Entry No.15

[khunsanuk]

Taxi Driver

 

His name was Teerapol, but since he could remember his friends had called him Joe. Besides he figured that the name Joe sounded way cooler. He liked it when he heard his wife say Phijoe, it kinda sounded like someone from an American gangster flick. ?Phijoe kah?, she said in her soft voice, ?eat your dinner.?

He did as he did most evenings before he would start out in the taxi. He had some curry, while he zapped through the channels on TV: There was a talk show showing movie stars being victims of slapstick humour. Joe smiled at that, but changed the programme. News, another case of SARS was mentioned by a grave looking female speaker. Joe finished his evening meal wondering if he?d ever have to wear one of those face masks while picking up passengers from the Don Muang airport. Probably not, ?mai tong kit maak?, one shouldn?t think too much.

 

It was after dusk when he grabbed his car keys, and went for the evening ride. His wife Pim followed him as he went out of the apartment, wishing him good luck and telling him to drive carefully. Joe appreciated her doing that, because he knew Pim didn?t like him driving at night. She always complained about being lonesome and afraid of ghosts and preferred him to drive in the daytime. Joe opened the yellow and green door to the idling car. His wife had been so thoughtful to start the Toyota, so fresh air from the aircon welcomed him and he pushed into reverse and pulled off.

 

The network of roads automatically led the traffic inbound, and he went with the flow always keeping an eye on the left side of the road. Normally there would be too many taxis to care about customers here, and he was hoping to catch some downtown anyway. The bumps in the road worked the suspension of the car. The sounds were familiar, and he greeted them every night as you would an old neighbour. If he was alone, that is.

The sign ahead said Future Park. Joe steered his car up the ramp, and the U-turn took him back the other way. Inbound. There was a good song on the radio now, it was Luuk Tung, and something they were fond of back home in the village. He often tuned into this station and occasionally switched to the traffic-radio just to hear the latest events of missing mobile phones, accidents and stolen motorcycles. This was Bangkok traffic.

 

Tonight was a strange night, he realised it as he pulled into the Jiffy petrol station. A pickup truck came out the wrong way and the two cars nearly collided, only avoided by a jerk to the steering wheel, Joe looked angrily at the pickup that disappeared into traffic. ?Damn driver, was he on the way to his own funeral or what?? It kind of seemed like a bad omen, but Joe dismissed it. ?Mai tong kit maak.? One shouldn?t think too much.

 

A few minutes later and a few hundred baht of diesel richer Joe continued downtown. The Luuk Tung beating its up beat to the rhythm of his pulse that was aroused through a can of instant coffee. Here we go again. He went back onto the fast lane, and pumped the car inwards on the Viphavadee monster-of-a-road. Up and down, under the shade of the highway, not that it mattered, because the sun had long set for the day anyway.

Approaching Don Muang, he did another U-turn, and arrived just like some inter-continental flight at the tarmac. ?I could be a Thai Airways captain,? Joe imagined, ?because I am the fastest ground staff around here.? He slowed down and paid fifty baht in order to get to the arrivals. Chances were good to pick up a newbie from here. Newbies always paid well, Joe thought as he waited in the queue with the other fishing taxis in front of the arrival hall.

 

There. A man in a long robe approached his car. Joe got out of the front seat and said his ?Good evening sir, welcome to Thailand?. It always made him feel good to welcome Farang to his country, it made him proud. Joe opened the back of the car and lifted the suitcase into the trunk. It was only a small suitcase, the guy travelled like a businessman. Joe thought it was good; businesspeople often left a fat tip on the dashboard.

?My name is Joe, where you go?? he said. Always pleased to practice a few phrases of English. ?Take me to Sukhumvit,? Joe noticed that the passenger spoke with an accent, but he couldn?t really place it. „I left school after 6th grade, so can I practice my English?? Joe asked. ?Sure,? said the man, ?I am from the Middle East, and there you learn to communicate through other means than language?, the passenger replied with a strange smile. It made Joe ponder a little, not sure he had understood. He dismissed it and returned the smile; after all, Thailand was the land of smiles.

 

They left the airport and drove into heavy traffic that moved almost like a school of fish all over the four lanes of Viphavadee Road. ?You! Go expressway mai?? Joe asked the question with hope, because he wanted to save some time, and by the way, he loved revving the old Toyota engine once in a while. ?No express, and you go by meter,? was the brisk answer. This guy had been to Thailand before. Joe shrugged. ?Mai pen rai?, never mind.

As Joe was working the cab to a decent speed the passenger said: ? Go to the Grace hotel in Sukhumvit?. Joe thought he had seen the guys face before. It was a longish face covered with a full beard that hid most features.

?Guu mong kao mai hen, wa?, Joe thought. Apart from the dark hair that fell below the ears, he couldn?t make out much in the hazy light reflected by the rear-view mirror, but he thought the passenger somehow looked familiar.

Joe kept thinking a bit about the Grace and why people liked to go there, especially late at night he had done many rounds from the place. It was easy money, which was probably just what all the women thought who worked the night shift in the department of intimate entertainment. Sometimes he would pick up two girls to one man, Joe thought that farang had to be very capable to do that. Apparently they had big cocks, that?s what a pretty working girl once had told him. ?Big yeah, but mine?s much harder,? Joe concluded with a reassuring smile.

 

Suddenly he was interrupted by a noise and looked into the rear-view mirror to see what was going on. Joe caught the eye of the passenger, and saw him engaged in a heated telephone conversation. It wasn?t possible to make out the meaning of the words, but they sure sounded harsh. Joe recognised the words ?Skytrain? and ?Morchit? several times. All of a sudden he realised who sat in the backseat of his car and looked away with a sickening feeling in his guts. Joe felt like spewing, but it wasn?t the curry, nor was it the Som Tam salad he had digested by now; it was something alarmingly present and much worse than a racing stomach:

?Jesus H. Christ, it is Bin Laden.? Joe?s heart missed one or two beats, and he tried with all his might to concentrate on traffic. His palms turned all sweaty and greasy, and every time he had to press the clutch to change gear he felt the muscles in his legs twist in shaking spasms. Joe realised he was scared shitless. ?Jai yen yen?, he tried to calm down. How on earth could Bin Laden walk out of Don Muang and into his taxi? Chrissakes, get a grip man, it seemed like something out of a cheap fiction story. It helped, and his nerves seemed to calm a little as he continued driving.

 

Joe managed to change the Luuk Thung wave on the radio and found a Farang pop song. Then his mind wandered to his wife Pim and what would happen if this man in his backseat were to kill him or maybe hi-jack his taxi. Joe suddenly remembered their plans for the future, and also the plans that he hadn?t told Pim about yet. Good plans. He had wanted to buy her this little piece of land up north near Chiang Mai so they could start a fruit farm. Together. But now all this seemed miles away.

?Chauffeur, please change the music, I don?t like American Pop songs,? said the guy and the command in is voice definitely seemed scary. ?Holy shit, he said something about Americans!? Joe frowned, ?I better turn off the radio before he gets agitated and kills me or something. Joe did as he?d thought and then the man in the backseat continued

?Stop at the Seven Eleven here?? To Joe this sounded more like an order than a question. ?Yes Sir,? Joe pulled over and turned the warning lights on while the man got out of the cap. Joe?s eyes wandered to a little stall selling shirts that was put up next to the fluorescent lights of the store. There were the usual soccer shirts with the logos of Man-U and Chelsea. Joe was a big fan of Man-U; he had a big sticker just next to a swastika on the back of the cab. Then his attention caught a black t-shirt at the left side of the small street stall. It had a print on the front showing the Twin Towers in New York partly covered by the face of Bin Laden. Again his pulse increased and small pearls of sweat formed on his forehead. Joe watched the shirts and thought about abandoning the customer and just escape. He put the Toyota into gear and slowly decreased the pressure on the clutch. ?But what about the suitcase in the trunk?, he hesitated.

Joe had completely forgotten about that. ?Man, you re a pussy,? he said to himself. ?Bin Laden would never take a taxi through Bangkok?, he reasoned and shifted the car back into neutral. Joe spoke quietly to himself, ?Guu gloa nee wa?, I?m afraid dammit!

Again Joe put the car into gear, he felt the urge to leave the place. Slowly he let his left foot go, but then the passenger door opened; the guy got back into the cab. The moment had passed.

 

Joe turned around to see what it was he had bought in the store. It was a packet of razor blades. ?Ah, that?s it. It is Bin Laden, and now he wants to go undercover in Bangkok. He wants to hide?, Joe reflected, ?pen pai dai?, that indeed it was possible.

Joe led the cab back into traffic when the passenger opened one of the razors, ?I need to shave off this beard, its too hot here in Thailand,? the passenger did a shaving motion across his face and smiled sarcastically through his beard. That was it. This was the give away! Joe?s suspicions had finally been confirmed, and as he nodded to Bin Laden he wondered if fear showed on his face.

 

Waiting at a red light in Petchburi Road seemed like an eternity; Joe managed another glance in the rear-view mirror. Yes. It was Bin Laden. It was obvious; there was no doubt about it anymore. The lights shifted, but Joe didn?t react. He couldn?t move a limp but just sat there like a zombie. The cars stuck behind him started to honk impatiently, didn?t those idiots know who he had in the back seat?

Finally he managed to let the clutch go, the car jumped forward and the engine stalled. Now I?m definitely dead meat, Joe thought. Bin Laden appeared to take something out from under his robe. With the razor in his hand the man leaned forward, ?Oh no, he?s gonna cut my throat!? Joe realised it. Next thing he felt himself pop out of the door like a jack in a box, and he ran across the intersection like the battery bunny.

 

Joe didn?t feel real, it was like a dream and the moment was drawn like a rubber band until it suddenly snapped. With a slight surprise his horrified mind noticed one of the boys in brown approach him with a hand to the hip. ?What?s the matter, what do you think you are doing leaving your car in the intersection?? The copper spat out the words, as were they spicy chillies.

?It?s Bin Laden, Bin Laden, he?s in my car!!? Joe couldn?t keep his body upright and fell to the ground like a sack of rice, the hot asphalt was burning his hands. The copper pulled a gun and went towards Joes taxi. After that, Joe blacked out.

 

Joe awoke some time later to the sound of laughter. When he opened his eyes he realised that he was surrounded by several police officers. After he had wiped cold sweat off his face, the police officer said, ?You goddamn monkey, this wasn?t Bin Laden. You better feel lucky that we don?t arrest you for wasting our time!? Joe turned his face around only to see the officer burst into laughter. ?Korthoot khrap, pom sia jai,? Joe felt sorry.

He noticed the Bin Laden look-alike, whose beard was already partly shaven off. Now he didn?t look like an evil terrorist at all, and Joe saw him laugh and smile with the coppers. This made Joe feel even more like an idiot and he started wai-ing himself away from the scene. Weird things certainly happened in Bangkok.

 

Joe got back into the taxi and shut the door with a deep sigh. The cool aircon soothed his hurt ego and he gradually relaxed. The whole story made him feel like the joke of the day, how completely embarrassing this was. And the passing out in front of the police, ?guu maeng sia nah, woey?, it had made him loose face big time.

The door opened and the Bin Laden look-alike got into the front seat next to Joe. ?Mai aow eek laew?, not again! For a blurred moment Joe had a terrible déjà vu, but then the passenger smiled and offered a friendly handshake, and they both laughed, one more heartily than the other. The rest of the journey went smooth although Joe kept on saying,? Solly Sir, I am solly too mutt?.

In this manner they arrived at the curbs of the Grace hotel, and the guy motioned for Joe to stop. He paid the fare, laughed, and left another fifty baht on the dashboard. ?All is well that ends well?, Joe shook his head as he watched the guy disappear up the slope to the lobby of the hotel. Another customer reached his destination. Joe put the Toyota in gear and slowly manoeuvred it out between all the yellow and green lease taxis.

?Guu kit maak pai laew?, Joe thought that he had been thinking way too much already and decided to head for a beer.

 

When he arrived home next morning his wife complained as usual about being left alone at night, but Joe just shrugged, gave Pim a sniff-kiss and quietly went to sleep on the cool stone floor.

Later that day when he rested under the big fan Pim caught his attention with the Daily News. On the front page was a large picture of Joe lying on the asphalt of Petchburi Road looking like someone who?d just seen Bin Laden. Under the photo it said: ? Working at night, you never know what you?ll get. Paranoid taxi driver takes Bin Laden look-alike downtown?.

?Well,? Joe said defensively,? I thought it was him. Really, it looked like Bin Laden!!? Pim read the article with a strange laughter in her eyes and said:? My husband finally made it into the newspaper. I?m proud of you.?

And from that day on, Joe (well actually his friends have renamed him ?Laden?) drives strictly dayshift. His wife Pim is happy about that. When asked about the details of this story, he usually makes a tough voice and says:? This is Bangkok, anything can happen?.

 

[khunsanuk]

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