Part I: Tim Stalhworth

Tim Stalhworth stares out the window of his chauffeured car on the way to
The American School. The rain is still pouring down, wondering when this
rainy season will finally brake, he still feels a little guilty about being
chauffeured around. In the United States he would never be chauffeured. His
family had done well, but not that well, and even if they had, he couldn’t
see the old man hiring a chauffeur. But here in Burma, being an American
had its privileges. It was just one of the many perks that came along with
the life style of an ex-patriot. After all, if it wasn’t for Tim’s generous
2 dollar a day salary his driver, 63 year old Park would be out of a job.

The American school was exactly 9.4 miles from the comfortable home which
the school provided Tim during his tenure in Burma. Not only was he
provided with a house, he had a gardener, a cook, and a maid thrown in, all
for being one of a hand few of young Americans teachers. Tim was fortunate
to make the acquaintance of several Burmese ladies, who he has gotten in
the habit of seeing on a regular basis. His life is pretty pleasant, Mar,
his cook, by now was able to prepare all his favorite American, and Burmese
dishes, although a pizza with a Burmese crust just doesn’t hold up to
‘Famous Rays’ of New York City. There are many things he still misses form
home. For now he is just accepting, learning, saving, and growing. Tim’s
hobbies keep him busy. His gardener, Par-Ten is a 4th degree black belt in
karate and a ju-jitsu master. The Burmese were able to acquire some of the
rich aspects of Japanese culture during the occupation, martial arts being
one of these. Par-Ten was happy to train the ëYankee from the west, and his
son Muay, also needed a partner to practice his English.

Park, Tim’s driver begins a deceleration, approaching a traffic light of
numerically descending red numbers. All the traffic lights in Burma are
numerical. Red numbers counting down slowly from 25, turn green once they
reach zero, change to 25 again, then start to count down turning yellow for
the last 4 seconds of the descent. It is and interesting concept of traffic
safety. Burma was not without its innovations. Growing to accept the
difference between the East and the West has been a challenge. Women,
weather, food and song, were on the list of cultural differences that he
was learning to appreciate. Even the lavatory system, which he initially
could not fathom, had become a welcomed change from the West, for now. When
he first walked into a rest room he was really confused. Too embarrassed to
ask directions, he is still not too sure which way he should be facing for
the unaccustomed squatting position. Eventually he came to except changes.
Now it is hard to imagine going through a day with out his daily cup of
tea, or karate lesson. Knowing he is only here for another year helps a
great deal, he misses his family and friends it is a constant pull to his
peace of mind.

Park, eases into a visitors parking spot at the international school. The
rain is still coming down in torrents; gladly Tim will be inside most of
the day, his first class beginning at 9:00 AM.

Who would have thought a casual interest and friendship with the professor
of Asian studies at Denison College would lead to a 2 year stint abroad. He
had hardly ever heard the name Burma, much less knew the location of the
South East Asian country. Tim’s limited knowledge of geography came from a
10th grade social studies class, and marathon sessions of the board game
ìRisk, played in a summer camp in New England, on days equally as rainy as
today. After high school he could point to China and India on a map, but
Burma, Vietnam, no clue. Four years at an accredited liberal arts school in
Pennsylvania changed his casual knowledge of geography. He applied for the
teaching post on a whim, as he had no formal plans for his life after
college. Why not see some of the world. His uncle Mike had said.
“Get good grades at University. It keeps doors open.”
He kept that in mind when he was is his seat for the foreign services
placement test. Apparently his grades and scores were enough, as the job
came through right before graduation. He packed up some condoms; some
Grateful Dead cassettes, boarded a plane, and he was on his
way to an unknown land.

Opening his door to the still pouring rain, umbrella in hand, Tim confirms
his pick up and says his good bye to Park.
3:30 Mr. Tim.
îYes Park, thank you, have a good day.

The International school is a typical ex-patriot institution. The students
are aged 6-18; grades 1 through 12 are represented. Private business men
have their families enrolled, as well as the children of office workers of
the international consulate’s and embassy’s in Burma. On making his way up
into the school, he passes students who all wish him a good morning.

“Morning Mr. Stalhworth.
“Morning Charlie, Steve, I saw you now, so I better see you in my class
later.
“Are you sure you saw us? Maybe we are someone else.”
“And we could get sick by this afternoon”

You could take the wise ass out of America, but you couldn’t take the wise
ass out of an American. But Tim loved anything that brought back memories
of how he was at that age. Sometimes when people were too polite you
couldn’t trust them, seemed like they were hiding something.

îIt’s hard to respect someone who kisses your ass.
Uncle Mike would say.
“Be nice, but use your best judgment, if someone respects you, they’ll also
want to do best by you.”

It seems that children all over the world have the same care free spirit. A
spirit that so many adults seem to lose with maturity. Still aware of the
little devil dwelling within him, Tim isn’t so far removed from the
restless energy all his students seem to keep just below the surface,
bubbling over whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Tim teaches 2 elementary math classes and 2 elementary English classes. A
quick study, he was able to get the procedure down quickly last year. This
year is merely an extension of last year. Taking home papers to grade; and
essay’s to read, he has been able to keep a social life, as well as other
extracurricular activities.

Tim has been enjoying his martial arts, getting more comfortable with the
karate kata’s that his gardener is teaching him. Also exploring the world
of judo and aikido, he pretty much has a full plate when he’s not in
school. Women, also have always been a pleasant diversion, they were
plentiful, and friendly enough for him over seas. He had his experiences in
college; even fell in love a couple times. He could say that he’s loved
girls, and has been loved by a several women, but still missing out on the
mutual state of being in love. Knowing that the capacity is there, he is
confident that it is just a matter of time before he finds the right women.
For now, he has his eyes open, and doesn’t seem too serious about anyone,
he is here in Burma to make some money and have some fun, both pursuits he
has been able to accomplish.

Tonight he’ll meet Mia after judo. She was pretty much the first Burmese
female he had noticed. He wasn’t even in the country when he met her. Mia
was a flight attendant out of Thailand on Myanmar Air. Long legs and dark
skin, sultry eyes, great behind, he had to speak with her. They hit it off,
it didn’t take long to get the personal information that she was eager to
give. Single, 20’s, willing and able. They started dating less than a week
after he settled into his government sponsored home. She would meet up with
him whenever she was in the capitol, one of those nights was tonight, and
Mr. Tim was excited. There was something that Mia didn’t tell him however.
It is the custom in Burma, if 3 or more neighbors see a women enter your
house at night and leave your house in the morning for 3 or more times,
then you are legally married.

Popping his head into the teachers lounge to say good morning to the other
ex-patriot teachers was in order with a Monday morning. Two months into his
second year, he’d met all the staff at the K-12 institution. There was Sam
Kinsley, another recent college graduate who had come to Burma to pay off
some college loans. Tim wasn’t too sure how he had found out about the job.
The staff was varied in ages. Some as young and inexperienced as Tim; some
had been teaching at international schools around the world, for upwards of
twenty years. They all shared some common traits, as do all peers and
co-workers, by definition, even if they don’t care to admit it.

The ex-patriot seemed to hold a detached cynicism about the world. They
also seemed to have an underlying current of somehow ënot making the
grade, being less of a true American. A kind of ënot being able to make it
in the states, second place feeling floated around the ex-pat bars, social
gatherings, and work place. Perhaps it was in Tim’s imagination, but it was
there, a feeling of second best. There were plenty that would adamantly
voice the fact that they wouldn’t go back to the US, even if you gave them
the presidency. Ex-patriots for the most part have chosen that life style.
It is relatively easier than a nine to five grind in the US, the pay is
substantially higher, especially if you have some training. Exploiting what
everyone in the US takes for granted; being an American. This fact can be
dangerous, but as with anything it is more a matter of timing that dictates
what happens to people, then the exact path that they follow. Tim hadn’t
signed off on the United States just yet. He was merely getting his feet
wet, on for the ride so to speak, trying not to cast opinions on others, a
new-be in a new land.

Having some space and time away from the states had been an eye opening
experience so far. He took some philosophy classes in college and now had a
chance to apply some of the theories and learning to his position in a
foreign land. One Zen metaphor seemed often to creep into his mind. The
analogy was that of life to the time line of a leaf on a tree. When the
leaf is ready to fall from the tree, a breeze will eventually come and it
will be blown off, to flutter in the wind, take its own course and land
where it may. The leaf will stay on the tree, until it is ready to fall
off, not sooner and not later than the right time. In Tim’s perception this
translated into taking things at their own pace, not rushing ahead if it
wasn’t necessary, nor staying back, when the time is right, it is simply
the right time, no sense plucking the leaf off the tree if nature has not
taken its course.

Other staff members he had become close to were in and out of the staff
room all day, he enjoyed chatting with them as everyone had similar
problems and adjustments to make. An older gentleman in his 50’s, Raphael
from Los Angeles was a very kind gentle man that had an affinity for Tim.
Perhaps he saw much of himself in this young college graduate, making his
way in a strange world. Raphael had his TESL(Teaching English as a Second
Language) degree, and had an excellent position teaching English to some of
the non-English speaking students that attended the school. Tim and Raphael
would meet up late afternoons on occasion; speak about what was right and
what was wrong with the world. Lucy, the English literature teacher was an
intelligent, good looking women from South Carolina. She had a distinctive
way of dressing that really caught Tim’s eye. An interesting cross between
80’s conservative, if there was such a thing, and 60’s hip. She would wear
a colorful Tibetan style belt wrapped around her waste holding up kaki
chinos that accentuated her hips and thighs. Tim guessed she was in her
30’s, no ring on her finger, he wanted to get to know her a little better,
but the timing hadn’t seemed right, perhaps this year would be different.

Looking at the clock, it was close to 8:55, so Tim was on his way to class.
First period for him was a 7th grade math class. This was a pre-algebra
class he was teaching from the text book, no problem and kind of fun as he
always excelled at math.

The day was pretty routine, but he was constantly distracted by
thoughts of his day and weekend outside the classroom. Kids are fun and
full of energy, but all he could think of was meeting up with Mia. They
would go to a nice restaurant in the middle of the city, have some exotic
Burmese food. She’d tell him about her latest excursion to Thailand or
Indonesia. Working for an airline was an exciting job, especial for the
daughter of a farmer from the north of the country. Mia’s good looks got
her past the first few interviews of the government run airline, her
friendly personality landed her the job. Tim had a hard time trusting her
in terms of her faithfulness, but what could he do? And how much of a
hypocrite could he be anyway, his eyes were constantly straying, as were
his hands. He was actually dating 3 beautiful young ladies, 2 Burmese, and
a Thai girl. He had met these girls in the city, one he had met at a party
at one of the other teacher’s houses. Fortunately he had some friends at
home who headed his request for another box of American condoms, the
Burmese ones, just didn’t do the trick.

Besides the rendezvous with Mia, Muay, his gardener’s son was going to take
him to a kick boxing exhibition tomorrow, and there was also judo practice
to look forward to right after school.

Before he knew it, it was 2:30, schools out. He had an hour to finish up
school paper work and then he was off by way of his driver to judo. As he
stepped out of his class room Lucy was approaching from down the hall, all
of the students had left for the weekend, the hallway was empty.
“Hello Tim, how was your day?
A little surprised at seeing his co-worker, he recovered quickly and
smoothly.
“Not to bad for a Friday most everyone behaved themselves, even got an
apple.”
Smiling, Lucy tells Tim that she is going to be in his part of town for a
dinner party tomorrow night. Mr. Rothstein, the President of health care
for the UN is holding a gathering, and if he would like to attend he was
welcome as her guest. Turns out the Rothstein’s live just a few houses
down the road from Tim’s place, so he accepted her invitation. Exchanging
numbers, he couldn’t help but comment on her silk suit.
ìI got it custom made in Vietnam.
Impressed, he nods his head showing his approval, and Lucy throws him an
alluring smile.
îDo you need a lift anywhere? My driver should be waiting for me out side,
and I think it is still raining.
îThat is very sweet, but my girlfriend is picking me up.
îI see, ok, sound good, thanks again for inviting me, I have wanted to meet
some of my neighbors for a while now.

Tim couldn’t, suppress, nor did he care to suppress the thoughts that came
to his mind when she mentioned her girlfriend was going to pick her up.
Wanting to steal a look at Lucy’s ride, he was disappointed for a moment at
the punctuality of Park. ìNever satisfied, he says to himself as he gets
into the chauffeured limo.

“Good afternoon Mr. Tim, how was students today?”
“Pleasant enough, always eager to learn.”
“I think the rain will stop soon, probably ending tonight for at least a
while.”
“That’s good news. Thought I was living in Seattle.”
“Not know Seattle.”
As Tim fills Park in on the geography of some of the cities of North
America, he is driven to the martial arts center on the other side of town.
Judo practice is from 4 to 6, and it is one of Tim’s favorite workouts. Now
a brown belt in judo, he is also enjoying karate. He has mastered all of
the 8 basic kata’s and has starting on intermediates. His karate style is
go-ryo, a kind of mix between kempo and aikido, a very effective means of
fighting. Tonight is judo practice, judo is a sport taken from ju-jitsu, a
very technical grappling art. Since Tim wrestled in high school he had an
aptitude for judo and it was one of his favorite work outs.

Park stops outside the gate of the national martial arts complex, and parks
the car. He will wait in the area for Tim, having tea and reading the
paper, relaxing with some of his friends at the tea shack while Tim gets
his work out in. The dojo is up a flight of stairs on the second floor of
the government sports building. Most government buildings in non-democratic
countries are fairly well maintained. The populace could be starving, but
the national art museum would be immaculate. Buffed
floors, and masterpiece works filling the walls. Burma was not your
ordinary communist block country however. It was an oligarchy, run by a
closed set of elite, who mostly lined their own pockets with the funds that
should have gone into at least some public enterprises. As a result, not
much in the county was grade ‘A’. The national karate, and judo teams
worked out in what amounted to uniforms that looked like rags. Fortunately,
Tim was able to have a uniform hand made to his western specifications.

The students were getting changed and bowed on to the mat. He was the only
occidental in the dojo. The students introduced him to a young Japanese
traveler who would be practicing that afternoon. His name was Keiji Suzuki.
Tim had a chance to spar with him, and he was an experienced player. He spoke
English well, said he was on his way to India doing some traveling and
backpacking from Japan. He was staying with the Consulate of Japan, his
second uncle on his mother’s side, Tim inferred from the explanation.

The work out was standard; stretching for 25 minutes, including
calisthenics, push-ups, sit-ups, some judo push-ups. There were mat
exercises, ‘shrimping’ across the floor. Reverse shrimps, fore arm pulls,
and forward rolls. Form practice and mat work. The teacher demonstrated an
entrance to ju-ji-gatame, an elbow arm-breaking lock, and all the students
practiced. The last 3rd of the work out was Randori, or free fighting. This
was the part Tim really enjoyed, as he was able to apply what he learned in
class, and get out all his aggression. Judo is a fantastic sport, you can
go at the other player with 100% effort, and because you are on a mat, and
both players know how to fall, no one gets hurt (in theory). It is possible
to get injured, you can pull muscles, dislocate an elbow, even tear an ACL
in practice, but for the most part, compared to how dynamic and physically
demanding the sport is, it is aptly translated as ìThe Gentle Way.

He is exhausted from the work out, and falls asleep on the ride home. If
only Mia was waiting for him when he got home to bathe him, that would be
something else. No luck in the bathing department, but a snack was waiting,
as was his customary tea. After, he did shower up, and nap, Mia arrived.

She was as sexy as ever, wearing a native off red and yellow thick cotton
and wool skirt, and a tightly fitting blouse that showed off her ample
chest. Her hair smelled like chamomile, just the right amount of make up
for Tim; none. Ever since he was a boy he couldn’t stand girls with make
up. Why look like a clown? He wondered. Part of the culture he guessed.
Some Asian countries were big on make up, but that was a luxury that most
Burmese couldn’t afford, fortunately for Tim’s tastes.

The couple decided to stay in, Tim’s cook had plenty in the kitchen and
they ate and made love all night.

“Breakfast Mr. Tim, you wanted wake up by eight-tirty today”
Rolling over in bed, he called for Mar to come in, bringing with her the
mornings sunshine as well as the lofty aroma of her Saturday morning eggs
over easy. After explaining exactly what ëover-easy was, in just a few
tries she was able to make the eggs just how he liked them.

Mia had to be at the airport for an internal flight early that morning. She
had slipped out of Tim’s bed just after 4 A.M. this allowed him a rare
luxury of not being embarrassed by her presence this morning. Although he
really didn’t care how many people saw him, with however many sexy Burmese
girls, not wanting to disrespect his live in cook and house keeper was top
on his list. Mar also had a daughter that would come round once in a while,
who, Tim believed most likely had a crush on him, if she got wind of all
his studly escapades, she may have been hurt.

No one could ask for a tastier or sweeter smelling alarm clock than
Mar’s eggs and toast. After a quick mandi to wash up he was ready to meet
Muay. Having a large house with a combination Burmese/Western bathroom was
really the best of both worlds. If he felt like a western shower, he didn’t
have to wait long for the hot water, or if a mandi was more to his liking,
the filled basin was always there. A mandi was the name given to the
traditional way to bath in South East Asia. An Indonesian word, it referred
to a filled tub of water that was ladled overhead by way of a small bucket.
The mandi saved on water and was pretty refreshing, to say the least.
Sitting some 12 degrees above the equator, even though it was coming to the
end of the rainy season, September was still pretty muggy, nothing like a
nice mandi to invigorate you before starting your day.

Tim arrived at the corner tea shop at 9. Muay was completely relaxed,
having started on his second cup of hot chai. Burmese tea, or chai had a
distinctive English flavor, as did much of the country. England
adopted Eastern tastes but left an indelible mark on its adopted Asian
neighbors. The echo of English colonialism reverberated from the
Hindu-Kush Mountains in western Pakistan, proliferating across the Indian
subcontinent, through Burma, into Thailand, mixing with the Anglo flavors
brought by the French into Indo-China and Vietnam. Asia itself drew on all
things past and present, the history of China and India were too
overpowering to be confined to borders, blending war and peace, religion
and government. Asia will always be, by western standards grand and
mysterious, the largest continent on earth.

Muay was always excited to see his American friend. As full of pride as any
one would expect when being seen with a celebrity. Back at home Tim loved
the animosity of American cities, especially New York, being able to walk
for hours, days even, without anyone ever giving him a second look. Here
was different, like it or not, he was a celebrity. Celebrity as in any
culture comes with power and privilege at the cost of privacy. If Muay were
the jealous type, he no doubt would harbor that emotion when spending time
with Tim, and the attention his occidental looks gave him. But he wasn’t.
Muay’s father either instinctively or behaviorally bestowed on him the
humble virtues of pride and strength that accompanies inner peace. Muay’s
father, Tim’s gardener was the 5 time all Burmese karate champion in the
60’s never boasting of his accomplishments. He was perhaps the humblest man
Tim knew.

“Morning Muay.”
The tea bar chorused in. “Good morning Mr. Tim.”
“Good morning Mr.Tim.”
Muay got in as the hellos died down. Ordering a chai, the 2 sat in the open
aired tea room discussing the day’s schedule.

Tim was looking forward to this day all week, it would be his first local
kick boxing match, and he was also finally going to have a look at the Par
Ten family art collection. Muay’s father had a little know but supposedly
priceless collection of rare Asian sculptures and artifacts in their
compound. Having retired over 10 years ago, Par Ten gardened at Tim’s
residence just to occupy some of his free time, and practice his English.
Sometimes Tim thought that the only reason he got so much attention in this
country was that this gave the Burmese a chance to practice their English.
This was, for the most part completely accurate. Every country where
English is not the main language, which is pretty much every country, with
the exception of the US, and the UK’s Common Wealth Nations. English is
taught to every elementary school student. The one thing a school book
cannot teach you is proper pronunciation. That is where the native English
speakers come in. And is why any Tom, Dick or Harry, or Tim, can go to
countries like Japan, Korea or Burma, with a simple Bachelors degree, and
get paid excellent money to teach English. Tim’s job at the American school
was a few steps above the basic ex-patriot English teacher position. The
training was basically the same; grow up in America. That in itself is no
longer a guarantee of English fluency but the other countries don’t know
that.
The tea was rich and fresh, as if they were on a tea plantation, with hints
of mint, and sweet milk congealed at the bottom of the glass. This was a
daily ritual that would be missed in the years away from the country that
had become his second home.

Muay’s bike, like Tim’s was a local Burmese cruiser; no shocks, 3 gears,
they took their time biking on the dusty roads, at the outskirts of the
capitol through the suburbs of Tim’s neighborhood. Riding; the houses
started to creep closer and closer to one another, more and more faces
lined the streets, until they were in the heart of Rangoon, the capitol of
Burma. The city was pretty flat, so the biking was pleasant, with the sun
beating down, the rain had given the pair a brake this morning, and it
looked like it would stay clear through out the day. Rangoon had been the
capitol for over a thousand years, Ancient temples were everywhere; the
city was alive with traffic. Mostly 2 wheeled vehicles were on the crowded
streets; the occasional ox drawn cart was haling all manor of produce to
and from local markets. Cars were rare, and they were usually in the form
of Mercedes, or Range Rovers carrying government dignitaries, or over
privileged teachers.

There was limited opposition to the western friendly oligarchy. Several
local tribes had formed into a socialist backed organization calling
themselves Miop Red, demanding re-establishment of minority tribe
rights, and expulsion of all foreigners. Tim gave little thought to the
growing discontent of the minority tribes, mostly due to the ignorance and
isolation of his life style. The only time he was really forced to deal
with the potential political unbalance was when Sheila his Karin girlfriend
would bring it up. Experience taught him to just nod his head and agree
with her political outbursts, placating her until her mood swung towards
more carnal concerns.

They were headed to the Budo-kai. The martial arts training section of the
Pataou quarter. Since ancient times, the Burmese have been excited about
martial arts. When the Japanese invaded in 1938 they brought with them,
among other things, Okinawa karate, ju-jitsu, aikido and the sport of judo.
After the Japanese occupation, the disciplines of martial arts remained,
but morphed into part of the Burmese culture. Today was the 3rd annual
Burmese muai-thai challenge. Tim had contemplated participating, and
probably would have if his teacher, Mauy’s father hadn’t insisted that he
not. When asked why, the answer was simple, “They are using no protective
gear”.

Mauy and Tim arrived just as the 1st match was getting under way. Probably
because there was limited publication of the event the crowd wasn’t large,
only about 30 spectators. The matches were in a standard sized boxing ring.
One referee conducted the bouts. The crowd though small, was still getting
excited. Rowdy males of all ages were eagerly awaiting the 1st match. As
the two friends sat down, the 2 fighters already in the ring came out of
their corners and met in the middle. Both participants were slim but fit,
about 5’9″ and eager to begin. The referee dropped a yellow ceremonial
cloth in the middle of the ring, signaling the 1st round. Muai-thai is
kick-boxing, when the fighters start to brawl they are separated, the
action returning to kicking and boxing. To Tim surprise, neither fighter
was wearing boxing gloves, in fact they had no gloves of any kind. Mauy’s
father was right, you could easily break your hand or your wrist. After the
first punch of the first match Tim saw a tooth from one of the players fly
out of his mouth. No mouth piece either, Tim couldn’t understand why there
were no preparations taken for at least a minimum of safety’s sake.

“It’s part of the tradition, they should change, maybe.”
Was Mauy’s comment. The first match was won by the blue cornered fighter,
the guy who’s tooth was knocked out, the other fighter was disqualified
because his ear started to bleed. Strange rules they had for the matches
in Burma. 4 more fights were on the card. The second match went into the
second round, one player knocked the other out with a spectacular round
house kick to the head. This immediately brought the crowd to their feet.
Third match was evenly fought, punches and kicks to the mid sections of
both players brought grunts and grimaces as the pain registered on their
faces. No doctors or judges were in attendance, just the one referee in the
center, to decide which player got the victory, the crowd cheered them on
and both made it to the final 3rd round. Both fighters were pretty exhausted,
but they managed to slug and kick each other with enough gusto to stimulate the
crowd. The referee had to make a decision at the end. Tim thought the red
cornered fighter had put up a better battle. To Tim’s surprise the crowd
decided the champion. The ref first holding up the hand of the red cornered
player, mentally registering the shouts and whistles from the crowd. The
blue cornered players hand was raised, once again the crowd chimed in with
their opinion, but it was not as loud as for the red competitor. The ref
held both their wrists,and then raised the red mans glove.

Tim and Mauy were entertained, Tim would consider the competition if the
players wore gloves and mouth pieces, kind of ridiculous not too.
After a few more similar matches the event was over. Mauy next took Tim to
his house. He lived in a compound of 4 houses not too far from the center
of town. They jumped on their bikes, and started pedaling. It looked like
the rain would hold out, but the sun was getting pretty hot. In the states
Tim rarely, if ever wore a hat. On lazy college
mornings on the way to dorm breakfasts he might throw one of his roommates
painters hats on to hide his uncombed hair, but he usually at least wet his
hair so it didn’t look so un kempt. Tim just didn’t care so much for hats.
During the first day of his arrival in Burma he was forced to buy a hat.
Walking around the new city, with the sun blazing on his head, he put his
finger up to his scalp, and his head was so hot, he had to jerk his finger
away because it burned. He realized it was time to get a hat. He found an
inexpensive baseball cap and has worn it on thouse days when he’s not
inside ever since. Mauy also had a baseball cap. Mauy’s father, being a
gardener of course had the ubiquitous round cone shaped hat synonymous with
South East Asian rice fields. Not sure where you got that type of head
gear, Tim wanted to take one back to the states, a real authentic piece of
Asian textile.

Riding, Mauy looked over his shoulder.
“You hungry?”
“Yes, should we stop for some Gado Gado?”
“No, my mom expecting us, she make nice food for Mr. Tim.”
Home made meals in Burma were really fantastic, and he was looking forward
to meeting the rest of Mauy’s family.
“Who else is going to be home today?”
“Don’t worry, you meet my 2 sister, but I too good brother to let them date
you”.
“What are you talking about, I’m a friendly guy.”
“Too friendly for my sister sir, sorry Mr.Tim.”

They biked on, passing temples and Monks in Saffron colored robes, talking
on the street, smoking cigarettes. A strange juxtaposition between old and
new, traditional with the modern always kept the sights and sounds of this
ancient land fresh and interesting for the young teacher.

They took a left, off of the main street onto a tree lined suburban road.
The scale of the neighborhood was decidedly middle class. Class of course
is a relative term. The difference between the minority elite and the
masses of the middle class was far more apparent in Asian countries. With
its relatively small population Burma had a mostly middle class population.
A few turns down a whindy street led to an iron fenced driveway, there was
a door in the gated fence.

“Here my place, may you feel welcomed.”
Muay’s extreme sincerity made Tim blush quickly, even his eyes watered, he
was able to force tears back for the moment. Spending many hours in the
company of Mauy and his father had given him ample practice at halting the
tears of joy that inevitably surfaced almost every time they were together.
There was a Japanese saying ìWabi Sabi, the beauty to be found in,
honesty and poverty. The beauty or their honesty was truly moving.

Stepping through the gate Tim found himself in a compound of similar size
to the house he has been occupying over in the America quarter. Immaculate
gardens surrounded 4 neat buildings. Mauy led him to the
largest of these structures.

“This is the main house”. Walking into the Foyer they took off their shoes
and stepped up onto the wooden floor. Mauy said something
in Burmese to signal to his mother that he had arrived.
“Okuri” was the response, and they ventured further into the house.
Throughout the hallway and main living room were many small cul-de-sacs
of Buddhist figures in meditative posture. As Muay was identifying the type
of wood and stone composition of each sculpture, his mother appeared with a
tray of tea.
“Mr. Tim, this is my Mother Flaytree”.
“It is a privilege to meet you Flaytree, Mauy has said so much about you”
“Thank.” She replied
“She be not so good with English, but is very happy to meet you also.”
All three sat in the living room drinking the hot tea for a few minutes.
After they were comfortably relaxed, Mauy and Tim got up to have lunch in
the kitchen. Flaytree had prepared some Burmese spring rolled dumplings.
One of Tim’s favorite dishes, but there weren’t too many Burmese dishes
that Tim didn’t like; he had a healthy appetite for the new. The food was
excellent, a great meal after an exciting morning of spectating and riding.
Let me show you my room, maybe my sisters are home. Showing Tim the rest of
the house they did in fact run into Mauy’s twin sisters, Betri and Gotina.
The pair was friendly but shy, 22 years old, perfect age for Mr. Tim, but
not quite voluptuous enough for the Studly man from New York, a relief for
Mauy.

Muay’s room was austere, several books, and a sword collection on the wall.
Tim was a fan of Burmese weapons; the ceremonial swords of ancient Burma
were a sight to see.

“Next we go to the treasure room, you cannot tell anyone I take
you.”
“OK.”
Tim was excited, Mauy had often alluded to the treasure room on more than
one occasion, and it was a real privilege for a foreigner to be shown such
personal family heirlooms.

The Artifact room was in a separate house across the compound. This house
was raised, as were some, but not all houses in Burma. Summer monsoons were
unpredictable, and many cities were situated on water ways, there was
occasional flooding, so it was not an uncommon practice for homes to be
elevated 5-6 feet off the ground. Climbing the wooden stairs to the
treasure house, Mauy motioned for Tim to move quickly, he wasn’t entirely
sure if he should be showing these particular articles to Mr. Tim, but they
were friends, and Mauy wanted to impress.

There was a padlock on the door, which Mauy opened with dexterous fingers,
and they were in. Lighting a few candles, the illumination in the room
immediately bounced around and darted off some of the Buddhist figures
staring at the pair who had just penetrated the silence and peace of the
room. Once again, as in the main house, Mauy described the alabaster, rose
wood, and teak sculptures.

High on the walls and ceiling, were Buddhist figures floating on clouds,
some holding talismans, some playing classic Chinese instruments. There was
a brass sculpture with a little figure in a large bowl, representing the
birth of the Buddha. There were 2 beautiful wooden Hindi sculptures of
Krishna standing, playing the flute. A young prince carved out of teak
sitting on a wooden thrown one finger upon his chin in a pose of
contemplation.

The most powerful piece in the room was the Yang Crystal. The hemisphere
was only 4 inches in lenght. White quartz crystal sparkled with the
available light in the room, in contrast with the pure white crystal was a
dark eye, the only remaining Yin element that sat in the center of the
comma shaped Stone. The piece seemed so incomplete without it’s other half.
The sculpture was anthropomorphized to
having a feeling of loneliness, the work begged for its counterpart, a
feeling that rose in intensity every second the great object was in your
presence. The black eye of the Yang piece consumed Tim, mesmerizing him for
several seconds before Muay’s commentary brought him back.
“This is the Yang crystal. It has been in my family for as long as anyone
can remember. There is much legend about the crystal. There is an opposite
that fits into the Yang. It was stolen from Burma by a Japanese general
during the Second World War. The Yang Crystal represents many things,
light, truth, peace, it has contained within it, as you can see part of the
Ying element, its opposite. It is said that when both crystals are joined
balance and harmony is brought to the world.”

Once again, Tim was mesmerized by the Ying aspect within the Yang Crystal.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, so pure, powerful. Where is
the other piece?”
“People believe underworld figure in Japan has it, along with many
priceless work of art.”
“I think this goes beyond that description.”
“I agree, if my father knew I was showing you, I think maybe he would be
very angry, but you are a good friend, and I want to share.”
“You are right to be cautious, but also a good judge of character, I wont
tell anyone about the crystal.”
“Thank you Mr. Tim, let us go back now before my sister come looking us.”

The 2 quietly left the treasure house, Muay carefully locked the front, Tim
was still in a trace like daze.
“What are you doing tonight evening Tim? There is an American movie playing
at the city theater.”
“I am going to a dinner party of one of my neighbors, they live right next
to me, so I have to dress up and act like I am an official government
teacher.”
“You are an official government teacher.”
“I know, but I don’t think I always act like one.”
“I will ride back to the town square with you, we can take a snack.”

The pair say their goodbyes to Muay’s mother as well as the twins and head
out of the compound. As they are leaving Mauy’s father arrives home from
one of his part time jobs. He is pleasantly surprised to see the 2
together, they tell him about the karate match they witnessed in the
morning. Mauy explains that Tim had requested to see the house and his
sisters.

Although Muay’s father is trusting, he glances suspiciously at Mauy and
Tim, not wanting to ask out right, but trying to see if Mauy took Tim into
the treasure house.

The pair excuses themselves as it is getting late, and Tim doesn’t want to
bike home in the dark.
“Are you coming to practice tomorrow night”, Mauy’s father asks,
“No, I don’t think so, I have to do some paper work for the school, can we do
a private lesson next weekend?”
“Yes, I teach you next Saturday afternoon.”
“Great thank you.”

The two bike out of the compound. Mauy’s father watches them leave, and
walks over to the treasure house, checking the numbers on the combination
lock, they seemed to be undisturbed, but there is a troubled look in his
eye.

Mauy and Tim go along their way, Tim intoxicated still by the 2 and 3
dimensional images he saw in the Par Ten cloistered room.

The solitude of the room had masked the magnitude of its objects. Tim
recalled a similar experience visiting the state art museum in Budapest.
Wondering the cavernous hallways of the museum in complete solitude he found
himself in a room of about a dozen renosance works. At first he spun
around the room casually, feeling that if there were something special in
the room it would jump out at him and catch his eye. He glanced at a
landscape with a castle in the foreground. As each second passed he was
drawn deeper into the setting within the frame. As he disappeared into the
landscape, it came to him, it was a CÈzanne, taking a step back he looked
at the one next to the CÈzanne, Renoir, and Pizzeria, and Goya, and Letrec.
All priceless, it was an unbelievable moment. To be alone in a room, in the
presence of such greatness was staggering. He felt there should have been
someone in the room with him. For some reason he could not stop thinking
about the Ying Yang crystal, Its power was overwhelming, he had promised
not to mention the great objects of the Par Ten families treasure room, a
man of his word, it would be difficult to keep what he had just seen to
himself.

Biking home Tim’s thoughts ran the gamut of his life. He enjoyed biking,
being free with his thoughts, he thought of his friends at home, the women
he had known, his present job, and some positions he had held in the past,
his future and the beauty of the world in which he lived. Grateful for
where he has traveled and some of the things he has seen. He was back in
his neighborhood before he knew it, plenty of time to take a rest before
getting ready for the diner at his neighbors.

He had grown to love this little home provided by the Government. His
predecessor had stayed in the same residence, and had nothing but positive
things to say about the job, the cook, and the entire situation.
Before long it was 6:00, time to look appropriate for a dinner party. Tim’s
wardrobe was mostly casual, preferring sandals to sneakers, t-shirts to
collared shirts, college life was pretty relaxing. On his mothers urging he
had brought one suit, a couple of pair of slacks, 2 ties and some collared
shirts, as well as a pair of Gucci shoes he had received from his father.
As he grew older he had expected his taste in clothes to become more
mature, however, for now, the shorts and t-shirts just seemed to fit the
climate as well as the lifestyle of Burma.

Just about 6 feet tall and in perfect proportion, he looked very nice in
clothes, if he did say so himself. With a shave and a shampoo, he was a
pretty good looking stranger in a strange land. He would be around many a
westerner tonight, wondering which direction the conversations turned,
hoping they did not get into any Burma
bashing, remembering another saying from Uncle Mike,
“There is nothing more powerful than a minority that is in a majority.”
That would be the case tonight.

Turns out the dinner party was only 3 houses down from his, a little
disappointed with himself for not making an effort to get to know the
neighbors better. He was never of the impression that strong fences make
better neighbors. In a neighborhood of walled homes, the invitations are as
forthcoming as the walls, but a knock and a smile can go along way.

It seemsed like the rain was not going to return tonight, so a casual
stroll took Tim to 209 Rowchampu lane and the house of the Burmese health
minister to the United Nations, a Mr. Rothstein. The home was surrounded
by lanterns in the trees creating a well lit springy atmosphere. 2 Young
men in white Tuxedos greeted guests at the door.
As he walked into the foyer there was a small crowd around the champagne
table. He had not joined a Fraternity at Denison. Each fraternity had a
theme, and there was the drug house, the jock house, the business degree
house. Tim spent his time mixed at the jock house and the druggy house,
Pi-Epsilon, he was never a brother on paper but was welcomed as an alumni.
He would party, often to excess, but always kept his wits about him,
preferring drinking to smoking, but over the years coffee had become his
drug of choice.

Champagne, was always welcome, the head from champagne was free, light,
usually followed by a head ache several hours later, one or two glasses
before they sat down for dinner was going to be fun.

After a couple of minutes he was engaged in a conversation with a young
Japanese party goers about martial arts. This was someone he recognized
from his work out earlier that day. Keiji Suzuki. Tim had always been
fascinated with the culture of Japan, more so now that he had been taking
karate. Keiji spoke of Japan, and traveling, and mentioned his love for
Asian Sculptures. They hit on more than one common ground and Tim felt very
comfortable with the well traveled, cultured Suzuki.

A few drinks after the long day loosened Tim up, and he let Suzuki into his
confidence as to the fascinating array of sculptures he had seen earlier
that day. Suzuki was very cool, and his questions prodded Tim to expand on
the pieces that he had seen. Suzuki was a master of listening, paying
attention. He had learned at an early age that the best way to learn about
a subject, is to talk to someone who is excited about that subject. If you
strike on an interest of theirs, they will tell you all they know about it,
all one had to do was to connect the interest with the individual, pay
attention, and then your knowledge would increase.

Lucy the teacher from school found Tim still engaged in his
conversation with Suzuki, and introduced him to some of the other guests.
Suzuki was visiting with the neice of the embassador. Tim met Suzuki’s friend,
Mika, whowas a very beautiful Japanese girl, here from Japan visiting her Uncle.
Differentiating between different Asian peoples was not always easy, but Tim
started noticing the differences in cheek bones, shape of the nose, overall
bone structure, and even texture of the hair, a student of people, this was
one of his hobbies.

The dinner was elaborate, 7 courses, each one designed to wet the palette
for the next. Soup, and exotic salad, the main course was a baked Salmon,
in a white cream sauce, if you preferred meat you were out of luck, there
was however a vegetarian substitute, that a few at his table requested.
Expanding his nutritional horizons, and out look on foods to eat, Tim had
read up on being a vegetarian, dabbling, and experimenting he just had not
taken the final step as of yet. Suzuki spoke of Macro Biotics, and the
health benefits associated with that particular Japanese eating system, Tim
was impressed and captivated by his knowledge and way of speaking.

Towards the end of the meal, Suzuki probed more about the artifacts in the
treasure room, Tim eventually revealed the knowledge of the Ying crystal.
Around 10 O’clock Suzuki excused himself, saying that he had to go back as he was
flying to India the next day. They exchanged address, and Suzuki encouraged
Tim to contact him if he was ever going to be in Japan.

Wondering around after the dinner, there was dancing, and more drinking,
Tim spoke with some attractive older women, as well as a few statesmen that
he had met last year but not seen in a long time. Trying to find Lucy one
last time, Tim decided it was time to leave.

Stumbling he knew he was lucky to be pointed in the right direction of his
house, even though it was only a few blocks away.

3:30 am, all is dark; a black figure scales the walls of the Par Ten
compound. Slipping easy over the wall landing effortlessly onto the soft
grass below. Wearing black head to toe, the only thing visible is a small
rectangular opening in his hooded garment giving space for his eyes.
Looking left and right the figure pauses and listens, all is quite, some
dogs can be heard barking against the breeze blowing through the trees.
Searching with his eyes in the dark, the ninja
sees a small one room raised structure 50 meters to his left, in the
center of the compound.

Moving silently and efficiently, low to the ground, the figure makes his
ways to the raised wooden room. Jumping up to landing of the building he
sees the combination lock on the door. He runs his fingers along the
windows and the down feeling for any weakness, or possible alarm.

The Ninja’s outfit is remarkable. The double breasted top suit is thee
quarters length down his arm. There is a another garment that slips up his
arm covering the back of his had, as a loop of cloth, circles around his
middle finger, when a fist is made, the skin is entirely hidden. His pants
are expertly tied down to the 2 towed tabi boots. His head piece is made up
of 2 parts. The top part is a black cotton bandana, the bottom part runs
under his eyes, covering his mouth and is tied in a knot at the back of his
head.

Reaching to a black draw string bag slung around one shoulder He removes a
9 inch flat crow bar. With a barely audible sound, and little effort, the
lock is pried away from the door frame, as he slips inside, he is not
noticed. Again from his bag the figure removes a small black pen light.
Panning around the room, he is not here to admire the works of art, but
here instead, for an invaluable prize. The beam of light stops on the Yang
crystal, sublime in its beauty and intensity, a bead of sweat appears above
the ninja’s eye brow, as he moves forward towards the crystal.

Sizing up the crystal in Indiana Jones fashion, he quickly slips a black
silk cloth bag over the sculpture, drops it into his draw string bag, and
makes a hasty retreat. As with the wind, he is gone, up and over the wall,
leaving the door to the Treasure room slightly ajar, the wind softly
howling is the only alarm to be heard, as the figure has disappeared, as
stealthily as he had arrived.

The next morning, the rains, begin again, Tim is dead asleep, but is
awakened by Mar, not with breakfast but with the mornings events. Rising
out of bed, he goes to the door to shew her away.

“Mr. Tim, something terrible has happened, please see on the news.”

Tim puts on his robe and follows her into the kitchen. The only news agency
is on TV with live coverage of a bombing in the capitol.

The news reporter is describing the scene in Burmese.
“What happened?”
“Karin, Red Flag army bomb 2 place already, calling for government to step
down, they are mounting attack outside the city.”

As Tim sits to watch, Muay and his father arrive at his home. Tim motions
for them to come in. Par Ten and his son pay no attention to the TV, this
strikes Tim as rather strange. He thought that a revolution would be a
primary concern to a family that lives in the city. Disturbed by their
apparent indefference, he realizes something more personal must be the
reason for their early visit. Their dour faces are more confirmation, as he
interjects.
“What is with you two?”
Muay explains,
“Our compound was broken into last night”
His father tells Tim “The Yang crystal was stolen.”

“NO, I can’t believe it!”
“I told my father I brought you to see the artifacts, he is upset with me,
and of course want to question you.”
Tim reflects back on the previous day’s events, contemplating for a moment,
then he realizes in a questioning tone.
“Suzuki?!”, could it be, I got drunk last night at a party down the road, I
may have mentioned to this Japanese traveler about the crystal…, I did
mention to him, I didn’t tell him where you lived though, he must have
found out, somehow.”

“We must question him. But I feel the crystal has already left the country,
that is why events have turned so bloody so quickly.”
“Well we can go to his family, lets go to the Japanese Ambassador and see
if he is there, see if they know anything.”

The Par Ten’s wait in silence, watching the news, Tim rushes back to his
room to put some clothes on. He looks up at the framed picture of himself
and the Par Ten family, as he rushes out of the room.
“Let go.”
The chauffer is in the car waiting for the trio.
“Park, can you take us to the Japanese Consulate, quickly please.”
They back out of the drive way and onto the street, passing the UN
ambassadors residence, all is quite on the side streets, but when they hit
the main road there is chaos.

People are biking around frantically, military vehicles rumble along the
streets as the population is dealing with the events of the early morning.
They arrive at the guard house of the Japanese consulate, explaining the
situating, the guard makes a call and the trio are admitted, met by one of
the quests at the party. Tim guesses that he hadn’t had too much to drink,
as he seemed chipper for 8 am after a open bar event.

Ambassador Saito appears.
“Please, come into my office, how can I help you.”
Tim with the help of Par Ten describes the events to Mr. Saito.
“I don’t see why you accuse my Neice’s friend, you have no proof. It sounds
like coincidence to me, let me make a phone call, he is still at our house,
he was planning to go back to Japan in a few days, not today, and he was
never going to India.”

The phone call revealed that Suzuki had taken the first flight out of the
country that morning, and a call to the airport confirmed that he was on a
flight that flew into Osaka. Now troubled, and feeling responsible Saito
asks more about the Yang Crystal. Finding out from Muay’s father that it is
the original Yang crystal that was left behind when the Japanese took the
Ying counterpart. Saito reveals that Keiji has been mixed up with a
Japanese gangster family, the same family
that traces a lineage back to the General that was stationed in Burma
during the war, and was thought to have the Ying crystal in his possession.
Saito, postulates that Keiji may indeed have the crystal and most likely
plans to sell it to the Ozabo family, the known keepers of the Ying
Crystal.

The ambassador decides to help the trio find the crystal. He suggests they
board a plane as soon as possible for Japan.

While his secretary makes arrangements for a flight to Japan, he is handed
a telefax, looking at the information the surprised Saito relates what has
happened to the visitors in his office.
“According to this bulletin, the Japanese yen has gone up 30% overnight,
not only that, your President has announced the withdraw of American forces
from Okinawa and other areas of Japan. Since WWII, Japan’s military had
many restrictions; this speech indicates a drop of all checks on Japanese
military operations.

“There is legend of the power that the crystal you speak of has on nations.
We must find at least the Yang part and return it to Burma, hopefully more
blood shed can be avoided.”

The intercom in the Ambassador’s office chimes, it is the secretary
confirming a flight.

îCan you meet me at the airport in 2 hours?”

The American and Burmese family nodded their heads, get up and go back to
the car. In the car Muay’s father announces, “I will go, with Tim, you will
stay here and look after the compound, protecting your mother and your
sister.
Please take us to our home where I can gather some belongings, then we
will go to your house to get your articles.”

Muay could do little to protest, he felt that if he had not wanted to
impress his friend none of this would have happened. Tim felt equally as
guilty, but was a little relived that they had a lead on Suzuki, and
hopeful that they would find the Crystal.

On arriving at the Par Ten compound, Muay’s father made haste in putting
together a small knapsack of clothes and odd weapons. He had a hidden
compartment in the master bedroom that contained an assortment of Japanese,
and Burmese gadgets and weaponry. A blowgun, with darts, a traditinal
swords, a Gurker knife, and several oddly shaped balloons that were smoke
bombs. His father folded up his karate uniform, and was ready to go.

Tim examined the treasure room, the door had been pried open, and he
searched for any clues. Nothing could be found, it would appear that the
theif, whoever he was, was a professional. Mauy and Tim spoke of what had
taken place, both trying to ease the burden from the others shoulders.
Muay’s father said good bye to his wife, and left Muay with some final
instructions.

“Things will no doubt get worse as the days go by.”
The rebels may even take over the city, keep the family safe, we may have a
hard time flying back into the country, but if the Crystal is in the
possession of this Suzuki, I will return with it.”

Park deivwa Par Ten and Tim back to the American’s house. On the way Par
Ten reassured Tim.
ìDo not feel too guilty, mistakes in judgment are made, and unscrupulous
people have a way of finding out information that they are looking for. The
best you can do is learn from your mistakes. Try and make right whatever
may have happened. Perhaps you will get a chance to apply some of the
training I have giving you. Please go to your room, gather some clothing,
Japan is not so warm this time of year, so bring a light jacket, also bring
your Karate uniform, we may have to buy some extra clothing when we get
there. Hopefully this Saito is a good man and knows how to restore the
honor of his family.

As Tim obeyed Par Ten orders and replayed his speech in his head, he
could not feel anything but guilt, and was not sure how sincere Par Ten’s
words had been. He had a deep feeling of dread, he had made the mistake of
his life, not only putting his life into a downward tail spin, but he had
unwittingly effected thousands of people, causing destruction, and loss of
life.

Arriving at the Myanmar International airport, there was more chaos. People
were scrambling to get out of the country. Foreign embassies had issued
alerts, only essential personal were to remain. Tim had a hard time
believing that all this was caused by the theft of a crystal, but Par Ten
assured him that this was the reason for the unstable events.

They met Saito, who had the airline tickets. They boarded a plane and were
on their way.

Part II Japan

Tim had always been fascinated with Japan. Even when he took the position
at the American school in Burma, he had hoped to make real his desire to go
to Japan. Now, under circumstances he could never have imagined, he was on
a plane with the Japanese ambassador to Burma, as well as his martial arts
treacher/gardener.

The Boeing 767 dropped out of the clouds, toward Kansai Airport.
They were flying into the Osaka area, not Tokyo. As luck would have it
Saito’s residence was also in the western part of the main island. Tim got
his first look at the land of the rising Sun. Kansai airport was over an
hour outside of Osaka, for a moment he thought that he had gone back in
time, seeing trees and fields of rice instead of the urban sprawl of one of
the largest city in the world.

The plane landed smoothly on the runway.
“Flight attendants prepare doors for arrival.”
Out of the window was a ground crew member, directing the plane to its bay.
Dressed in a functional Gray jumpsuit, knee pads and helmet, Tim realized
that the man, was Japanese. Past prejudices destroyed his view of labor
workers. After a few moments he made the realization that every worker at
the airport, no matter what their position would most likely be Japanese;
he was in Japan.

Saito ushered his guests through customs. A golden retriever seemed to
take no notice of Tim. Tim remembered some conversations he had had with
some travelers on a trip to Thailand. One American had gone through
Japanese customs so many times with drugs that traveling completely clean
seemed odd to him. 4 times in the past that intrepid traveler/smuggler had
eluded Japanese customs officials. Traveling through international customs
was scary enough, but to be pulled aside out of line and taken to a small
room, called for an entirely different set of gonads for the average man to
have. One time this risk taker, from New York, Garret, was his name if
memory served, had imagined a scene from “Pulp Fiction” where a character;
who had a gun pointed at his face, calmly told the gunman, “I don’t mean
to burst your bubble, but this isn’t the first time I’ve had to stare down
the barrel of a gun.” Garret thought instead, “This isn’t the first time
I’ve been in this room with drugs on me.”

This time there was a different reason for Tim’s heart to be pounding. He
was in search of a gangster family that was planning on uniting the 2
halves of the Ying-Yang Crystal. Tim knew no one in Japan. As far as the
Japanese language he was pretty ignorant as well. He could count to 10, and
could say ìoutside foot sweep, and ìone arm shoulder throw, but he
guessed that these phrases plus 100 yen wouldn’t even be enough to get on
the subway. He was completely at the mercy of his traveling companions.

Saito’s family Driver Takeno was waiting at the baggage claim to assist the
men on their trail of the crystal. Takeno was stocky and powerfully built,
sporting cauliflower ears, and dark penetrating sunglasses. When Saito
appeared Takeno bowed graciously. Two more, equally gracious bows were
awarded to the Burmese and the American.

Takeno escorted the company to a stretch limousine that easily accommodated
the group and their baggage. Takeno took the group towards Osaka, and the
bullet train that would take them to Kyoto. The gaps of
land between homes started to diminish drastically, until their view was of
one housing complex after another.

Stopped at a traffic light, Tim observed a small one-man scooter stopped at
a phone both. There was a man from the phone company. To Tim’s disbelief,
the worker was checking the hinges of the phone booth door. Apparently not
smooth enough, the man produced a can of oil, and proceeded to oil the
hinges, of the door. When he was satisfied, he jumped on his moped, and
waited patiently for the light to change, along side of the tinted windows
of Tim’s limousine.

Kyoto was an ancient capitol of Japan. The sublime architecture of many
different sects of Buddhist and Zen temples was the cities main attraction.
Well known for its cuisine, Geishas and an international summit on the
environment, Kyoto was the home of Japan’s most famous and breathtaking
temples and gardens.

Some mountains could be seen from the window of the Bullet train heading
for Saito’s home in Kyoto. Disembarking from the train and back into
another limousine the party finally arrived at the gates of the
diplomat’s home. Deep in the suburbs of the one time capitol, the power
of generations was felt subtly drifting through wooden gates, over the tops
of terraced walls, where the only visible occupants were the tips of bonsai
trees, finely manicured to perfection.

The Rod Iron gates of Saito’s compound seemed to open on cue as the
limonene started up a long gardened road. Tim had seen Bonsai trees before,
but none ever of this height. Each tree a work of art, every angle was in
tune with the shape of the adjacent branches. Fifty meters or so, back in
the garden Tim spotted one of the Zen gardeners at his craft. “Wow, a Zen
Gardener..” Tim thought to himself.
“That would be a good name for a Band. ‘The Zen Gardeners’.
Seemingly oblivious to the limonene, the gardener was entrenched in his
work, moving in poetry.

The Ambassador’s home is a modern Eastern Frank Lloyd Wright piece. An
intricate stone covered path moved over a shallow stream. The water
slithering serpentine around cellules roots, darting over angular rocks
snaked under the smoothed rocky path which wound its way between 2
sculptured gardens. Amid the living works of art, there were 2 enormous
stone sculptures. Dominating the garden to the east of the home was an
imposing 8 foot 3 ton stone lantern. Japanese lanterns of this type were
found at the entrance of the city gates, the structured simple lines of the
sculpture were the same as the ancient pictogram representing the character
for Capitol. The sculpture opposite to the lantern was a life sized Samurai
Warrior in full battle garb, every detail etched perfectly in the stone.

Saito’s wife, Keiko meets the intrepid party at the door of the home
with tea.
“Irashimasen”, “Irashimasen”.
Saito bows curtly and then embraces his wife. They have been apart for
several months. Saito and his wife speak briefly in Japanese and then she
turns to the guests to make her introductions.

Extremely cordial and bubbling with jubilant excitement Keiko has
an understated beauty that is limited by the formal kamono that she is
wearing. Tim, always the ladies man unknowingly tries to catch Keiko’s eye
for an extra moment of intimacy, but she seems oblivious to his innocent
invitation.

The party, tired from their trip, enters the home, removing their shoes in
the foyer where guest sandals are communally distributed. Stepping up on to
the tatami foor the Japanese architecture is immediately
calming. Keiko tries her hand at English in a thick Japanese accent.
“How … feel, you must tired?”
“We have 2 bath’s drawn. Please to follow.”

The guests respond, admitting fatigue. Keiko takes the Asian and American
to 2 adjoining rooms, where futons are set out. Attached to the rooms are
Japanese style baths.
“Please rest here until you are refreshed.”

Complying eagerly with the offer they fall on their respective beds,
making an effort to bathe, and then nap.

Saito has no time to rest, he has many phone calls to return, and takes his
tea to a study room with a computer and several telephones. Putting the tea
on a circular stone coaster, he picks up the phone and starts his
investigation.

Speaking quickly in Japanese, it is not long before he gets most of the
relevant information that he was looking for. After a few hours rest Par
Ten and Tim awaken at about the same time. Still jet lagged, but looking
rested the 3 not so weary investigators have a meal at the Saito family
table. Mr. Saito explains that he has found out some information. Keiji,
the traveler thief has been spotted by some of Saito’s underworld contacts
in Osaka. Saito meet with an informant later this afternoon to try and find
out if there is going to be a meeting, and where it is going to be.

All of their suspicions have been mostly confirmed. Keiji is apparently
planning to sell the Yang part of the crystal to Mr. Ozabo, the head of
the Yamamoto clan here in Osaka, but Saito still must confirm the time,
date and place of the meeting.

Fortunately the meeting has not taken place so there is a chance to stop
Keiji before it happens.

Saito suggests that if his guests are rested, they take their mind off
their troubles by taking in a temple garden, and he will meet with them in
the afternoon, after he has found out more about the clandestine meeting.

Saito’s son, Nori is on hand and will be happy to take them to Ryoanji,
a famous temple on the hillside overlooking Kyoto.

After the few hours sleep, Tim is excited to get a look at Kyoto. Par Ten,
has seemed stoic and indifferent through the short trip. Perhaps the fact
that his country is in turmoil has affected him with a gravity that Saito
and Tim have not found.

Nori tells Par Ten and Tim that it is best to walk to the train, and from
there they can go anywhere in Kyoto. Walking out of the back entrance of
the house they are greeted by a Zen gardener who seemed to be a carbon copy
of the one Tim fist noticed in the front of the house. As the man bows to
show his respect for the guests, an inquisitive look appears on his face.
He seems to recognize Par Ten.

“Sumimasen, ano, … Nori Translates:
îForgive the intrusion sir, but are you perhaps, Par Ten, the Burmese
fighting figure who came to Japan to contest with Maida Son?”

Par Ten, smiles, and acquiesces the fact that he is indeed the famous man
that the Gardener speaks of.
“It is a great honor to meet you sir, perhaps if you have time you could
show some of my colleges and myself the moves you used to defeat our
national champion Akuta Nogawa.”

“We must return to Burma as soon as possible, assuming that we are
successful in our mission. If we are not successful, I am not sure what
will happen.”

The gardener bows low as the trio pass.

“What was he talking about Par Ten? You never even told me that you have
been to Japan.”
“You have never asked me Mr. Tim.”
“You told me that you were National Champion of Burma, and that you learned
your fighting style from a traveling Japanese martial artist. A famous
fighter who brought judo and jui-jitsu to areas around the world.”
“This is true, I just did not mention my exploits in Japan.”

Nori breaks in to the conversation as politely as possible.
“I have heard many stories of the Noguchi era, and the undefeated Burmese
man who traveled to Japan for a no holds barred contest, you are a very
famous man in Japan, I would not be surprised if many older gentlemen
recognize you.

Passing now throughout the garden on foot, Tim had a chance to better
examine the magnificently manicured trees that had transfixed him earlier
when he was confined to the Limo.

Each piece of foliage was a work of art; down to the most minute detail, he
had never seen anything like it.

“If you think these trees are spectacular, wait to you see the garden at
Ryoanji.”
The streets of Saito’s neighborhood were not very wide, affording only one
car width comfortably. The walls that met the street seemed ancient. Tim
was from an area just north of New York City, an area
that had been the location of many battles of the revolutionary war for
independence from the British. There were many stone fences that he had to
cross on weekend explorations into the woods behind his home, they seemed
ancient at the time, but it was only now that he could actually feel the
disparity of years between cultures. His nation was barely 200 years old.
The Bicentennial being just a few years before the day of his birth. This
nation, had been building castles, gardens, and protective walls for many
thousands of years.

The paved street soon gave way to more and more pedestrians as the trio
approached the center of the city in which Saito’s home was located.

Not accustomed to seeing Westerners, it was apparent that the people that
Tim past on the street were curious about him. So entrenched in their
culture, in keeping face and being polite, they were prevented from
anything but a fleeting moments of eye contact, quickly averted, which
served to only further peak their curiosity. He seemed to notice that many
people he passed looked conspicuously at their watches, to avoid any chance
of interaction with the foreigner. For Tim was a foreigner, it was
unmistakable. When he had arrived in Burma he knew he was in another
country, he was not a national, that was sure. But although having been in
Japan for less then 6 hours, he felt as if he was not so much in another
country but on another planet. Everything was the same, but different.
Everyone seemed to dress in rich quality fabrics. Not something he had
expected, but now that he was here it was not surprising.

Nori purchased train tickets for the 2 visitors, and showed them how to
enter the train platform. There was some English written under the signs
for the name of Saito’s town, apparently Komogawa, but that was it,
everything else was in Japanese.

The train came to a halt, and the doors opened directly in front of them.
Tim had heard stories about the crowded trains of Japan. He asked Nori
if it was true that people had to be physically pushed into the cars?

“On Rush hour it can be very crowded, but we live close to the city so it
is never too bad. I have friends from my university that often have to
stand on the train for over one hour before there is room to sit.”

Arriving into Kyoto Station, Tim felt a noticeable wave of passivity flow
over his body. As if this was a city that he belonged to, although he had
never been there before. Trying to recall if that have ever happened in his
brief travels to Europe, or any place in the states, nothing came to mind.

Tim had traveled in Europe before going to Asia. One analogy he had drawn
between some ancient European cities and their people came to mind. While
in France, it had stuck him that although the imposing and often romantic
architecture of France was impressive, the people of Paris seemed, to him,
more sophisticated, and is some way greater than their city. In contrast,
when he traveled to Italy, the people of Rome, although immaculately
dressed, seemed, in some way, not as grand and awesome as their city. When
he returned home, in comparison to the places visited abroad, the people of
New York and the city were in sync.

A short bus ride later and they arrived at Ryoan-ji. Ryoan-ji as Nori had
explained houses the most famous Zen rock garden in Japan. ìThe Zen Rock
Gardeners”, Tim thought to himself for just a moment, Maybe Zen Gardeners
is better.

The Garden complex outside of the central temple of Ryoan-ji was
extraordinary. As in Saito’s garden, every piece of flora was exquisite,
obviously manicured from saplings to the gardener’s unseen poetic eye. The
serenity of the garden was not lost on Par Ten, as all the tension of the
past days events seemed to slip away. The muscles of his jaws unclenched,
the muscles of his face smoothed and relaxed. The living poetry of the
garden seemed to afford Tim a few moments of, what has been described in
some of his reading on consciousness as ëego loss. The state of being
where you are one with the environment, with the universe, once the
realization is made, however, you are thrust back into the moment, and have
lost it.

Traveling on to the main temple complex, they passed a cadre of elder
Japanese women, running to catch a bus. This was a site that Tim thought he
would never see, women in their late 70’s and 80’s really moving.

There was another nominal 500 yen fee to enter the Rock Garden. The
architecture of the Japanese temple was simple, and austere. It appeared
that the Japanese had elected to replace bright colors with more subtle, softer
hues. This allowed the eye to flow endlessly from one end of a structure to
the other, nothing jumping out at the viewer, a more reflective style of
architecture; being functional and beautiful at the same time. Each angle,
each wall was harmoniously joined with the next.

The 3 men were fortunate to enter the Ryoan-ji temple garden during an
apparent lull in the preverbal tourist storm. Motioning for Par Ten and Tim
to sit on the steps leading down to the garden, Nori assumed a comfortable
easy pose, with legs crossed and spine straight. Par Ten and Tim did the
same looking reflectively into the rocks that, arranged by rakes mimic the
flowing lines of the seas. Larger stones were sparsely placed throughout
the 30 foot by 90 foot rectangular enclosure, representing Islands in an
ocean of water.

Contemplating the last few days, Tim tried to come to terms with the events
that had unfolded since he first saw the magnificent Yang crystal. He
didn’t fully comprehend the majesty of the work, trying now to combine the
Yang portion in his mind together with the Ying aspect, for some reason,
they just didn’t fit.

Glancing toward his companions, they were lost in thought, expressionless
and serene. After 20 minutes of peace and bliss, the extended moment was
broken by a group of Japanese tourists. Although they were not very loud,
their presence seemed to disturb the harmony of the situation.

Nori got up and told them there was an interesting path they could walk
along, that would bring them close to the appointed meeting with his
father.

Saito had been busy during his companions sight seeing trip. First he had
met with the Prime Minister of Japan to apprise him of the situation in
Burma. Deciding not to appear superstitious, he told the Prime Minister,
Mr. Fujimori that he had brought some companions
back from Burma because he believed that they had some information about
the revolution. He also had wanted to brief the Prime Minister personally
as to the extent of there situation in Burma. He elected not to mention the
Yang Crystal. Fujimori and Saito were long time friends, having gone to the
same University and into politics roughly the same time.

Fujimori’s main concern was that the business interests of Japan wouldn’t
be compromised. Japan’s interests were mostly teak forestry, and emerging
mineral and natural gas concerns. Saito could not guarantee that a regime
change would be as friendly to Japan, but money is money, and even
revolutionaries must take an objective view on imports and exports. Saito
played politics with the prime minister, telling him that time would
shortly yield the answers he was looking for.

After the meeting with Fujimori, Saito met with his underworld contacts.
The Japanese Mafia was well entrenched in the Land of the Rising Sun. They
operated with impunity within the worlds of gambling, prostitution and
graft. Since the first merchant had ever turned his first profit the lines
between crime, and business were often blurred. As an institution,
organized crime has been in the area of Western Japan, years before the
Second World War. If you wanted to do business as a shop keeper, or a
street merchant, it was necessary to pay off the local gang for security
from the other gangsters. As long as your payment was received you were
able to do your business. Saito didn’t like the practice of strong arming
shop keepers, and would like to have everyone work for a living, but he
was, after all a politician, who had to balance his position against the
powers that were present before him, and those that would be around after
he had gone. He was a moral man, being forced to look the other way on the
odd occasion. He would do his part for his country, himself and his family.
He could have stayed in local politics, and battled the graft and
corruption that was a part of government, but when he was appointed to work
in Burma he gladly took the position. Although he missed Japan, he knew
that when his position in South East Asia ended he would spend the rest of
his life in Japan. There is only so much one man can do in one lifetime.
Try and do your best, make a difference, if possible.

As the thief of the crystal was an acquaintance of his brothers neice, he
felt personally responsible for the situation at hand, and that is why he
was back in Japan, under semi-false pretenses. One of Saito’s closest
childhood friends was an advisor for the Kanagawa family, the second
largest Yakuza family in Japan. Government, politics, and crime are all
motivated by the common denominator, money. In Japan there is the spirit of
the Samurai. Loyalty and face are ever present. It is said that Japanese
have 3 faces. One they show to the outside world, in
work and play outside the home. One face is visible to only their family,
and one is shown only to themselves. The inscrutable Japanese is an apt
term, for a people who are know to betray nothing by their face expression.

Saito’s friend Masayuki Hachiya was prompt. He met Saito at 2 PM at a
coffee shop in North East Kyoto. The old friends were glad to see each
other, the fact that they were not meeting under more auspicious
circumstances, could not be helped.
“Remember when we would bring our girlfriends to Mizuno-shi Koen park in
high school?”
“How could I forget that? Japan has been good to us.”
“Yes, but now it needs us more than ever. I feel there is a great evil a
foot. If Ozabo is able to join the 2 crystals, he will have more power than
any one man should have.”
“My Grandfather had told me of the legend of the crystal, and I had heard
many stories of how the Ying Portion has helped Yamamoto succeed. I found
out what I think you want to know old friend.
Saito’s, eyes widened in anticipation.
“I have found out that Ozabo himself is planning to attend a meeting
tonight in the out skirts of Osaka. He will no doubt have heavy
security, and is planning to meet Keiji Suzuki, the one who stole the
crystal from your companions compound.”

“How did you get all this information?”
“I have my contacts, the world in which we walk in is all too small.
Now how can I help you next?”

“Just the location and times of the meetings would be invaluable.”
“They plan to meet at the Musashi building in Hirakata Shi. 8 p.m. I don’t
know if the thief will have the crystal with him or not. I would guess that
he would keep it in a safe place until he could secure payment from Ozabo.”

“Ozabo must yeild to the Budo-kite.”
The Budo-kite was an oxymoron. A law governing business practices of
criminals. Japanese formality however knew no boundaries. A culture
steeped so highly in tradition was conservative in every aspect. From
arranged marriages and jobs, every aspect of their society could be
calculated. If you decided to break the rules, the punishment was
ostracism, a fate worse than death in a society where the group is
paramount to the individual.

Hachiya agreed that Ozabo would no doubt play by the rules, but could
not guarantee that the thief would have the crystal with him, as there is
honor among thieves, a new breed of criminal has seemed to emerge in the
last decade. Western culture has been making inroads into the east for
years. Whether this infiltration will bring about a complete collapse of
Japanese norms and values remains to be seen. Peoples have been affected,
lives have been lost, and wars declared against this cultural assault
brought about by the communication age.

Saito thanked his friend and declined his offer of assistance against
the daunting odds he would face in order to reclaim the crystal.
“I believe this battle will be won by just a few individuals.”

Nori, Par Ten and Tim where relaxing having coffee, reflecting on the
peaceful structures and gardens they had seen through out the day. Saito
was on time and had already formulated a battle plan.

Saito hoped that the trio was not too exhausted from the days events.
His plan required all their strengths and abilities. His plan was simple;
stake out the meeting, and take the crystal. If his plan was successful
they would capture what they had come to Japan for. If they failed, they
would no doubt be killed; Burma and Japan would experience many more
deaths.

Saito’s driver met the group in Kyoto and drove them back to the Saito
residence. Saito suggested that everyone try to get some rest before dinner
and the evening’s assignment.

Tatami mats were already laid out for Tim and Par Ten, they were not
surprised that sleep came easily. Perhaps not realizing that this may be their
last rest before the eternal sleep, even if they did succeed against
seemingly impossible odds, there was a good chance that at least one of the
group would be mortally wounded.

After a couple of hours, Saito’s wife woke the travelers. A simple but
functional meal was laid out in the dining room. A mÈlange of small dishes
crowded the table. Heeding Saito’s warning not to over indulge, the group
eat slowly and were soon satisfied.

It would be Saito, his driver Takeno, Tim and Par Ten that would attempt to
foil the meeting. Par Ten called the other 3 into his room to show him his
cache of traditional weapons. A short traditional sword, some Chinese
throwing stars, a blow gun with Burmese
immobilization nectar that Par Ten had brought, would be used. After a
moment Takeno, the chauffeur brought in some similar mortal devices of
Japanese origin.

The weapons were packed away into secret pockets in stealthy jackets; a
final prayer was said in an impromptu solemn ceremony conducted by Saito.
The group was on their way to take up positions in Hirakata.

When they got to the suspected meeting place the city was alive with the
rabble of salerymen that had just finished work. Wasting no time on their
amusement the Japanese were as quick to drink, as they were to work.
This had long been a stereotype of the Japanese salaryman, Tim saw no
evidence to the contrary.

Surveying the scene, Saito saw immediately where they should take up
positions and watch for the principals of the night’s confrontation. Saito
was hoping if he could just find the thief with the crystal and overcome
him before the others arrived they would be able to accomplish their
mission with relative ease. His hope did not pan out because Ozabo arrived
first. His party came in 2 large sedans. The first rolled up to the ccurb,
parking in front. Immediately, 4 burly square shaped Japanese men unloaded.
They were dressed in dark suits, and looked around quickly. They went to
all corners of the second Limo, opening the door as Ozabo himself emerged.
He was a large impressive man in his late fifties. Ozabo was wearing a
sports jacket and slacks, sun glasses and side burns down to his mid cheek.
Apparently trusting his subordinates implicitly, he seemed in no way
nervous, or concerned, he didn’t look around, as one might expect of a man
conducting dangerous business at a strange location.

They were in the building quickly, with one guard posted in front. The
Burmese team looked to Saito for instructions.
“We just have to wait”.
Was his only reply.

Another sedan arrived 20 minutes later; it was the thief, along with one
companion. It was impossible to tell whether he had the crystal with him or
not. As he got out of the car, the guard at the front spoke quickly into his
walkie talkie. Bowing to the voice on the receiving end he opened the door
eyeing and bowing slightly to Keiji.

Saito told his driver to follow Suzuki’s car. He obeyed.
“This way.”
Saito motioned to his companions.

As night began to fall they entered a window on the 3rd floor of the
meeting locale. The trio was silent knowing their lives depended on their
secrecy.

Saito apparently knew this building because he led the way to a ventilation
shaft right above where the meeting was held.

“You are as resourceful as you are cunning Suzuki-Chan.”
“Thank you master, it is my pleasure to bring to you what you should
rightly have.”
“And you will be rewarded for your efforts. We must of course see the gift
that you have brought us.”

As Ozabo was reciting pleasantries, he reached inside his coat pocket.
His hand emerged with a black silk cloth. Putting the cloth on the table
between them he slipped the covering off to reveal the ‘Ying’ portion of
the crystal.

“This crystal has given power and wealth for several generations.
Never was it to leave the security of my gates in Honmonji, but today I
wanted to match it with your prize. Do you have the item of which I speak?”

“I do my lord.”

Suzuki reached within the folds of his cloak to reveal a similar sphere
shaped black silk pouch.

The room was ripe with anticipation, the attentions of the guards were
drawn to the possible joining of these mythical stones.

“Now, our time has come, ready your blow gun.”
As Suzuki uncovered the ‘Yang’ portion Saito and Par Ten pushed through
the vents. Par Ten was like a surgeon with his blow gun, quickly
penetrating the necks of 3 of the five guards in the room with thin quiver
darts, they collapsed almost immediately.

Dropping into the room Saito’s men were pumped with adrenaline. Suzuki
quickly covered the ‘Yang’ crystal and reached for the ‘Yin’ portion, as
Ozabo grabbed his wrist. As the room struggled, several of Ozabo’s men
lumbered into the room.

Swift blows caught men with guns, the only shots that were fired entered
into the whites of the walls. Par Ten displayed his skill as a martial
artist, as did Tim and Saito.

In the Struggle, Tim was able to subdue Suzuki.

“I’ve got it.” Tim yelled to his companions, they scurried out of the
room.

Miraculously none of the trio was injured, a bit bloodied, but that was
all. There were 2 more encounters before the gang was able to make it out
onto the street. 2 sets of squat, stocky Japanese henchmen were dispatched
expertly by Par Ten, before they were out of the building.
The chauffeur was standing by to usher the party into Saito’s limo, and
they were off.

In the back of the limo Tim removed the black silk pouch from under his
breast jacket. Saito and Par Ten looked on in anticipation. Tim looked up
to Par Ten for permission to reveal the crystal. Par Ten nodded his head,
while reluctance remained in his eyes. They had to make sure they had
obtained what they had just risked their lives for.

The fist shaped crystal was elegant in its beauty, as awe inspiring as Tim
had remembered when Muay had first showed it to him at the Par Ten
compound. Saito had not seen it before, and was awestruck with its power.
“What if we had both, what happens when the two are united?”
“It is sufficient that we have what we came for. We must return to Burma at
once so we can prevent the loss of any more lives.”
The answer to Tim’s question would remain a mystery.
“I will arrange a flight tonight.” was Satio’s response.

Arriving back at the Saito house safe was a surreal moment, none of the
party believed they would be able to accomplish their task without greater
losses. Mrs. Saito was beside herself with relief. Immediately Saito was on
the phone arranging for passage back to Burma. Tim and Par Ten attended to
their baggage.

A few minutes later Saito informed his partners that there were no flights
in or out of Burma, the country was in a state of anarchy.
“We will have to fly into Thailand and go overland with the Crystal, it is
the only way.”
Tim was startled slightly with this news, another adventure seemed only a
few hours away.

Saito thought briefly, and decided to give his companions passage on a
plane, but deemed it best for himself to stay in Japan until Burma
approached some state of normality. Thanking Saito for his help and
information Par Ten and Tim were chauffeured to the Kansai Airport.

The customs went smoothly for Tim, and thanks to Saito, Par Ten
had no problem boarding the plane, even though he only had a temporary ID
issued by the Japanese embassy from Burma.

Lifting up off the ground from Japan saddened Tim, although he was only
there for a day he felt an attachment with the land, and the people. So
different from Burma, a land he had come to call his home away from home in
Asia. Par Ten was visibly relieved to have recovered the crystal, but the
future journey was still ahead.

The 7 hour flight would be a well needed rest for the two heroes.
“What is our plan now?”
“We will fly to Chang Mai, the Thai capitol in the north, from there we will
take public transport to the border. The border may be closed but we will
have to sneak across and travel a few days to Rangoon. Once the crystal
is within the geographical borders of Burma the revolution should calm.”

Before long they landed in Thailand. After customs in Bangkok, Tim noticed
a headline on an English language paper.
“Japan stock market crashed, worst loss in 15 years.”
Knowing that his slip of the tongue had caused so much turmoil for so many
people shook him to the bone. He had to sit, and put his head in his hands,
trying to digest the enormity of what had transpired, he wished it could
all be over.

The anticipation one feels upon entering a new country for the first time
is palpable. Once you’ve been there it is old hat, of no consequence, but
before you go you really don’t know what to expect, so there is
nervousness, anxiety, along with any preconceived images, imagined or real
from any magazines, or stories one may have heard about the county.

Tim didn’t know much about Thailand. He had been one time to the beaches to
the south on a week vacation from teaching. He had heard about wild all
night raves on some of the islands. And of Jungle treks that some of his
friends had been on, to the north.
“It’s like Disney Land for adults.”
One travel had said.

He didn’t get to see much of Bangkok as the airport was far out side of the
city. They went immediately to the domestic air terminal where they were
lucky to board a plane for Chang Mai. The flight was 2 hours, all the way
to the top of the country, near the infamous golden triangle. The golden
triangle was where Burma and Thailand met Laos, at the extreme top of
Thailand. This was where the bulk of the worlds opium was trafficked, and
had also become a tourist attraction, an
interesting juxtaposition of trades.

Par Ten decided it would be best if they got some rest, so they checked
into a hotel in Chang Mai and caught up on some much needed sleep.

After a few hours Tim felt rested and got up. Par Ten was still sleeping,
so Tim left a note with the time, saying he was going to walk around
outside for an hour or so.

Tim had liked Thailand from what he had seen. Beautiful beaches, great
food, interesting language. Just out side of their hotel he witnessed a
westerner talking with a tall Thai women in sexy garb. Something strange
struck Tim as to the appearance of the Thai lady. The women was tall and
thin, but the bone structure of her face was rather prominent for a women,
then he noticed that she had an Adams apple, only men had those, or so he
believed. Next check for a transvestite is the hands; if they have man’s
hands, it’s a good chance that they are a man. This women had large hands
from what he could tell. It was none of his business, but it did make him
feel kind of odd. Visions of bars on Pat Pong road in Bangkok flashed into
Tim’s memory.

He had seen some strange things in the few days before traveling south on
the single trip he had taken to Thailand. Pat Pong area was famous for the
sex shows, where girls were able to shoot darts breaking balloons with
their private parts. He also saw the same girls blow a horn and smoke a
cigarette with the same part of the female anatomy, trying to ignoring
other thoughts of far out escapades of the Thai sex trade he made his way
around the block, got some noodle soup from a street vendor and soaked up
the Chang Mai atmosphere.

Chang Mai is the northern Capitol; it is where travelers start their treks.
Trekking in Thailand is one of the tourist adventures that foreigners come
to the country for. There are treks from 2 days to 10 days, usually not
much longer than a week. They consist of walking through the jungle, riding
on an elephant, also through the jungle, a river raft ride, and staying in
various hill tribe villages along the way through the mountainous hills in
the north of Thailand. As Tim had never been to the north his only knowlege
of the hill tribe trek was from accounts of travelers that he had met on
the beaches in the south. Apparently trekking through opium fields and
smoking opium was on the list of things to do in the hill tribes, as well
as purchasing authentic hill tribe clothing and gifts. Although this
sounded interesting to him, he preferred to laze on the beach for his
vacation. Now that he was in the north under different circumstances,
perhaps he would get a chance to see how the tribes in the north of
Thailand live.

Returning to the hotel there was no sign of the odd couple he had seen
earlier. Up in their room Par Ten woke up as Tim entered. Looking at his
watch, Par Ten checked to see if Tim was well rested. He decided that they
should be on their way.

“How are we going to get to Burma?”
“We will go to the bus station?”

Taking a Tuk Tuk, the local 3 wheeled scooter that taxied people around the
main cities in Thailand, they arrived at the bus station within a few
minutes. The Burmese language is kind of a cross between Indian and Thai,
so Par Ten was able to find out the proper information rather easily. They
would take a bus that would take them to the town of Pai. From there
smaller jeep transport would take them to the border. The first leg of the
journey would take about 4 hours, and would cost 10 baht each, about
fifteen cents. Fortunately they had only to wait 40 minutes for the next
bus.

Passing their time in an open aired cafe, they enjoyed pad thai. A popular
noodle dish, and some sodas. No other westerners were around, but Tim did
not feel too out of place, certainly not as out of place as he had felt
during his stay in Japan.

The Japanese were not rude to him, they did not stare at him, but there was
something about their culture, the way they conducted themselves that had
such a foreign vibe to Tim, he felt he could never become one of the people
there. Thailand on the other hand, seemed more relaxed; he even noticed
that the people walked differently. Their gate was longer, moving their leg
from their hip, not from the knee as they seemed to do in Japan, this let
the head of the individual remain slightly further back, giving more of an
ease in the shoulders, he had never noticed before. The people in Burma
were as equally relaxed in their walk, seemingly more at home in their
bodies than that of the Japanese.

There were many visible cultural differences that were personified by the
movements and stances of individuals. Tim could always spot an American.
They were always leaning on something, the most relaxed, seemingly the
laziest people. Never standing up straight, a leg always bent, shifting
weight, leaning on a table or a door jam. The way people smoked was a clue
to their heritage. The Chinese held their cigarette with the burning end up
in 2 fingers so as to slow the pace of the burning tobacco. The German
travelers he had met seemed always to be deep in thought seemingly plotting
their next world conquest. Canadians seemed like the puppy dogs of the
traveling world, gung ho, guiless, and innocent. On his trip to the islands
in the gulf of Thailand Tim had met a traveler from California who had been
living in Japan teaching English.

He had been traveling for quite a while, with his base in Japan, his name
was Richard. Rich had made a list, a ranking of all the countries of
travelers that he had met and he quantified each nation in terms of their
relative sophistication. Americans and Japanese got a 4.5, Germans and
French he gave a 4, Canadians a 2, just because they weren’t that cool, he
gave Australians a 3, Israelis a 3.5 he gave the Dutch a 5, he thought the
Dutch were like supermen for some reason, he said they all spoke the best
English, and were in fantastic shape. Above the Dutch was the cat, the cat
got a 6 while the dog got a 2, cats are cooler than dogs. For some reason
Rich liked goats, he gave the goat an 8.
“Have you ever looked into the eyes of a goat? They are tripping all the
time.

Par Ten was not very talkative. Tim and his Gardener had not really spoken
about the theft of the crystal. Par Ten was no doubt disappointed in Tim
for having told anyone about the treasure room. He was perhaps more
disappointed in his son for telling Tim, but Tim couldn’t tell exactly how
much of the blame Par Ten had attributed to whom. Tim wanted to breech the
subject, offer his apologies, he knew of Par Tens intuition, and was sure
that Par Ten could see the guilt in Tim’s eyes, but to verbalize the
feelings would be his next step. He felt that he was doing all he could do,
and that the proper time would come soon.

As the couple waited on the seat that ran along the length of the interior
of the bus, more and more people started to pack on. Just when there seemed
to be no more room on the seat, a middle aged women with a bag of long
stemmed green vegetables came over, bowed her head to Tim and used her hand
as a divider between Tim and the person next to him. Then she’d turn around
and slide her behind in between Tim and whoever he had been sitting next
to.

Tim noticed that he was the only Westerner on the bus to be heading to Pai,
but once again he did not feel out of place. They sat toward the front,
their small bags tied down on top of the bus along with all the other gear.
The road at first smooth, turned bumpy after an hour, a screaming child
seemed oblivious of everything but himself. This Thai boy was around 2 and
half years old, being tended to by his apparent grandmother who was holding
him on her lap. The only point during the first hour of the trip that the
boy was quite was during a bat of uncontrolled vomiting, all over his shirt
and his grandmother. The boy seemed oblivious to the mess and inconvenience
he was creating, he merely enjoyed the release that the vomiting gave him.

The bus made frequent stops, a young Thai moved up and down the crowded
aisles charging newcomers the fair. Passing the screaming child each time
he was up and down the bus. On one such trip along the aisle he turned
silently to the boy, looked at him for a long moment as the child screamed.
The bus attendant, all at once screamed in the child’s face at the top of
his lungs. The child stopped screaming, stunned for a few seconds, then he
started to cry. Tim wanted to applaud, but just sat there smiling instead.

2 hours into the journey the bus pulled over to the side of the road for a
brief rest stop. The women all disembarked and went to one end of the bus,
the men to the other. Tim had never seen women urinate in public before.
This activity for a man is commonplace, but all the women, saddled up to
the side of the road and dropped their pants and squatted. Brief surprise
turned into understanding as Tim relieved himself on the opposite side,
with the men.

Before long they arrived at the Pai bus station. It was several hours until
sunset, and the timing appeared to be fortuitous for the crossing of the
border. A brief wait and their next ride appeared in the form of a half
full jeep. The jeep would take them to the border town of Long Na Deck.
Another twenty-five cents and the 2 were on their way, closer to their
destination.

After a minute the dust settled from the wheels of the jeep. Tim had his
first look at the people he would be traveling with. They all seemed to be
hill tribesmen and women. One young couple apparently had all their
belongings along with their two little daughters. The daughters where
wrapped in knit cotton and wool traditional Korin clothing.

The borders around the golden triangle in Indo China are more political
than geographical. South East Asia, away from the coast is mountainous, the
Hill tribes that populate the climatically dry but fertile ground are
ethnic Thai, Burmese, descendents from the Chinese to the north and tribal,
what we would refer to as Indian groups.

There was an older women chewing beetle nut root and rolling her own
tobacco. She eyed Tim and Par Ten, but not maliciously, vaguely, but
equally curious of their destination as well as their origin. Two teenaged
school boys with well worn, but formal school uniforms. After some time
they tried their English on Tim.
“Hello, what is your name.”
“Tim”,
“Where are you from?
“New York.”
“What is your country?”
The usual I’ll practice my English rhetoric that Tim had heard many times.
There seemed to be no substance to these conversations, Once in a while
there would be something to these conversations that he had engaged in
countess times before. But for the most part the speakers just seemed to
speak out of rote, as opposed to a real interest in hearing any of the
answers to the questions.

At least it wasn’t as bad as Indonesia, where everywhere he went, everyone
and their mother would shout out.
“Where are you going?
That got to be rather annoying after the first few minutes, too bad he was
forced to spend an unbearable month there going from one Island to the
other, hoping that the people in the next town wouldn’t ask him “Where are
you going?”

On one stop the jeep picked up a women who had just given birth. Tim could
tell as the baby had not even been bathed, he had fresh blood on his head.
The mother was lain prone on the back of the jeep, obviously exhausted, but
still glowing she rested under thick blankets. The baby rode up in the
front with a mid wife. Several stops had turned the occupants over several
times. Tim was really getting an eye full of the local indigenous
population. They were all genuinely friendly and happy to meet with a
foreigner.

He knew he was well off the beaten path when just before dusk, as the jeep
slowed down riding through a particularly densely populated area, he turned
his head to watch the faces by the side of the road. Two little girls were
sitting on their haunches. One of the little girls grabbed her friend,
pointed to Tim and said, In astonishment.
“Soviet! Soviet!”
Tim had never been mistaken for a Russian before. He had to wonder where he
was, who had been here before him, and where he was going.

The darkness fell, as did the temperature. They were around 2,000 meters
above see level, and it can get chilly in the mountains. Tim was able to
reach into one of his bags to fetch another layer. There were no
pretensions in this culture. When it was cold, people huddled together for
warmth. There was not a class distinction equivalent in the west. So Tim’s
extra layer and the closeness of the other jeep passengers provided plenty
of warmth.

Tim had thought that he would have seen at least a few western travels, but
there was not doubt a travel alert due to the recent events in Burma, no
one was advised to be anywhere near the country.
The jeep slowed to a stop. There were 8 passengers in the back including
Tim and Par Ten. The driver got out of the cab. He circled the vehicle,
searching the faces of the passengers quickly. It was very dark and chilly,
so everyone was bundled up. The driver spoke to Par Ten in a hill tribe
dialect that Par Ten could understand. They spoke quickly for about 3
minutes. At the end of the conversation Par Ten handed the driver a hundred
dollar green back American bill. The journey continued.

“What was that about.”
“You owe me one hundred American dollars Mr. Tim.”
“OK, but what was it for?”
“We will be approaching the border very soon. There will be Thai and
Burmese military on either side. The Thai’s are more concerned with
refugees coming out of Burma, than ones coming into country. This side of
the border is not watched as closely. Although the driver is confident that
the guards will take no notice to us, he is taking a risk bringing a
westerner in to the country.”
“I have my passport and a workng visa, why should it matter?”
“Even if there was no revolution, this border crossing is only for locals
who trade daily between hill towns, it is not an official
international crossing station, and the driver has to pay the warlords who
control the area.

The jeep slowed at the border crossing and was admitted with out incident.
It was dark and they had passed back into Burma.

Their transport was heading for Mandalay. A trading town on the silk road
to China. Par Ten visibly relaxed the moment they had crossed into Burma.
“I beleive all will be better now.” He simply said. Tim could see the
clarity in his words.

Indeed there were changes taking place the moment the 2 had entered the
country.

Another days journey away, in the capitol of Rangoon the sporadic gun fire
that had become the norm during the last week fell silent. Like a
mysterious fog creeping through the city, a wave of relaxed energy flowed
through the streets. The Leader of the Miap Red party had a startling and
consequential dream.

Colnet was his name and he had been a rebel since his teen years. He was
born into a Korin Hill tribe close to the Bangladesh border in far western
Burma. His parents were rice farmers. He had planned to follow his older
brother and work in the Alabaster mine close to his village. At 15 when he
had met Aripa, his childhood friend and neighbor who had returned from a
trip to the capitol. Aripa told him that he planned to join the resistance,
at that time known as the Harimaw party, some 80 kilometers to the north.
He said the government oppression in the capitol has struck a cord within
him, and his life would be worthless unless he made an effort to liberate
his people.

Not too enamored with the idea of being a miner, Colnet had gone with Aripa
to train in the Harimaw camp. His wits and agility made him
stand out and he was shown favor by the general of the party, quickly
becoming a major, proving his worthiness on many raids and gorilla
maneuvers. Now some 15 years later Colnet was the head of Harimaw, which
had morphed, with another faction into Miap Red.

As Tim and Par Ten slipped into Burma Colnet was visited in a dream by
Aripa. Aripa had been shot in a raid on a government munitions depot 8
years ago and did not survive. Aripa appeared to him in his adolesant form,
but he had the eyes of an older man. In his dream Aripa sat with Colnet in
their childhood village. Aripa communicated feelings of peace
to Colnet, making him see that his aggressions were miss guided, and that
foreigners, although they held their own national interests, were there to
help the struggling nation come to terms with democratic independence.

When Colnet awoke the next day he ordered a halt to the executions that
were planned, and met with the few of the surviving members of the previous
government. He was as if a different person, somehow he convinced the now
defunct political elite that when the people lead, the leaders must follow.
He lifted the curfew and began talks with foreign governments and business
investors.

By the time Tim and Par Ten arrived in Rangoon, the capitol was no longer
in a state of Anarchy. There were signs of democracy and free speech in the
forms of posters and announcements of new political elections. The
following week Tim’s school began its session. Looters that had ravaged
government agencies and neighborhoods were given amnesty if the goods were
returned. Miraculously an air of harmony had returned to this once volatile
and repressed nation.

Tim stayed in the country for one more year after the revolution. Returning
to the United States he got a masters degree and finally a doctorate in
political science and Asian historical studies. He has been running the
history department at the State University of New York campus in Long
Island, and still makes frequent trips to Asia to visit the friends that he
has met during his career.

He now has come to terms with the transgression of confidence when he gave
the valuable information to the Japanese thief. If the Yang crystal had not
been appropriated, there may never have been harmony for the nation of
Burma.

The Yang half of the crystal is now secure in the Par Ten compound along
with the other works of art that Tim now has permission to see on his trips
to see his old friends.

THE END