The Merry Misogynist (27 page)

“
Should I…?
”

“
No,” he said. “I mean, not yet. We have all the time in the world and I want this to be special. Come and sit here
.”

He patted a spot beside him and quickly put the glasses there as a barrier. She knelt, then eased herself into a polite sitting position with her legs out to one side. He could see that her hands were shaking. It wasn’t a cold night. He knew she wanted him, like they all did. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath to calm himself
.

“
One, two…”he began in English
.

“
Three,” she said, and the champagne cork exploded high into the starry sky. He heard it land somewhere at the rear of the truck. He was quick enough to have the sparkling wine in the first glass before it spilled
.

“
You’ve done this before,” she said and reached for the glass
.

“
No, wait,” he told her. He poured his own drink then put down the bottle before reaching for the small plate of hors d’oeuvres. “There are customs in Europe about how to do this. You’ll have to get used to all this when we move there. This is caviar – real Russian caviar. You have to…
”

“
I’ve heard of it,” she said. “They say it’s very expensive. You really shouldn’t sp
 – ”

“
All right, and one of the customs is that you listen to the customs. There’ll be time to talk later.” He smiled, embarrassed by his lack of control. “To drink champagne after taking a mouthful of caviar is an experience like no other. You’ll think you’re in heaven. But the rule is that you have to close your eyes when you eat it
.”

“
So many rules. I’m surprised the Russians
 – ”

“
Here,” he said, holding out a spoon piled high with small dark pearls of sturgeon roe. “Close your eyes and imagine we’re sitting on a balcony overlooking the Black Sea
.”

She giggled again. He wanted to slap her
.

“
Go on. Close them
.”

She closed her eyes
.

“
Now open your mouth but keep your eyes closed. You have to promise to keep them closed until it’s all melted in your mouth
.”

She opened her mouth. With his right hand he placed the spoon on her tongue and she closed her lips around it. Meanwhile, his left hand reached into his shirt pocket, took out a small envelope, and held it over her glass
.

“
What’s that?” she asked
.

He looked at her face. Her eyes were wide open. Rules! Rules had to be obeyed
.

“
I told you to shut your eyes.” He was furious. He poured the powder into her glass and swirled it around. He was somehow able to hold his temper. “It’s another surprise,” he said. “A love potion
.”

Her laugh now was less spontaneous, more affected than before. She looked into his angry eyes
.

“
Where’s yours?
”

“
What?
”

“
If it’s a love potion, shouldn’t we both
 – 
?
”

He grabbed the bottle and hurled it with all his might at the tree. It didn’t break, merely bounced back in their direction. The champagne spewed across the quilt. She squirmed backwards
.

“
Phan, what’s happened?
”

“
Just drink the damned champagne, will you?
”

“
No, you’re scaring me
.”

“
For Christ’s sake! Why is this so difficult?
”

He was across the quilt and had his forearm around her neck before she could react. He held her as if she were a calf ready for branding. She tried to pull his arm away but he was fearfully strong. His grip was unbreakable. Still confounded by what was happening, she reached for his hair with her free hand. She tried to yank at it but to her astonishment it just came away from his scalp with a slight tearing sound. She looked up at him, at the candlelight playing off his bald head, at the look of rage in his eyes. She had no idea who this man was.

She kicked and flailed her legs as he dragged her back across the quilt to where the champagne glasses still stood on the small tray. He took hold of her drink and squeezed her neck tightly. He held the glass in front of her mouth, waiting for her to gasp for breath so he could hurl the liquid down her throat.

“Drink it,” he snarled. He was crying with frustration. “You’ve spoiled it. There were rules and you broke them. You’ve ruined the whole thing.”

Her fingernails clawed at his flesh but he seemed not to notice. She clamped her lips shut and he threw the champagne in her face. He kept hold of her glass and smashed it against his. It left him with a stem and a jagged point in his fist. He held his new weapon in front of her face and drew his arm back to get full force. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, waiting for the inevitable.

There came an almighty crack. The grip around her neck loosened and her attacker slumped against her. She opened her eyes in time to see the glass drop to the quilt. Phan was still draped over her but without strength – without life. She fought his body off hers and fell back, panting, onto the quilt. Her shirt was ripped almost off. Her hair had broken free of its bun and hung across her face. Phan lay as if asleep on his side of the bed. His face on the pillow wore an angelic smile, but his hairless skull was cracked like an egg. A puddle of red yolk spread beneath him.

Wei swept back her hair and looked up. Standing beside the quilt was an old man with green eyes and snowy white hair. He seemed drugged and woozy. She could hear his breaths like saw cuts on teak. In his right hand he held a fifty-centimetre monkey wrench, the largest you could find in a standard Lao toolbox.

THE BUDDHA AMUSEMENT PARK

I
t was a rare treat. Mr Inthanet had somehow managed to convince his ex-fiancee, Miss Vong, that he didn’t actually have a wife in Luang Prabang. Or at least that he hadn’t seen her for so long that some sort of statute of limitations was now in place that technically made him single. The engagement was back on, and she’d given him permission to use the teacher training department truck that Sunday. It meant that everyone from Siri’s house at That Luang, plus one or two stragglers, could make the trip out to the Buddha Park. The fantasy park at Xiang Khuan had been built in 1958 by an eccentric mystic called Luang Pa Bunleua. It housed a collection of concrete interpretations of various scenes from the
Ramayana
and other mythical tales as well as Buddhist and Hindi deities.

Luang Pa himself had been deported the previous year for antisocial behaviour, which many had taken to mean antisocialist behaviour. The Party was a little overwhelmed by a man so steeped in religious convictions that he would build a theme park to the gods. Luang Pa’s first task upon arriving in Thailand had been to build a brand-new Buddha Park in Nong Kai, even grander and weirder than its predecessor. Rather than bulldoze the Lao site, the government declared it a national park and hoped children would grow up believing the huge stone figures were Thai cartoon characters with no religious connections.

It was a busy place on weekends. Goodness knows there was little enough entertainment in the country, and locals gravitated to the ex-deities as if the monuments had some drawing power of their own. There were a few army and government vehicles in the car park and some motorcycles, but most people found their way to the Buddha Park by public bus. The department of road transport had laid on extra buses on weekends to cater to the numbers.

Even though there was a guard on duty specifically to discourage acts of obeisance, Mr Tickoo, Crazy Rajid’s father, had smuggled in a dozen jasmine leis and a whole box of incense to give thanks to the Lord Shiva for his son’s recovery. He had astounded Siri and Daeng earlier when they cornered him at his room above the Happy Dine. Given his knowledge of foreign languages and his obvious intelligence, Siri had decided the man could make better use of his talents. The
Lao Huksat
newsletter was expanding into English and they needed a writer and editor. Siri knew the publisher and had made a very good presentation on the Indian’s behalf. There was a small but livable wage and a free room behind the office. It meant Mr Tickoo could have money rather than curried potatoes in his bank account.

“Oh, sir,” he had said, “you are far too kind. But, you see, I have promised to look after the owner of this restaurant. I made a vow to his father that I would not allow him to go bankrupt and destitute. I fear without me he would be on the streets. But I am deeply honoured by your offer.”

Mr Tickoo laid a discreet prayer that down behind a bush at the Lord’s left hand and told the others to collect him on their way out.

Mrs Fah’s children, Mee and Nounou, were running excited rings around the inside of a giant pumpkin. Dtui and Phosy walked with Malee from statue to statue, explaining who these giants actually were. It was an early step along the little girl’s path to becoming a doctor. Tong and Gongjai, the ladies of ill repute, were carrying a twin apiece, and everyone wondered how they’d cope with being separated from their surrogate babies. They had all the appearances of kidnappers about to make off with their button-nosed loot.

Comrade Noo, the renegade Thai monk, had wanted very badly to join the house excursion. Siri had explained that it might be inadvisable for an incommunicado alien member of the Sangha to be seen strolling around Buddha’s own Disneyland in robes. Noo had obviously taken the teachings of Siri to heart because, as they were all loading into the truck, he’d appeared in white slacks, a bowling shirt, sunglasses, and a straw hat. He had entered the Buddha Park unnoticed, yet, despite his clever disguise, he still had the walk: head bowed, hands gently clasped, that left nobody in any doubt as to his calling.

“You can take the man out of the saffron, but you can’t take the saffron out of the man,” Daeng said as they watched him wander around in the afternoon heat.

There was one more unexpected participant in this Sunday jaunt. Comrade Civilai hadn’t come to see the nine drowning victims or the waving naked damsels or the five-headed serpent. Nor could he care less about the five-metre-high reclining Buddha. He’d been forced to attend because for four days he’d been hounding Siri for the facts leading up to the denouement of the strangler case. He had everything clear up until Siri’s sudden departure by motorcycle for the Thon River district. He knew that the killer had been cornered and somehow lost his life in a struggle. It was all the stuffing in between that he lacked and it was driving him insane. In the space of four months the old politburo member had been relegated from a man who was told everything to one who didn’t even know the name of his next-door neighbour. As his best friend, Siri was obliged to fill his dull life with adventure, and if Civilai had to endure a day at the Buddha Park to get it, so be it.

After the picnic lunch, he cornered the doctor once more.

“It doesn’t look like your little Hmong general’s going to put in an appearance,” he said.

“She’ll come,” Siri told him with confidence. “I know her.”

“Good, then while we’re waiting…”

Siri smiled. He enjoyed the odd occasion when he could keep his older, non-related brother dangling.

“I promised Madame Daeng I’d show her the…” Siri began.

“She’s seen it already. Siri!”

“Tsk, tsk. And you used to be such a calm elder statesman.”

“I’ve been having testosterone injections. You’d better not mess with me, little brother.”

“All right. You win.”

Siri laughed again and led Civilai to a concrete bench overlooking the river. They were shaded by an old-fart bamboo, which seemed appropriate. Siri began by telling him of Phosy’s mission to Pakxan and everything leading up to their arrival at Phan’s base in Nahoi.

“Which brings me to my contribution,” Siri said at last. “You wouldn’t like to go and get a soft drink or visit the bathroom at this juncture, would you?”

“Just get on with it.”

“Certainly. Here we go. Although I’d hit the road several hours after the census truck, I was on a thunderous machine and I had the spirit of Steve McQueen. You’ll recall we saw
The Great Escape
in that illegal back-room cinema in Da Nang? You’ll agree that was – ”

“Can we dispense with the garnish and go straight to the meat?”

“If you insist. I caught up with the truck just after we passed the Thon tributary turn-off but I decided I could afford to hang back. A truck isn’t a helicopter, and it’s limited to roads, and there weren’t that many to choose from in that part of the world. So I stayed a way back and kept out of sight. The first major intersection was at Natan. I assumed they’d report to the local cadre and drop off the census coordinators at their respective sites. Avoiding police checkpoints isn’t really that hard on a motorcycle. I didn’t want anyone reporting that there was an old codger asking questions so I steered clear of anyone who looked official.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad philosophy for you to adopt in your day-to-day life,” Civilai suggested.

“If you insist on interrupting, you won’t get the story.”

Civilai afforded him a polite
nop
. “My humble apologies.”

“I’d had a lot of time to think about things during the ride. Phan was my prime suspect, but one of the other collectors, young Nouphet, also fitted the bill in some respects. So I wanted to keep my options open. All I knew for certain was that the truck was involved. They’d seen it in Vang Vieng and in the south. I believed if I could keep the truck in sight, or at least in earshot, I’d have a good chance of discovering who was using it for his nefarious deeds.

“I learned from the locals that there was only one track leading to the first base at Ban Noo and there was nothing beyond it. When the truck came back down I was sitting by the road with a group of old fogies eating peanuts so I was fittingly camouflaged. Nobody in the truck noticed me. I could see they’d dropped off the first census collector. They dropped off the second, Nouphet, at base two: the next intersection at Ban Nahoi. That only left Buaphan and the driver on the journey to base three. I decided that was where I should be. Sound carries up there in the hills so when I saw the lamplight up ahead I got off and pushed the bike the last kilometre.”