An Error of Judgement

I read Paul's letter again, then laid it on the table, the small newspaper clipping beside it. Involuntary tears formed in my eyes. I forced them tightly closed for a few moments, to halt the imminent flow.

It's eleven years since I've been back to Galveston. My life's in Bali now and I married a local girl there. We've two children: a boy and a girl, with the boy the eldest, who started school a month ago.

But Paul's still based out of Galveston, servicing oil and gas pipelines in the Gulf of Mexico. We write to each other quite often: keep in touch. Paul Draybel, the best skipper I ever sailed under. I haven't seen him in six years now. Not since Labuan: the last time we were all together. Tiny, Brad, Vic, Paul and myself.

We were good buddies, crewing the same pipe-laying barge around south-east Asia for five years. Since we sailed her over from the States: from Galveston. Yea, real good buddies. A hell-raising crowd when we got together ashore in some raunchy bar. But it was Vic and myself who were the true compadres. Vic and Tom, the boys who'd find warm pussy in a convent, they used to say about us. If they're old enough to bleed, then they're old enough to butcher. That was out motto - our carnal code.

Vic and I had been together a long time, and had screwed our way across Asia. We weren't fussy if we paid for it: one night in port isn't long enough to form a loving relationship with a chick. So we'd head for the nearest whore-house. Every decent port has one, at least. Some ports have so many that the competition is almost as stiff as the male members they exist to service.

But it wasn't all hookers. We had our share of freebies too. When we took our break time in the sordid capitals of Asia, there were plenty of pretty girls, and tourists too, who wanted to tag along. We became their tourist guides. Buxom white Europeans, Australians, and fellow Yanks also. Lithe, sensual Asian girls: their smooth skins a permanent sun-burned brown. We had the pick of them all.

I suppose Vic and I must have looked an attractive proposition too. Both of us tall, tanned, and blonde. We had a magical repartee, and the girls loved our conversational banter.

Yes, we were good friends, from way back. Until Labuan put the kibosh on everything. Labuan: the feculent slum. The wart on the arse of Sabah. The bastard orphan of many past foster parents.

But before Labuan were the best years for me – and for Vic too. The happy-go-lucky years. The 'Couldn't give a Flying Fuck about Anything' years. The mad years of our twenties. The carefree years of youth. We worked hard, and played a damn sight harder.

Surabaya was a classical instance of that theme. Our barge had laid a pipeline from Madura into the fuel dock complex of Surabaya harbour. Tiny, Vic, and myself were due leave. Our relief crew were waiting on shore: to change-over once we docked. The shipping agent had all three of us booked out on the next morning's flight to Jakarta. From Jakarta to Bangkok for Vic and myself. Jakarta to Manila for Tiny.

The barge docked in the late afternoon, and our relief crew came aboard. Within the hour the three of us were checked into the Plaza Hotel for the one night. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, we headed out, down to Dolly's Bar: a favourite watering hole of ours. The cold beers flowed well, frosty cans of Bintang on demand.
Around eight in the evening the place started to fill up with girls. Vic and Tiny were playing nine-ball on the pool table, while I sat at the bar. A petite beauty came and sat next to me, a real Javanese honey. Straight black hair falling to her buttocks; full, sensual lips; almond eyes; tight, blue-jeans; and a pair of tits like papayas: trying to burst out of her fitted tee-shirt.

'Hi Joe, you got girl-friend yet?'

I shook my head. And thus started the basic list of questions you always get asked in Asian girlie bars.

'My name's Erlina. What is your name?'

'Tom.'

'Where are you from?'

'Texas.'

'When did you arrive?'

'Today.'

'Where are you staying?'

'The Plaza.'

'You like to buy me a drink?'

'Sure, why not.'

'You working here, or on vacation?'

'Just finished working. Going on vacation tomorrow.'

'Where you go?'

'Bangkok.'

'Bangkok no good. All girls there have sick. Vietnam Rose. Your penis fall off.'

'Yeah? All the girls in Bangkok say Surabaya girls have the clap too. Banyak penyakit.' (Plenty clap)

'No, all girls here in Surabaya clean. No disease. No clap.' Erlinda insisted.

'Hey, I called to Vic and Tiny, ' the chick here reckons there ain't no clap in Surabaya.'

'Balls,' Vic answered, looking up from his aligned pool cue. 'And bears don't shit in the woods, either.'

But in those days venereal disease was no great risk in South-East Asia. The worst dose anyone ever caught was gonorrhoea, or a case of N.S.U. I never came across a case of syphilis, the dreaded pox, although there was plenty around if you frequented the Canine Clubs: the bars where all the old dogs hung out.
Clap was an occupational hazard in our line of employment and lifestyles. We would hammer a likely dose with the oral anti-biotics Rifadin or Eradicil, and it would be cleared the next day. Who the hell needs doctors, and injections that feel like ten pounds of wet blotting paper being pumped into the cheek of your arse.

So, I bought the pretty girl a drink, and we got chatting about her business charges.
'You come back to my hotel with me tonight? Give me nice massage?' I asked.

'How much you pay me?' She inquired, very mercenary.

'Five thousand Rupiah: all night,' I informed her.

'You very cheap-Charlie. You give me ten thousand all night. You give me fifteen thousand, I take you round the world. Okay?'

'Okay, fifteen thousand: if you're good. If no good, then only fifty Rupiah.' I told her jokingly.

'If very, very good, you give me twenty thousand?' she pressed.

'If you put price up anymore, I go Sloppy Joe's Bar and get girl there,' I bantered, copying her slanted English.

'No, you stay here. I only make you joke.' She rejoined. 'Your friends, they take girls here also?'

'Maybe, I don't know.'

'My friend, she my partner. You find her boy-friend so she has also. Very hard for me to go out if my friend she has no boy-friend.'

'Well, give her a call and let's take a look at her, Erlina.'

She beckoned to one of the group of girls watching the pool game, who came across to join us.

'This is Rhea, my friend,' Erlina informed me.

Now Rhea wasn't of quite the same sensual calibre as Erlinda, but she was good enough to practice on. I walked over to the pool table, a can of cold beer in my hand.
'What do you think of the girl on the left: at the bar? Next to the one I've been chatting to. You fancy her for tonight, Vic?'

'Naw, I fancy the one on the right,' he replied.

'Hmmm,' I commented, 'you would. That one's accounted for already. How about the other one?'

Again, he replied, 'Naw, the one on the right.'

'Listen Vic,' I pleaded, 'I want the one on the right. If you don't take the one on the left, then the other one won't go out.'

'Looks like you've got a problem Tom,' he advised.

'C'mon Vic, do your old buddy a favour. Take Rhea, the one on the left. She says she's got the hots for you.'

'I want the pretty one. The one with the long hair. With the pigeon's chest bursting out of her jeans,' he answered.

'Victor, you're a rotten bastard. You know that, don't you?'

He smiled. 'The one on the left's more your type, Tom.'

I resigned myself to Rhea, and walked over to rejoin the girls. 'Erlinda, I'll take Rhea home tonight, and my friend Vic'll take you. He says he likes you very much. Is that okay with you?'

'Sure darling. You like to swap now, or middle of night, no problem,' she
replied.

Tiny found himself a girl-friend once their pool games were over, and we headed back to our hotel. I cursed Vic under my breath, but Rhea wasn't all that bad really. I changed my opinion radically once we reached the privacy of the hotel room and she undressed to shower. She was an absolute stunner. What a body. The loose dress she'd been wearing in Dolly's had camouflaged the sensual, beautiful form that lay beneath. Boy, she really took me to seventh heaven that night, and was so grateful when I gave her two ten-thousand Rupiah bills the next morning she pushed me back onto the bed and screwed my brains out one more time. Her way of saying 'thank you' – with a bye-bye fuck.

The girls rounded themselves up early, and left as a trio. We gathered in the coffee shop for breakfast, before the shipping agent collected us for our flight to Jakarta.
'I should have taken the one on the left last night,' Vic reproached himself to me. 'Erlina was useless. All talk and no action. Like a damn corpse, but still warm.'

I curled up in my chair with laughter, Tiny too.

'That's what your selfish greed earns you Vic.' I informed him. 'Rhea exceeded my wildest expectations. A real nymph.'

'Aw bullshit, Tom. You're just trying to rile me.'

'God's honest truth, Vic. She was superb. Knew her way around the world better than Vasco da Gama.'

He shook his head in self-commiseration, his eyes giving me occasional
glances of disbelief. That afternoon we boarded our flight to Jakarta, landing in Bangkok by early evening. We both had semi-casual girl-friends there at that period of time, and met up with them during our first evening there. Our regular hotel was the Grace, and we booked adjoining rooms for this holiday once again.

It was early on our third morning there that Vic banged on the door between the rooms. Just as I was discussing cosmic consciousness with my girl-friend, Oy.

'Tom, open the damn door. I need to talk with Oy.' he called urgently.

I halted our intimate discussion, and wrapped a towel about my waist. Oy disappeared beneath the bedsheets. Opening the dividing door, Vic entered, dressed in similar attire of my own; and led me by the arm to the lounge area.

'Got a problem Tom.' he began in earnest. 'I've just been for a pee, and I've got a drip.'

I collapsed on the couch in hysterics: my face and body contorted with laughter.

'I don't think it's so fucking funny Tom. Who's going to tell Nid?'

My laughter deepened. Vic stood watching the comedy act, subconsciously denying his venereal condition was the source of my mirth and amusement. Eventually, I regained some semblance of control, apart from the occasional lapse of giggles.

'I reckon I'll take a shower, then clear out of here for awhile Vic. Until you've told Nid the good news, and she's thrown most of the furniture at you.'

'If you tell Oy, then she can explain to Nid,' he suggested.

'How about I tell Oy, then she can come with me while you tell Nid? We don't want to be innocent bystanders getting injured by flying objects thrown in disgust, Vic,' I bantered.
He looked at the ceiling, and held his arms wide apart: as though preparing himself for deserved crucifixion. 'Hell man, where did I pick it up from?'

'Surabaya; Erlina. The chick you stole from me in Dolly's Bar. Poetic justice, Victor. Serves you fucking well right.'

'Damn, she was a rotten lay too. Come on Tom, help your old buddy out. A spot of sympathy, eh?'

'Sympathy's in the dictionary if you want it Vic. Somewhere between shit and syphilis. Why don't you tell Nid you've got a recurrent kidney infection, and feed yourselves a dose of Eradicil each. Then stay off the booze, and leave the sexercise alone for a couple of days until it clears up?'

'Shit, you think she'll swallow that? Hell, it's worth a try, Tom?' he said, disappearing into his own room.

I beckoned to Oy, and we showered then went downstairs for breakfast. A half-hour later Vic and Nid joined us. Nid didn't look too pleased, and held a staccato conversation with Oy in Thai. I looked at Vic. He raised his eyebrows and twisted his lips. Nid caught our facial exchanges.

'Dirty pig got clap. We eat, then I take him doctor. He give me clap too. He go fuck girl in Indonesia, get clap, then bring Thailand. No good. First time this happen to me. Dirty pig.' Nid jabbed Vic in the ribs with a dessert spoon. He winced, as was expected of him. 'Say he got sick kidney. Want me to take pills too. I know those pills. Clap pills. What you think Vic, I some stupid kind of girl?”

It was a long time before Nid let that "dirty pig" Vic forget the issue. I pulled his leg over it many times afterwards. But, that was the way we were then. Our regular lifestyles while we were ashore, or on leave together. Before I settled down. Before I met Nelia. Before I married her. Before Labuan.

Yes, we come back to Labuan again. The island that should be fenced off, and rice thrown in once a week. Labuan: Vic's nemesis. The stick that broke the camel's back.

Our company was awarded the contract to lay an oil pipeline from a new offshore production platform in Sabah's waters to Labuan harbour. The pipe storage yard was on Labuan, and we docked there regularly to restock the decks of the lay barge. Normally, we moored alongside overnight, and the guys who didn't have watch duties went ashore.

The particular night that fate decreed was meant for Vic alone, I had watch duty. He waved to me as I stood on the bridge of the barge, and then walked along the quay into the small town itself.

Paul Draybel woke me at nine the next morning.

'Tom, sorry to wake you before your watch, but something's wrong with Vic. He's locked himself in his cabin and won't answer the door. Hell, he came back on board a half-hour ago, walked straight into the galley to his cabin, and slammed the door. Now that ain't like old Vic, is it? I was sitting there drinking a cup of coffee, and called to him, but he just ignored me and walked past. He didn't look to be full of booze either. You wanna go and see what the problem is, you're his big buddy.'

I hoisted myself out of the bunk and dressed. 'What time's sailing set for now Paul? They finished loading bunkers and pipe sections?'

'Bunkers are all done, Tom. Still a few sections of pipe to come aboard. We should be away by eleven hundred hours,' the skipper replied.

Making my way down to the galley, I poured myself a mug of coffee and went through to Vic's cabin.

'Vic, it's Tom! Open the fucking door.!'

The latch clicked free, and I entered the cabin. Vic collapsed onto his bunk and stared at the deck-head. Paul had followed me, but I shook my head slightly. He took the gist of my meaning and left. I closed the door again.

'You sick? . . . . . .Vic, you sick? . . . . . . Hey! I'm talking to you! . . . .What gives Vic? You get rolled or something last night?'

He shook his head, and swung his long legs over the side of the bunk as he sat upright. Something had definitely knocked the wind out of his sails. This wasn't Vic I knew, nor had ever encountered before. He reached out his hand for my coffee mug, I passed it to him. He swallowed half it's contents in one mouthful.

'I learned the truth about myself last night, Tom. About what I really am. And I don't like it very much.'

'What the fuck happened Vic? It's best you tell me here and now: get if off your chest.'

'When I went ashore last night I ended up in that little bar down by the market. You remember the one?

I nodded.

'I was sat in there having a quiet beer when a real dolly walked in. She had a look around, then came and sat at the bar a couple of stools away from me. We got to talking, and I bought her a drink. Then she invites me back to her place, about a kilometre outside of town and drove us back there in her own car, a Mercedes sports job. Beautiful house, big gardens and swimming pool. Nobody else around. Apparently her father's a big shot with the national oil company. The parents spend most of their time in Kinabalu. She's got the run of the place.'

“So, she pours drinks for us in the lounge, then we go out onto the patio. She strips down to the flesh, and dives into the pool. No problems: it's dark, and the place is surrounded by high walls. She calls to me to join her, so I strip off and dive in too. We get to playing around, and she's got me as hard as hell. She's goosing me faster than I can get at her. A real eager bitch, Tom.'

Anyway, we finish our water-sports and go back into the house. She leads me through to her bedroom. The bed's a huge four-poster job with black satin sheets. We play a bit more, then she disappears into the bathroom. Come out dressed in white suspenders, white nylons, white peephole bra, and white crotchless panties. A real turn-on.'

'White lingerie on brown, Malay skin. She's raping me Tom, like a wildcat. First she goes down on me, then spreads her buttocks over my face in a sixty-nine.
Grinds her pussy into my lips, really makes me eat her. Then she swings around and sinks my cock into her, and rides like there's no tomorrow. This goes on all night. She's sucking and fucking non-stop. Then she'll get me hard again once she's made me come, and I'd suck and fuck her again. One hell of a body on her, Tom. Like a damn gymnast.'

I had the stirrings of an erection myself just listening to his replay ot the previous night. But his story was quietly told, unenthused with his normal effervescence that accompanied descriptions of his sexual exploits. What the hell had happened to cast such a damper on his spirits?

'This morning, I wake up. The dawn's just breaking. And she's down on me again. And this chick can really give head too. So, we fuck again and again; then I tell her I've got to get back to the harbour before my barge sails. No problem, she'll drive me in the Merc'. When will I be back in Labuan? Next week, I tell her. Good, she replies, I'll' be waiting for you.'

'I went and took a shower, then retrieved my clothes from the patio, where they were tossed the previous night. I walk into the living room. The chick, Amina, she's cooking breakfast for me - wants to keep my strength up.”

“I start looking around the room, they've got some real nice antique stuff there: Chinese and Malay. Wood carvings, porcelain, jade, ivory: that king of thing.
Anyway, I'm looking at some miniature porcelain jars on the dresser, real cute jobs, when I noticed a photograph of Amina on the wall. Dressed in a silk cheong-sam, real smart. Next to it's a photograph of her brother, I guess, all dressed up in combat figures. Amina comes out of the kitchen carrying two plates of food, and I ask her: this your brother, the guy in uniform?'

'Oh no,' she replies, 'that's me.'

'No, not that photograph, the other one: in the combat fatigues.'

'They're both of me,' she says. 'One when I was in the army, and one after I left the army.'

'Yeah? But the one on the left-hand side's a guy,' I tell her.

'She smiles. 'I know, I was a guy before my operation.'

Well, I'm dumbfounded. She's a fucking kai-tai and I never realised. No Adam's apple, no body hair like a guy, soft tits, sweet voice. I sit down on a chair at the dining table and looked at her. She's fascinated that I didn't know. Tells me her father paid for the operation in Sweden. She's overjoyed I thought she was a bona fide woman. Then she throws her arms around me, and kisses me. So I slapped the shit out of her, and walked back to the barge.'

'Is she okay Vic? You didn't hurt her . . . . him . . . .it . . . . too bad? You didn't kill her?' I asked seriously.

'Oh hell no. Only slapped her with the back of my hand a couple of times, Tom. She'll be okay.'

'And this is what you're pissed off about? Screwing a kai-tai and not knowing? Hell Vic, you've played about with them in Singapore, at Bugis Street, and down at Pattaya when we've been on leave in Thailand. It never bothered you then.'

'Yea, but I only played with them. I never took one home and screwed it - and I knew they were kai-tai's too,' he answered.

'So what's the big problem this time?' I questioned.

'When I was with her last night, I enjoyed every minute of it. And when she kissed me this morning, after she told me about going to Sweden for the operation, I almost kissed her back. It came so close to me enjoying it again, and not walking out of there voluntarily.'

'Shit Vic, if she's made to look like a woman, who can blame you, or anyone for that matter? If she's had a full cut and tuck job and hormone boobs, then she's as much of a woman as you're going to get out of a man's body. Forget it, let's go up on deck and get some air.'

'I reckon I'm really a homo’, Tom. I honestly do.'

'What kind of half-wit talk is that - you mistake a fully chopped and channelled kai-tai for a real chick, so you reckon you've turned queer? Bullshit.!

'This isn't the first time Tom. When I was in high school in Houston, my buddy and I used to jerk each other off in the car. And I enjoyed that too.'

'How old were you then? Fifteen, sixteen? Were you still jacking your buddy off once you'd got your first girl-friend? Got your first lay?” I pressed him.

'No, but I've always thought I was a latent homo’. Right there, under the surface, under the big stud act, I was a homo’: a gay.'

'You take pills or some fucking thing at this kai-tai's place last night, Vic?'

'No, I've taken nothing. Except a long, hard look at myself on the walk back to the barge this morning.'

'Well, we're sailing at eleven hundred this morning, so I suggest you get your shit together, and be ready for work. I'm saying nothing about this to the skipper. It's between the two of us, Vic. Put it down to experience, and forget it.'

He nodded his assent, and I left him to get his act together and be ready for work. We sailed before noon that day, back out to our laying zone. Vic worked away steadily during the following week, but wasn't his old self by any means. Definitely subdued, in his attitude and humour.

Paul appeared on the bridge during my shift, he as panting and breathless from running up the stairways.

'You'd better let Brad take the controls, Tom and come downstairs quick. We've got a problem. Vic's tried to top himself in the forward hold.'

I rushed down the stairs, and along the lower companion-ways into the forward hold. Tiny and a Filipino A.B. were leaning over Vic, Tiny massaging his bruised throat.
'Stupid bastard's tried to hang himself Tom. What the fuck gives with this guy? Lucky we found him when we did, and got him down. I ain't never seen Vic so depressed as he's been since we sailed this last time.'

I felt his pulse: it was strong. But he was a very dark red in his face: and unconscious.

'Let's get him to his cabin, Tiny.' I advised. We picked him up and carried his unconscious body to his bunk. 'Someone get me a pitcher of water and a glass,' I called. Paul reappeared a few moments later, a water jug in one hand, a glass in the other.

'I've told the deck crew to stow all laying equipment, Tom. I'm taking the barge into Labuan. Got to get Vic off here before he kills himself. He's a liability in the way he's been behaving since we pulled out of port last week,' Paul explained.
I nodded my agreement. There was no other option open to him, I knew that.

Vic regained consciousness on the steam into port. I was sat in the cabin with him when he came around.

'That was mighty stupid thing to try and pull, Vic. What the hell got into you?' I asked.

He tried to reply, but only croaked. I handed him a glass of water. He drank, then rubbed his throat. 'Don't want to go through life being a homo, Tom,' he spoke hoarsely.

I shook my head in disbelief. Someone stayed with Vic until we docked in Labuan, until the skipper had talked with our head office in Houston. They instructed Paul to book himself and Vic on the next available flights for Singapore, and the States. A relief skipper would be sent out as soon as possible. Vic was not to travel alone, or be left alone: under any circumstances.

They flew out together the following morning to Kota Kinabalu, then onto Singapore, and Houston. I drove out to the small airport on Labuan with them: to say my good-byes. The shipping agent drove us both back to town: to the barge. We passed a big house about a kilometre outside of town, which I'd failed to notice on the drive out earlier. Big house, high walls all around it. A very private place.

'Who lives there, Shanby?' I asked the agent.

'That house of Deputy Minister of Energy. But he not live there. He live Kinabalu. He have ladyman daughter, she live there. Very pretty the face, very beautiful the body. She have plenty boyfriend admirer all over East Malaysia.'

I was glad Vic had failed to notice the house when we had driven past on route to the airport. If he had recognised it, then his face never betrayed a sign. Vic and Paul flew out, and I returned to the barge. I never saw either of them again.

The company doctor referred Vic to a psychiatrist in Houston. I only know from Paul's letters what transpired. Apparently the shrink, in his infinite wisdom, convinced Vic there was no sin in being a homosexual: a gay.
Pity he didn't study his patient's case history: the reasons why and where, and convince him that he wasn't a homo’ at all. The company terminated Vic's contract, because of the suicide attempt, and paid him off.

Paul's letters related that Vic moved down to Galveston again later that year. He was hanging out in gay bars with a real crowd of fairies: Paul's terminology, not mine. I wrote to Vic on several occasions, but received no reply.

A few months after Vic's departure from the barge, I heard a strange tale while drinking in one of Labuan's shady bars. Apparently the kai-tai daughter of an influential politician in Kinabalu had been found dead in the swimming pool of their Labuan week-end home, just outside of town. Not drowned: murdered. She'd been garrotted. All turns a full-circle eventually.

I picked up Paul's letter and read it again. He was sorry, especially with Vic and I being such close friends once. Going through three years in Vietnam together, with the Special Forces, then working so long on the same barge. But condolences are so much dust in the breeze that life blows to become a part of history - of our most disreputable pasts.

Laying the letter down, I reached for the newspaper clipping Paul had enclosed, cut from the Houston Chronicle’s obituary column.

Victor Schriber. Beloved son of John and Adeline Schriber. Passed away on the fourteenth of April, in Mount Carmel Hospital, Houston; after a long illness.
Paul Draybel's letter told me what that illness was: pancreatic cancer, complicated by HIV syndrome.