Dragons & Butterflies: Sentenced to Die, Choosing to Live (98 page)

I did some slow breathing exercises and said the
Shema Yisrael
over and over. Later I decided that I would stop drinking Birdy, a popular canned coffee drink – maybe that was what had caused my heart palpitations. Generally, though, I had noticed how my health was deteriorating. I was no longer used to oily food and I missed having my fresh vegetables.

When I had been to the hospital to get aspirin, I had met a Jewish guy there, Bevan Rabinowitz, an American citizen who was in Building 6. He seemed okay and suggested I should try to be moved to his building, as there were a lot of foreigners there. I submitted a request to be let out of solitary, explaining that when I had first arrived at Klong Prem I was extremely fit and strong but that, since being deprived of regular exercise and a healthy diet, my physical and mental state was rapidly going downhill.

That afternoon, after we were locked up, the Building Chief came to the punishment section and asked me to make a list of the foods I could eat. He said he was going to try to help get them for me. At least I knew he had read my request, but I wasn’t putting any bets on the rest.

One weekend in July, a high-ranking military official, rumoured to be a general in the Thai Air Force, was brought into solitary. He must have been in his late forties. When he arrived he was escorted by some really senior military guys. Every day after that, at least three times a day, and at odd hours, they would come and remove him from his cell, take him outside and give him a serious working-over. It was crazy what they were doing to him. I later heard that apparently he was in the Royal Guard and was supposed to have embezzled a large sum of the Crown Prince’s money. The general was really suffering. When he first arrived, he must have weighed about 90kg, but soon he was looking thin and sick. Still they continued torturing him, sometimes during the day in front of other prisoners. One day, they brought him a model of a small aeroplane made out of steel, something that kids would play on in a park, and he was forced to sit in it while prisoners gathered around and jeered. Most of the prisoners laughed at him, but I really pitied the man, and in fact I admired his strength. It was very unusual for the military to be allowed into the prison, but these guys were here every day, even filming what they were doing to this general.

Around 8pm one evening, the lights in the corridors were switched off and I could see the soldiers at the general’s cell. They dragged him out, rolled him up in a blanket, hoisted him onto their shoulders and, shouting out military orders, carried him away. I was convinced that he was either dead or that they were taking him somewhere to be killed, but I was wrong. Next morning I discovered that, in Thailand, when someone is wrapped in a blanket and taken against their will, it means the person is going to be executed, Mafia-style. What they had done the previous evening was intended to scare the shit out of the guy. Apparently they carried him some distance, shouting abuse and threats of death all the way. When they reached their destination, Building 7, which was the prison kitchen, they threw him in the pond where he had to endure heaven knows what forms of torture. For two nights in a row after that, the general was forced to crawl on all fours while other inmates shouted at him and kicked him.

I started jogging in the corridor, and after two weeks of exercise my spirits were lifted. Although I was still having strange sensations every now and again in my heart region, I stopped taking the aspirin. I hated taking pills of any sort and preferred to get healthy through exercise and eating properly.

At the end of the month I was called to Room 5, which was at the halfway checkpoint to the visit room and was also the office of the second in command of the prison. My request to the Director of the Department of Corrections had been reviewed, and apparently he wanted to know certain facts regarding my heart condition, diet etc. In the air-conditioned room there were two guards and a translator, and I could see they had a copy of my request. After they had read it through, they subjected me to a series of questions about why I wanted to be transferred back to Bangkwang.

The next day, when I related the story to my Italian friend, he thought it was a very good sign. He was convinced that I would transfer back to Bangkwang as early as the following week. I went back to my cell and waited.

By the middle of August I was still in solitary confinement, but oddly enough I found myself in a better space. This could have been due to the fact that I’d been reading a lot, and healthwise I felt more or less okay. I tried to be patient.

One day, during my one-hour walk, I managed to say a few words to the Air Force general. I discovered that his name was Porcupine and also that he spoke relatively good English. Despite the rough treatment that was constantly meted out to him, his spirits seemed high. I presumed that the money he had embezzled was safely tucked away somewhere and that was what kept him going.

The month of October saw nature at its deadliest in Thailand. Continuous rain caused severe flooding that reached catastrophic proportions. Out of 70 or so cities in the country, more than 50 were flooded. Very badly affected was the city of Ayutthaya, about 75km north of Bangkok, which was completely inundated. One of the prisons there was so badly flooded that 5 000 inmates had to be relocated to other prisons. Two hundred of these were transferred to Klong Prem, where they were put into Building 5. Two hundred of Building 5’s inmates were then moved to our building. This was significant because, ever since the inauguration of the new government, the prime minister, Yingluck Shinawatra, had vowed to crack down on drug distributors, insisting that, once they were arrested, they would be isolated completely from other inmates, more specifically in order to restrict their access to mobile phones.

By the middle of the month, the upstairs section of our building was vacated, and razor-sharp barbed-wire and wire mesh were installed, as well as new steel gates. Our section, approximately 14 of us, among them the most notorious drug smugglers in the kingdom, was supposed to move upstairs, where we would be included among all the new major drug dealers who had recently been arrested. It seemed that the policy of isolating us drug dealers might be suspended indefinitely.

Despite the hopeful meeting I’d had with the second in command after my request to be moved, nothing had happened. My new friend Porcupine was still being subjected to bouts of public humiliation. I heard a story that once he had been taken outside the prison and forced to beg for money on the street in front of a government building, while the military stayed out of view and filmed him. While Porcupine was in a sitting position, his knees folded, and begging as instructed by his military handlers, out of the blue a security guard from the government building suddenly appeared. The guard asked him what the hell he was doing there, and he began kicking him in the face and beating Porcupine with his baton. Luckily for him, his military escort came to his rescue, slapping the unsuspecting security guard and informing him that his victim was in fact a general. Apologising profusely, the guard scurried off like a rat. He must have been very confused!

Another day, while we were outside for our daily walk in the yard, the ice delivery arrived. It was announced over the loudspeaker that the ice would be delayed and that we should all gather around the parade ground. Here Porcupine had to square off with an inmate who weighed about 120kg. They each had to carry five blocks of ice, one block being the size of two and a half standard bricks, from the delivery truck to a point about 20m away, then run back and collect another five blocks. They had to repeat the exercise until there were no blocks of ice remaining on the cart. While this was going on, the military were filming and one of the other prisoners gave a running commentary over the loudspeaker. I felt really sorry for Porcupine, who lost the race – but not by much, I have to say.

While many Thais were clearly amused by the spectacle – almost to the point of hilarity – I did not find it funny. Public humiliation of others is distasteful to me, and so I chose not to participate.

In October I received the news that the Israeli Minister of Justice had at last signed my transfer papers. I also heard that a copy of my second petition requesting a royal pardon had been forwarded to the Palace. My mind was running wild. Imagine if I got a royal pardon
before
the amnesty in December, or managed to get transferred to Israel? I was hopeful and in fairly high spirits, just knowing that something was going on behind the scenes, even though, as on so many other occasions, nothing concrete might materialise. Without hope, it was difficult to remain sane in prison. Even false hope was better than no hope.

On Tuesday 11 October, what started out as a glorious day also brought some sadness for me. That day, my closest friend in Klong Prem, Jib, whose full name was Somsak Metwong, took his last breath. Jib was a notorious gangster, a former Thai boxing champion, and also one of the most honourable fellow criminals I had had the privilege to meet. He succumbed to the powers above after doing what he loved best – boxing. Unfortunately, at 45, and having been on death row for six years (and shackled for the entire duration), Jib was no longer the invincible fighter of 20 years before. During our usual workout in the yard, Jib was called to have a sparring session with one of the new inmates, who was also a formidable Thai boxer. A lot of the other prisoners congregated to watch them working out. I was actually quite stunned to see that Jib managed to go a full five rounds, and I knew that he would be exhausted. It was also an incredibly hot day.

Since I had arrived in solitary, I had offered my services as a masseur to anybody who needed them, and I would give Jib a half-hour massage almost every day. As I watched the sparring session, I imagined that, after this workout, he might be needing more than a massage. He could even end up in hospital.

We went back to our cells, and Jib joined us about 40 minutes later. He didn’t look good, and soon broke into a cold sweat. Then he collapsed right next to me. I assumed that, besides having over-exerted himself, he was probably suffering from heat exhaustion. He complained of pains in his chest. I suggested he drink a lot of water. Then I proceeded to give him a light massage around the top of his chest and shoulders, and within five minutes Jib was half-asleep. I left him to sleep until our cells were opened at around 1.30. He got up and stumbled towards his cell, where he lay down on the vinyl-covered floor. In the meantime, I rolled his makeshift bed together and put it in his cell, and I persuaded him to let me help him onto it. Then he asked me for two atenelol tablets, which I gave him with a cup of water. He asked to be left alone, as he was going to retire for the afternoon, and requested that I shut the cell door.

I left his cell but I didn’t close the door, thinking that I would check on him as soon as I had packed my own things away. When I returned, Jib was lying on his stomach. His body was twisted in an unusual position and he seemed to be convulsing. I quickly turned him on his side, calling out his name. His face was changing colour as I watched him, and it seemed that his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. He was grunting like a pig being choked to death. I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do. I kept shaking him, trying to bring him back from wherever he was. I shouted for the key-boy, whose name was Pong. ‘Call the guards!’ I called. ‘Jib seems seriously ill!’