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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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The Chinese Watch
By Damien (anon3a9c@nyx10.cs.du.edu)
***
It is widely know throughout the sea services that the
difference between a Fairy Tale and a Sea Story, which
is not to be confused with a War Story, is that 'A Fairy
Tale begins "Once upon a time..." and a Sea Story begins
"This is no shit...." War stories usually begin "There
I was..." (MF, asian,axphixia, voy)
***
This is no shit, the first occurrence of the Images
scenario, or anything like it, that I saw was in Hong
Kong in the autumn of 1966. I was a young hard charging
Lance Corporal Machine Gunner on R&R from an all
expense paid vacation in the sunny vacation land in SE
Asia. On my second night there I went out of the hotel
and flagged a rickshaw and asked the puller to "Take me
to a place where women get tied up" or words to that
effect (can you tell that I was an MP for a while?).
A friend of mine (a Sergeant born and raised in
Bermuda) had said, "Rickshaw runners in Hong Kong know
where everything is, and can get you there just as
quickly and more cheaply than a Taxi," and that "You
can find and purchase almost anything in Hong Kong,
with the possible exception of tactical nuclear
weapons." After some negotiations, hampered by my
nonexistent Chinese and his marginal English and the
fact that after giving up on speaking English to him I
was using Okinawa pidgin, we agreed on a price (there
was no problem with the destination, that he understood
instantly), and away we went.
The trip took about 15 minutes, mostly at a trot and I
was somewhat confused as to where we were after 5
minutes (perhaps the quantity of beer that I had
previously consumed had something to do with it,
usually I'm very difficult to lose).
In any case, we ended up at a multi-story building
somewhere within a 15 minute trot (say 2 miles) of the
President Hotel, Kowloon, Crown Colony of Hong Kong.
There are probably a thousand or so such buildings, the
all look alike, unless you can read the signs on them
in Chinese (Happy Valley House), (Tenement of Joyous
Nights Sleeping) and so forth. So he drops the poles of
the Rickshaw, and says, "You come with me, please."
We entered the building, (there is something about
Chinese buildings, they're alive, breathing, with
thousands of invisible eyes watching you) and take a
lift to the <mumble> floor (it's been 25 years, I don't
have that good a memory, remember I didn't expect this
to be real memorable at the time).
We walk down the hall and the runner (rickshaw puller
is a bit clumsy, da?) raps on a door (looked like any
other door to me, no numbers (anywhere), no characters
(anywhere), a real anonymous floor) and this youngish
Chinese guy answers -I never did get the name, because
it was never offered, let's call him Mr. Inside.
He and the runner seem to be real pals, because his
face lights up (don't let anyone tell you that
Orientals are 'inscrutable', usually they couldn't hide
an emotion under a blanket <except when they are
gambling>) and they start rattling away in Canton (I
think, Mandarin sounds different, and Shanghai and
Hunan sound a bit like Vietnamese, and THAT I could
spot) and waving hands in my general direction and
towards the door (this was the clue, Canton is, like
Italian, a partially signed language).
After about 20 seconds the inside guy turns to me and
says, in impeccable British English (sounded like a old
Wykehamist), "Welcome to our humble establishment"
...you could have knocked me over with a feather, a
real live cliche... and then he gives this big grin and
I can tell that he's having some fun at my expense, but
that's OK by me, that's why I'm here (fun).
"He," he says, not quite pointing at the runner, "says
that you want to see women, bound?"
"Yes, exactly." This English accent stuff is
contagious.
"That is good, you have come to the correct place,
please pay him the agreed amount, I would recommend
that you tip him 10 per-cent of the fee that you will
pay here. That would be twenty dollars, Hong Kong."
Now in 1966 the Hong Kong dollar was worth about $.35
US, so doing some quick math, and drawing on my ready
supply of beer befuddled wit I said, "Huh?." That's
damn near 9 bucks for a 15 minute rickshaw ride.
"Our fee to view the show is two hundred dollars, Hong
Kong." (I swear the guy talked like that, you could see
per-cent not %, and two hundred dollars, Hong Kong not
$HK200). "We have never had a complaint, and the
performers usually get tips of that amount also."
I'm thinking "Shit, 70 bucks! for 70 bucks I can get
laid what? 5, 6 times easy (at this time there was
little or no amateur sex available for transient
personnel in Hong Kong (meaning the guys coming up from
'Nam trying to unwind, not to mention when a Carrier
Battle group shows up and drops 8 or 9 thousand horny
swabbies all over), and damn little for the troops (The
Queen's Own Buffs, and the 1st Gurkas) stationed there)
this had better be out-fucking-standing." Honest folks
that's the way we talked and thought then.
So I took out cash stash number 1 (you don't think that
I took ALL my money with me, hey I got four more days
of R&R left), peeled off a 20 for the runner, plus the
5 that I owed him for the trip (to put prices in
perspective you could, and I did later, eat a sumptuous
feast for two for $HK25 plus tip). Then I peeled off
another $HK200 and handed it to the other guy and said,
"You look like a gent to me, let's get rolling."
He winced (yeah, well I've never really been able to
beat around the bush, and back then ...) at my lack of
couth, and handed me back the money. "Please, hold on
to it. You pay when the performance starts. We have a
while to wait, would you care for a beer?."
The runner departed, well pleased I'm sure, and we
entered the suite (as it turned out). There was a
living room, unremarkable, with a few sofas and chairs,
3 Chinese gentlemen were sitting there, talking quietly
in Chinese, a sort of businessmen's dinner, sans
dinner, they wore expensive looking western suits. I
had one much like theirs on order ($HK75, ready in 3
days, you come back day after tomorrow for second
fitting, OK?). The young man left and returned quickly
with a beer, and a glass.
"Here you go, on the house. Have a seat, the show
starts in about twenty minutes."
I sat down in what I hoped was a comfortable chair (it
was), not too close to the other occupants of the room
(I didn't want to cramp their style, anyway they
ignored me beyond a quick, appraising glance), and
picked up a magazine.
Couldn't read a word, Chinese, but the pictures were
interesting, oriental women, mostly Japanese (they were
wearing Kimonos, those that were wearing anything),
tied up in various improbable positions. Some that,
before I saw the photos, I would have sworn were
impossible. I thumbed through that magazine and a
couple of others as well. While I was reading a steady
trickle of Chinese men came in, soon there were about
15 of them, standing around in little groups, drinking
beer or tea, nattering away, just like a cocktail party
back in the world.
As I finished up my beer, the guy came back and said
something in Chinese to the other folks and then to me,
"It is time for the performance, these gentlemen have
selected the scene to be played, do you wish me to tell
you, or would you rather watch it as it unfolds?"
I allowed as how I'd just watch it unfold, and he
looked a bit surprised then smiled a bit and said, "I
think that you will be pleased that you made that
choice, the performance is most moving when you don't
know what will happen."
"Now, I must inform you of the ground rules here. If
they are not acceptable you must leave and consider the
beer as my gift to you, if they are acceptable you must
agree to abide by them."
I nodded, and said, "That seems reasonable to me, go
ahead, shoot."
I guess that he wasn't used to listening to American
idioms, he paused a second then recovered, "The rules
are as follows: First, you must stay behind the
barrier. Second, you may not touch the women, nor speak
to them, for you this will not be a problem, as none of
them speak any English, and I do not think that you
speak any Chinese."
I actually had the grace and wit to blush a little at
that, and nod my head sheepishly. He continued, "These
women have been doing these scenes for several years,
although you may think that they are in danger, please
rest assured that they have ALL done this many times
before with no injuries at all." He paused and looked
at me for a few seconds, "Do you agree to abide by
these rules?"
"If you can assure me that no one really gets hurt."
"I think that I can safely do that."
"OK, I agree, no touching, no talking, stay behind the
barrier."
He turned around and spoke for several seconds to the
other clients, they all nodded their heads, and each
said a single word. I think that they were regulars
here. He walked past them and opened a door, bowing
slightly and waving us into the next room. I followed
the rest in. Paying, as they did, my fee.
The room was divided in two sections by a open fence of
bamboo that came about three feet up. On one side was a
brightly lit open space, with a wooden frame about 4
feet wide, and all the way to the ceiling. The frame
was made of 6 inch square wooden posts, and was
securely attached to the floor, and it seemed to be
very sturdy. There were eye bolts and pulleys attached
at various places along the inside edge, and on the
front surface. Nuts and washers on the near side
implied that the other surface was equipped in much the
same manner. At one corner of the room was a small
lacquer table, and a bunch of low benches and stools, 4
or 5 all together.
On our side of the fence it was quite dim, the lights
were arranged in a row above the fence, and all shone
into the lit portion. There were about 20 comfortable
chairs in the room, everyone picked one and sat down.
Almost as if that has been the signal -well it probably
was- three Chinese women entered on the other side.
They were obviously sisters, and may have been related
to Mr. Inside (who was standing behind us) but I'm not
sure. The women were not strikingly beautiful, but that
had that wholesome scrubbed look that many oriental
women have.
They wore no makeup that I could see. This was in
itself sort of strange, those of us that can remember
that time will recall that in 1966 makeup was rather
garish, white or at least very pale lips, long fake
eyelashes, heavy eye liner. Their hair was shoulder
length, glossy and healthy, cut in the 'Dutch' bob that
seems to have been invented in China. They were all
wearing Chinese dresses, they're called chinongsams.
High collar, very short sleeves, buttons up the side,
to the bottom of the armhole, then diagonally from
under the arm to the front of the neck, buttons are
made from knotted cord or fabric rolled into a cord;
each wore a different color (or should I say colour?)
one Black with gold embroidery, one red with gold
embroidery, and the final one dark Blue with silver
embroidery. These were long, down to mid calf, but slit
up each side to mid thigh.
They all wore high heels, nothing extreme, around 4
inches, with ankle straps and hose (this was before
panty hose). Again no names were mentioned, so lets
call them Miss Black, the eldest, Miss Red, the
youngest, and Miss Blue, the best looking.
They came in and proceeded to ignore us. First they
pulled the table out from the wall and pulled the
stools around it, carefully sure to give us flashes of
leg as they sat. From a drawer the extracted a small
box with a cup and some dice like objects, -I don't
think that they were dice, but they were used in the
same way. The began to play some sort of game, gambling
away with the chips in front of them.
Now, I'm sure that some of you are of Chinese
extraction so please don't get upset by the following
over generalization. Nobody in the world seems to take
gambling quite as seriously as the Chinese. These three
girls were rattling away with the cup and bones(?),
smiling when they won, frowning when they lost,
nattering away with their bird-like voices at 12 to the
dozen.
Pretty soon, only Misses Black and Red were smiling
Miss Blue was losing, pretty badly too, she'd win some,
then lose it to the others, finally she was down to her
last few chips. Defiantly she placed them on the table,
grabbed the cup, rattle rattle, BANG, she slammed the
cup down, paused a second and picked it up. Her face
fell, Red grabbed the cup, swept the bones into in,
rattled, and poured the bones in a neat little pile.
Her face lit up, Blue's fell. Then Miss Blue stood up,
and walked away from the table, complaining loudly (it
sounded like she was bitching about being cheated but
what would I know).
The two winners went up to the loser and held out their
right hands, palms up, a universal gesture, asking her
the question. She spoke two words shaking her head.
They crowded up to her, insistent, strident, waving
their hands under her nose.
Miss Red grabbed her and shook her, they shouted at
each other for a few moments, then broke apart,
meanwhile Miss Black slipped out the door, and returned
a moment later with a bunch of thick silken rope (it
was nylon I found out later) a short piece of thin
rope, and a mess of leather and buckles that I couldn't
make heads or tails of.
Again they crowded her speaking harshly, and waving the
ropes and leather. She shook her head, and stepped
back. Red grabbed her again, and they struggled for a
few seconds, then Miss Black dropped all but the short
piece of rope and dove into the fray. In a few seconds
it was all over. Blue's hands had been tied behind her
with a single loop of the thin rope. (I remember
thinking, "Shit is this all? this ain't worth 70
bucks").
They spun her around to the front and spoke more
harshly taking her by the shoulders and shaking her,
then pointing up at the beam, again she shook her head,
and whined something. The spun her away again and
grabbed the leather thing, it a few seconds it was
clear what it was, a single glove.
They pulled her hands away from her body, and slipped
the open end of the glove over them, then transferring
their hands to the outside and held her hands while
they wrapped the glove around her arms. Although she
continued to struggle they soon had all of the buckles
fastened, forcing her fore arms together to the elbows,
and squeezing her upper arms in also.
The straps at the mouth of the glove were wrapped
around her upper body, coming up from under her arm,
across her chest, and then over her opposite shoulder
and then to the buckle on the top of the gloves. She
was breathing rapidly now, and kept glancing up at the
beam.
Miss Black, holding her by the glove, her said
something, a question. She shook her head, and lowered
it. Red said two words. Miss Black nodded. Miss Red
brought a stool and a bench under the beam putting the
stool right under the pulley, and the bench in front of
it. Then she bent over and picked up picked up the coil
of rope.
As Miss Red stepped up onto the bench I realized what
was about to happen, I looked at Mr. Inside and he
nodded, not smiling, and said, "many times."
Ever since I saw Yvonne de Carlo try to hang herself in
\A Band of Angels/ this has turned me on, I was about 9
years old when I saw that movie. Every once in a while
it comes on TV, I never miss it, if I can catch the
first 15 minutes, otherwise it's a poor remake of \Gone
with the Wind/.
She reached up and put the end of the rope through a
pulley, then fed part of the rope through it. Deftly
she fashioned a hangman's noose on the running end,
slipped it over the intended victims head, then jumped
down. The two then bodily lifted the bound victim onto
the stool. Then Miss Black stepped up on the bench in
front the stool, and very carefully adjusted the noose,
really taking her time, getting it just right. Miss Red
took up the slack, then took a turn around a cleat that
was conveniently placed on the side bar. She nodded to
her accomplice who stepped down, and pulled the bench
back.
I was hardly breathing, shivering. They said something
else to the victim, again she shook her head, tense
now. Miss Black walked around behind the victim, and
bent down to grab the cord that was attached to the leg
of the stool. Miss Red took another turn around the
cleat, a short pause and then the cord was jerked. The
back leg of the stool collapsed, and the stool dropped
away from under her feet.
The victim gave a little squeak that was chopped off as
she hit the end of the rope. The gallows creaked just a
little. Her head was tilted to the side by the knot
which was just behind her left ear. Miss Black moved to
the opposite side of the gallows from her sister, one
to each side. They watched Miss Blue like a pair of
cats watch a mouse, never moving their eyes from her.
At first she seemed to be breathing even with the noose
tight around her neck, gurgling and rasping noises came
from her, and her breast rose and fell. After several
seconds of dangling her feet started to reach, first
out, then down, then swinging around.
She began to rotate, slowly at first and then faster as
her feet kicked around, then slower as they kicked the
other way. As she twisted around her eyes tracked
whichever sister was in front of her, snapping across
to the other one as she turned. Her bound arms came up
on one side of her body, as far as they could (not
very) then swung across her back to the other side and
tried again there, back and forth her arms moved, a
constant sound of leather across silk.
After a minute or so of this she gave a little flutter
kick as if she were swimming, then a stronger one. When
she kicked like that the knot moved further around her
neck towards the back as the noose tightened and the
gurgles and rasps changed tone and volume. Her face
began to darken, her eyes bulged. Her feet began to
kick faster and more wildly, way out the sides in
splits, then forward and backwards, her slit skirt
didn't hamper the motion at all but fluttered as if in
sympathy.
Every time she kicked the gurgles and rasps became
fainter, after a while there were only gurgles, the
rasping inhalations had stopped. Her feet changed
motion, began to kick desperately up and down, with
every kick the noose tightened, working its way around
behind her neck, her head bobbing down and back up, the
gurgles becoming fainter and fainter.
Soon the only sound was the creak of the gallows, and
the wisp of stockings against each other and across the
silk lining of the dress. The knot was directly behind
her head, the rope vanished under her chin. Her face
was now very dark, and the kicking weaker, her arms
still, her eyes were still open but not seeing
anything.
Her sisters gently lowered her to the ground and
removed the noose. As the rope slackened she began
breathing rapidly, panting. Within seconds she was
conscious, her color normal, and in fact she may never
have lost consciousness.
They unbound her arms and wrists, then offered her a
drink of something from a cup (water?, tea?, whiskey?).
Within a minute she was talking softly with them as if
nothing had happened, her voice a little hoarse, but
otherwise seemingly none the worse for wear.
This part you can take with however much salt you wish:
I asked Mr. Inside how often they did this, he said, "
Almost every night. It is their most popular act,
although they have several others. They've been doing
it for a year or so now, soon we'll retire and I'll
sell this place to someone else with a different batch
of girls."
He claimed that he was their cousin, and that they
(including himself) were building nest eggs. He kept
three parts of the gate, they split the other part for
spending money, the tips are all theirs, usually a few
hundred each. His money was going into a fund to buy a
farm out in the New Territories, theirs was mostly
going into dowries.
He claimed that the gambling was real, the loser hangs,
the winner gets her share of the gate, "The girls claim
that that makes it interesting for them."
The play that was acted out was that the loser had no
money to pay her gambling debts, and was lynched by her
companions.
I left with a wet spot on my trousers and only enough
money to pay a rickshaw back to the hotel.
END
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 29