➤ BANGKOK, from p.18
their names were Seo Eng and Seo
Eu, not exactly noble titles. Like
legions of others from crowded,
impoverished China, they had arrived
as steerage cattle in a foreign
land, dumped by their parents as
unwanted female offspring, left to
their own devices to become laborers
toting sacks of rice or, if they
were lucky, slaving in a factory or,
just maybe, becoming the lowest
level of house servant, abused and
underpaid by heartless Thais who
regarded Chinese as untouchables.
But Seo Eng was cut out for better
things. Her beauty, highlighted
by pale skin prized by the Thais,
landed her in a “tea shop,” a euphemistic
label for places where more
than tea was served. She soon plied
her trade successfully; so well, it
seemed, that Seo Eng became one
of the establishment’s prized girls,
the one who was sought after by
all the better clients. In addition
to her beauty, she had personality
and added a twist to everything
she did, entertaining her clients by
playing the lute, and, at the same
time, cracking watermelons seeds
with her teeth, passing these delicacies
mouth-to-mouth to her
quivering clients.
Her popularity crested to fame
and soon she had royal patrons.
One of these admirers was the bisexual
lover of the gay Thai King
Rama VI. In time the king’s lover
married her and Seo Eng became
Khunying (Lady) Chalao Anirudtheva.
Court life was a series of
trysts and intrigues. At the peak of
her notoriety, Khunying allegedly
conspired in the murder of a man
who displeased her — the brother
of another man reputed to be her
lover. After spending two years in
jail during the trial, her high connections
enabled her release and
she became a free woman, maneuvering
once again in the upper levels
of Thai society. In spite of her
two-year incarceration, Khunying
Chalao appeared at her trial elegantly
turned out in a fashionable
dress, looking “beautiful”, accordingly
to on-lookers in the crowded
courtroom. The tabloid Bangkok
Post told it all in an article from
1947.
Fast-forward nearly 30 years to
a dumpy old lady gracing my house
for lunch. But the story doesn’t end
there. In a hard-to-believe coincidence,
another tale unfolded making
true life stranger than fi ction.
Through totally separate events
and connections during a return
to Thailand years after the mystery
revealing luncheon, I met
Fuangchaloei Anirudtheva, the
Khunying’s son! An Army general
and a man my own age, General
“Daeng,” as he was nicknamed,
had retired and was enjoying the
good life by the time we became
friends. Aide de camp to His Majesty
the King, General Daeng was
the horsiest man I ever met; head
of the Royal Horse Guard, he was
also president of the ASEAN Equestrian
Association and president of
Thailand’s Equestrian Federation.
Daeng was a live wire and a hard
partier, always full of war stories.
If he were to be believed, he could
have won the Vietnam War singlehandedly.
So when he invited me
to Bangkok’s Polo Club for lunch, I
eagerly accepted his invitation, always
glad to see my lute-plucking,
murderous landlady’s larger-thanlife,
swashbuckling son.
On the appointed day, I entered
the poolside restaurant of the Polo
Club and immediately spotted
Daeng, seated at what must have
been the most VIP table in the
place. And he was more than conspicuous,
fl anked by two seriously
beautiful young women whose pulchritude
was only surpassed by
their serious coarseness. Now here
were two fi rst-class fl oozies! Seo
Eng and Seo Eu 40 years later!
Breaking the ice with Elsie and
Vivian — though they spoke no
English and very bad, Chineseaccented
Thai — was easy. Understanding
nothing, but seizing the
spirit of the moment as only skilled
courtesans can do, they laughed at
everything I said and coquettishly,
but energetically pushed my knees
as a substitute for verbal response.
A very liquid lunch passed pleasantly
and before I knew it, glancing
at General Daeng’s Rolex diver’s
watch, I saw that three hours had
fl own by effortlessly, dare I say, on
Cupid’s wings.
With a twinkle in his eye, Daeng
leaned over Vivian, toward me, and
said, with a dirty old man’s smirk
and raised eyebrows, “You know, I
have plans for the three of you: I
want you to marry these lovely ladies
and take them to the United
States with you!”
The ghost of Seo Eng must
have been hovering over us with a
Cheshire cat’s grin. I assumed that
Daeng knew I was gay — everybody
else in Bangkok did! But what did
that matter? Business had to be
done and marriages arranged.
Seeing this moment as the perfect
point for departure from what
was becoming a most challenging
social situation, I shook my head,
laughing, and said to the three of
them, “Daeng, you have put me in
a real dilemma. You know I want to
marry these lovely ladies, but you
also know that in the USA, marriage
is only legal with oneperson.
So I need time to think which one
of these beauties will be my bride.”
A fl urry of whispers ensued and
glances exchanged. Both disappointment
and hope registered
on the girls’ faces. Small noises,
a cross between a whimper and
a giggle, came from their overly
made-up lips.
If ever there was a moment to
exit, it was now. With a slight bow
to Daeng and blowing a handful of
kisses to Elsie and Vivian, I backed
out of the cool shadows of the Polo
Club onto the sun-baked streets of
Bangkok.
That was more than 10 years
ago. The girls must be approaching
middle age by now. I hope they
have found suitable husbands
and learned better make-up techniques.
And not to shriek so loudly
when marriage is being proposed
on their behalf. As for my friend,
General Daeng, I last saw him
where my Thewet story fi rst began,
at Baan Ban Thomsin.
I returned to Bangkok not long
ago, and following my ritual for
visits to the City of Angels, I made
my way to Thewet to savor the nostalgia
for a part of the city that
time had forgotten, a place that I
loved like no other. While high rise
condos and sky trains dominated
the Bangkok landscape, Thewet
remained pristine, clinging to the
past with its Buddhist temple,
fl ower market, hawkers’ cries, and
my old compound that had crumbled
into graceful ruin.
But I could scarcely believe what
had happened to my elegant old
house! It was near collapse with
underwear and other laundry unmentionables
hanging on a clothesline
from the porch, redolent of a
Mississippi sharecropper’s hooch.
I stood for a long time, gazing at
what had been a blissful chapter
of my life. Then I heard crunching
gravel on the driveway and saw a
wheelchair approaching. It was
General Daeng, a frail shadow of
his old self. He had heard from his
servants that a visitor was standing
in the driveway and had come out to
greet me. Overwhelmed with emotion,
I stepped forward and shook
his hand. Incapacitated by a stroke,
he could not speak, but managed
his jaunty old grin. With me doing
all the talking, we chatted about the
old days, bragging about our prowess
with booze and other manly
conquests that may or may not have
happened. Pressing his limp, clawlike
hand again, I managed a smile
before turning toward the gate, my
eyes wet with emotion.
As I boarded the water taxi at
Thewet dock, my head was full of
bell-like laughter from well-borne
ladies and thoughts of murder in
high places. A gentle river breeze
enveloped me. All part of an afternoon
in Bangkok.
Sam Oglesby lived in Bangkok
during the 1970s working for the
United Nations. He was recognized
with a First Place in Feature Writing
Award from the New York Press
Association for a 2013 essay in Gay
City News about how anti-gay discrimination
had doomed his career
in the Foreign Service, an injustice
for which the US State Department
never apologized.
GayCityNews.com | JANUARY 28 - FEBRUARY 10, 2021 19
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