The Wise Man

“Do not look for bad company
Or live with men who do not care.
Find friends who love the truth.”
                - Dhammapada

 

Last night we had a party – sort of a Laotian Full Moon party, if you will.  There were quite a few people up on our regularly peaceful balcony.  In contrast to the daily routine of waking with the roosters and retiring just after the 10pm generators turn off, the voices of our party shattered the nighttime silence of the village.  Needless to say, the neighbors were not impressed.

One of the late-night revelers (it was 11pm) did more than his fair share of noisemaking.  He was drunk on Lao Lao and insisted on passing the glass around after the bottle should have been put away.  He was speaking Laos very badly in a loud voice.  He was making advances towards one of the village girls, despite her boyfriend sitting on her other side.  He categorically refused to hear any request to keep his voice down.

Every 5 minutes, from the road outside, would come an impassioned plea for the party to end.  But no one wanted to stop, so the sounds in the night continued.  The neighbors’ tone became increasingly annoyed.

“All you people talking. Stop it. Stupid talking. Talk. Talk. Talk. You people stupid. Just listen to guitar.  Stop talking,”  the feisty young guesthouse hostess tried to relay the requests to the party goers.  She was, however, the instigator of the party and more inclined to play than to hush.  She is too big for this town – the city life and party lights beckon her from Luang Prabang and Vientiane.  At 19 years, she is an earthquake sunami forest fire hurricane in this placid riverside village.  She puts on a good show, “Hey, you guys, be quite now.”

The loud, drunk, Lao Lao guy gives a loud guffaw, makes a few animal sounds and resumes his bold and futile pickup agenda.  He doesn’t care.  He doesn’t care who can’t sleep.   He doesn’t care who’s shouting from below.  He doesn’t care if the guy he’s handing the over-poured shot of Lao Lao doesn’t like it.  He doesn’t care at all.  I can’t say I enjoy his company.

The guy who doesn’t like Lao Lao, I like him.  He goes out walking, meets villagers, has intelligent conversations.  Another guy, his friend, also talks about intelligent things; the sensitivity of others, the impact of our travels here, the differences in our worlds.  I enjoy his company, too.  At the party on the balcony they are both quiet.  They are listening.  They are observing.  They are wondering when everyone will go back to their own guesthouses so that we can go to sleep.  They also feel uncomfortable by mother yelling from down below.  They care.

Given the choice between the precocious hostess and loud, drunk Lao Lao guy or the other two guys that think about something and notice that we are disturbing others, it’s not a difficult decision.  In fact, it’s not even something that I have to consider.  Such choices do not always show themselves so clearly at the time, but as the rest of the night unfolds, I sometimes wonder how I am so often confused.