A Fighter's Heart: One Man's Journey Through the World of Fighting Read Online Free PDF Page A

could see—I would have been completely lost on my own. The farang buses all left from Khao San, where tourists were herded together and charged five times the normal price. In Thailand, there is a 300 percent tax on foreigners, and it’s still an inexpensive place. I had flown there on an airplane; compared to most Thais, I was a millionaire.
    We rode the bus, air-conditioned and smelling sweet, for about four hours, and then disembarked in a little town. Kum wandered around until he found a guy with a pickup truck who agreed to take us in the bed out to Kum’s house, about a forty-minute ride, with a few other Thais, who stared openly at us. The villages were havens for chickens and dogs, and the jungle walled us in.
    Kum’s house was a big place for the village, with a tiled ground floor lined with glass cabinets. There was running water; a single spigot in the house filled a large concrete cistern in the only bathroom, on the first floor. This cistern or pool was ubiquitous; you’d find it in restaurants and hostels in Bangkok. There was a plastic bowl floating in it for dumping water, usually freezing cold, over your head. There was no toilet paper, but we’d brought some.
    The second floor was bare, uneven, and unpainted wood. We slept in a big room there, in a line on little pads, a mosquito coil burning at our feet. Michael had convinced Johnny that the mosquito coils were deadly poison, and I agreed with him. That smoke has got to be toxic. Still, at times it was necessary. I woke up much earlier than the other two and crept from the creaking room.
    Kum had a wife, Dee, and two sons, the younger of whom was called Suphumvit and was beautiful in his hammock crib that rose in steep walls around his dense little body. Dee was also beautiful, with a warm matronly body and a smile that lit up her face and squeezed her eyes shut. She was always laughing, and the three of us got along great, Dee and Suphumvit and I. We sat on the front porch that morning while everyone else was still asleep, and I held Suphumvit and we ate mango. After I finished the mango, I put the plate down on the tile floor and washed the copius juice off my face and hands and arms. By the time I got back, the plate was crawling with several types of ants. I could hear Michael in my head singing, “Don’t worry, the ants will get it.”
    After everyone else woke up, we went out to get Johnny weighed in and find an opponent for him. The event was being organized at a wat, or temple; it was jammed with men and boys, and the drinking had already started. As Johnny weighed in, the Thais crowded around to see him. An older Thai wanted to fight him, a tall, thin, mustachioed man with tattoos on his shoulders, but Kum wouldn’t hear of it. I’m not sure whether Johnny would have killed this guy or this guy would have killed Johnny. They started with the music, traditional Thai stuff, and began a sort of mini-parade around the wat, dancing and twisting their arms. They gestured for Johnny to join in, and like a good sport, he did, stepping delicately in his imitation Tevas.
    We rode in the back of a different pickup that night out to the festival, and got there as the sun was setting. It was a small-town fairground, with Porta-Potties and garish lights strung up and little vendors selling everything. The area where the fights were going to be was cordoned off, and we went in there and found a corner of the grass to set up on.
    The ring was homemade and small and lit by a string of four bright, bare bulbs that hung diagonally over it. The fights began with really little kids, maybe eight or nine, but the crowd followed closely and shouted and cheered. The kids were deadly serious, although they couldn’t hit hard enough to hurt each other too much (although one little boy was cut by an elbow), and the crowd rejoiced ecstatically.
    Johnny was getting nervous, jumpy. He had been putting on a relaxed face all day, but now the nerves were setting in. He