mopped his face with his handkerchief and ran his finger under his collar. He waited until they dressed and disappeared through a gate before he joined his wife and Burana in the temple. He was relieved to see Bertha busily making notes about the tea cups and brass spitoons for the betel-nut chewers scattered over the richly carpeted floor, and Burana out of hearing distance of Bertha. He went over to him. "What was the reason for those chaps rubbing against it?" he asked.

Burana looked at him through half-closed eyes. He took Horace's hand and squeezed it.

For lunch at the hotel, the Dobbs were served duck cooked with bamboo shoots and flavored with curry and kapick a spoiled fish. Bertha had an extra helping. "It's simply delicious," she drooled at the waiter. "I've got to know what's in it. I must have the recipe." "That is impossible, Madam, I am sorry, he replied with a deep bow. At five that afternoon, Burana drove the Dobbs to the Rajadamnern StaBangkok's lavish boxing auditorium. Bertha hated boxing but after hearing two men in the lobby describe the orchestra that accompanied the fighters and mention the possibility of the King himself being present, she slipped a package of milk of magnesia tablets in her purse the duck was making its presence known and changed to her best dress. At the Stadium Horace discovered the programs were printed in Siamese. He quickly found Burana and brought him in and seated him beside him. Furtively his eyes. went to the youth's strong, clean hands and the hard muscles of his thighs under his thin trousers.

"I have seen many of your fighters in the cinema. They are so different from ours," Burana said. He pointed to a column on the right side of the program. "It says here the contest is five rounds and that Suraska whom you will see in the red corner weighs 135 pounds. It says he is the highlight of the Barbos Camp, that he is a tough, crashing cauliflower with dangerous kicks in ferocity. He preferably attacks and surprises his opponents with punches and elbow kicks which provide sensations for the fans to their hearts' content." He pointed to the column on the opposite side. "Silachai will be in the blue corner. He weighs one pound less than Suraska. It says that he is the terrible star of the Sorndaeng Camp, that he is a tough kicking artist who loves to use his special knowledge of high kicks to work in either offensive or counter attack methods and gives the referee to do in singing 'One, two ... ten' into the opponents' ears while they dream happily."

An attendant entered the arena and sprinkled the floor with jasmine-scented water. There was a momentary lull in the music, then a single flute. Suraska, robed in red and gold brocade, came in and stood at the foot of the steps leading to the arena. Again the flute. Silachai's robe was of silver and blue brocade. He walked around the platform to the steps on the opposite side. At an eerie wail from all the flutes, the fighters dropped to their knees. They spread their hands on the steps and bowed their heads. Another wail. Both men rose and entered the arena and stripped off their robes and handed them to their attendants. Suraska's very brief, red silk trunks adhered to his slender hips with skin tight tension. Silachai's concealed little.

The Buddhist ritual that followed to the accompaniment of the low, throbbing drums was as languorous and controlled as the subsequent fighting was wild and violent. It was only when Suraska kicked the breath out of Silachai and he fell prone to the floor that it stopped. Attendants brought in a carved teakwood stretcher on which they placed Silachai. Before they carried him away, Suraska bent over and kissed him on the cheek, then placed a spray of orchids on his chest.

Mrs. Dobbs turned to Burana. "Get the car as quickly as you can. I don't feel too well."

Horace dined alone. After dinner he stopped at the desk and informed the clerk that Mrs. Dobbs had a stomach disorder and he would need another room for a few days, then he went outside where the taxis were parked.

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