Down The Ax Handle

If you’re new here, start with the first story in this series: Red Shirts And Barbed Wire

“You want to go watch Petchasawin fight?” Dtorn asked. “It’s outside of Bangkok, so we’ll need to sleep there for two nights.”

“Sure,” I said. Truth was, I needed to get away from Bangkok and the Red Shirts. It had been an exciting two months, but the daily sights and sounds of red were draining the other colors from my life.

Dtorn picked me up the next day in the SUV at Sangmorakot with Jartui, his wife, and their son. He maneuvered through the red mass outside of the gym and, eventually, we made it to a highway.

We drove. And we drove. Then we drove some more.

Two hours passed and it dawned on me that I hadn’t bothered to ask where we were going. “Surat Thani,” Dtorn said. I had unknowingly committed to a nine-hour drive to Southern Thailand.

After a few hours, we stopped on the side of the road to get something to eat. I took bites from a spicy pork patty sandwiched between two sticky rice buns, Jartui and his family snacked on roasted insects, Dtorn smoked a cigarette and chewed gum.

“We’re close to the narrowest part of the country,” Dtorn said. “You could travel by foot from the Gulf of Thailand to Burma.” Dtorn grabbed a pen and began sketching a map on a napkin to show me exactly where we were. “Right here,” he said, pointing to the napkin with the lit cigarette between his fingers.

I had to do a double-take at the sketch. Normally, the outline of Thailand looks like an ax with the handle running south and the blade facing to the right. The blade on his map was facing left. Dtorn had drawn Thailand ass backwards. “Wait, something isn’t right,” he said as I sank into an awkward silence. Relief fell over me when I remembered that our trip ran from north to south and not east to west.

Meanwhile, back in Bangkok, Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva struggled to contain the protesters. The Red Shirts grew impatient after failed negotiations and stormed into the parliament. Having exhausted all options, Abhisit handed over power to the military. Word was, the Thai Army would be making a big move in the coming days.

We got to Surat Thani sometime in the late hours of the night, straight down the ax handle as planned. The next day, I went with Dtorn and Jartui to a Muay Thai gym owned by a local police officer. The fighters were in the midst of a training session when we rolled up. Jartui stepped out of the SUV and the gym fell silent. Only the creaking sounds of heavy bags swinging from chains filled the air.

The fighters lined up in front of the boxing ring with their hands behind their backs. Jartui held court, telling the kids that if they trained hard and fought well, he might invite them to come fight for him at Sangmorakot one day. Fact is, Jartui had strong ties to the south, and a few of his fighters came from Surat Thani – Petchasawin being one of them.

Petchasawin was as fearsome as a 140-pound fighter could get. I wouldn’t describe him as a madman, per se, but his eyes definitely had the look of early onset lunacy. To put it more bluntly, I always feared that one day Petchasawin might snap and kill somebody.

But every so often he would do something out of character and I’d have to rethink my dire prediction. Like the time he didn’t want me walking back alone to the Green Hotel late at night. He offered me a ride back by way of motorbike. Not wanting to be rude, I accepted. There I sat, a six-foot-three falang on the back of the bike with this 140-pound ring killer in a pink motorcycle helmet leading the charge.

After arriving in Surat Thani, I hadn’t seen Petchasawin since back at the gym in Bangkok. When I noticed him at the top of the bleachers on fight day, sitting there alone, wrapping his own hands, I offered some help. He declined without saying a word.

The ring announcer called Petchasawin and his opponent to the ring over the loudspeaker, and he climbed into the ring to perform the wai kru. Afterward, he returned to his corner and his father removed the auspicious mongkon from his head.

Petchasawin struggled early in the fight, taking a right hand that instantly welded his eye shut. But somehow he managed to land a head kick that flat-lined his opponent. Holding his glove to his eye, Petchasawin climbed out of the ring and I didn’t see him again until Bangkok.

As Dtorn made the return trip back up the ax handle, we listened to the news over the radio. The Thai Army had cut off the Red Shirts’ satellite signal to prevent them from airing their protests on television.

To retaliate, the Red Shirts stormed the satellite station, overpowered the soldiers, and took their weapons. Sixteen protesters and five soldiers were injured during the incident.

As we approached the gym in Bangkok, I could see the glow of red again. Our brief escape was over. We were driving back into a situation that some people would never make it out of.

Photo courtesy of Oliver J. Fall.