The Merry Misogynist (19 page)

A HONEYMOON IN HELL

T
he letter Phan had been waiting for arrived on the Tuesday lunchtime. He took the truck to the Bureau de Poste and found two envelopes in his box. One was pink and scented and from Thaxi. He didn’t even bother to read it. He ripped it in half and threw it into the large plastic waste basket that stood by the door. She’d failed, this smelly perfume girl. In her last letter, wracked with remorse, she’d admitted that she’d lied to him at their last meeting. She confessed to a small sexual encounter when she was fifteen. She hoped he’d appreciate her honesty as she didn’t want there to be any secrets between them. She hoped it wouldn’t interfere with the plans for their marriage
.

“
No, dearie. It didn’t interfere with them. It obliterated them. You are a slut!” The only thing he wanted from her she no longer possessed
.

This second letter, this was what he needed. It had arrived in his box without a stamp through the magic of acquaintanceships. He sat beneath a large Mangifera on the grounds and unfolded the lined school paper. A tiny delicate green caterpillar abseiled down a fine silk thread and landed on the open page. It was an omen. He didn’t need omens. He crushed it with his thumb and wiped his hand on the side of his navy blue trousers
.

He read her neat handwriting
.

Dearest Phan,

I can’t tell you how special your letter was for me. I’d prayed at our temple that you would take me to your world. I’ve seen and learned everything I can here in mine. Now it’s time for me to grow and improve myself. We have planned the wedding ceremony for the evening of the 26
th
. I hope that’s convenient for you and your work. It means we can leave directly on the morning of the 27
th
.

Phan, there are so many thoughts and words in my heart that I am too shy to write. Like you I have never written a love letter. I hope you’ll be able to teach me how to express myself so I don’t embarrass you in front of the Lords and Ladies of Europe.

From Wei to Phan

Five days away. That was more like it. To the point. No mushy sentiment or scents or last-second confessions. No poetry or bad grammar. She really was perfect, this schoolteacher. He climbed back into his truck and sat behind the wheel. He turned the key and pulled the ignition knob. His beast roared. People on the post office steps turned to stare. “Yes, yes, morons. It’s me. Notice me! You’ll all hear about me soon enough.” He let his foot growl on the accelerator. This was it. This was the feeling. A woman and a truck. What else could a real man want? He pulled out onto Ian Xang Avenue without bothering to look. If anyone on the road was so deaf they couldn’t hear his engine they deserved to be mowed down. He drove twenty metres on the wrong side of the street before crossing to the far lane. It rarely mattered in Vientiane. He allowed himself a gratuitous honk of the horn. He was a very merry misogynist
.

Siri had ridden to the Morning Market after lunch and bought some chicken wire. The hornbill wasn’t getting along too well with the ducks and chickens in Madame Daeng’s backyard so he was planning to divide the garden like East and West Berlin. He hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to machine-gun turrets and barbed wire. On his way back, some idiot in a truck almost wiped him out in front of the post office. Siri’s heart was still pounding when he arrived at the morgue. Mr Geung was standing waiting for him on the front step with a note in each hand. He held them up in front of Siri’s face.

“M…messages,” he said.

“What do they say?” Siri asked, walking past him and into the office.

“I…I don’t know. They’re in…in writing.”

After many hundred hours of earth-staggering patience, Dtui and Siri had succeeded in teaching Geung some of the mechanics of reading. He had what Dtui called a ‘learn-two-forget-three letter system’. He finally recognized words more from their overall shape than their spelling. Handwriting was noodles to Mr Geung.

Siri read the notes aloud for Geung’s benefit. The first was from the Lao Patriotic Women’s Association.

Siri, how are you?

I’m sure you’re very busy, but it would be wonderful if you could come and see me as soon as possible.

Very best wishes, your friend,

Pornsawan

The second note was from Justice.

Siri, I expect you here at 1:30, my office. Don’t be late. Haeng

Siri smiled. “Now, Mr Geung, did you notice any difference in style between these two notes?”

Geung shook his head.

“Perhaps I read them badly. Here!” He read them again using his soft and fluffy voice on the first and his Judge Haeng impersonation on the second.

“Now did you see any difference?”

“This one,” Geung pointed, “is…is nice. This one is bad.”

“That’s quite right, Geung. So which one do you think I’m going to respond to first?”

“The nice one.”

“Correct. See? You’ll be reading in no time.”

“Judge H…Haeng is going to be, to be p…pissed off.”

“You might be right.”

Dr Pornsawan was working with a group of rural medical interns when Siri arrived at the Women’s Association. As soon as she saw him outside the room she excused herself and went to greet him. She swung his hand from side to side and squeezed his fingers.

“Hello, Siri. Thank you so much for coming. My office?”

He followed her to the simple doorless booth she called her own and they both sat. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a thick wad of notes.

“You’d be surprised how small our country can be, Dr Siri.”

“This is all in response to our strangling?”

“Some of it’s dross – some fantasy and myths,” she said. “But there are one or two reports in there I think could be relevant.”

“But it’s only been three days,” Siri reminded her. “And one of those was a Sunday.”

“We don’t mess about, Doctor. We had ladies coming here from the provinces for training and girls going out for workshops. The word got around very quickly. An angry bunch of women actually knows no bounds.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of singling out two stories. One was from a lady’s personal experience. The other was anecdotal. Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you.”

Pornsawan poured and related the first tale.

“A girl in Champasak, in the south,” she began. “It was in September of last year. Her parents had sent her off to work on a logging concession in the neighbouring province: Attapeu. It appears one of the foremen had taken a shine to her when he was on leave and saw her around Pakse town. He convinced her parents she’d make a good secretary for the projects in the hills. She’d only completed grade three and had never seen a typewriter, so obviously the foreman was a master at recognizing potential.”

“Obviously.”

She sat and let her tea cool on the desk beneath the ceiling fan. Siri sipped at his right away.

“The foreman arranged her travel documents and drove her up into the hills. On her first night there he made his inevitable advances, and the girl, a virgin, ran to the house of the local headman and his family to complain and seek refuge. Staying at the house was a gentleman attached to the Department of Agriculture. He was shocked by the girl’s story and went to the logging foreman’s house and thumped him one. Some rumours would have it that he beat him half to death, but we all know what rumours are like, brother Siri. We’re doctors so we aren’t allowed to say things like, “He had it coming.” The girl stayed at the headman’s house for a few days, and she and the gentleman from Agriculture fell in love. They were parted for two weeks, but as soon as they reunited they were married.”

“That was quick.”

“One of our policies here is to return to the old tradition of getting to know the person you marry. It sounds fundamental but what with all the upheavals – troops relocating, men dying, and roads being built through remote villages – there are families only too willing to put their daughters into the hands of a stranger who is better off than themselves..Our peasantry is getting poorer and more desperate.

“But I digress. On the night of the wedding at the girl’s home in Champasak, the groom announced that he had to return to Vientiane in two days. Given the state of the road, that seemed like an insurmountable task. So he left with his bride directly after the ceremony. He had a truck, but our witness couldn’t say what type it was, just that the village boys were all gathered around it oohing and aahing. That was the last the parents saw of their daughter. They didn’t hear from her again.”

“And that was the anecdote?”

“No, it came directly from the wife of the headman in Attapeu. She hadn’t been able to get a laissez-passer in time for the wedding, but the next time she went to Champasak on Women’s Association business she looked up the family and discovered they hadn’t heard from their daughter.”

“Did she remember the man’s name?”

“Yes, it was the same as her eldest son’s. Khamphan.”

Siri whistled. “Another Phan. Anything else?”

“That’s all she could remember. She’s going back south tomorrow, and she’s promised to look for the man’s letter of introduction to her husband.”

“I’m sure it’ll be as fake as the last one. Doctor, I’d like to put the lady in touch with Inspector Phosy before she travels. Did she happen to say what the man looked like?”

“Tall, muscular, mid to late thirties, hair a little too long. Sound familiar?”

“Much too familiar, I’m afraid.”

“It is all thoroughly depressing, isn’t it?”

“Just the thought that he’s out there killing innocent girls and we can’t do anything to stop him makes me sick. You said there was another story?”

“Much more sketchy, this one. One of our members heard about a woman who attended a wedding just outside Pakxan. Country girl, sophisticated city man. He lived in Vientiane and planned to take her overseas.”

“That’s it?”

“Only that they left for a secret romantic honeymoon directly after the ceremony and vanished.”

“Any time frame?”

“No, we’re checking up on it.”

“Did she recall when she heard the story or from whom?”

Pornsawan consulted her copious notes. “She said it was early last year – when she heard the story, I mean. I’ll let you know what comes of this one.”

“Excellent. You’re sure the other reports – ?”

“I’ll give you the lot. If you think there might be anything else, you can get back to me and I’ll follow it up.”

“You’re doing a marvellous job, Comrade.”

“I’m sure there’ll be more.”

“Thank you.”

“
Bo ben nyang
.”

He stood to leave and she walked him to the door.

“I must say you’re looking good, considering your exploits at Si Muang Temple,” she said.

Siri rolled his eyes. “How on earth could you have…? All right. Silly question. Yes, thank you. I’m fine.”

“How’s your Indian friend?”

“Doing well. Very soon he’ll be well enough to roll about in mud, eat worms, and walk aimlessly around Nam Poo Fountain again.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t see it as aimless. We all have different goals. His are achievable.”

“You’re so right,” Siri smiled.

“Oh, and Doctor, I have to let you know you have a growing fan club here at the Lao Patriotic Women’s Association.”

Siri blushed and headed out into the sunshine.

It was a little past one thirty when Siri arrived at Justice. One hour and fifteen minutes past, to be exact. His visit to police headquarters had taken longer than he’d anticipated. Manivone hurried him along the corridor.

“He’s spewing fire, Doctor,” she said, scurrying ahead. “I swear if he knew which end of a gun was forward, he’d shoot you.”

“What did I do?”

“He was expecting you over an hour ago.”

“I was expecting a comfortable retirement on full pay. You don’t always get what you expect on this planet, Comrade Manivone.”

“Well, I don’t think he’ll buy an argument like that right now. If you don’t want a lecture, you’re going to have to come up with a good excuse.”

Siri briefly considered using ‘Mr Geung ate my note’, but settled on an excuse that better suited his personality. Manivone knocked on the judge’s door and said, “Judge, Dr Siri is here.”

She stepped back to let the doctor go past her only to find him gone. She went outside and looked around but saw neither hide nor hair of him.

“I’m sorry, Judge,” she said. “He was right beside me. Honestly.”

The judge was too enraged to speak. The pencil snapped between his fingers and half of it jumped up and hit him in the eye. He couldn’t even get ire right. A minute later Manivone returned, this time pushing Siri in front of her. She heaved him into the room and closed the door behind him.

It only took Siri a few seconds to take in the scene and understand the reason for his summons. Judge Haeng and Vietnamese adviser Phat were sitting at their respective desks. But to one side, seated on the sticky vinyl guest sofa, were three upright gentlemen in grey, pale blue, and brown safari suits respectively. In front of them on the slightly inclining coffee table were several used cups and glasses, hard evidence of the amount of time they’d been there waiting for him. Siri recognized one of the men, Comrade Koomki from Housing.

Comrade Phat performed an ‘I did my best’ shrug and grinned at the papers in front of him.

“Siri,” said Haeng in a much deeper voice than Siri had ever heard him use, “where the hell have you been?”

“To the toilet,” Siri answered honestly. As was custom, he went along the line of sofa sitters and shook their hands. Though his own hand was damp, they had no choice but to respond.

“For two hours?” Haeng yelled at Siri’s back.

“No, just now. I was taken short and happened to pass the WC, so I – ”

“I called you here for one thirty.”

“Right. I had something more important to do.”

“You…?” The judge looked and half smiled at the visitors. “These comrades have been here since one fifteen.”