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The Chinese Watch
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The Chinese Watch
Ol' Sarge quotes:
"...and it's not a cheap clip joint for picking up tarts. That's
right out...<ring><ring>
(picks up phone)
Hello...
Yes, your watch will be ready at midnight.
(impatiently) The CHINESE watch!
Right, bye <click>
(viscously)Mother"
Monty Python, the Piranha brothers.
Copyright © 1992 by Hope/Sarge, This file may be redistributed electronicly
only if the following two conditions are met: (1) This copyright is retained
with the file and (2) that you make no further restrictions on resdistribution.
It is widely know through out 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 this:
'A Fairy Tale begins "Once upon a time ...", and a Sea Story begins "This
is no shit ...".' (War stories usually begin 'There I was ...').
This is no shit, the first occurance of the Images scenario, or
anything like it, that I saw was in Hong Kong in the autumn of 1967. 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 him, "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 Sargent 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 enter 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 say, 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 1967 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 layed 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 $HK200 and handed
it to the other guy and said, "You look like a gent to me, let's get
rolling". He winced (yeah, well I've never really been able to beat
around the bush, and back then ...) at my lack of couth, and handed me
back the money. "Please, hold on to it. You pay when the performance
starts. We have a while to wait, would you care for a beer?".
The runner departed, well pleased I'm sure, and we entered the suite
(as it turned out). There was a living room, unremarkable, with a few
sofas and chairs, 3 Chinese gentlemen were sitting there, talking
quietly in Chinese, a sort of businessmens dinner, sans dinner, they
wore expensive looking western suits. I had one much like theirs on
order ($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 the 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 that 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 1967 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 (spell ?). 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 again and again 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 Olivia de Havilland 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 hangmans 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 pulled 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 titled
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 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 doweries.
He also said 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.
The Ol' Sarge
With fading memories
of a time when the world
was young and everthing
vivid and exciting.
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