...//...Phitsamai withdrew quietly as soon as a boy arrived, carrying a magnum of Oban. Even though distant from his motherland, whiskey remained an important ceremonial rite for Alexander. Sfoz tried hard to absorb this colonial world so seductive and intriguing. He had the feeling that Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall were likely to appear at any moment. His host watched him intently, fully aware of what he was feeling.
...“I saw that you liked my Buddha. You know, that despite the fact that the French and English, with some few exceptions, little appreciated each other in Asia, one of my forefathers struck up a friendship with a captain of the Tonkin regiment. This happened during the Second Opium War. Together, they pillaged the summer palace in Peking. A year later this captain died of malaria and my ancestor married his widow. A Frenchwoman and an Englishman; just imagine! This is what is called a beautiful passion. At first they set up home in Bengal, then in Singapore before finally ending up in Thailand. When my ancestor retired from the army he established a business in the exportation of coconut oil, rice and Hevea latex. The two were slowly absorbed into Asian life and never returned to England. You will notice on the ceiling the interlocking monograms which symbolise their passion. Luckily, my father and myself were able to keep this house. And since I work much less now,” a shy shortcut to saying that he had almost quit MI6, “I can finally live among these souvenirs.”
Intrigued by some of the puzzling things he’d noticed Sfoz asked about the purpose of the piles and the boat.
“The reasons didn’t happen yesterday. Once every year Bangkok, whether it likes it or not, goes for a swim. All the canals overflow and we find ourselves with turtles, snakes and sometimes even alligators in our courtyard. In these situations my boat is more useful than my car.”...//...
...“I saw that you liked my Buddha. You know, that despite the fact that the French and English, with some few exceptions, little appreciated each other in Asia, one of my forefathers struck up a friendship with a captain of the Tonkin regiment. This happened during the Second Opium War. Together, they pillaged the summer palace in Peking. A year later this captain died of malaria and my ancestor married his widow. A Frenchwoman and an Englishman; just imagine! This is what is called a beautiful passion. At first they set up home in Bengal, then in Singapore before finally ending up in Thailand. When my ancestor retired from the army he established a business in the exportation of coconut oil, rice and Hevea latex. The two were slowly absorbed into Asian life and never returned to England. You will notice on the ceiling the interlocking monograms which symbolise their passion. Luckily, my father and myself were able to keep this house. And since I work much less now,” a shy shortcut to saying that he had almost quit MI6, “I can finally live among these souvenirs.”
Intrigued by some of the puzzling things he’d noticed Sfoz asked about the purpose of the piles and the boat.
“The reasons didn’t happen yesterday. Once every year Bangkok, whether it likes it or not, goes for a swim. All the canals overflow and we find ourselves with turtles, snakes and sometimes even alligators in our courtyard. In these situations my boat is more useful than my car.”...//...
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