Sumalee. Javier Salazar CalleЧитать онлайн книгу.
city's skyscrapers, which contrasted with this low area of houses. Everything was very different from what I knew.
Josele, who had always been more curious about things and who, in addition, was fond of photography and was always looking for unique locations to unleash his vocation, explained to me that these houses were called shop houses. They were old buildings with the upper floor intended as residence and the lower one for the family business, usually workshops, restaurants, or shops. Apparently, they were highly sought after, not only for their historical value or their beauty, but also for their exceptional location. They rented for three thousand five hundred up to almost twenty thousand dollars a month, depending on their location and condition; and their sale price was several million Singapore dollars. A fortune.
We went into the mall to see what kind of stores they had. It was over two blocks and on the first floor it had a glass walkway above the street that linked the two buildings. Inside there were shops of all kinds: a supermarket, a pharmacy, cosmetics, sportswear, electronics, post office and jewellery stores. They also had visa services for Indians and Malays and a currency exchange office. One euro amounted to almost one and half Singapore dollar. I had gotten a slightly better rate in Spain.
At lunchtime we ate at one of the many Indian restaurants in the area. One specialized in northern Indian food. Like I could tell the difference between the food from the north and that from the south! I went along with the advice of Josele and Damaso and we ordered several dishes to share. For starter Aloo Gobi, which were spiced potatoes with cauliflower, and Chaat, a type of very crispy dumplings with various spicy fillings. Then we shared Chana masala, which looked similar to a Spanish dish but had a completely different flavour due to the spices, a rice with lentils called Khichdi and chicken Tandori, a roast chicken with yogurt and spices that gave it a bright red colour. All accompanied by a bread called Kulcha and for dessert some rose petals with sugar called Gulqand. Lots of exotic names and food that sometimes was a bit too spicy. I could eat it once in a while but every day I would end up fed up with so much spice. Besides, I wasn't quite sure that my stomach could take it on a daily basis since it was used to a different kind of food. What I was sure of was that I wouldn't remember the name of any of the dishes.
I asked about the typical Singaporean food and I was told it was also very spicy, but to not worry about it because there were all kinds of restaurants to choose from. I liked spicy food, but only once in a while and not too spicy. I had a friend who liked hot food, but to me it seemed that with the mouth on fire you couldn't really taste the flavour of the food. Anyway, there was also a lot of Chinese influence in their food, which I liked a lot better. I had to try it soon.
After lunch we returned home. I had to finish unpacking and I wanted to get some rest. I didn't know if it was jet lag or what, but I was exhausted. Anyway, I had received so much information since I arrived in the city and I really wanted a little peace and to plan for the next day and to get into some routine.
We spent the rest of the afternoon at home, watching some English news on TV and chatting about the things we would do in the coming weeks.
We had dinner from what we had in the fridge and shortly I went to sleep. Next day I was starting my new work adventure.
Thailand 13
My thoughts about my stay in Singapore were interrupted when I felt that someone was watching me. I stopped the series of punches I was doing and looked at the cell door. A man named Channarong was looking at me weird. I had heard of him from other prisoners that talked about him, always with respect. His name, as I had been told, meant something like "fighting to win," which was exactly what I was preparing for. I wasn't quite sure why people respected him. I didn't know if he were a member of a mob, a famous fighter or the son of a rich businessman who could pay someone to kill you if you bothered his offspring. The thing was, he had been staring at me quietly for who knows how long. I tried to pretend by stretching my arms and making some stupid moves trying to imitate what in my head would be Tai Chi. I was sure it was too late and that Channarong could tell that I was training in martial arts. He would have to be stupid to believe that what I was doing was Tai Chi.
I felt ridiculous trying to throw him off, so I stopped and stared at him without saying anything. Channarong fixed his eyes in mine and examined me closely. His face was completely blank. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. After a few minutes, which seemed like hours, he took a few steps toward me. Instinctively, I stepped back and raised my arms to defend myself. I was used to all who came near to hit me although this time it was a bit soon considering the last beating was just an hour ago.
Channarong came within twenty inches of me and looked at me funny. He raised his hand and I shrugged waiting to take the first hit, but instead, what he did was grab my arm and stretch it imitating a punch.
“Not like this,” he said in a pretty decent English as he shook his head. “Not like that. No, no, no.”
He grabbed my arm and stretched it again, this time with more force. Forcing me to turn on my hip so I don't fall.
“Move hip, hit hip. Move hip, hit hip. Do you know what to call this prison? The Big Tiger because they say, “it hunts and eats.” Want to be prey or hunter?”
He kept repeating that phrase as if it were a mantra, over and over again, as he moved my arm and patted me on the waist. He was correcting my movement! Not only did he not want to hit me, he was teaching me to hit the right way. He let go of my arm and encouraged me with a hand gesture to keep trying. I threw a new series of punches using my hip in the punches as Channarong corrected my movements.
“Muay Thai's tenth lesson,” he told me very serious after a while-training and exercising regularly. “You continue, I watch. Very good. Muay Thai are eight-armed warriors. Fists, elbows, knees, and feet. Train everything, look for balance.”
So, he had been watching me training without me knowing. It was clear that I wasn't hiding it as well as I thought. Just a minute! Did he say tenth lesson? What about the previous nine? Anyway, I did another series of punches focusing on doing everything perfect, as he taught me, paying attention to every detail of the movement, trying to not allow the pain in my body to influence me. I turned satisfied to see what he thought, but Channarong had already left. He disappeared the same way he showed up. Quietly and without warning. It left me puzzled. Why was he helping me, why did he leave without giving me the opportunity to thank him? I didn’t know the answers or had the chance to get them at the time, so I did what was expected of someone practical like me. I kept training my punches, using my hip to hit harder. Trying to ignore the pain caused by every move in the places where I was hit in the beating.
Next day I looked for Channarong to thank him, but I couldn't find him. I also did not go searching the entire complex, because with my background it was better not to be seen too much to avoid problems. When you were used as a punching bag, the wisest thing to do was not to be found. I kept training my punches and the rest of the moves. I would have loved it if he decides to be my mentor as Mr. Miyagi in the Karate Kid or as Angel, the boxing teacher who taught me what respect for others and myself was, but I doubted that this so loved man and with whom I had never talked had any interest in me. On the other hand, he had helped me, hadn't he? In any case no one ever spoke to me; so, I felt grateful at least for that.
A couple of days later I met Channarong in the cafeteria line. I approached to thank him for his interest, but he sent me away from him with rapid hand movements and a snake-like sound.
“Lesson number two” - screamed as I walked away confused, “to make oneself useful to others.”
While eating, I tried to unravel the meaning of those words. Did he want me to help people in the prison, did he want me to think of myself? Eastern people sometimes liked to talk like this. Was it not easier to say what you meant? Make oneself useful to others... to defend others from thugs instead of myself? Cheap philosophy. With how useful it is to say things directly. I looked toward Channarong and he was pointing toward my table and telling something to his teammates, who were laughing hard. I didn’t know what to think anymore. I was completely lost. Maybe he was just laughing at me, but then why help me?
I