Jungle Fever 

Like many others, I have traveled to seek the rare, the remarkable, and the unrepeatable. My only rule is to avoid going to countries which have had a recent name change. If you hadn't already noticed, Thailand is practically surrounded by them.
Yet here in this enclave of safety, there is the Thailand we want, the Thailand we get, and the Thailand that is. One never really knows quite where one is in this labyrinth of realities, as the one thing reality never is-is, well, realistic.

I woke up very early the other day because Pol Pot, my dog, needed to pee and nibble flesh. I had one leg in my jeans and the other in his mouth when the phone rang.
A clipped English accent said, " You look tired."
I knew that voice. It was the voice that had once sent a desperate letter begging me to place a message in a personal column in Bangkok. It had read: "Drunken, insincere extrovert who flies light aircraft, seeks unconventional, tattooed woman with a good body and a sick mind for GIN QUAFFING, passion, and ironing. To share walks, talks, cuddles, and eventually perhaps, a duvet. Own school uniform would help."
I had faxed him immediately with a curt, " No way. Suffer."
It was Hugh and he was back. Sometimes you don't have to travel at all for the unbelievable to come to you.
He wasn't drunk when he arrived at my place later, he was marinated-and crossed the room like a frog on amphetamines; chatting, bulbous, hopping, and quite mad. I was so pleased to see him. He settled into a large chair and gurgled his gin contentedly. He snoozed, he doodled, and laughed out loud at nothing. He reminded me of me.
What had he been doing the last few years? He remembered being caught in a fierce storm and spending the night lip reading The Muppets on Mongolian TV. He had been "up north" in a country where heroin had raised its seductive and dangerous head. He had spent time in India, "a country saturated in prayer," and in the Himalayas, where, "It was so cold you could hear the monasteries sigh with devotion." He had even been in Turkey, where he had taught young men to yoke Armenian tigers with an exhaust pipe.
Then he sheepishly admitted that he'd actually been in town for four days before contacting me. He'd arrived on a Buddhist holiday. The bars were closed. Undeterred, he had roamed the city and found a drink down a dubious alley in a notorious neighborhood- and hours later woke up in a jungle. And that was just the beginning.
He came to with his a head lodged in the divine fulcrum of a female lap, and its owner was drip-feeding him Sang Thip whiskey through a straw. He had glanced down and discovered his toenails were being cut by an entirely different women. And where were those damn drums coming from…?
Then he suddenly asked me, "Do you remember the famous scene in Apocalypse Now when Marlon Brando was staggering around in that Khmer temple, slapping his head and muttering, "The horror, the horror?"
" Sure."
"I've always had a problem with it. I mean Kurtz and Conrad never actually said what the horror was. I always thought that Brando had inadvertently caught sight of himself in the mirror."
He got up, waddled to the door, gave me a wonderful smile, and said, "Wait till you see my girlfriend."
They came back that night. She was a troubled vision in lipstick with a face like crumpled linen, and a hairdo that had once wrecked a ceiling fan.
Oh well, you can't make appointments with emotion. I thought they were rather well suited; lost in a wet fog of mutual incomprehension.
"She speaks English. Say something darling," he encouraged her.
She hesitated and said, " You can weach me on my mobile."
And that was it. The following silence was so deafening you could have heard a dog bark in Burma.
Hugh beamed with pride and said, "She knows the word for wealth in several languages but can't pronounce it in any of them. We're working on it."
Then she asked me how my girlfriend was.
"She lives in two worlds. She eats fried locusts for breakfast and is using my computer by noon. Sometimes we drive to a national park. To me, it's a sanctuary of nature. To her, it's a forest brimming with edible wildlife. If we do happen to glimpse a rare animal, I gaze at it in wonder and awe. She points at it and yells, " EAT!!"
"She sounds wonderful. Where did you meet her?"
"In a jungle."
We went out to a restaurant, and after an evening of calm and rather expensive enjoyment, Hugh turned to me over his third brandy and said,
"Do you know what pataphysics means?'
I didn't.
"It is the science of imagining solutions."
"That's a perfect description of this city."
"I thought so too. Perhaps we could rename it Patakok."
Maybe, but I think he should ask the owners first.

By Roger Beaumont
  Available at Bookazine

The Real Bluebeard

A 15th century Breton nobleman became an infamous child killer.

THE TERM 'Bluebeard' has come to denote a heartless womaniser. But the first Bluebeard was in fact a 15th century French nobleman who murdered around 300 young children, and dabbled in witchcraft and alchemy. 'Bluebeard' was Gilles de Rais, son of Guy de Laval and Marie de Craon, who owned rich estates bordering the duchy of Brittany. Gilles was born in 1404 into enormous wealth and privilege in the Black Tower at the castle of Champtoce. He later became a companion of the famous Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc), a teenage maid who fought successfully against the English invaders until her execution in 1431.
History does not record exactly what turned de Rais from a wealthy nobleman into an unspeakable monster. He grew up a happy and highly intelligent child, who had to survive the loss of both his parents in 1419, when he was just 15 years old. His father died from his wounds after being savagely gored by a boar that he was hunting; and his mother died from a swamp fever a few months later. Gilles now came under the influence of his maternal grandfather, Jean de Craon, a robber baron of few principles. Jean's own son had died from English arrows at the battle of Agincourt on 25 October 1415, and Gilles, already master of vast estates, became heir to his grandfather's own fortune and lands. There can be little doubt that the devious Jean was a great influence on the young lad, and though he never grasped his grandfather's political acumen, he became a brave and able soldier, schooled in knighthood. He was also handsome, witty and articulate.
Gilles first cut his teeth in battle at the age of 18, fighting for the Duke of Brittany against the Penthieve family. Well trained in the use of lance and sword, he made his first kill and returned to his castle hailed as a young hero. Here he enjoyed every entertainment and soon took up a life of feasting, drinking and whoring. Though he was one of the richest men in Europe, he squandered vast sums on banquets and wild orgies in an attempt to rival the deeds of his heroes, the Roman Emperors Tiberius, (Giaus) Caligula and Nero, for Gilles was also a well-read student of historical literature. By the age of 21, he owned lands stretching between Maine, Poitou, Anjou and Brittany.
By the Treaty of Troyes in 1420, Henry V forced the recognition of his own claims to the French Crown. He was declared the legal heir of King Charles VI of France and England and France became the 'Double Kingdom'. Henry's great rival was the Dauphin (later King Charles VII) who had been disinherited by his parents and declared a bastard. The death of King Henry in 1422 gave the Dauphin his chance and Gilles was one of the noblemen who rallied to his cause. He fought for the French when they were attacked by the English at St James-de-Beuvron and were routed after a fierce battle. Gilles learned much from this defeat, and when he set out on the spring campaign of 1427, he was thoroughly prepared. His retinue was the most magnificent of the Dauphin's nobles; his troops were the best paid and he had many spies among the court. He took several castles by storm during this campaign and at an assault on the castle at Lude he had a personal duel with the famous English Captain Blackburn when the defenders sallied out of the fortress. Gilles unseated Blackburn from his horse with his lance, and then asked the man to surrender. Blackburn instead drew his sword, and Gilles was forced to finish him off.
He rode at the swearing officer and they hacked away at each other until de Rais stabbed him through his throat with his cavalry sword. The Englishman fell dead, and the siege was over. Gilles then rode in triumph to the Dauphin's impoverished court at Bourges where the entire French forces honoured him.
By the time that the remarkable Joan of Arc entered the picture, Gilles was one of the Dauphin's most trusted noblemen. The young peasant girl was driven by her visions, and somehow convinced the Dauphin that she was his best bet to regain his throne. Gilles was certainly drawn to her, and was the first to champion her cause. Meantime the English under King Henry VI had begun the siege of Orleans in October 1428. France needed a miracle, and Joan provided it.
Joan's brief was simple: she would raise the siege of Orleans and would then ensure that the Dauphin was crowned King of France at the cathedral at Reims. Gilles de Rais was at the court in Chinon castle when she made her dramatic entrance and picked out the Dauphin although he tried to trick her by hiding among his courtiers. It seems amazing today that an illiterate peasant girl was able to become a military leader in 15th century Europe, a continent dominated by males, but it certainly happened. Soon Gilles de Rais was appointed Marshal of France, leading the French army that was to accompany the feisty young maid to Orleans.
Joan rode in customised white armour with two holy banners, and carried a sword that she had correctly predicted would be found in the church of St Catherine de Fierbois. A devout Catholic, she ordered that all camp followers (prostitutes that normally accompanied all armies) should either marry or leave within 24 hours. She banned all swearing and blasphemy among her men who were to attend Confession regularly. As this great crusade began, Gilles rode at the side of the famous maid preceded by a small band of clergy singing hymns.
The English forces were unable to prevent her entering the beleaguered city of Orleans, and on 4 May 1429 she led a sortie out of the gates towards the besieging fortifications at St Loup. It should have been a disastrous move, for the English commander sent out a force to take Joan and her men in the rear. Lookouts on the ramparts of Orleans saw her plight, and rang the church bells. Gilles at once gathered his own troops and made a rescue dash. His cavalry smashed the English infantry and put them to flight and Joan and Gilles together took St Loup - the first victorious blow of the campaign. From then on, Gilles supported Joan wholeheartedly even when her tactics (or lack of them) were against all orthodox military thinking. On 6 May, against advice, Joan crossed the river Loire to attack English positions on the south bank. She had only a small force, which quickly came under fierce attack. The French were about to turn back, against Joan's shouted commands, when Gilles once more came to her rescue and crossed the river with his forces. Other French commanders were shamed into following him, and they soon routed the English. On Saturday 7 May Joan attacked the key fortress of Les Tourelles and whilst climbing the walls was hit in the shoulder by an arrow. Gilles caught her as she fell from the ladder and carried her to where she could get medical aid. From here she had another vision and announced that as soon as one of her banners touched the walls of the fortress, it would fall to the French. Once again she was correct. But she also wept as
English troops, escaping over a bridge, were all drowned when the French set it alight.
The following day, (8 May), the English left their fortress and formed up in battle order in front of the city. The French army rode out to face them. Joan's orders were that as it was a Sunday, the French were not to attack, but to fight back if the English advanced. For an hour the two armies stood facing each other. Then the superstitious English, convinced that Joan was a witch, abruptly turned away and raised the siege.
Other victories followed and Gilles helped Joan win at Patay where more than 2,500 English troops were slain and the famous Sir John Falstaff was forced to flee for his life. On Sunday 17 July 1429, the Dauphin was at last crowned King Charles VII of France at Reims and Joan wept for joy beside Gilles de Rais in the famous cathedral.
Gilles was to rescue Joan of Arc a third time when she was wounded during the aborted siege of Paris. He dragged her to safety after she had been hit by another arrow. As she recovered a truce was declared and the French army disbanded. Joan ventured on to be captured by the Burgundians, who demanded 10,000 gold crowns for her ransom. French peasants, who loved Joan unashamedly, raised the money, but the new French King, a shabby and devious little man without honour, kept the money for his own coffers and did nothing to have Joan set free. Enraged and mortified by this, Gilles resigned his post.
Joan was instead sold to the English barons, who had her burned at the stake in Rouen on 30 May 1431 after a show trial in which she was accused of being a witch. This device was little more than an act of political expediency. In 1920, the Catholic Church declared Joan a saint. It had taken the Vatican almost six hundred years to recognise her.
After Gilles had routed an English force at Lagny, he hung up his lance and armour and turned to perversion and child murder on an unparalleled scale. The first murders occurred at the castle of Champtoc and at Machecoul. Although only 34 murders could be directly charged against him, it is believed the he killed over 300 young girls and boys after putting them through tortures that I cannot describe in a family publication. Suffice to say that he subjected his victims to unspeakable horrors before they died. Forty bodies alone were recovered from the castle at Machecoul and another 40 from Champtoce. Gilles also lived in his other castles at Malemort, La Suze and Tiffauges at this time, and also killed his victims at those places.
Gilles also indulged in a bout of extravagance that had not been seen in Europe since the last of the most debauched Roman Emperors. He was attended constantly by jugglers, singers and entertainers and kept a lavish open house wherever he stayed. His banquets boasted the best food and wines, and always turned into great orgies.
But by 1435, he was beginning to run short of money. Gilles not only poured out his riches as though they came from an endless river, but was cheated and embezzled by his own staff and merchants with whom he dealt. In a single year (1434) while he stayed at Orleans where he bankrolled an impressive theatrical performance, he spent over one million pounds, an amazing sum in those days. When he finally realised that his wealth was not endless, Gilles turned to alchemy. Like many in those superstitious times, he sought the dubious machinery that through witchcraft would turn base metals into gold.
He and his assistant, a Florentine priest named Francois Prelati spent whole nights together invoking the Devil. These rituals at the castle of Tiffauges inevitably involved human sacrifice - more murder victims for the original Bluebeard. But by this time Bishop Malestroit had begun an investigation of his crimes. Though warned of this, Gilles continued with his murders and invocations.
In spite of selling off many of his castles and possessions, his financial position had grown too desperate to give up the search for the alchemist's stone. He finally went too far when he attempted to repossess a castle and church that he had sold to the Duke of Brittany. He broke into the church during midnight mass and took the castle officials prisoner. This gave the Duke the chance to move against him, for Gilles had violated both church and feudal law. He was placed under arrest. Then on 19 July 1440 the Chancellor Bishop Jean de Malestroit published his findings into the murders and devil-worship of Gilles de Rais. Too many local children had gone missing and there were many rumours of dark deeds at his castles.
On 13 September 1440, the first of the trial sessions opened in Paris and 110 witnesses were heard. Some of the evidence was so distasteful and sickening that people in the public gallery wept openly. On 22 October, Gilles made a full confession before the whole assembly. He made a long statement explaining that "with great bitterness of heart and much shedding of tears, I have offended against our Saviour by reason of the fact that I have been poorly controlled in childhood, when, without check, I did apply myself to everything that might give me pleasure; and have taken delight in illicit acts."
On 25 October Gilles was condemned to death, having been found guilty of "perfidious, heretical apostasy and the invocation of demons as well as the unnatural vice of sodomy with children." He was then handed over to secular authorities for punishment. The civil court also charged him with murder (a crime that the church courts were not empowered to deal) and he was sentenced to death.
At 11 o'clock on 26 October 1440, after he had been excommunicated and then readmitted to the Catholic Church because of his contrition, Gilles de Rais was strangled and then his body thrown onto a large fire. Later the bones were allowed a Christian burial. With him died his two assistants; a young page named Poitou and the mysterious priest Prelati. These men had procured children from villages on his estates and taken them to Gilles knowing that he would torture them to death, and were thus his accomplices in crime.
We still do not know what motivated Gilles de Rais to change from a respected Breton nobleman into a heartless and despised child killer. Historians have theorised that he may have been so sickened by the brutal demise of Joan of Arc that he turned to the dark side of his nature. But as he stated in his confession, Gilles was shaped by a childhood of indulgence. Like the notorious pedophile Tiberius and the mad Emperor Caligula he enjoyed enormous wealth and complete power over his vassals. He was thus free to indulge his every morbid fantasy; and did so. In short, he did it because he could.

(Research, The Trial of Gilles de Rais, Sacred Monster by Georges Bataille)

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