Dragons & Butterflies: Sentenced to Die, Choosing to Live (79 page)

In the August amnesty my sentence dropped from 40 years down to 36, plus a few months. While I knew I could never survive 33 years in prison, at least there was movement in the right direction. Slowly, my sentence was being reduced. Rumour had it that there was another big amnesty coming up in 2006. Hope kept being dangled in our faces like a carrot on a string. All the same, it was hope that kept me going.

My art remained my escape, the world where I found peace and purpose. There were no walls in that world, and no pain. There my sprit could soar like an eagle gliding through the sky. I became the sculptor of my own destiny. My art was more than just painting pretty pictures; it was about redemption, taking back what I had lost, and holding on to my faith.

One morning, out of the blue, and just before shower time, four guards and Somsak, the Blue Shirts’ head, raided the locker belonging to Aporn, the General’s dog handler. They also searched the surrounding garden, poking into the soil with metal poles. The guards weren’t really interested and did their checking half-heartedly. It was almost the end of their day and the last thing they wanted to do was work, but Somsak, who was a prisoner himself, was hell-bent on busting Aporn with a mobile phone. Knowing that Adun was behind him, his position had gone to his head. In any event, for all their efforts they found nothing.

Somsak stayed upstairs and he slept in the corridor. He slept late every morning and only came downstairs around 7.45am, in time for the national anthem at 8, whereas everybody else would come out an hour earlier. On the morning of 13 October 2004, I had just settled down to paint (it was around 7.30) when I heard the most blood-curdling screaming coming from upstairs. The screams lasted only about a minute but seemed to go on for much longer. By the time I came around the other side of the building, I saw a group of about eight prisoners walking briskly out of the building, Aporn among them. They came straight towards me and I couldn’t help but notice their eyes. All of the guys seemed highly charged and their eyes were bloodshot. Translated: these prisoners were in kill mode. If you are ever unlucky enough to look into a person’s eyes just after they have committed a murder, I’d advise you to run. You will have just seen what a psychotic killer looks like. I saw that look that morning.

Somsak was carried down by some of the room cleaners. He had stab wounds to every part of his upper abdomen. Blood was pouring out of him. His eyes were already on the brink of lifelessness. He was loaded onto a wheelbarrow and rushed to the hospital, but he died before he even got there. I honestly can’t say that I felt any sympathy for the man; he had broken the code of silence. An informer’s end is death, no matter what. The fucker deserved what he got.

It scared me that I could be so cold and callous, but I was. What was becoming of me? Prison can turn a man’s heart to stone. Was
I
capable of committing murder, I wondered, and not for the first time. The frightening truth lay in my conscience. If provoked, I had no doubt I could take a life at the snap of a finger. May
Hashem
forgive me for what I knew then.

Whenever a Blue Shirt approached us, we foreigners would whisper to each other, ‘Watch out – here comes the CIA.’ It made me sick knowing that prisoners were informing on prisoners, and that there was nothing you could do about it. When Somsak was murdered, I knew things would change. Kill one to teach the rest. Apparently Somsak was stabbed 36 times. His death brought a wave of fear to the other Blue Shirts, and being a trustee was no longer as glamorous as before. A statement had been made and its message was clear: you inform, you die. The guards could not protect you. Every Blue Shirt knew that they would now have a target on their backs.

A morbid atmosphere permeated Building 2. Aporn was taken away and charged with Somsak’s murder. He was shackled with heavy railway chains and thrown into solitary confinement. Soon after that, the second chief, Adun, was promoted to Building Chief. We didn’t know it, but our problems were just beginning.

On my birthday on 15 October, my eleventh in prison, I was awake at the crack of dawn, cheerful and ready to take on the day. I was 45 years old. When our cells were opened, I made my way to my house. As I entered, I was confronted by a pool of sewage. My house was ankle deep in watered-down human waste. They say when you stand in shit it’s meant to be lucky, but I’m not so sure about that. I started scooping and throwing out the water. Jonnie arrived, took one look at the mess and disappeared. The smell was disgusting and soon had me choking. I had to get a plumber in. The sewerage pipe had blocked and the pressure that had built up was so strong that the water was leaking through the concrete walls. Well, that was my gift for my birthday. I expected a shit-load of luck to come my way!

Mikhail was by then quite a good friend of mine. Interestingly, he and Philip, who was Australian, had both been arrested on suspicion, but had been found to have no drugs on them. In the first court they were acquitted. When this happens, the public prosecutor appeals your sentence and, unless you pay money, the chances are you will receive a prison sentence in the second court. Mikhail and Philip believed they had a strong case and their lawyer advised them not to pay. They waited two years for second court, where they were both given life sentences. They would have to wait for third court, which could take up to another eight years.

When they came to Bangkwang, Philip was placed in Building 6 and Mikhail came to Building 2. About a year later, Philip got into an altercation with a fellow prisoner and that was how he came to move to our building.

The General used to work out in my gym. One of the Iranians, Reza, a murder offender, was a 4th dan. Reza had done time with the General back at Special prison, and now he became his personal trainer. One day, the General was relaxing on one of the benches in the gym when Philip, who had been in Building 2 for only a couple of days, walked in. He wanted to use the bench and rudely signalled with his hand that the General should clear off. In Thai the gesture and accompanying words ‘
by by’
(go go) say it all. Even to an ordinary prisoner this is highly disrespectful.

The General got up, never said a word, and walked away. All this happened while I was in my house, drawing. About an hour later, the General’s right-hand man, and my good friend, came to me to tell me what had happened. He said they wanted to stab Philip. As I was the leader of the foreigners, they first wanted to run it past me. Although Philip had a reputation for being an obnoxious fuck and was forever starting shit with the weaker guys, I couldn’t allow an attack on a foreigner. Philip had no idea that his life was in danger. I explained to my friend that Philip was new in our building and he didn’t know who the General was. Even so, he argued, Philip had disrespected an old man. I was in a difficult position. Surely a peaceful solution would be better, so I told him I would sort it out with the General, and we agreed upon that.

I found Philip walking around on the grass patch near the front gate. When I told him what was going down, he turned white. I suggested that he follow me to the General’s house and apologise. First I spoke to the General, explaining that Philip was very sorry and hadn’t known who he was. Philip reiterated his apology and simultaneously put his hand out to shake the General’s hand. The General was not impressed, but, because of my relationship with him, he said, ‘No problem.’ But he didn’t accept Philip’s hand. Instead, with his own hand, he brushed Philip off. I pulled Philip away by his arm, thanked the General and quickly led the Australian away before the General changed his mind.

Aporn, before he murdered Somsak, taught me how to make
lau
(whiskey), or – my own personal term of endearment for it – ‘love juice’. The parcel guard, Suchin, was different from the other guards; he spoke good English and he knew which foreigners used drugs and which didn’t. He never really checked the contents of my parcels, which made it easier for me to bring in the key ingredient you needed as a brewmaster: yeast. I would share the yeast with the Thais who formed part of our drinking circle, giving them two or three tablespoons from which they could make at least nine litres. In return I asked for one litre of their best. I also gave the General yeast, and his boys were great whisky makers. I was one of the only people in Bangkwang who always had a supply of yeast, and this bought me a lot of friends. As a rule, I didn’t sell it; if I had it, I was happy to share.

My relationship with the General was good. There were occasions when we even sat and had a drink together. Anytime I wanted to use the General’s mobile, I could. Among his crew was a Thai boxer, Weenai. He was bigger than the average Thai. He and I had a mutual respect for each other. I had discovered in getting to know the Thais that some of them were really amazing, sincere and genuine people; if you respected them, and behaved properly, they would do anything for you. I was learning more and more to be friends with them. The Thais were more resilient than the foreigners, and they accepted the hardships of prison life without complaining.

During this time, I started drinking on weekends. My relationship with Jai was taking strain. She had started lying about small things and had neglected to carry out certain of my requests that were important to me, like depositing my allowance and lying that she had when she hadn’t. We were definitely growing apart, and my feelings for her were becoming increasingly Platonic. Still, it was a complicated situation and, irrespective of my own cooling feelings for Jai, I remained indebted to her; she was not only helping me but also many of my friends who had nobody in Thailand.

While lifting weights one day, I strained myself doing chest, and felt a vein pop out of my arse. I was told I had ‘
rissidoeing
’ (haemorrhoids). It was damn uncomfortable. I couldn’t remember when last I had used toilet paper to wipe my arse, so whenever I flushed, using my hand I would feel this vein and it really bothered me. I was too scared to go to the hospital, even though I heard it was quite a quick procedure to sort out. Somebody advised me to get a cream. I tried to push it back with my finger, but it kept popping out whenever I squatted. After a month of waiting, I eventually got some cream from home, but it didn’t help. Then my Thai friend Somchai, who slept in my room, introduced me to this cactus-type plant that grew like a weed; each piece was about 5cm in length and about the thickness of my baby finger. Every day I was required to eat three pieces. First I had to wash them well, then trim off the four rough edges before chopping them into small pieces. I then had to take a segment of a naartjie (tangerine), split it open along the edge, take out the seeds, and fit as much of the cactus into the naartjie as possible. Then I had to close it and swallow it whole. If the cactus came in contact with my tongue or mouth, Somchai cautioned, it would leave me incredibly itchy, so I had to be careful. After 12 days of performing this tedious ritual, my haemorrhoids disappeared completely. I repeated the process every three months and never suffered from haemorrhoids again.

Meanwhile, the Director’s administration was proposing stopping prisoners receiving parcels and foodstuffs from visitors, the reason being that there had been a few incidents where the prison authorities had detected drugs in parcels and food brought by visitors. There was also a serious clampdown on guards who were suspected of bringing drugs inside, and some of these guards were transferred to other prisons. The price of heroin increased tenfold. Somehow, though, drugs still worked their way into the system, but on a smaller scale.

On the parcel issue, it was time to draw swords. Apart from cutting off a lifeline of support to many of us, it did not make sense to stop parcels from being sent to the prisoners. First of all, the prison didn’t supply the prisoners with anything. We paid for our own food, medicines and even drinking water. The things we received in parcels from our families and loved ones were necessities, and parcels were the only tangible contact we had with them. Some of our families couldn’t afford the airfare to come and visit us, but they felt good knowing that we could receive some small luxuries to make a difference to our existence. What did the prison authorities hope to gain? Just because a few individuals abused the privilege and smuggled drugs, why punish us all? Once again I drafted a petition expressing our grievances, distributed it to every building, collected signatures and submitted it to the Director. Surprisingly, he withdrew his recommendation and eased the pressure. If it hadn’t been for my initiative, life in Bangkwang would have been much more difficult for everyone.