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THEO’S OTHER SIDE

Theo wasn’t the easiest person in the world to get along with. He had many idiosyncrasies that were hard for some people to fathom. I doubt if anyone could ever really understand the complete Theo Meier, although I thought I did after having known him for ten years. Then one night when we were drinking, and the best of friends, he came up to me and knocked a glass of brandy from my hand, and began shouting, “Not in my house. Not in my house you won’t.” He was like an angered bull.

Shortly before, Theo and Yattlie had moved into their new house in Chiang Mai. They were quite pleased with their new place and they invited me up from Bangkok one weekend to see it. They chose a time when there was a festival in a village nearby. It was a colorful celebration, one you do not see unless you know the villages and people who live there, and after it ended with the dancers and drummers and half of the village escorting us back to Theo’s and we all sang and danced along the dusty road. We had a very late dinner that night on the verandah, and when Yattlie and the servants retired, Theo and I sat up talking and drinking until three in the morning. I was getting too sleepy to enjoy any more drinks and suggested we turn in.

“A nightcap,” Theo said and sat up, alert. “One more Mekong and soda.”

“Thanks, Theo, but I have really had enough,” I replied.

”Ah,” he sighed. “Maybe something else. Whisky,” he said and pointed to a cabinet. “There’s whisky in there. I never touch that foreign stuff. People bring it as gifts.”

The cabinet contained enough alcohol to make any home bar complete-rum, brandy, scotch, sherry, rye, vodka and gin-some of it was expensive, such as a twelve year old Chivas Regal. Then I noticed a bottle of Benedictine.

“Just one,” I agreed and took out the brandy. Theo smiled approvingly. I carefully poured a peg of brandy into a tumbler, reached for the Benedictine and added an equal amount to make an after dinner drink.

“What are you doing?” Theo shrieked, in a tone so loud that it startled me.

“It’s okay, Theo,” I replied. ‘I’m mixing a B&B.” “You are ruining good cognac,” he cried.

“No, Theo,” I insisted. “It’s a drink they all take in Europe now. Even in the best restaurants.”

At that instant Theo charged across the room and knocked the glass out of my hand. It shattered against a teak railing. I fully expected his wife to come running into the room to see what the disturbance was. Theo continued his harangue. “I left Europe because, because this”-he waved his arms-“I left because you were expected to do what proper people do. Proper! What is proper? If you say you like to drink good cognac mixed with rubbish, then I say okay. But not to say you drink because that is what is proper in Europe.” The rage soon passed and Theo calmed down. A moment later he quietly asked, “What would you like?”

“Not B&B,” I said and he laughed and we were friends again.

I have seen Theo lose his temper many times before, but it was usually over other matters. He could become annoyed when we were in a restaurant paying top prices and the service was bad, but he never became aroused with bad service if we dined in a food stall. Once he lost his cool when a reporter misquoted him, and another time he became absolutely furious over an incident he remembered that happened twenty years or so before.

Previously, I mentioned when at a party he walked across the room, and for no apparent reason, punched the photographer in the face. Although Theo never talked about it, he never lost his distrust for the Japanese. I became aware of his disposition once when we were in Bangkok and got into an elevator on the ground floor, headed to the top floor, but when we reached the first floor Theo wanted off. Two Japanese businessmen had gotten on the elevator. Theo was hesitant to express his thoughts. “They might be carrying briefcases,” he said, “but the briefcases are no more than replacements for their sabers.”

And then there was Gerd Barkowsky, the German painter he had first met on Bali. He had a never-ending feud with Gerd that no one could understand.

Gerd left Europe in 1947 and, perhaps not surprisingly, had never been back. The reason I surmised was that he was born in Germany and lived out the ‘Hitler-zeit‘, In his early years he saw service as a Panzer-grenadier on the Eastern Front. Interned at the end of the war by Russian occupying forces, he had to struggle to live.

He did have a happy childhood and spent a lifetime thereafter seeking what had been taken away from him.

He liked to tell about starting young as a painter and selling his first water colors as a schoolboy in Baltic resort-towns. In his youth he read widely and was influenced by Jack London who instilled in him the desire to travel. At the end of the war, at the Munich Academy of Fine Arts, he took up his studies again, at the same time earning enough to save for the day when he would be able to travel.

He first set foot in the East in 1952 in Bombay. After a year in India he crossed to Singapore, which treated him well – exhibitions and commissions-and then he went down through Indonesia to Bali where he met Theo. In 1956, he paid his first visit to Thailand, and there he stayed.

• Photo caption on page 276 of the book: Theo painted this self-portrait while sitting on a fan-back chair with Yattlie standing next to him.

In Bangkok, he met a young woman called Pai. Her family were farming people in the north with Shan connections. She took him to Chiang Mai, which he loved from the start. In 1958, in a simple civil ceremony, Pai and Gerd were married and settled permanently in Chiang Mai.

Theo’s arguments with Gerd were over Gerd’s commercialism. His aim was to cater to the visitor. Theo thought that his charcoal drawings were too perfectly drafted, and a little too mechanical. They were created without imagination. Theo liked his oils and he believed he had merit, but while oils bring in big money, they’re not something one can turn out in a couple of days. Cheap charcoal drawings of the hill tribe people did sell. “You lost it,” Theo shouted at him. “You lost it.”

“I didn’t lose it,” Gerd returned fire. “I am alive today and I am not looking for riches when I am dead and gone.”

Theo couldn’t argue the point. Perhaps what angered Theo the most was his awareness that Gerd Barkowsky was right. Gerd was contented doing what he was doing. He wanted nothing else in life. Could it be that Theo was looking for immortality? Gerd was not.

No, at times Theo was not easy to get along with. There were incidents when he didn’t want to see Rolf von Bueren and even his good friend Prince Sandith.

Probably what none of us realized was that Theo was not well. His health was failing him and he was finding it harder and harder to paint. He was not one to fold up his easel and quit. As long as there was a breath of air in his body he wanted to paint. He refused to tell anyone that he was ill, his wife Yattlie and even his best friend Prince Sandith.

Theo Meier suffered silently.

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BALI, FOREVER BALI
Post-war Bali

In 1952, a painter claiming to be of Catalan descent, but born in Manila, was Antonio Maria Blanco. He appeared in Bali seeking Theo’s help. Mario, as everyone called him, had attended the Fine Arts Academy in New York and lived in various places in the United States before settling in Bali.

Mario became noted for his dramatic flair and flamboyant style. He always wore a tam, like French painters wore, and a long silk scarf that dangled from around his neck. He likened himself to Salvador Dali but, as Theo said, he was no Dali. But we must give him credit where credit is due. He was awarded the La Cofradia del Arras of Spain. Mario’s fault was that he concentrated on painting nude women, women painted in the exotic motif that would appeal to tourists. His Balinese women didn’t have the local motif.

I will relate here an incident that happened when I went to visit Blanco one afternoon. I made an appointment and Willy Mettler asked if he could tag along and take photos. I had no objection to that. When we neared Blanca’s walled compound, Willy noted a high hill that rose up behind the place. He thought it might make a good picture from above, looking down on the compound. He scampered off to climb the hill and I went around to the front entrance. I waited a bit to give Willy time to climb the hill and rang the bell. I did the interview, and met Blanca’s wife and their lovely daughter. I must say I was impressed. Here was a lifestyle led by a man any budding artist would envy. He had everything.

When the interview was over, and we bid our goodbyes, Willy and I started walking back towards town, and were no more than a hundred meters away, when Willy bursts out in laughter. Between bursts, he told how he had climbed the hill, and when he looked down, the compound was a scene of tranquility. Being afternoon, servants were laying about napping, and Blanco was sitting in a lounge chair, without a shirt on, drinking wine. About that time I rang the bell. Willy began laughing again, only louder now that we were father away. It was hard to stop but he finally had his say. He told how, with the sound of the bell, the compound suddenly burst forth with activity. “It was unbelievable,” Willy chuckled.

“A stage performance opened up, like one I had seen put on by students at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris.” The servants, all women and nude from the waist above, grabbed jugs, supposedly filled with water and put them on their heads and began walking as thought they were coming from a well far off to the kitchen Blanco quickly had a girl take away the wine while he donned a painted-smeared smock and quickly took a seat in front of his easel. This is what I saw when I entered, Blanco behind his easel, a cigarette in a long carved holder in one hand and a paint brush in the other. The painting on the easel was one he had quickly switched. It was his famous nude I had seen in print many times. I didn’t think much about it at the time. How impressed I was, and now, with Willy’s tale, I too began laughing. Fortunately the painters of Bali didn’t take Blanco seriously.

• Photo caption on page 268 of the book: Antonio Blanco was noted for his paintings of Balinese girls in exotic poses, as we see in this painting.

The Dutch painter, Arie Smit, who was born in 1916, came to live in Ubud, in 1956. Theo did not get to know Arie well as he left Bali to live in Thailand the following year, but he did get to know Arie on his return visits to the island. Theo was sympathetic to Arie’s cause. Arie had arrived in Indonesia in 1938 on a military contract. He had been assigned to the Topographical Service as a lithographer. Following the Japanese invasion of 1942 he was taken as a prisoner of war to forced labor camps in Singapore, Thailand and Burma. After the Dutch finally acknowledged Indonesia’s sovereignty in 1949, he stayed and became an Indonesian citizen in 1951. He taught graphics at the lnstitut Teknologi in Bandung, Java, before finally moving to Bali at the invitation of Bonnet and James Pandy. He then became a full-time painter and developed an understanding about Balinese community, rural life. Coastal areas and the hills inspired him, as did the painting of young boys.

When President Sukarno, who had been a friend of the artists, suddenly insisted that all Dutch, whether artists or not, leave Bali, Han Snel and Arie Smit were ordered to leave the island immediately. Theo, who had a close relationship with Sukarno, became very disturbed by Sukarno’s sudden change of heart and went to Jakarta on behalf of the two men to see if he could talk to Sukarno. He was granted an audience with the president.

Sukarno told Theo this was political and that he and other artists should not get mixed up in politics. He advised Theo to return with Arie and Han to Bali and take up where they left off. Arie and Han did return, but Theo decided then and there that he would leave Bali. Sukarno gave him permission to leave Bali to visit his home in Switzerland.

Artists and painters continued to come to Bali in the post war years. Some made names for themselves, often with dubious reputations. Donald Stuart Leslie Friend was one. Born in Sydney and educated at the Royal Art Academy in Sydney and the Westminster School in London, his first introduction to Southeast Asia was as a war artist in Malaysia. He completed two illustrated books during his stay and after returning to Sydney he decided to go to Bali, where he lived and worked from 1966 to 1980.

Theo was never a joiner; he belonged to no group, no school. When asked why he never joined Bali’s Pita Maha School of art and artists’ association, he replied to one critic that was why he left Switzerland, to get away from schools. Theo was a die-hard loner. Theo did admit, however, the Pita Maha had something in its favor.

Pita Maha was created by Walter Spies and Rudolph Bonnet and two princes of the royal family, Cokorda Gede Agung Sukawati and his brother Cokorda Gede Raka Sukawati, with the aim to provide guidance, maintain standards and guarantee the artists’ livelihoods. Theo did not gain favor with other painters when he refused to become part of the association. He wanted to remain independent. As circumstances would have it, Theo was glad that he didn’t join. When Bonnet began teaching the young Balinese painters in Ubud, they, instead of developing their own style, were copying his style of painting. Hundreds of Bonnet’s appeared in all the art shops and commercial museums.

The Japanese invaded Bali in February 1942 and Pita Maha came to an end. During the Japanese Occupation, Bonnet was interned by the Japanese and after the war he returned but efforts to revive the association failed.

Theo disliked when his solitude was disrupted and he couldn’t paint. He hated it mostly when a friend brought a friend for him to meet. When that happened he would go to his studio and lock the door. Sometimes he was reluctantly forced to meet the newcomer as it happened one time with Prince Sandith. A very well-known French sculptor came to visit Prince Sandith in Chiang Mai and Prince Sandith took him to meet Theo, which greatly annoyed Theo.

“It was true, Theo never got along with other painters,” Prince Sandith admitted. “Never at all, but this was different at least I thought so. Theo and the sculptor got along for about an hour. Then they began trying to outdo one another.”

The sculptor told Theo he was a professor at the Beaux Arts in Paris. Theo definitely had no time for those who claimed to have studied at the Beaux Arts.

“I never studied anyplace. I barely have a primary school education,” Theo said.

“But my beginning was humble too,” the sculptor said. “The truth is,” Theo replied, “I never even went to school.”

“I was very poor and had nothing at all.” the sculptor retorted

Theo said, “I was even poorer.”

“I lost my parents when I was very young.”

“I never even knew my father.”

At the end they became friends and had a good laugh. But that was rare. In such cases Theo would walk out of the room and lock himself in his studio.

Theo never was good at burying his friends. He hated to hear that so-and-so had passed away. He never went to funerals nor did he want one. He wanted to be cremated and not buried in the cold ground. When news about Willy Mettler’s death reached him he was upset for days afterward. Most distressing to him was the way Willy died. The report was that Willy had been killed in Cambodia while on an assignment. He had been captured by Khmer Rouge and executed. Theo figured that Willy’s aggressiveness must have done him in. I can see him now,” Theo said, “standing there, defying his executioners, saying he was Swiss and they dared not harm him. They pulled triggers and laughed.”

Theo also became very upset when he learned that Rubic had been carrying Willy’s child and upon hearing the news about Willy’s death had a miscarriage. She returned to Bali and a few years later married a German chef who worked at one of the major hotels in Hong Kong.

So ended another era.

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BALI, FOREVER BALI
Pre-War Bali

One pre-war painter who gave Theo a helping hand when Theo first arrived was Le Mayeur. Theo often revealed that he greatly appreciated Le Mayeur’s help but he didn’t agree with Le Mayeur’s style of self-promotion. Some say that Theo was a bit jealous but that was not the case at all. Theo turned down many commissions because the clients wanted to dictate how they wanted their portraits painted. Theo felt that Le Mayeur painted for profit more than for the love of painting and creation. It was understandable when Le Mayeur went to Singapore for exhibitions of his works that he took his wife Ni Pollak with him to dance and bring attention to him as an artist. Le Mayeur was also instrumental in getting the editors of National Geographic to come to Bali in 1935 and to do an expose for the magazine on him and his paintings. The ten-page spread was the very first time an article appeared in the magazine in full color.

Then another pre-war painter that Theo befriended and liked very much was Willem Gerard Hofker who came with his wife Maria to Bali in 1938. Hofker was a fine painter whose styles ranged from realism through expressionism to abstraction. Hofker was especially fond of painting the Balinese people and their traditions and produced some outstanding, sensitive portrayals of Balinese women in all their beauty.

The Hofkers made a great show and socialized with many painters including Spies, Strasser, Le Mayeur and Bonnet. In 1940 the couple moved to Ubud. At the outset of war, Hofker and Bonnet were forced to join the Dutch army in Surabaya. When the Japanese invaded, and being Dutch, Hofker was imprisoned by the Japanese in 1942 and held until 1944, barely kept alive. He and his wife were both interned but in separate prison camps. All of Hofker’s paintings and sketches were confiscated. When the war ended and reluctant to join the Indonesian nationalists, Hofker and his wife returned home to Holland where they remained until they died. Theo never saw them again but he missed them and thought of them often.

Roland Strasser, born in Vienna, was envied by many of Bali’s foreign painters including Theo. He was greatly influenced during his childhood by his father, the noted painter and sculptor, Arthur Strasser. Roland attended the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts between 1911 and 1915, specializing in drawing, painting and sculpture. He also studied in Germany the same time Theo was there but they didn’t know one another.

Strasser took a trip to Indonesia in the late 1920s, traveling through Siam, Java, New Guinea, China, India, Mongolia, Tibet and Japan. And like Theo, when Europe fell under the threat of Nazi Germany and the freedom of art was curtailed, he left his homeland and headed to Bali in 1934 to live and paint. He did not go to Ubud or Sanur as other foreign painters did but instead set up his studio in the cold mountainous area of Kintamani just above Lake Batur. He miraculously managed to escape detection by the Japanese throughout the war. He left Bali in 1944 and died in Santa Monica, California, in 1974. Several of his works were placed in President Sukarno’s collection.

• Photo caption on page 262 of the book: Willem Hofker’s self-portrait. He was a good friend of Theo, a man and his wife who enjoyed Theo’s cooking.

Not all foreign painters on Bali were European. A friend of Theo’s was Lee Man Fong. Born in China in 1913, he moved to Singapore in 1917 and in 1932 migrated to Java. He came to Bali in 1940 where Theo first met him. Unfortunately their friendship was short lived for the following year Fong was interned by the Japanese until the end of the war. He suffered greatly from the Japanese. Theo worked with him later when Fong, noted for his talent, was acknowledged by President Sukarno to whom he became an art advisor. From 1961 to 1966 he served as court painter at the presidential palace. In 1964, together with Lim Wasim, he compiled the famous five-volume edition of the Sukarno Collection.

Fong was awarded Indonesian citizenship but, in 1967 when Sukarno fell from grace, he was known to be close to Sukarno and alleged to have communist inclinations. This resulted in his decision to move to Singapore in 1970. Theo visited with him in Singapore when he passed through the city.

Theo also admired Balinese artist I Gusti Nyoman Lempad, for he was little influenced by foreign art and artists. He was a multi-talented man, noted for his outstanding creative skills in depicting the Hindu epics and Balinese folktales which to Theo was a boon for his painting of the three murals of the Hindu classic on curing illnesses.

The post war saw a rise in foreign artists, many who came to seek Theo’s advice and assistance. Han Snel, Arie Smit and Antonio Blanco, are included.

Theo got along with them all, especially with Han Snel. Like it was with Theo, Han’s life was bathed in rumors. One rumor was that he fought the Japanese while he was in the Dutch army, but when the war ended they say he refused to fight the Indonesians in their war for independence from the Dutch. They say he deserted and became a hunted man. Bali was his hideout and he learned to paint only as a cover up. It was also said that Theo took Han under his wing and taught him everything he knew about art. And there was the question about his wife Siti. They said Han had actually kidnapped her and run off with her into the hills, with her family after him in hot pursuit, ready to kill him. Han had to pay off the family.

“Rumors, all rumors,” Han once told me “There’s nothing mysterious about my life. I wanted to paint, and I came to Bali. I married a Balinese girl and we have three grown daughters and a couple grandchildren. What else is there to tell?”

Han did admit he went to Indonesia against his will, as a conscript soldier. But he didn’t desert. He was discharged. Theo helped him get started with his painting, although Han was not new to painting. He had attended a commercial art school in Holland for two years. He desperately wanted to go to the Academy and study art, but with a war spreading across Europe that was impossible. “So you see,” he said, “I didn’t become an artist simply because I wanted to remain on Bali. I was always interested in painting, as long as I can remember.” What Theo did help Han do was to elope.

Han was on Bali painting for ten years when he met a young, pretty girl named Siti. And the truth was, and not a rumor, he did kidnap her, with Theo and his wife’s help. It was a Balinese custom.

The custom of elopement is called ngrorod. It’s an accepted practice on Bali. On a specific date declared auspicious by a Hindu priest, the bride is forcibly abducted by her suitor to the house of his friend, generally a long distance from her village. The parents are then informed of the event, and they feign horror.

When Han and Siti decided they wanted to marry, they went to see Theo and his wife. They agreed to help them, after much persuasion on the part of Siti, but Theo informed Han that he must tell no one. Theo then arranged everything. He found a taxi driver, reluctant at first, that would take them to Theo’s house in Iseh in East Bali.

Theo liked to tell the story of what transpired. At Iseh, two headmen came up to the taxi and wanted to look at Siti. One asked her if she was willing to marry this foreigner. Siti was very shy and for a long time didn’t say a thing. The man looked at Han and then at her again. “Do you want to marry him?” he repeated. This time she said she did. The headman then turned to Han and asked, “Do you think she is old enough?” Han agreed with a nod.

• Photo caption on page 265 of the book: Han and his wife Siti. I took this photo of the couple many years after they had married, after Han kidnapped his young bride.

The marriage ceremony was performed, with the traditional filing of her teeth, and for five days Han and Siti stayed at Theo’s house in the hills in Iseh. Finally Siti’s mother discovered where they were hiding out and came running. She was furious. Han hadn’t realized but his kidnapping had been real and not merely a staged act as custom dictated. Siti’s mother had her daughter betrothed to a medical student in Jakarta and they were to marry when he graduated. There was little her mother could do now and the young married couple returned to Ubud. It took Siti’s mother a few years before she got over her anger, but she eventually did when she realized that Han would remain forever on Bali.

Theo and Han had been a great help to those who came to Bali for both business and pleasure. Hans went overboard to help those who asked. He arranged feasts, dances and theatrical performances, staged cremations, made introductions, found locations for filming, had been advisor and guide, and assisted writers, photographers and musicians. In 1969, he helped Hans Hoefer to get backing for what was to become the APA Guides. The timing was right. The only true guide at the time was Covarrubias’ Island of Bali. Han helped Hans Hoefer to convince Siegfried Beil, the German manager of the Bali Beach Hotel at Sanur that he should commission Hans to produce a full-length guidebook rather than a brochure that he originally wanted. A business deal was made and the Guide to Bali became a reality.

Bali Beach Hotel was the forerunner of all posh hotels that were to come. When it was built, with Japanese reparation money, not many people agreed with its construction, including Theo. To him and many others it was an eyesore, rising up a dozen stories overlooking Sanur Beach. On Bali there is a law that a building could not be higher than two-thirds of a coconut tree, which is about twenty yards. Bali Beach Hotel was built before the height restriction was announced.

Still, the hotel was the talk of the island and the place to meet and entertain friends. For the local Balinese it was a marvel. Elevators ran to the top floor and lights turned on and off at a flick of a switch. And imagine water, hot and cold, coming from taps in all the rooms. In time, Han became a well-known and admired painter. He followed much in the pattern of Miguel Covarrubias with elongated Balinese figures, mostly women. He created marvelous woodblocks and later in life turned to painting abstracts.

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BALI, FOREVER BALI

Ernest Hemingway wrote a book titled The Moveable Feast in which he said: “If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.” Bali is much the same, a moveable feast. It was certainly that way for Theo Meier. Bali was forever with him wherever he went.

Once the turmoil and the killings came to an end in Indonesia, Theo began yearly return trips to what they called “his” spiritual home. Yattlie quickly caught on to his zest for travelling and joined him wherever he went. But traveling with Theo, attempting to keep up with him, was not always easy. Yattlie remembers going to Bali her first time with Theo. Theo took her to the village where his second wife lived, to introduce Yattlie to her and to his daughter. But as they were approaching the house Theo warned her not to drink anything they offered to her. Yattlie thought he was referring to the sanitation. “No, it’s not that.” Theo said when she questioned him further. “The drink could well be poisoned.” Yattlie had a hard time after that relaxing in Bali, especially when she realized Theo was serious.

Most often Theo returned to Bali with his friends, Rolf von Bueren and his wife Helen, Prince Sandith, Roman Polanski and at another time with Paul Getty and his wife. They usually went to Iseh in East Bali. Theo was never bothered by the changes that Bali was experiencing. The island had climbed for Europeans and Australians to the number one tourist destination in Asia. Discos and bars galore opened and nude bathing on the beach at Kuda by foreign women became fashionable. Drugs were readily available and were commonplace among the onslaught of the new comers-back packers. But Theo witnessed none of this. He bypassed Kuda Beach and the tourist spots and went straight to Iseh and stayed in Walter Spies’ old house. Eastern Bali was much the same as it always was and there was hardly a tourist to be seen. When Theo was asked what he thought about the changes on Bali, he would reply: “What changes? I didn’t see any.”

In 1969 just before he began construction on his new house in Chiang Mai, Theo took as his guest Sir Paul Getty and his wife Talitha Getty on a visit to Bali. Paul was the son of]. Paul Getty, the richest man in the world at the time. Talitha Getty was of Dutch extraction, born in Java in October 1940 at the outbreak of the war. She spent her early years, along with her mother, in a Japanese prison camp. Her father was interned in a separate camp and he and her mother went their own ways after the war. Pol, as everyone called her, moved to Britain with her mother. She lived much of her adult life in Britain and, in later years, was closely associated with the Moroccan city of Marrakech.

After marrying Paul in 1966 she became part of “Swinging” London’s fashionable scene, becoming friends with, among others, singers Mick Jagger, of the Rolling Stones, and his girlfriend Marianne Faithful. Another to come under Pol’s spell was the dancer Rudolf Nureyev whom she met at a party in 1965. Theo was amused when he heard the story. “Everyone knew Nureyev was gay,” Theo said, “but after I met Pol, I could see the attraction.’ She was, indeed, strikingly beautiful. Perhaps it was love at first sight for Nureyev. He told several friends that he wished to marry her. And it may have happened had he been able to attend a dinner party given by Claus von Bulow, at which he and Pol were to have been seated next to each other. But Nureyev couldn’t make it and Bulow invited Paul Getty to take his place which led to Paul and Pol’s marriage a year later in 1966.

Talitha wanted very much to visit Indonesia with Theo as she was excited to show Bali to her husband. Theo admitted later there was very little he could show them. With their insane use of drugs they could have been anywhere. As it so happened, only a year and a half after their visit to Bali with Theo, Talitha died of a heroin overdose at her home in London on July 14, 1971. She was thirty years old.

Aside from his many Balinese artist friends whom he enjoyed spending time with, Theo did take pleasure in meeting with his foreign artist pals like Han Snel and Antonio Blanco. He did tell me, though, that he did miss many of the old time painters who had passed away or else moved on. Theo felt that he was fortunate to have lived both the pre-war and post-war years on Bali.

Theo often reflected on the art scene that had existed in Bali before the war years. They were exciting years in which everyone believed life would go on as it always had. Live for today for tomorrow will be no different was their motto.

In spite of the many foreign painters who took up residence on the island, their painting styles differed greatly, Walter Spies painted in dreams, much in the style of Rousseau, His partner Rudolph Bonnet centered on real life images without much imitation needed. Le Mayeur aimed for what the public wanted and did scenes of scanty dressed Balinese women frolicking in lotus-filled gardens and on the beach. Le Mayeur painted during the day and at night entertained affluent travellers, providing them with huge Balinese feasts, dance performances and the opportunity to buy his paintings as a memento of their visit.

Another pre-war friend from Bali that Theo missed very much was Miguel Covarrubias and his wife Rosa. Miguel was a painter and caricaturist, ethnologist and art historian among other interests. A man of many talents, in 1924 at the age of 19, Miguel moved to New York City where he designed sets and costumes for the theater, including La Revue Negre starring Josephine Baker in the show that made her a smash in Paris. In New York he met Rosa Rolando. The two fell in love and traveled together to Mexico, Europe, Africa and the Caribbean in the mid to late 1920s. During a trip to Mexico, the famous photographer Edward Weston taught Rosa photography. Rosa was also introduced to Miguel’s family and friends including the noted Mexican artist Diego Rivera. She became a close and lasting friend of Rivera’s wife.

Miguel’s artwork and celebrity caricatures had been featured in The New Yorker and Vanity Fair magazines. His first book of caricatures The Prince of Wales and Other Famous Americans was an immediate success.

Miguel and Rosa married in 1930 and they took an extended honeymoon to Bali where they immersed themselves in the local culture, language and customs. Miguel and Rosa returned to Bali in 1933 and remained until 1940 when the threat of war fell over the Pacific.

Theo liked Miguel and Rosa very much but he was not alone. Everyone in pre-war Bali loved the young, enthusiastic couple. Miguel began to work on a book titled Island of Bali. Rosa’s photography became part of the book. Published in 1937 Island of Bali was the first major written work about Bali, its customs and people and became a classic in Asian literature. The book contributed to the 1930s Bali craze in New York.

Theo was terribly disappointed that there was little chance of Miguel and Rosa’s returning to Bali. Miguel’s paintings and illustration work brought him international recognition including gallery shows in Europe, Mexico and the United States as well as many awards.

• Photo caption on page 258 of the book: Everyone on Bali loved Miguel Covarrubias and his wife Rosa. Miguel wrote a book, Island of Bali that became a classic and is used today by scholars. He was also a gifted painter, as we can see here from his Bali Girl.

As for Theo’s style of painting, he considered himself an interpreter of Balinese scenes, dance and the women of Bali. We can see this in the large murals he painted depicting his interpretation of Balinese illness. I once entered his studio when he was placing a cow in the background of his canvas. Turning to me he said, “Look I put a horse’s hoof on the cow.” He laughed in his gargantuan voice and added, “It really doesn’t matter, does it?” He was telling me not asking me.

In our moments of reverie, sitting on his verandah, Theo often voiced his opinion of the other pre-war artists on Bali. He did have great respect for Walter Spies, that was certain, and he treated him accordingly, however, he disagreed privately with Spies’ habits and lifestyle. Still, he came to Spies’ defense when the Dutch government clamped down on homosexuals and immorality on Bali and arrested and jailed Spies. Theo, feeling sorry for Spies, wanted to help but there was nothing neither he nor anyone else could do in his defense, try as they did. The Dutch were hard masters. Theo paid Dutchman Rudolph Bonnet-Walter Spies’ sometimes partner-much the same respect as he did for Spies. Bonnet had been invited to live in Ubud in 1929 by Cokorda Gede Raka Sukawati, a ruling prince with influence. Theo felt deep sorrow for Bonnet when he learned the Japanese took Bonnet prisoner and shipped him to prison in Sulawesi. He spent the rest of the war in internment camps in different places ending up in Makassar. He returned to Bali after the war but was forced to leave in 1957, the same year Theo left, after fallout with President Sukarno. Sukarno had turned Bali into the window of Indonesian arts and had a palace built for himself in Tampaksing. Bonnet had known Sukarno well for the president had visited him often in his studio and had a close contact with him dating back to Bonnet’s exhibition in Jakarta in 1951. But when Sukarno ordered some of Bonnet’s paintings to be taken to his palace, Bonnet refused to let them go. He was expelled and wasn’t able to return until fifteen years later. Bonnet, burdened with age and illness, returned to Holland where he passed away in 1978. His remains were shipped back to Bali and he was cremated in 1979, which, up to that time, was one of the greatest cremations ever performed on the island. According to tradition, Bonnet’s soul, while accompanied by his friend Tjokorda Gede Agung, was released to the realm of the gods. Theo went to Bali to witness the ceremony.

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THE FRIENDLY HILL TRIBES

West of Mai Sai along the Shan States that border Thailand and Burma, beyond trim rice fields, loom the densely wooded mountains of Ampur, and here dwell several mountain hill tribes-Ahka, Mushur, Daeng Yao and Lishaw. The Ahka are the most prominent and number about 30,000. They build their houses on sides and tops of mountains. Gates to their villages form an important part of their tradition. Called Taw-Nah-Lok-Kaw or Gate of Spirits, they are part of their animistic customs. On both sides of the gates of every village are roughly carved images of men and women. At any time of the day one can see young maidens pass through the gates with gourds upon their heads after fetching water from streams three hundred yards below.

Theo loved visiting the hill tribe villages. He traveled there every chance he had, sometimes remaining weeks on end. He learned the language quickly, which brought him close to the people. His favorite was the Ahka. He often said the young Ahka ladies looked sexy. He liked the idea that young girls before they marry had to learn the intricacies of sex taught to them by their elders. “Why do you think Yattlie never lets me travel there alone,” he joked.

The Ahka are closely related to the Hani of China’s Yunnan province. They are also known derogatorily in Thai as the Gaw. What Theo liked about them was that they were the dominant cultural influence in the area, more so than the Karen and other tribes. The Ahka shared the ancient universal belief that goddesses spin the universe and nature is not distinguished from humankind. The Ahka way, a lifestyle involving religious, combines animism, ancestor worship and shamanism, all of which captured Theo’s fantasy. Theo, who picked up much of the language, joined in with them in their chants. When they passed around the opium pipe, he took a drag with the rest of the men. The Ahka way emphasized rituals in everyday life, and these Theo came to master to the delight of the people. Every Ahka male could recount his genealogy back over fifty generations to the first Ahka. Theo found the Ahka good subject matter for his painting. He couldn’t paint them fast enough.

• Photo caption on page 248 of the book: Even the simple little village girl had a charm all her own.

Over the years, Theo was witness to the changing times of the hill tribes. Traditionally, they were migratory people, leaving land as it became depleted of natural resources. But the depletion of the forests had forced hill tribe people to abandon their traditional agricultural methods. Theo sympathized with them and listened to their woes, but there was nothing he could do to help them.

Theo invited me on several occasions to join him and Yattlie for a sojourn to an Ahka village that he favored. After one trip, I could understand his love for the Ahka.

Theo made preparations for the trip like he was preparing for a major expedition. Everything had to be exact. We had to load an ice chest into his Jeep-an open World War II vehicle with canvas top-with beer and food for a picnic on the way there, and gifts for the hill tribe people that included tinned bully beef and a couple of sacks of rice among other things.

Theo had a particular place where he liked to stop for a picnic en route. It was a partially hidden waterfall. The falls were cool and inviting. The ground was covered by a splendid profusion of plants, leaves, and velvet grass, which wholly took possession of the place. For Theo it was a reminder of Pierre Lori’s pool at Fautera Falls on Tahiti where Loti bathed with his love, Rarahu. Theo liked to tell the story of the statue of Pierre Loti that stands at Fautera Falls. It wasn’t until years later that the sculptor of the statue couldn’t find an image of Loti so he sculpted his own imagine instead. No one knew the difference. Theo’s picnic area was much the same, a beautiful waterfall in a deeply wooden glen. Here was all peace and joy. When Theo tried to persuade Yattlie to swim in the pool beneath the waterfall, I wondered if his thoughts might not have gone back to Tahiti. I was convinced I was right when he wanted to paint Yattlie in the nude by the falls. She refused, naturally. We could have lingered at the falls the entire day but we had to move on.

When we neared the village and the road petered out, we had to continue on the last few miles by foot. Lugging the ice chest and boxes of gifts was most tiresome. The Ahka knew we were coming, and they were there to greet us-with a sedan chair. The chair, carried by two men, was not for Yattlie or me. It was for Theo who ceremoniously climbed in, waving his arms and shouting in his melodic voice in their native tongue. It was done with great sport. The bearers and those who followed cheered Theo jubilantly. Finally, we arrived at the gate and entered the village, panting and out of breath. It was all we could do to keep up with the sedan chair bearing Theo.

Theo was their hero to the thunder of welcoming applause and cheers as we passed through the gate. Women and kids, and even dogs and perhaps a goat or two, kicked up dust as they all came running to greet him. Theo disembarked and made the rounds of shaking hands with everyone. Fresh coconuts with the tops cut off were presented to each of us to drink. The drink was surprisingly cool and refreshing. Wet cloths were then handed out to wipe our arms and faces.

From the houses, suspended high above ground on wooden piles, the aged and elders stared down at us. Thatched roofs extended far out almost touching the ground. We were ushered into one large house where we apparently were to spend the night. Our bags were brought up.

Sitting on the plank steps of our home for the night, I was able to study the people. Women as well as men smoked tobacco in bamboo pipes. Both men and women chewed betel nut. Their mouths and teeth were stained red from the continuous use of betel nut, and the ground where they had spit was not a pretty sight. Women wore black blouses and skirts; the skirts were short, a few inches above the knees. They wore leggings, as I was told, to protect against tall grass and thorns when working in the fields. Later when I questioned Theo about the short skirts he explained that the women don’t wear under garments. “When they squat,” Theo laughed, “they do little to protect their modesty.”

Women, not the men, did the farming, cut the firewood and carried water from the creek below. The men hunted.

The village had a number of merry-go-rounds and swings which I thought were for kids, but as the day wore into evening I could see it was the adults who made use of them.

• Photo caption on page 251 of the book: Theo loved the Ahka hill tribes, especially the young ladies when they dressed up for their ceremonies.

The evening turned chilly and women lit fires from dried palm fronds in the center of the street, not so much to provide warmth but for smoke to keep mosquitoes at bay.

At last here was peace. In an Ahka village such as this one civilization falls away. The sun, rapidly sinking beyond the horizon, became half concealed behind the clusters of forest trees. The conflict of light made the mountains stand out sharply and strangely in black against the violet glow of the sky. The mountains, with mist hanging below, appeared like ancient dragons in a haunted forest. The night became profound. How good it was to be alive! It was no wonder to me now that Theo had found that he could live simply with these people, unlike Tahiti where the old way of life was lost. The Ahka were what he searched for in Polynesia but never found. I could see now why Theo liked to visit the hill tribes as often as he could.

The night that followed was filled with dancing and chanting. Wooden bowls filled to the brim with fermented rice wine appeared and barbecued dog cooked over a spit was handed out. As evening closed in upon us, the same young maidens who had carried gourds of water upon their heads that day, sat and sang and waited for their suitors to come with string music instruments to accompany them. Before long, after a lot of giggling and banter, couples paired off and disappeared into the thickets.

We slept-what little we could get-on mats on split bamboo floors and listened in the night to the strange and bewitching sounds of the forest. It was eerie and at times frightening, not knowing what to suspect, a charging tiger or a marauding elephant on the rampage. At the first light of dawn the crowing of roosters prohibited further sleep. The men had set out with crossbows to hunt for birds, wild chickens, squirrels, gibbons and monkeys, in hope of game for our evening meal. I was pleased now that we had brought tinned bully beef.

Theo was up before the hunters, and you could see him in the fog and mist sitting on a tree stump making sketches on his sketchpad. The smoke from his cheroot lingered in the still air above him like a halo. As the mist lifted, villagers gathered around him to watch him draw. No one ever questioned him, wanted to know what he was doing, nor looked over his shoulder. To them it was perhaps odd that he would paint a scene that was always there. Nothing to them ever changed, the forest, the mountains, their dress, even the style of their buildings, so why try to capture the scenes on canvas?

We were a tired lot when we returned to Chiang Mai and to the comforts of Theo’s wonderful house. The evening, after a light meal, would be capped with Mekong-and-sodas, with lots of lime.

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← Back –   Chapter 24   – Next →

THEO NEVER STOPPED DREAMING

Theo always hankered to go back to Tahiti for a visit. He never stopped dreaming. Maybe that is what makes an artist, dreams. It certainly was what made Theo. He often talked about it with Sandith and they both planned a trip. Maybe it was only talk but the thought did excite them. They really got all fired up when I began building and outfitting a 71-foot schooner on the Chao Phraya River down river from Bangkok. When Theo heard about the schooner it took him no time to get caught up in the romance of sailing the South Seas again. He envisioned himself and Prince Sandith sailing with me aboard Schooner Third Sea to Tahiti and the Marquesas Islands in French Polynesia.

Theo was serious, so much so, that he took an active interest in the schooner. He did the woodcarvings for the main saloon, two ten-foot long works of art to serve as drip boards beneath the windows. They turned out to be a monumental task. He and his assistants labored for weeks on the work. It was not only the teak carvings for the saloon but he also did carvings for the main hatch and trim for the trail boards on the bow.

The schooner was moored in Bob Stevens’ Colorado Eastern boatyard in a small klong down river on the Chao Phraya where I was having it outfitted. Transporting the carvings, especially the ten-foot long pieces, was no simple matter.

First, I had to fit un-carved teak boards into place, boards that Theo had selected, and then remove them and take them to Theo’s workshop in Chiang Mai, traveling by train and then by bus. Theo sketched out patterns on the boards and then set to work with his assistants carving out the designs. I have to admit, when finished, they were beautiful.

Next, when the carvings were completed I carried them back to Bangkok by train and then put them aboard a bus for the final trip down river to the boatyard. There was no problem on the train. I arrived in Bangkok early in the morning and found the bus at the station nearly empty. I placed the carvings, which Theo had wrapped in cardboard, in the isle on the floor.

• Photo caption on page 240 of the book: Schooner Third Sea at anchor. Theo wanted to sail aboard the schooner and revisit Tahiti and the Marquesas, but his age was working against him. That, however, he would never admit.

But by the time I reached my destination down river, the bus was jam-packed, with those passengers in the isle standing on the carvings. It was pandemonium retrieving them. How I ever got them out of the bus and back to the schooner still baffles me.

Back aboard ship, carpenters installed the finished products in their proper places. They greatly enhanced the beauty of the schooner. Theo’s carvings aboard Third Sea became a showpiece for all who came aboard.

Theo also did a painting of a nude Thai girl to hang in the galley aboard the schooner. It hung there for years bringing attention to anyone who saw it.

• Photo caption on page 241 of the book: Theo painted this oil to hang aboard Schooner Third Sea.

Eventually I did sail the schooner to Tahiti and the Marquesas but, unfortunately, Theo and Sandith were not aboard. Age was catching up with them. Nevertheless, it was their dream, and as Joseph Conrad said-“Take away a man’s dream and there is nothing left.” I was most proud when people wanted to come aboard in Honolulu and Tahiti to have a look at the carvings. In time the carvings were more valuable than the schooner itself

Theo made good copy for my writing. Readers liked to read about this crazy European artist living in Chiang Mai. He was a character who led a life envied by many. Readers enjoyed hearing about life in old Tahiti, living with cannibals in the New Hebrides, walking across China with an easel strapped to his back and, of course, about his many years on Bali and later his living in northern Thailand. I wrote a number of articles about him for my column in Bangkok World and Bangkok Post, and he became a chapter in my book Asian Portraits. Soon other writers and journalists were making tracks to Chiang Mai to do stories about Theo, and his fame began to spread.

Roy Howard, Sales Director of Thai Airways International and editor of Sawasdee, the airline’s inflight magazine, went to Chiang Mai to interview Theo and he ended up spending several days with him. Theo’s story became the cover piece of the magazine and reached thousands of readers. It was Roy Howard who, in fact, encouraged me to write this biography of Theo.

• Photo caption on page 242 of the book: Theo drew this charcoal line drawing to hang aboard Third Sea but it was too large and I moved it to hang on the wall of my ranch in California.

Theo liked the coverage, that was certain, but I must say he never let notoriety get the best of him. He remained Theo Meier always. He loved his house, for example, but at the same time he gave praise to Jim Thompson for his unique construction concept, and when Jim Thompson mysteriously disappeared without a trace while visiting friends in the Cameron Highlands in Malaysia, Theo was visually upset. He was keen to know what happened to Thompson and he had his own idea about his disappearance. I had gone down to Cameron Highlands on assignment for the Bangkok World a few days after Thompson vanished, and when I returned Theo was anxious to know what I had uncovered, which wasn’t much. But speculation was running high. Everyone, from soothsayers to mystics, and to the man on the street, had their own ideas and opinions, all speculation mind you, which they freely expounded upon to the press and other media.

• Photo caption on page 242 of the book: Roy Howard, right, with Theo in Chiang Mai. Roy published a feature magazine piece on Theo in Thai Airways in-flight magazine, Sawasdee. Roy felt strongly that the Theo Meier story should be told, and a part of history preserved, and he encouraged me to write this biography of Theo. It took twenty years to get it started.

What made the Jim Thompson story intriguing was that Thompson was a former U.S. military intelligence officer who once worked for the Office of Strategic Services, which later became the CIA. That should tell us something. He had disappeared while going for a walk on Easter Sunday, March 26, 1967. Thompson came to the Cameron Highlands with Connie Mangskau on Friday, March 24, 1967. Connie was the lady for whom Thompson had built his second Thai house in Bangkok. The two stayed at “Moonlight” bungalow owned by Dr. Ling, a Singaporean-Chinese chemist and Mrs. Helen Ling, his American-born wife. On Easter Sunday, March 26, they attended the morning services at All Souls’ Church. Later that day, while everyone took a nap, Thompson went for a walk but failed to return. And the mystery began.

Theo theorized that although Thompson claimed to have abandoned intelligence activities, he was still working under unofficial cover for the CIA. His closest friend, and former OSS comrade, was Brigadier-General Edwin Black who was in charge of United States Forces operating in Laos and Thailand. General Black, in fact, had hired Thompson to work for the OSS. Theo held that Thompson needed a cover if he was still an undercover agent, and the Thai silk business was it.

To add to the mystery about which Theo had his theories, Thompson was also a major collector of Southeast Asian art, which at the time was not well-known internationally. He built a superb collection of Buddhist and secular art not only from Thailand but also from Burma, Cambodia and Laos, frequently travelling to those countries on buying trips. But collecting valuable and often priceless art objects brought him enemies as well.

No one ever discovered the truth, or else let the truth be known, and the mystery goes on and on.

• Photo caption on page 246 of the book: Jim Thompson, known as the Thai Silk King, disappeared without trace while visiting the Cameron Highlands with long-time friend Connie Mangskau.

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← Back –   Chapter 23C   – Next →

FROM BALI TO THAILAND
(Strangers Came Along)

I remember one night I was in the Safari Club on Patpong in Bangkok’s notorious street of sins when Shrimp leaped up on the stage and did a Charlie Chaplin gig. When he finished, and to everyone’s applause, he did a leap from the stage on to the dance floor. It brought more whoops and howls from everyone but what no one had realized was that Shrimp had broken both his legs in his finale. An ambulance came and took him off.

Shrimp’s forte, however, was not acting a Charlie Chaplin role but it was photography and, to be exact, it was photographing nude women. He was truly a master at nudes; his calendars were his proof I believe he did more to dramatize Thai women than did any other photographer.

Shrimp was Theo’s good friend and whenever he was around, whether it be at Theo’s house or at a bar in town, you could be certain there would be lots of laughs. Shrimp was a natural comedian.

“To liven up his parties,” Shrimp recalled, “Theo would dig out a couple boxes filled with musty old Balinese dance costumes he brought from Bali. He and Prince Sandith would dress up and do some hilarious skits in imitation of the dancers of Bali. They would even paint their faces and put on wigs. Of course, I joined them. Everyone laughed until their sides hurt; they would actually roll on the floor. It was always crazy fun at Theo’s house.”

• Photo caption on page 231 of the book: Theo relaxing at his home in Chiang Mai

Shrimp recalled that Theo was very protective of his “girls.” For a party at his house he would bring in several dancers from town to perform, girls fourteen and fifteen. When the party was over Theo drove them back into town himself. “This one night I had started out by foot to the main road to where I could get a baht bus into town,” Shrimp continued. “Theo drove up with his girls in his Jeep. I asked if he could give me a lift. There was room for me, but he refused. I guess he didn’t trust me in the same vehicle. “You are young enough so walk into town,” he said and drove off. A minute later Prince Sandith drove up and gave me a lift so that was okay.”

Anyone who visited Theo in Chiang Mai was certain to see a house filled with young Thai girls, many who were not yet in their teens. Theo and Yattlie “recruited” the girls mostly from the hill tribes. Theo admitted he paid money to their families, and in this sense he bought them, but he disliked using the term “bought.” He gave them, he said, an opportunity they would not have had otherwise. Once they were members of Theo’s household, their lives greatly changed. Theo and Yattlie educated them, taught them good manners, how to play musical instruments and groomed them for later employment in the business world. Of course, the young girls also provided Theo with a steady market of models for his painting.

Sometime later when I was at the Singapore Yacht Club talking to members at the bar, I mentioned seeing all the delightful young maidens at Theo’s house in Chiang Mai. The next morning an Australian chap came out to my schooner and asked if he could come board. I had no idea what he could possibly want.

“Perhaps you can help me,” he said as he climbed aboard. He was straight to the point. “I am looking for an Asian wife.”

I had heard this over and over from many farangs, foreign men, asking the same question. But in this case it was a bit different. His name was Jake and at the time I met him I didn’t give him much thought. He was just one of the many passing faces that came and went. Perhaps the fact that there was nothing really distinctive about him was why I didn’t give him second thoughts. If you saw him on the street you probably wouldn’t look twice at him. Everything about him was average. He was average height with hair between brown and blond. He kept it medium length. His sideburns were average. He was always dean-shaven. His clothes were what most people wore in Singapore, slacks and sports shirts.

But what did prove interesting was when he told me why he wanted an Asia wife. He was from a cattle station in the Australian Outback and he found life there boring without a woman. So that was it: he wanted to take back to Australia an Asian wife. He explained that “Aussie Sheila’s” no longer want such a life and he heard about Asian women making good wives. He said, “You don’t know what it is like to be lonely on the Outback, do you?” No, I didn’t know. He explained that he thought he could find what he wanted in Singapore, but that was a mistake. “They’re all glitter here, just like Sydney Sheilas.” He then went to the Philippines and consulted a marriage agent. That didn’t work. Not one of the Philippine ladies turned him down. “They said from the very start that they loved me and wanted to get hitched, right away,” he said, “Never could tell if they were sincere enough.”

Perhaps, he thought, a Japanese woman might be good, but then he reasoned that the climate would be tough on them. He liked Japanese women, the way they took care of their men, but the heat most likely would do them in. He considered a Malaysian wife but to marry a Malay girl he would have to become Muslim. He’d have to say prayers five times a day. Go to Mecca. No eating pork. Same for Indonesia. “They too are Muslims,” he said.

Maybe Bali, he thought, but he didn’t want his woman carrying water around in jugs on her head. Then he thought about Thailand. Thai women, he heard, are adaptable and fun loving. “They make good wives, they say. But not a city girl from Bangkok. No, she has to be an up-country girl. A farm girl like you see working in the fields.”

Poor Jake. He was tied to an image that he himself created. He knew that love was not enough, that there had to be a higher devotion, but his mistake was that he didn’t know what that devotion was.

I simply dismissed Jake’s request and to pacify him I said I’d see what I could do. About a week or two later I was sitting with Theo and Yattlie and in a casual conversation I mentioned Jake, about his looking for a Thai wife. Theo laughed but not Yattlie. No sooner had the words come out than she tore into me like one of those temple dogs tear at farangs.

“You white men, you all same same,” she screamed. “You come Thailand, and tink you can buy woman. What do you rink! You crazy or somep’n?”

“Yattlie,” I said, and threw up my hands in surrender, “no offense. I am sorry. I just know this guy who lives in Singapore and he wants a Thai wife to take back home to Australia. That’s all.”

“Him no good,” she continued. “What him tink!”

“Yattlie, look, I’m sorry. He’s a nice guy, and he’s quite serious.”

I then remembered something that Jake had said to me that night, about his willingness to pay a dowry. I mentioned this to Yattlie.

“How much he pay?” she asked.

“He said that he had five thousand dollars,” I replied. “Five thousand dollah?” she questioned.

“Yes, he’s got plenty of money; he’s not a poor man. In fact, I understand he is quite well off. The money is for the wife’s family. It’s a custom in the West.”

She thought about this for a long time. “Well,” she finally said, “if he want give money pay mama and papa, that okay, maybe.” The subject changed to other topics.

I thought it was over, forgotten, but the next morning, when Yattlie was pouring tea at breakfast, she started talking about a Shan hill tribe girl who would make a good wife. Then, forgetting the anger she displayed the night before, she now began telling me she could arrange such a marriage. She said things like “a good hill tribe girl” and that her family is poor and “needs money.”

When I got back to Singapore, I phoned Jake.

I never did meet the girl, but Yattlie did show me her photograph when she disembarked from the train in Bangkok after arriving from Chiang Mai. Jake was there too. He had come up by train from Singapore and planned to return with Yattlie to Chiang Mai that same evening. Naturally he was anxious to meet his bride-to-be and didn’t want to linger around Bangkok. I spent part of the day with them, and all Yattlie could do was expound on the charms of the hill tribe girl that Jake was about to take for his wife. Yattlie had made the arrangements. I have to admit, judging by the photograph, the girl was quite a beauty, although a trifle young looking. But Jake seemed very pleased and that evening he and Yattlie boarded the night train to Chiang Mai. I was there to see them off. Yattlie was pleased and I had never seen her so happy. She took over Jake like a mother hen does with her chicks, constantly asking him if he was comfortable. She wanted to know was he thirsty, or hungry, and was his passport and his money safe in his money belt. She asked him to check to make sure. A bit annoyed, he zipped open the belt to show her that the money was still there.

I bid them farewell as the train pulled out of Hualampong Station; that was the last time I saw Jake.

Several months had passed before I got back to Chiang Mai and, as always, I was very excited about seeing Theo and Yattlie. But it did not go as well as I expected. Theo was alone in the house when I arrived, working on a new canvas in his studio. He lost no time to tell me that Yattlie wasn’t too happy with my friend Jake.

“My friend, I hardly know him,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Yattlie will get over it. It will take time. “

He then explained what had gone wrong. Jake became obstinate for some reason and refused to let Yattlie help with the matchmaking, and he even insisted that he travel to the girl’s village alone. He also refused to repay Yattlie for the money that she spent helping him. “You know how that sets with Thai women,” Theo said. “Don’t ever try to cheat a Thai woman. You know what they can do!”

I know what Thai women can do, especially when you get caught cheating on them. But I didn’t want to get into that so I quickly asked, “What happened to Jake then?”

Theo didn’t know, which came as a shock. Jake didn’t stop to visit them on his return to Singapore. “He completely avoided us,” Theo said. “He just vanished, without a word.”

I left the house before Yattlie returned, pleased to avoid any argument that was sure to happen. I was terribly disappointed with Jake. It wasn’t very honorable of him to act the way he did. Yattlie had spent time and money helping him but I wondered if he might have felt that she was taking advantage of him. Maybe Yattlie wanted a big cut, a healthy commission and Jake didn’t think it was right. He didn’t understand the Thai mind. I decided I would pay Jake a visit when I returned to Singapore, that is, if he was still there and had not returned with his bride to Australia. When I arrived a couple of weeks later, I took a taxi to Sophia Road. I knocked at the door of his apartment, not knowing who might answer. A new tenant, an Englishman, opened the door. He knew nothing about anybody named Jake. I wasn’t much help when he asked what Jake’s last name was. You know, I never did know Jake’s last name. I don’t think anybody knew his last name. The man suggested I talk to the landlady.

Madam Chew was a nasty Chinese landlady who had no love for foreigners. Like most Singapore Chinese, she called them “foreign devils.” She was as irate as Yattlie had been in Chiang Mai, ranting at the top of her voice, flashing a mouth of gold-filled teeth in anger. What could Jake have done to deserve such wrath? She was not the easiest person to understand, as her English was a mixture with Cantonese. She didn’t speak Mandarin. Eventually, after much effort, I was able to gather what she said.

It seems Jake hadn’t paid his rent for several months and so Madam Chew had sold all his belongings, which she was reluctant to admit.

“You mean he went home, back to Australia, without paying his rent?” I asked.

“No, it wasn’t that,” she explained. “He never returned from northern Thailand.”

Jake never left the hill tribe village. Did the hill tribe people do him in for his money? I did mention it to Theo, but he said it was best to forget it. What had been done had been done.

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← Back –   Chapter 23B   – Next →

THE HOUSE THAT THEO BUILT
(Welcoming New Friends)

Theo’s masterful use of colors characterized the murals. In all three panels, the world of the gods was painted in bright, light tones, especially in blue and white. The world of men, on the other hand, was two-dimensional, dominated by gold-orange, red, and brown shades.

Theo spent weeks painting the murals, putting his soul into his work. When they were completed, I helped him sadly pack them for shipping which was no easy task. I thought Yattlie was going to break down in tears when they were crated and gone. We had to calm her down. She hated not only to see the murals go, she hated to see any of Theo’s paintings go. “How else can an artist survive unless he sells his work?” Theo explained to her over and over, but still, each time someone came to the house to buy a painting she acted the same. There were times it became downright embarrassing when a customer backed out from a sale at a time when Theo especially needed the money.

Yattlie had her own logic on the subject of Theo selling his paintings.

“Okay then,” she said meaningfully, “me go Bangkok sleep with rich American tourist, and come home with money and buy paintings. Same, same you. You take money for painting. You sell you self”

“Fine, ” Theo said, maybe pointing to a new sarong she was wearing, “no sell. How we make money?”

“Like Thai people,” I remember her saying to Theo. “We go fishing. Sell fish. We cut coconuts.”

Yattlie was serious and Theo loved her for it. In her belief it was no different from a woman selling her body than Theo selling a painting that he put his heart into.

Theo felt much the same as Yattlie. He too hated parting with his paintings. I remember him once saying he wished he had money for then he could buy all his paintings back. It might have been possible for him to buy them at those prices, but not today.

Painting was Theo’s vocation but his avocation extended far beyond that. He was interested in many things that included dance, music and cooking. He and Yattlie traveled more than once to Bangkok see a ballet, and when he painted in his studio he listened to good music and could tell Shostakovich from Borodin. But it was his cooking where Theo excelled.

With his cooking, you can say he was a gourmet, with an amazing knowledge of herbs. A meal at Theo’s was another memorable experience. When I visited him we started lunch at noon and at dusk we were still dining, and getting ready for the evening meal. I enjoyed going to the market with Theo to do the shopping. Many times I drove back to the house trying to balance two squealing, suckling pigs on my lap.

• Photo caption on page 226 of the book: Theo showing me our snacks for dinner, baby frogs on a skewer.

Theo supervised the preparation of all the dishes himself It might be a special raw fish, a recipe that he learned in the Marquesas called poisson cru, raw fish marinated with lime juice and soaked in coconut milk. Then there was lawar that Theo mastered in Bali. It consisted of boiled young jackfruit, long beans, young papaya, and raw coconut, finely chopped, to which was added cooked minced pork. It took Theo’s good hand to mix the ingredients with perfect proportions of fried sliced garlic, sliced shallots, and at least fourteen different spices. Theo was very strict with the fourteen different spices. And it had to be fourteen, not one less nor one more. And there were sausages from Chiang Mai and a special roast duck, and tiny sweet potatoes, hearts of palm in oil, red cabbage and a salad of six greens.

And in the background when we dined, there were the soft tones of gamelan music off in the distance.

One such get-together I never wanted to miss was Theo’s birthday party every March 30th. Theo would remind me long in advance not to forget it. It was a time not to be forgotten.

The villagers loved Theo’s birthday parties. They had an excuse to celebrate, although Thais never needed such an excuse. Before activities started, they sent to the house their musical and dancing groups. They even provided a display of sword fighting which resulted in real cuts and real bruises. Celebrations would start with five monks coming to pray early in the morning. Theo would stage a big lunch for the villagers, and in the late afternoon the guests would begin to arrive. Bartenders, shopkeepers, people from the diplomatic corps from a dozen countries, artists, writers and many from the royal family including Prince Sandith and his brother Prince Kharsi and their wives. The processions from the village to his house, less than a mile, often took two hours. Singing and dancing and shuffling along, with plenty of bottles of local drink passed around.

The party would go on all night long. The next morning everyone went to the temple where there were more dances and music, and drummers who came from all the temples. “Overwhelming numbers of people came to Theo’s birthday parties.” Vince Fisher, another long-time friend of Theo’s, remembered. “You could find just about anyone there.” Whenever I arrived at Theo’s house there would be no telling who that “everyone” might be. One time I arrived to find that the movie director Roman Polanski was Theo’s houseguest. Prince Sandith’s wife Christine had met him at a party in Paris-just after his wife Sharon Tate had been murdered –and invited him to Bangkok. Once in Bangkok Sandith took him up to Chiang Mai where he met Theo. He and Theo hit it off from the start. Every year thereafter the director would come for a holiday to spend with Theo. There would be big meals, drinking and women.

• Photo caption on page 228 of the book: Roman Polanski was a frequent visitor to Theo’s place in Chiang Mai.

Polanski was laid back, a slight figure in a floppy beige sweater, jeans and sneakers. In spite of the horrible ordeal he had gone through, he outwardly appeared carefree without a worry, but I wondered if this was only a front. It was near impossible not to reflect on the problems and tragedies that had beset his life. He grew up in the Polish ghetto of Krakow and narrowly escaped the Nazi roundup of Jews in that city. When the Germans sealed off the Jewish ghetto in 1940, his father shouted to him to run which fortunately he did and made good his escape. His mother died in Auschwitz, and young Polanski had a tough time of it in the squalor and brutality of postwar Poland. He took up the study of filmmaking. His first full-length feature film after graduation, “Knife in the Water,” won awards and, most important, his ticket to the West.

He eventually made it to America, and having his ambition fulfilled he began directing movies, The film that brought him fame and world attention was “Rosemary’s Baby,” the story of the young couple who moved into a new apartment, only to be surrounded by peculiar neighbors and occurrences.

After he settled in America, more horrors followed: While he was on a film shoot in London, his pregnant wife, actress Sharon Tate, and her friends were brutally slain by the followers of Charles Manson. Tate had been nominated for a Golden Globe Award for her performance in “Valley of the Dolls”. She also appeared regularly in fashion magazines as a model and cover girl. Polanski went into shock at the news.

Polanski’s time of troubles were not over just yet. After the death of his wife, his life took a sinister turn. As one reporter said, ”After his wife had been killed by the Charles Manson ‘family’ a few years earlier, he entered into a decade long downward spiral of drugs and debauchery and generally ill-advised behavior. It was not a great time in his career or his personal life.”

While on a photographic shoot at Jack Nicholson’s Hollywood home, he was accused of sexual intercourse with a thirteen-year-old model.

Maintaining the girl was sexually experienced and had consented, Polanski spent forty-two days in prison undergoing psychiatric tests. Awaiting trial he entered into a plea deal in which he pleaded to a reduced charge. When he learned that the judge had turned sour on the bargain deal, he absconded and became a fugitive of the law from the United States government. The affair was to plague him the rest of his adult life.

Polanski felt very much at home in Chiang Mai, although Yattlie looked with disdain every time he came. His arrival heralded more parties and good times. Yattlie recalled that Theo and Polanski got along fine until Polanski tried to teach Theo how to eat. I could understand Theo’s anger recalling that night when he knocked a glass from my hand after I had mixed brandy and Benedictine, and called the drink B&B. I had made the mistake of saying it was what the good people of Europe drank. “That was why I left Europe,” he reminded me.

Rolf von Bueren was certain to come up from Bangkok when Polanski was there. Rolf was an old friend of Theo’s. Rolf with his family ran a business that sold high-end jewelry and decorations. Originally from Germany, Rolf moved into his Thai traditional house the Soi 23 Sukhumvit in the early 1970s. He lives here with Helen, his half-Thai and half-Scottish wife.

One night, Prince Sandith, Vince Fisher, Rolf, Theo and Polanski went out for a night on the town. They had a blast. Years later the people of Chiang Mai still talk about it. Yattlie was upset for weeks to come. She couldn’t go into town without someone mentioning it to her. Yattlie was not one who easily embarrassed but this time she was. Theo loved to entertain friends and visitors to his house in Chiang Mai. “We had some grand times there,” recalls Patrick Gavin, better known by everyone as Shrimp. He was a marvelous photographer and a longtime resident of Thailand. He had mastered the Thai language so well that he could keep the Thais in stitches with jokes in their own tongue. He could act out a Charlie Chaplin skit better than Charlie Chaplin could.

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THE HOUSE THAT THEO BUILT

With all the sadness and grief that came from Bali, Theo fought hard to put his thoughts aside, and what made it worse was his knowing there was nothing he could do about it. He had to grin and bear it as distasteful as it was to him. He found it best to put his energies into his work rather than succumb to self-pity and regrets, and he had to stop questioning himself, that he had done the right thing by leaving Bali and deserting his friends. No, he had his work, his painting, but there was also something else he wanted to do and kept putting off, and that was to finish the designs on the Thai house he wanted to build.

Some years before, in anticipation of building a house one day, he had bought a tract of land on the bank of the Ping River eight miles north of Chiang Mai. When the lot was nothing more than weeds and overgrowth, he and Yattlie would walk the property and pace out the dimensions of their house. The imaginary house became a dream.

Theo had shown me preliminary sketches of the house when I went to visit him and Yattlie when they were still living at Wat Dorn. I could see it was not going to be an ordinary house.

Theo knew exactly what he wanted. The idea came in part from a house that Jim Thompson had assembled on a klong in Bangkok. Thompson was an American businessman cum architect who revitalized the Thai silk and textile industry in the 1950s and 1960s. It wasn’t long after Theo settled in Thailand that Thompson put together what was to be the highlight of his architectural achievement, a new home to showcase his art collection. The house was formed from parts of four old farmhouses that he bought up country, and which had to be dismantled and moved to Bangkok. The house was completed in 1958.

The Jim Thompson House, as it came to be known, wasn’t Thompson’s only architectural achievement. He also built in Bangkok, under the same principle, another Thai house for his friend Connie Mangaskau, an antique dealer. It too became a showpiece, and Connie, too, became a legend.

Theo outlined his plan to me as we sat on the floor on the veranda at Wat Dorn. He spread out his artistically crafted drawings before us, and then to hold them down from a breeze blowing on the verandah, he grabbed my Mekong glass, of course after making me down the drink in one gulp, and placed the glass on one corner of the drawings and put his hastily emptied glass on another corner. His toes served the purpose for the other corners. He called for Yattlie to bring a paintbrush, and when she did, it became his pointer. His traditional Thai house came to life.

Theo took the concept of the Jim Thompson house and expanded it. The floor space had to be right, with ample room for a studio, as well as the ceiling height. He liked high-beamed ceilings. He needed light, plenty of light, yet he wanted the place to be surrounded by trees. That meant it had to be high off the ground, ten feet or more, He wanted a guesthouse and separate cookhouse, plus other quarters for servants. The only modern thing about the house would be a tiled bathroom with tub and shower, and a toilet that flushed.

Much as Jim Thompson had done, Theo wanted to buy old Thai traditional houses and move them to his property on the bank of the river. It sounded like a monumental task and I wondered if the Mekong and soda was speaking. The question was-could he pull it off for Theo wasn’t a Jim Thompson with unlimited funds. But I should have known, you couldn’t underestimate Theo Meier. The next time I visited him and Yattlie they announced they had what they wanted. After months of searching they found two one-hundred-year old houses that would fit Theo’s scheme of things. The fact that one was a hundred miles away in the Mae Taeng District did not bother him. He had workers dismantle the houses with care, marking each timber frame and transport them all to their new location, the empty lot on the river. Now all he had to do was assemble them.

The next thing I heard the construction project had begun.

“It all came possible, financially, overnight,” Theo said. “I had come into some money for building the house from the proceeds for the sale of my paintings at an exhibition at the ‘Karlsburg’ Italian Restaurant in Basel, a restaurant belonging to my friend Enea.” With the money from the sale he was now prepared to make his dream house come true.

• Photo caption on page 219 of the book:  Theo’s handwritten sign on the gate marking the entrance to his house in Chiang Mai.

I was most anxious to see the new house, and when I did, I thought it was a Theo painting come to life. It was that grand. It was exactly as he had planned and sketched it. “I have to give credit to Yattlie,” he said. Without her I could not have done it.”

The house was unpainted teak, stained red, suspended high above ground on huge poles. Around the house were gardens with flowering plants and patches of bamboo as seen in Chinese paintings. Statues and carvings were everywhere, and all seemed to blend with the pattern. Balinese carvings made up the eaves at the edge of the roof and lintels above the doors. Most carvings were demons, the protectors and “good” demons from the Ramayana story. For decorations Theo brought many pieces direct from Bali. For others he scoured the local market which included many priceless antique pieces. Mrs. Banyen, owner of the largest antique emporium in the north, was a great help. Theo had great respect for Mrs. Banyen. A hill tribe girl who came to Chiang Mai on her bicycle right after the war selling her wares. She then opened a small shop on Wulai Road which continued to grow over the years. All Theo had to do was tell Mrs. Banyen what he wanted and he got it. If she didn’t have it on hand, she had it made up.

• Photo caption on page 220 of the book:  Theo’s Traditional Thai house in Chiang Mai that he had constructed from old houses he bought upcountry.

It was strange, indeed, for me to be invited by Theo to stay in his guesthouse on the river, and to awake in the morning and momentarily forget where I was. I’d look up at the rafters and ceiling overhead-there were carvings everywhere. It was weird and beautiful.

The river gave the house its mood. In the early morning at dawn a soft mist rose up from the water and lent a feeling of mystery to the place. In the evening Thais on the opposite bank came down to the water to bathe and you could hear their gentle laughter.

• Photo caption on page 221 of the book:  Yattlie, Theo’s wife, was instrumental in  designing  their Thai house in Chiang Mai. Here she is, clowning around, coming down the steps.

The whole experience of a visit with Theo was something not easily forgotten. I found myself surrounded by a dream that seemed unreal. It was not only the house and environment he created, it was the overpowering dominance of the man himself He radiated authority and you knew immediately if you said something contrary to his belief, He was not going to let you get away with it. I recall taking a Japanese photographer, Mike Yamashita, to visit Theo one evening. The photographer made some innocent remark about painters which no one took seriously, except for Theo. Ten or fifteen minutes passed when Theo, for no obvious reason whatsoever, got up from his chair, walked across the room, and punched Mike right smack in the nose. I had to get Mike out of there before Theo bounced on him again. It’s interesting to note that Mike became a staff photographer for National Geographic magazine, and one of the highest paid photographers in America. Mike was very understanding why Theo did what he did. He was aware of what Theo had gone through during the war.

• Photo caption on page 222 of the book:  Everyone had fun at Theo’s parties but he topped them all. No one had more fun than he had.

I arrived at Theo’s house another time just as he was putting the finishing touches to three large murals which now hang in a hospital in Heidelberg. In some remote way the paintings might be the reason Theo punched photographer Mike Yamashita in the nose that night. The three murals depicted the Balinese version of how disease came to earth and how it can be cured. Theo had completed a series of similar Bali paintings, although much smaller, which were confiscated by the Japanese and put aboard a ship sailing to Japan. He watched the ship bombed in the Straits and go down with his art. He hated the Japanese after that.

The new murals were truly a masterpiece. Each panel stood seven feet high and four feet wide. When Theo first heard about the legend for the cure for illnesses, he became intrigued. It told of the Balinese version of the Sudamala legend from the Indian cultural area. In time the legend became the basis for folk medicine in Bali. The impact of the legend hit Theo hard. Theo explained to me the legend, which he did with great theatrics, with arms waving, with his whole body acting it out while pointing to the images on the murals. Sir Laurence Olivier in Shakespeare’s play “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” could not have done better.

• Photo caption on page 223 of the book:  Theo himself prepared his  three murals-depicting the cure for illness-for shipment  to  Switzerland. Each panels was seven feet high and required special care. I took these photographs when Theo was creating the mural.

“On a lotus-throne on the mountain of the gods sits Siva,” Theo explained with emphasis-“the mightiest of the gods.” He continued, now with the tone of sadness. “One day, he felt compelled to test the fidelity of his wife, Uma. He pretended to be ill, and asked her to obtain for his cure the milk of a white cow. Uma descended to Earth, and there met a cow herder with a white cow and a calf. Inflamed with the beauty of the goddess, he would not supply the milk she required unless she granted him her favors. Hesitating, full of shame and guilt, she eventually consented. She had no inkling that Siva himself had assumed the guise of the cow herder. The gods begged Siva not to receive Uma back in Heaven for her body, polluted through sin, would upset the cosmic equilibrium. Siva thus exiled Uma to Earth whereupon she changed herself into a demon, the Goddess of Death. Corpses became her food; but the supply was soon exhausted. Then she begged the God of Fire, Brahma, whose throne is a volcano, to grant her magic powers through which she can make people ill, and cause them to die.” After listening to Theo that afternoon, I walked away exhausted, completely wrung out. Maybe limp would be a better explanation. I could imagine now, after listening to his heartfelt explanation of the Balinese cure for illness, not only the effort but the emotion as well that he put into the paintings. Such creations for Theo were not merely an act of simply applying paint on a canvas. They were pouring out his soul.

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FROM BALI TO THAILAND
(Friendship with the Painter)

I have to admit, as I mentioned before, I was a bit disappointed. I found not an eccentric South Sea island painter with a mad look in his eye, but on the contrary a very sober looking gentleman in his mid-fifties. He was dean-shaven and wore knee-length shorts and a bright batik shirt. Except for the strong Shan cheroot he was smoking he could easily have passed for a Swiss banker on holiday. He was very polite, and spoke in a distinctive German accent, and immediately signaled for servant girls to bring us drinks.

That began my friendship with Theo Meier.

At that first introduction Theo and I discovered we had something very much in common-we had both lived in Tahiti. Although Theo lived there some years before me, there were still a few people left whom we both knew. There were the McCullens from Moorea, the shopkeeper Bob McKitteridge from Nuka Hiva and many others. Unfortunately, Nordoff and Hall of the Bounty fame had both passed away but Quinn’s Tahitian Hut on the Papeete waterfront was still stacking them in on boat days. We loved swapping tales about Tahiti and the islands. Theo also delighted in showing me his photographs he had taken in the islands. He was a marvelous and gifted photographer. “Why shouldn’t I be,” he laughed, lighting up a cheroot. “With Henri Cartier-Bresson my teacher, why not?”

• Photo caption on page 211 of the book:  Here we see Willy photographing a Thai Airways hostess. He was proud of his part time position with the airlines.

Whenever I arrived for a visit in Chiang Mai the routine was always the same. Theo welcomed me and before anything he would lead me to his studio, show me his latest work, generally a dozen or so canvasses, some mural size, and we would then go to the verandah and slump down into comfortable cane chairs with Mekongs and sodas and we would start again about the McCullens and the McKitteridges. We would sit and discuss people we knew and talk about the old times in the islands. We were like two old women gossiping with small talk no one else could understand, but it was the breath of life to Theo. We were frightfully boring to anyone but ourselves. And poor Yattlie, I do believe she dreaded seeing me arrive, although her reception was always very warm.

I learned more about Theo’s early years from old photographs he kept than from our conversations. He had literally hundreds upon hundreds of them, stuffed in envelopes and cardboard boxes which he kept tucked away in drawers and on shelves in his studio.

Willy sometimes came up to Chiang Mai with me. He had become a part time photographer for Thai Airways, and you can be sure he told everyone. He now had status.

Willy loved rummaging through Theo’s photographs but he was very discrete about it. I wondered about this behaviour and then let it pass. Willy was always up to something and often what he said went in one ear and out the other. But this was one time I should have paid attention. The photographs and Theo and my talk about Bali began to have an effect on Willy. Still, I didn’t get the connection with Willy and Theo’s photographs. The next thing Willy ran off to Bali and I hadn’t heard from him for a while. What trouble was he up to now?

Indeed, the photographs and our talk about Bali had so intrigued Willy that he went to the island to see for himself what it was all about. Before long he was making frequent trips to Bali, and then one day when I was in my office at Bangkok World I received a message from Willy in Denpasar. He was getting married to a Balinese dancer and invited me to the wedding. He insisted that I attend. Was this another of Willy’s antics?

“It will be an official Balinese wedding ceremony,” he said. “You don’t want to miss it.”

Willy was right. A traditional Balinese wedding could be interesting. I booked a flight but when I arrived I was running late. I had almost missed the ceremony.

“Never mind, “Willy said.” It’s not over.”

I had to look twice at Willy when I laid eyes on him. It took all I could do to suppress laughing. He was dressed in his Balinese wedding costume. He even had a kris dagger with its curved blade tucked into his waistband. “Come see, we are having the tooth filing ceremony,” he added.

I followed him to a shaded pavilion. A priest stood over Willy’s wife-to-be. She was laid back on a silk-covered mattress so that her head fell back over the edge. I could not see her face.

Placed on a low table next to the priest was an earthen pot from which protruded a couple of large mechanic’s files such as you might find in a motor workshop. One could only look on with horror for what was about to happen.

After intoning a brief prayer, the priest took one of the files and began to grind away at the girl’s upper teeth. A chorus of women chanters sang a monotonous dirge. “She can take it,” Willy said and I wondered what he would do when it was his turn.

“If she can take it, why the tears?” I asked. Before Willy could reply, the girl sat up. I did a double take. I couldn’t believe it. I recognized her from the paintings Theo had made of her. The girl was Rubic, Rubic from Bedulu.

“Rubic,” I exclaimed. “It’s Rubic.”

“Right, now you can meet her,” Willy said.

I didn’t want to meet her. I didn’t’ want to believe it was her. I knew instantly that Theo did not know that she and Willy were getting married. And I was right. Theo didn’t know.

“How did it happen?” I asked Willy. “How did you meet her?”

Willy explained and I wished he hadn’t. It was best I didn’t know. It was a real slap in the face with Theo, and all the while Willy thought it was rather clever on his part. Once he started bragging he couldn’t stop talking. He had been up to his old tricks.

When we were rummaging through Theo’s photographs at his house in Wat Dorn, Willy had seen Rubic’s picture with her name written on the back. He stuck the photograph into his pocket and went to Bali and looked her up. That wasn’t too difficult. Everyone in Bali knew her. Willy lied to her and her family and said Theo had sent him. He was accepted. And why not? Willy came with Theo’s endorsement. When he asked for Rubic’s hand in marriage, they agreed.

• Photo caption on page 214 of the book:  Rubic, right, and I seen here chatting just after her marriage to Willy Mettler. It was a traditional Balinese wedding, tooth filing and all.  Willy participated but wanted to take pictures at the same time. Theo knew nothing about the marriage.

Theo would, of course, have voiced a different story. I was glad that I wasn’t present in Chiang Mai when Willy took Rubic there for a visit. I never fully got to know what happened, and Rubic never explained it, but Theo received them both with best wishes.

As a travel writer for Bangkok World I had to travel a great deal of the time, and whenever I was away for a while, I enjoyed taking the train up to Chiang Mai to spend time with Theo. As the years passed Theo began to settle quite comfortably in Chiang Mai. He even planned to build a traditional Thai teak house on the Ping River. I knew he missed Bali, but he also realized he was fortunate to have left the island when he did. Bali was witnessing its worst time of troubles in its long turbulent history. In fact one of the biggest massacres in history took place in Indonesia in the years 1965 and 1966, the years Theo began building his Thai house. The record shows that around half a million people were killed in the suppression of the Communist Party of Indonesia, the party of which Sukarno was leader. Bali was not immune, The Balinese felt that their whole culture and religion were threatened and they responded in the worst possible way to save their whole way of life. The peaceful Balinese turned ruthless killers.

When the news filtered out to Theo he fell into great sorrow. The failed coup against Sukarno released all sorts of pent-up communal hatreds, many of which were fanned by the army who quickly blamed the communists. While Theo was planning his new house in 1965, the massacres began in the weeks following the coup attempt, and they reached their peak over the remainder of the year before subsiding in the early months of 1966. They started in the capital, Jakarta, spread to Central and East Java, and later Bali. Thousands of local vigilantes and army units killed not only communists but also suspected communists as well. Often the label communist was used to include anyone who wasn’t in sympathy with the National Party. Local Chinese suffered the most and thousands were killed. Their shops and properties were looted and burned, resulting in anti-Chinese racism on the excuse that the Chinese were affiliated with China.

On Christian islands the clergy and teachers suffered at the hands of Muslim youth. Bali saw conflict between supporters of the traditional caste system, and those rejecting these traditional values. Communists, which meant nearly all Chinese shopkeepers, were publicly accused of working towards the destruction of the island’s culture, religion and character.

Methods of killing included shooting and beheading with Japanese-style Samurai swords. The killings left whole sections of villages empty, and the houses of victims or the interned were looted and often handed over to the military. Sadly, Theo learned that many of his high-cast friends had died.

Between December 1965 and early 1966, an estimated 80,000 Balinese were killed, or roughly five percent of the island’s population at the time. Some of Theo’s friends put the figure much higher.

Arrests and imprisonment continued for years after the purge. Theo feared returning for even a short visit. Those not killed or imprisoned went into hiding while others tried to hide their past. Those arrested included leading politicians, artists and writers, many of whom were Theo’s friends.

Theo’s thoughts turned to Europe years ago. Helga had written telling him that Nolde’s paintings had been confiscated from the museums, and that his works were labeled “Degenerate Art” by Hitler. Theo’s world was falling apart. Was there no place where he could go and find freedom?

Theo knew, deep inside, he had fled Indonesia just in time. He was relieved to learn that his daughters were safe. It would be some time before he would see them again.

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