayed. Since death row had taken up most of the downstairs section, there were only three rooms at the rear entrance now. The first, as you walked in on the left, was a three-quarter-size room. This was the ‘TB room’. Prisoners who had been hospitalised and treated for tuberculosis would stay here temporarily before being integrated into the general population. Next to theirs was my room, which was a full-size room, and opposite was a small room where six Chinese guys slept. In the corridor there were another 12 prisoners, some Thais, Singaporeans, Taiwanese and my Chinese friend Akow the Cripple. There was also the key-boy, a real motherfucker Thai informer. On many occasions when we were raided by outside guards, they neglected to notice the small section of rooms we occupied. It was a perfect place for the General.

Within a week of the General’s arrival, two of his boys were put in my cell without my knowledge. By this time I had resumed my position as room chief. Normally, the office would first call me, to get my approval or else to negotiate about whether I would take somebody into the cell. When I approached the office clerk to ask why he had put these guys in my room without first checking with me, he appeared slightly nervous. Then he told me he was acting on the General’s instructions.

Our cell was a private room and restricted mainly to foreigners. We were at that stage at our limit of 16 people, so an extra two would mean less space between our beds. I found myself in a dilemma. I had been in prison for close on ten years. I was well established and respected by all. Some of the Thais even called me ‘Mafia’. If I didn’t take a stand on this issue, the General would keep putting his boys in our room and eventually we foreigners would be forced out. If it came to a showdown, being the minority meant that we would have no chance.

I made a decision.

I was not sure whether I was being brave or just plain stupid, but I went to the General, greeted him in the traditional Thai way, and then, in English, told him I would like to speak to him in private. I addressed him as ‘General’, not feeling comfortable calling him ‘Par Chalor’. The General, who could come and go as he pleased, suggested we go to his cell. Very humbly, I introduced myself, but he told me he knew who I was and knew that I owned the gym. I said I knew who he was, too, and told him I had the utmost respect for him. Then I explained to him about our room and informed him that, in fact, I had bought it. It was a private room, I said, and strictly for foreigners. Even though we did have a few Thais in with us, I was the one who decided who could stay in the room. If the General wanted somebody in my room, I added, he should talk to me. To my surprise, the General was most amiable and agreed to respect my wishes. As we shook hands, I cautioned him that if I had any problems with his two boys, it was he who would have to resolve the issue. He laughed and put his arm on my shoulder saying, ‘
Mai mi punhar
’ (No problem).

One of the Thais the General put in our room was a captain in the police force. He spoke English, but he was arrogant and rude, and his toilet manners were disgusting. He would blow his nose with his fingers and then flick the snot into the toilet, which more often than not landed on the side of the toilet bowl. He would also spit these huge blobs of slimy green phlegm and not flush them away. I was especially irritated because I slept right next to the toilet. The other Thai, an elderly man in his late fifties, had a permanent cough, and I suspected he had tuberculosis. The atmosphere in the room changed after their arrival. Nobody liked them, not even the Thais we already had with us to make up our quota of 16 in the cell. The Thais slept on one side of the room next to each other in the corner. Their beds, no wider than 50cm, were pushed together with no space in between, whereas we foreigners had up to two or three hand’s-breadths between our beds. I felt bad about their space, but I’d explained that we could not give them any more than that because we foreigners were paying a monthly rent to the Building Chief for the privilege of having a bit more space. What can I say? This was prison, and money talks. Nevertheless the Thais seemed quite content sleeping like that, on top of one another, and accepted that this was just how things were.