SIAM: Garden of Smiles

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Is the Communist menace closing in? Mai ben rai.

Have the Chinese got most of the money in the country away from Siamese who consider engaging in trade a little too worldly? Mai ben rai.

Who needed money anyway? There were fish in the rivers and rice in the green paddies. The poorest woman in all Siam could give a hungry traveler enough rice to fill his belly to bursting. Fat mangoes, melons, coconuts and bananas grew ripe in every backyard in Bangkok and were left on the ground to spoil.

A Day of Rest. There were other good things in the backyards of Bangkok to keep the mind off politics. For those who like quiet sport and a good wager, any Sunday in Siam (the Buddhist day of rest, based on lunar movements, comes at irregular intervals so the Siamese have long since adopted the Christian Sunday) will find the fish-fighters at it in Bangkok's yards. Earnest, silent men, each bearing a small jar of water containing a tiny, finny warrior, range their entries side by side on a betting table and arrange their wagers with upraised hand while the fish glare at one another through their glass walls. When the preliminary betting is done, two fish are dumped together into a larger jar. More bets are made as the tiny warriors tangle in a whirl of jaws and fins. Then, as the betting on each pair is finished, a line of 50 or 60 jars, each containing a tiny silent battle, accumulates on another long table while the fish fight on. Hours later one or another contestant is dead or skulking miserably on the bottom. On the way home that night the owners of fish which have surrendered toss the cravens into the nearest klong.

On Sundays in the hot season there are the contests sponsored by the Bangkok City Committee for Kite-Flying, a municipal government department. Teams of flying "gentleman" kites, armed with abrasive barbs, are maneuvered to foul huge, diamond-shaped "lady" kites flown by the defenders, while Siam's normally soft-voiced citizens shout encouragement that can be heard from one end of town to the other.

At Rajadamnern Stadium Siamese pugilists put on a show to shame Western promoters forever. Each match begins with the fighters making a low bow of gratitude to their teachers. Then, to the soft music of drum and flute located in a neutral corner, each arises and begins a ritual dance which identifies the name of his trainer. Then the fighters fly at each other, slashing, kicking, flailing with elbows or driving knees into groins. "With deadly and dangerous kick," ran the advance notices for one Siamese boxer in a recent bill at Rajadamnern, "his opponents are always sent down by knockout with knee." When one of the boys is knocked out, the music stops.