July 20, 1994 - Penang - Journal

Knocking the door by the Chinese desk clerk of the Swiss Hotel. Danny tells me that I have a phone call. It's 8:21 a.m. I had difficulty getting to sleep last night. For some reason garlic keeps me awake. I got out of bed wrapped the towel around my waist and walk down the corridor to the front desk. I picked up the phone. My father's voice came from watch it pond and distant Maine. The signal bouncing off a satellite to low outer space to reach the other side of the world in Malaysia. I'm happy to hear him call.

later afternoon

Howard and I were speaking in the breakfast room. Howard is a Canadian Jew, researching The Tribe's history in Malaysia. the first recorded presence dated back to the 17th Century and the population peaked at the tutn of the century. Jalan Zainal Abidin was once known as Jehudi Jalan or Jew Street. Never many, post-war the Jewish community shurnk to under the minyan for the now-definct temple. I've nicknamed him Study Kravitz. Walter, a Guyana Hindu, lives down the hotel's first-floor hallway. Howard and I both know about Walter's increasingly difficult romantic relationship with a high-caste. He and his beloved met at university in Toronto. Love in Canada. Last night he met his girlfriend's wealthy Eurasian father. Walter is a dark-skinned Dalit from the untouchable caste.

"Not good."

His response was so soft as to be almost inaudible . Having no friends in Penang he had no choice but to tell us what had happened the previous evening. Two strangers. Older strangers were like confession to ghosts. His story was as sad as Romeo and Juliet.

Walter had gone to University in Toronto where he met and fell in love with Bridget, a Malay national of Sino/Hindu descent. White skin. Walter is very black. They were very much in love and had been living together for five years in Canada.

Family pressure forced Bridget to return to Penang, where her father had arranged a marriage to a man of the Brahman caste. Walter had followed her and have been attempted to see Bridget without any success he had gone to their family compound on Leith Street. Howard and I had both advised against it. But the decision was Walter's and last night he walked away with stooped shoulders with very little hope of success.

"Bridget had told me to wait a year before coming over. I waited and then the phone calls and letters stopped. A month ago her father told me to never call again. My parents said to forget about her. I couldn't. I came despite everyone. Last night her father wouldn't even let me in the house. I couldn't even see Bridget. He said until she was married she was locked in her room. She is 27. How can she let this be done to her? I know she loves me. Last year in New York we spent a week together. Her father thought she was in Mumbai."

Walter and I exchanged a glance. Canada and the USA have basically left marrying out of your race color or creed behind, although Jews pretty much marry amongst themselves. My mother wanted me to marry a good Irish Catholic girl. I only found one and Hilde was too young. We are still friends.

"To come here I sold off all my things. I stopped my PhD studies. My mother cried and my father said I was no son of his. I gave up everything. Bridget has accepted the marriage offer of A 42-year-old man with two kids. Her father arranged a meeting and she flew to Geneva to meet him . They are getting married next month, but I contacted her suitor and told him that she was in love with me and that we had lived together for 5 years, so now Bridget has no one her only choice is me. Why can't her father see that?"

Walter and I remain silent.

We understood her father feared her daughter getting sullied by a forbidden caste. Not agreeing with that reality. Walter can't see his girlfriend's duplicity in this racist outcome. Living with Walter was fine in Canada, but she could never love him here.

"What can I do?"

"You go to see the Buddhist monks and ask them to intercede but I don't see any success in that. Talking to the Hindu priests is no good, as they believe in caste society." The separation of caste has been going on for thousands of years. "The monks can ask her does she really love you."

"I no she loves me. She said so so many times. I want to free her from her father."

"This isn't Romeo and Juliet. You will be killed, if you trying to escape with her," said Howard.

"Well, I am only left with killing him or killing me." His unhappiness was overwhelming," and I said, "Killing yourself is giving a victory to the father and you must think of yourself you're young. Your girlfriend doesn't want you to be Romeo and she doesn't want to be Juliet, You will meet somebody. Trust me I've had many girlfriends. And each time I thought it was over and I would never love again. I have loved again. No matter what happens, you have loved, and no one can take that love away from you."

Tears swelled in his eyes, as he recognized his defeat and I felt the scars of all the failed loves in my heart, and I still love all those that I have loved. Their names are many. And I remember them all as will Walter the name Bridget.

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Much more to come__ His voice

July 11, 1994 Penang Journal

Penang

Hot

"Selamat jalan."

My departing words in Indonesian to Gulie at Penang Airport were to wish Juliana a good trip across the globe. Penang-Milan-New York. She's heading back to Manhattan, where my good Italian friend will have to deal with her separation from Giancarlo, her husband also my friend. Her entire stay lay under the black clouds of her future. If she expects people to take sides, they will. She left Penang angry with my imagined betrayal and abandoning her sick with dysentary on Langawi Island for an evening. I drank with a cute German, but didn't try anything. Never do after two beers. I drank a good five.

Standing between two people without choosing a side is never a winning strategy. I said nothing about Giancarlo leaving her for a young Jamaican nurse looking like a cad, but I never see any of her friends socially, except for Diane Brill and Maurizio. Anyway I'm in the shits with her.

Rob hasn't called from London. I asked Danny the hotel twice a day, if a friend left a message. Nothing. $150 short of a return ticket out of Kuala Lumpur. I didn't even dare to ask Juliana for money. So I'm stuck here.

The room at the Swiss Hotel has a noisy fan, but the bed comfortable, and the room clean, although I just saw another rat. Chased by a hotel cat. The overnight neon lighting in the hallway blinds even the blind. I'm sweating and haven't had a drink in three days. Oh yeah, I have been playing basketball down at Fort Cornwallis in the midday Sun with Filipino sailors. They are really fast.

Stranded. It could be worse. Breakfast at this hotel is good. Food here is cheap, especially at corner Halal Nasi Kandar restaurant on Julia Street in the shadow of the Anjuman Himayathul Islam minaret. The muzzein has a sweet voice and the restaurant serves a lovely iced tea and curry. I am not Robinson Crusoe abandoned by his shipmates. Just a broke poet.

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Much more to come__

July 16, 1994 - Penang - Journal

Over Chulia Street lightning crackles across the tropical purple black night like electric river systems flowing through the sky. A heavy rain cleared away the oppressive humidity. I'm barely sweating, as I walk by the Hong Kong Bar. The old banci whores hiss at me to buy them a drink. My No Beer Week continues. I smile back and shout back, "Esok kita minum."

'Tomorrow we drink'. Malay is the easiest language in the world. No articles or a need for tenses.

I went to bed early at 11:00, listening to the BBC on my world band radio. Danny, the owner of the Swiss Hotel said that this afternoon Rob called to say the money will to be sent to the HK Bank on Beach Street and the ticket should be forthcoming. Short on rations the last two weeks I've trimmed another five lbs. for my girth and with my embargo on beer I might lose all of the fat cells around my waist, but I'm recovering from a long overseas binge.

Don Drysdale died at only 56.

Only another fifteen years until I'm that old. although I'll never be a Hall of Famer. Newsweek published an article about risks to men. To the average impact zone for a male at forty-one exercising moderately, a little overweight, smoking pot and drinking are not a death sentence. No mention of drugs. I can't change that my father has a history of heart problems. So quitting drink and losing weight might gain a chance to be a septuagenarian. Sobriety might save my life like the antagonist of Hardy's Mayor of Castle Bridge, who had not taken a drink for twenty years.

It's been six days of sober. I reckon I can make it the week. The great God Beer calls me by name. Singing me a siren song beer beer beer beer beer beer beer beer. I'll be drinking a few at the Hong Kong bar on Chula Street. I heard music in the air like I am blessed by Bacchus.