Chapter 69

Birds of a Feather:


Some ten years ago I had an affair with a lady who I reckon was one of the two most beautiful women I have had the pleasure to.. er...meet. She had long black hair and an olive, mediterranean complexion. Her figure was stunning and her face perfect. Tho other attraction was that she wanted me. A very few months later I realized that I was just one of the many beaux she had to her... sorry .. strings to her bow. I quit. Soon afterwards I regretted this as she narrowed her search down to one man.
Now this is the odd bit. He was considerably less than handsome and his presence was preceded by the smell of his dirty socks. He would sit at the edge of the bar smelling of stale tobacco and sweat.
This annoyed me. I wrote poems about the lack of sensibility of the modern female to the lure of the renaissance man (i.e.me) with his charm, his suave sophisticated humour, his erudition etc.etc. and her absurd lowering of standards to the level of her shambling simian partner. I was jealous, of course, but I told myself that if she had picked up with a man of more suitable elegance I would not have been so upset.

Regular readers of these tales will now be waiting for the deja vue bit, so here it comes.

I am sitting writing this in a state of scarcely controlled ill humour, interspersed with shouts of rage as I think of them together.
Who? you might ask but even if not I shall tell you anyway.
Khun May, a lady I have wanted ever since I met her five years ago has decided to have an affair with a man who, more or less, fits the category of the gentleman I described above. He is an ex-pat who has lived here for many years making a living by persuading gullable visitors to part with their money in dodgy time shares. I heard him in the bar a few weeks ago being questioned about a venture, which he was involved in which changed hands. He protested that "People have got that wrong - nobody lost money over it" adding as an afterthought "except for the clients".
The question of ethics here did not seem to cross his mind.
He usually arrives at the bar drunk and regales the other occupants with his increasingly noisy expletive laden patter mostly about himself.
His one remarkable skill is his knowledge of, for want of a better word, 'pop' music.
He loves to be the centre of attention, which he is, up to the time all of the other occupants have left to find a more convivial atmosphere.
I'm not sure of a good definition of an alcoholic but I have, in five years, only seen him sober once.

This then is the man with whom May has chosen to share her bed.

Two nights ago he visited my bar (my bar? ok that's another story) and proceeded with his usual act.
I suggested that we needed to talk. With difficulty getting in words edgeways I told him that I obviously found his presence difficult to cope with since the lady for whom I have a great affection has decided to 'raise' her standards to his level.
I told him that I hoped he would look after her well since she is someone very dear to me.
He knew, of course, that I would not be happy about this but found it difficult not to look as though that was the icing on the cake for him.

Oh well some you win and some you lose.

I thought I was coping well with this until yesterday evening when the bar was quiet, May who is running the bar for me, made some comment to me which triggered an avalanche of bad humoured nastiness from me.

As I remember, the gist of it was this:

How can you bear to be with such an unpleasant alcoholic slob?
Can't you see that he is just using you for sex?
Don't you realize that just about everybody on the island dislikes this loudmouthed, fat, vulgar, expletive dripping cretin?
She replied, angrily that she knew him better than I do and he isn't like that.
And that she was happy.
I continued that even worse than that he is boring.

As we both paused for breath, my furiosity laden brain eventually picked up that last comment of hers.

And that she was happy.
And that she was happy.
And that she was happy.

I left the bar.

Last night my half awake dreams consisted of the phrase ....."and that she was happy"...... endlessly repeated by a girl who was a strange combined image of the two ladies in this story.