"You elbow very nice," Kiw said.
"Uh..." Mike hesitated. "ขอบคุณครับ"
Mike had been complemented on his looks before in the past - his ear-to-ear smile, his sharp nose, and occasionally his racehorse calves - but this was the first time he'd been told he had lovely elbows. And the fact that the complement was coming from a dude didn't make it any easier to digest.
"Long like knife, good," Kiw carried on. "You elbow people, here all broke."
He guestured across his jaw.
Kiw Eikkasit can play a bamboo flute like nobody else. His somber tunes painted pictures of the calm rivers and the vast lonely rice fields of rural
But Kiw had a more effective method with which he put people to sleep.
At the age of seven, Kiw was taken away from his mother's nurturing arms and sent to train in the ancestral Art of Eight Limbs. It is the form of combat the world has come to know as Muay
Unlike most oriental martial arts which emphasise technique and style, in Muay Thai the main objective isn't to score the most points against your opponent- that's only secondary. It is to make sure he isn't conscious to fight the next round.
With over 150 victories (and countless broken bones) under his belt, Kiw had retired from the arena by his late 20s. It turned out to only be a temporary retirement, but that's a different story.
Michael Stone, however, in his mid-20s was just learning the ropes. He was overweight, married to his job and was in search something new to add an edge to his mundane routine. He even considered salsa lessons at one point, but there wasn't enough estrogen in his system.
Training under Kiw was a constant endurance challenge between mind and body to see which would snap first. But after the first month or so, Mike began to notice changes. Men - even his bosses - avoided prolonged eye
"Come, kick beg," Kiw said. The head of the Siamese demon tattooed on his bare chest swelled. It fucked with your mind if you looked at it too long.
After a week of being told to punch, elbow and knee the air between him and his mirror reflection, Mike was finally being allowed to unleash his killer instinct on the evil punching bag. He was thrilled.
He took position in front of the dangling bag. Feet shoulder length apart. Chin against his chest. Knees angled inward. The air reeked of dried sweat and fear. The harmless sack of whatever it was didn't stand a chance.
"เร็ว!" Kiw prodded.
Mike channeled his inner Jean Claude Van Damme. Like swinging a sword attached to his hip, Mike put his entire body weight into the kick. KTHUD!
You see, Kiw was a great teacher and friend, but the one thing he neglected to mention - although he didnt have to, because Mike was an engineer, after all - was
The sound of the bag absorbing impact was followed by the sound of Mike falling flat on his ass. Kiw laughed so hard, the other instructors came rushing out of the house to see what was going on.
Maybe salsa lessons weren't such a bad idea after all.
