Zhang Ziyi, Espionage & The Bamboo Curtain
© Copyright CafeBrasilia International
Version (1) He remembered how his father had taught him to pick up the 'drops' before he left the service. Was it wise to follow the same career ? Looking for the chalk line and the drawing pin. A hollow in a tree or behind a brick in a wall would lay the empty pack of Gauloises, always Gauloises. Hooked by his father with an umbrella he never seemed to open. An empty French cigarette packet with a message to change the world. The simple but effective system used by the spies of the 'Cold War'. The curtain was no longer made of 'Iron' but 'Bamboo'. This drop a cliché, copied from a book and the TV series, a fortune-cookie shoved into a plastic 35mm film holder. An apt way to leave a message considering the direction of the planet. The unravelled scrap of paper indicated a bench in a fashionable London park. Another 'amateur' to spy-craft, he'd have to wear a red rose, the symbol of his service.A typical English summer evening after dark, he wiped the raindrops off the park bench with an initialled handkerchief, a Christmas present from his ex-wife, he returned the damp cloth into his soon to be mouldy coat pocket. The recent rain had made every flower and blade of grass sing with scent. He watched loving couples kissing and strolling along the path, he sighed for his lost love. Amongst the couples strode a lone tourist dressed in a fashionable camel coloured trench coat and black 'Kangol' beret. Dark glasses helped the disguise.
A deft movement and she joined him, caring not for the wet part of the seat that the handkerchief had ignored. From the corner of his eye he saw the china doll extract a cigarette from a packet of Gauloises Bleu slowly, with her teeth. He wondered if she wore anything except expensive perfume under her raincoat. Lowering his head he pulled the rose on his lapel towards his nostril and sniffed it. "Do not despise the snake for having no horns, for who is to say that one day it might turn into a dragon!" The silent woman on a silent night had spoken; she crossed her exquisite legs. "There are more than 39 Steps in the Roman Theatre!" he tried not to stare. The China Doll raised an exquisite eyebrow, "There is a war coming in the east, Taipei rules!" ZHANG ZI YI had just entered the world of mirrors that is Espionage.
Version (2) My father had taught me that the 'drops' would often be left in a tree or a brick in a wall. What had I got myself into ? I'm a clerk, a nobody, a sex tourist to Bangkok who couldn't find a girl anywhere else. Now I am caught up in intrigue ! Pressed into service by my father who wanted me to follow in his footsteps, an English ‘gent’ of the old school who thought the ‘Orient’ still belonged to the British, “at least we still play Cricket!”
The ‘Old Man’ said I must look for a yellow chalk line or a drawing pin to indicate location. I had bought an umbrella with a hooked handle. He said this was important to hook-out something ? What? I hadn't a clue.
I sat down on one bench in Lumpini. I saw nothing except some farang who did not realise that T'ai Chi was a morning exercise. I strolled around like an empty fool. I sat down in a corner feeling slightly but probably totally ridiculous.
I looked at the wall, the part of a coffee shop. Nothing, I walked towards another bench.
Then I saw it, a yellow chalk mark and a drawing-pin on a lonely tree. I walked towards the tree and thence to the wall. Looking up I saw a hollow, a brick should have been there. I lifted the umbrella up to the recess and dug about with the handle. Nothing, I dug again and a cigarette packet fell to the floor. French Gauloises Bleu, they bulged with something inside. I looked around checked that I was not being observed and picked up the packet. A 35mm film container had been stuffed inside.
I pocketed the find and strolled about the park like the eccentric tourist I had become.
I had instructions to wear a red rose. Plenty of poor Thais selling them.
The rainy season in Thailand had left everything dripping wet. I stuffed my hand in my coat pocket and found the two cotton handkerchiefs I had bought earlier.
I wandered over to the appointed bench and sighed a relief that it had not been occupied. One handkerchief removed the drops of rain. I sat down and my nostrils absorbed the sent of the flowers that the rain had enhanced. She will never turn up, I said to myself. I watched loving couples holding hands as they walked, shy to show a public display of affection, they appeared and blissfully content in themselves. How I wished I could swap lifestyles with them? The rain made every flower, every blade of grass sing with scent. I leant forward and sniffed the stupid red rose I had to wear.
I became aware of a purposeful figure striding along the path overtaking the tourists. She wore a 'trench-coat' – classical camel-cream colour. A fashionable black 'Kangol' beret was stuck on the side of her head. In a business like fashion. Dark glasses helped the disguise.
A sudden movement and she was next to me. The shock of recognition sank in like a stone descending in a pool of water.
This was not the same ZiYi I had met before. Same designer cigarette, but now a distain for anything that moved.
I made a joke about spy ladies wearing nothing but Chanel No.5 under a trench coat. She flashed the raincoat open for a second. I saw a black triangle of naked hair. "You want a cliché, I will act a cliché." I sat transfixed. "I doubt whether you could get an erection without Viagra?" 'I am just an old man caught in a web, stop playing the tease!' ZiYi looked at me as if I was no better than the fleas on a dog. "You have the package?" I nodded like the toy dog in the back of a car.
"Remember Moscow rules? Now it's Beijing rules! Remember the 'Iron Curtain' now it's the Bamboo Curtain!"
She extracted another designer cigarette from its gaudy packet with perfect white teeth.
"The words?" 'There are 39 steps to heaven, but I cannot afford you?' She smiled, nodded and said,"One day you will!"
I handed over the plastic canister that should have held a 35mm film. She shoved it into her pocket, didn't even look.
Then she leant over, kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear,"I fuck better than Salome! Fuck her and I will kill you!" She pulled my hand to her coat pocket. The awkward hard shape of an automatic pistol was evidence of someone who was used to killing.
Why should I mean something to her? Plenty of young 'handsum-man' fish in the sea. Is she Thai or Chinese? Or both?
As quickly as she arrived she was gone. I looked around to see if I could catch sight of the disappearing target. There was none. She had vanished into thin air, the genie had escaped the bottle. I sat shaking, wishing I was in Bangkok for beer, bars and girls. My association with Dimitrios, ZiYi and Salome had sucked me into somebody's game of intrigue. Where was Dimitrios? Causing more mayhem by selling arms to separatist rebels in the south of the country, drugs and gun running in the north?
What was in that 35mm film canister that is so important? Are 'they' so thin on the ground with operatives that I get involved? Do I know too much already and some act of compassion is saving me a bullet in the back?
I sat shaking with a thousand questions spinning around my head. This is the first time I have ever felt alone in Thailand.
A stupid Civil Servant, here for the fun, the easy life. Pushing a pen in Bangkok and enjoying the fleshpots of the nightlife. Not needing to work as as an English teacher. The joys of an un-inhibited sex tourist all paid for by Her Majesty’s Government. A ‘Life of Reilly’ at the tax-payers expense. Didn’t quite work out like that did it? Life on the line now? My veins ran with blood that felt like they would freeze a whore’s breath.
-from the Novel ‘Dimitrios & Salome’
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