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kneeling and bowing down to the canvas. After a few minutes, they removed their headbands and made final adjustments to their kit. Then the bout started and the three friends watched several furious rounds before they were distracted by their food arriving. As they were arranging the dishes on the table, Ben realised that something had happened in the ring.
    â€˜Damn, I missed it! One of them’s down,’ he said. The boxer was writhing on the canvas and being counted out. ‘What’s going on, Chuck?’
    â€˜Probably been kicked in the calf. You can take almost anything on the shin, but a good kick to the calf poleaxes you. That’s it, he’s finished.’ For the man on the ground, his agony had only just begun. His seconds were with him and he was hauled to his corner, while Ben and the others concentrated on their curries and beers.
    The next fight was between two small boys. Ben paid them little attention, though they were full of bile and energy, hitting each other for all they were worth. He noticed that while one was only in shorts, the other had a tee shirt on and hair pinned back with a grip. Then it suddenly dawned on him.
    â€˜Blimey,’ he said to Chuck in astonishment, ‘that one’s a girl.’
    â€˜No sweat,’ said Chuck lazily. ‘She can take care of herself okay.’
    â€˜But it’s pretty vicious, isn’t it? Fine maybe for adults if there’s medics handy. But not with kids … and certainly not a girl.’
    â€˜Yeah, but Ben, safety standards here aren’t the same as in the States, and you gotta let’em make some bread. Anyway it’s great sport.’
    â€˜This isn’t sport, Chuck! It’s just to sell more beers,’ insisted Ben.
    â€˜Yeah, but the girl’s the aggressive one,’ said Chuck. ‘I’m more worried about the little guy.’
    Ben was about to press his point when Maca broke in.
    â€˜Kids isn’t so bad, but it’s boxing between bar girls that makes me puke,’ he said. ‘Like at Lamai on Koh Samui there’s lady-boxing every week and the bars all put up a girl to have their faces pushed in.’
    â€˜Get real, man! Amateurs can’t hurt each other,’ said Chuck.
    â€˜They sure can. It’s like a street fight and they’re often badly matched. One lovely girl I saw was the tiniest thing. The other one was bigger and hurt her bad.’
    â€˜But they’re all in it together,’ said Chuck.
    â€˜No mate, they’re competitors every day of their lives. The big girl was mean, like she enjoyed smashing that beautiful face. The little’un was in a real distress after … showed me her split lip and the egg on her shin. Made me feel crook,’ said Maca staring into his beer.
    â€˜So the farang like to watch bar girls brawling then?’ asked Ben incredulously.
    â€˜Yes, they buy beers and bay like animals. The women are the worst.’
    â€˜But the bar girls get a few baht for fighting,’ said Chuck, ‘and it’s gotta be voluntary.’
    â€˜What’s ever voluntary when you’re a bar girl!’ said Maca sharply. ‘At least when they’re lying on their backs they’re making some bloke happy and not hurting each other. No, mate, choice doesn’t come into it.’ There was passion in his voice.
    They sat in silence as the next bout began. One of the contestants was a farang from Eastern Europe, an ox of a man, tall and muscle-bound. He was followed into the ring by his opponent, a tubby little Thai with the doleful face of an oriental dog.
    â€˜This one’s a foregone conclusion,’ said Ben as the fight started. ‘That Thai bloke couldn’t punch the farang in the face even if he stood on a box. He just can’t reach.’
    â€˜Yes, but the face isn’t the only target,’ said Chuck. ‘The Thai guy looks tough and the farang’s slow … got no