I Shot the Buddha

by Colin Cotterill

  The man sitting at the desk looked like a cartoon character. He had a head and face that could have been drawn with nothing but circles and curved lines. The dots of his eyes nestled either side of his nose facing one another. When he said hello, Phosy looked around the room to see whom he was talking to. Those eyes never once settled on the inspector.

  “How are you, comrade,” said Phosy. “I’m—”

  “. . . Inspector Phosy Vongvichai of the political malfeasance division,” said the man. “Of course you are. I confess you’re something of a hero of mine. Excellent job on that business up in Luang Namtha.”

  It’s difficult to remain humble after such an introduction, but there was something uncomfortable about both the speed with which this stranger recognized Phosy and the fact that he knew about his cases. The policeman could imagine the man poring over his photograph, memorizing the details in his file. He wondered whether “liaison” might not be just a synonym for “spying.” There was no salute or handshake. Phosy sat on the sofa opposite and studied him. From the dowdy uniform he knew the man was a corporal. He ate too much junk and didn’t exercise enough. He hadn’t started to shave yet, and he’d removed his boots behind the desk and was working in his socks.

  “What can I do for you, Inspector?” he asked.

  “You could tell me your name,” said Phosy.

  “Oh, you’re right. Sorry about that. I’m Corporal Suwit. Now . . . ?”

  Phosy wondered how far the army spy network reached and decided to tell a lie. If that worked, he’d tell a few more.

  “I’m hunting down a witness to a very serious crime,” he said.

  “I’m fascinated,” said the corporal, not looking remotely fascinated. “What was the crime?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the case,” said Phosy. “The investigation is ongoing. But, let’s say it would help us to no end to get a statement from this witness.”

  “I understand. But why do you think the army can help in this matter?”

  “Well, Corporal Suwit, between you and me, my witness was last seen in the company of two junior army officers.”

  The corporal smiled and the cartoon was complete. He was missing his two front teeth.

  “I assume you have their names,” he said.

  “No. Haven’t got that far yet. Still early days in the investigation.”

  “Then, how do you know they’re army?”

  “They were recognized.”

  “By whom?”

  “Can’t tell you that either, I’m afraid. But not to worry. Once I’ve learned the names and we’ve identified their unit I’ll be back to liaise heavily.”

  The gap-toothed grin still hadn’t left the corporal’s face, but it was humorless. Phosy stood.

  “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have discovered this department,” he said. “As you know, there are so often misunderstandings between the military and us. I’m delighted that your ministry’s aware that we aren’t at all stupid.”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “And vice versa, of course. The liaison of two very bright groups of people with networks.” He stepped up to the desk and put down a small square of paper. “In case you don’t have it already, this is my contact number. It might take a while for the telephonist to walk over to my office to get me. You just have to be patient.” Phosy smiled and walked to the door. “It’s been a real pleasure,” he said.

  “Of course I’ll share whatever information we find,” said the corporal.

  “Of course.”

  Phosy showed himself out and smiled as he walked down the concrete staircase to the ground floor. Often, the most valuable information a policeman can gather comes from things unsaid: from questions that were not asked. Phosy had not given or been asked for the identity of his missing witness.

  •••

  There were live chickens in rattan cages on the bus and angry river crabs in buckets, even a pig trussed up and crammed under a seat. So it was surprising the driver should lean back in his seat and shout, “Get that bloody dog off my bus!”

  The passengers turned around expecting to see something rabid and flea-bitten, but saw only Ugly sitting politely beside Siri, licking his paw. The last thing the Lao couple wanted was a scene. The whole point was to blend in, so Siri and Daeng kept their mouths shut. The coach boy walked to the back of the bus with a metal crank iron in his hand and raised it to the dog. Most Thai mutts, familiar with cruelty, would have cringed and retreated at that point. But Ugly looked up at the boy and snarled. The boy feigned to strike. Ugly didn’t flinch. Siri was poised to pounce on the boy. It wasn’t until everyone on the bus had made a personal wager on the success of either the dog or the youth that the Sangharaj stood and whispered something in the boy’s ear. The young man looked as if the world had split apart at the equator. He walked to the driver and passed on the message. The driver looked in his rearview, spat out his toothpick, laughed and threw the bus into gear.

  The old Sangharaj had opted to sit two seats in front of his bodyguards. None of the other passengers dared sit anywhere near him, so the rear of the bus was occupied by only the Lao invaders. Siri was surprised at how little the man spoke. They were twenty minutes from Udon and the monk hadn’t uttered a word or responded to questions. In fact he’d said more to the coach boy than he had to Siri, and he wouldn’t even tell them what words of wisdom had saved the dog. Daeng and the doctor attempted to engage him but he merely stared out the window. Daeng said he hadn’t uttered a word all morning on their way to Nong Khai, nor in the boat. Siri turned to Daeng and shook his head. “I mean, what good is there in spending a night with a supreme patriarch if he doesn’t tell us anything?” he said, loud enough for the old monk to hear him. “At the very least you’d want a philosophical line or two to share with your friends over a drink. ‘So the Sangharaj says to me . . .’”

  But this was a particularly mellow, absolutely mum monk. Not even the retelling of the best of Civilai’s colorful jokes could break through the old man’s field of inscrutability. With the motorcycle dealerships of Udon in sight, Siri was about to concede defeat when the Sangharaj turned around in his seat and in a crunchy voice said, “They told me this Dr. Siri was a wise one. But all I see is a drunkard. The fool before me couldn’t find a thank you in a glass of ginseng juice.”

  And with that he returned to his sightseeing. Siri turned to Daeng and raised his eyebrows.

  “Well, that certainly put you in your place,” she said with a smile. Like Siri, Daeng was no serious believer. She’d seen too many men commit atrocities in the name of their religion to take any of them seriously.

  “Was that profound?” Siri asked his wife.

  “It was perfectly clear to me,” said Daeng.

  “Liar,” said Siri and he spent the remaining minutes of the journey trying to make sense of the sentence.

  After bus trips it was customary in Thailand for all the passengers to rush to one of the public latrines. This was also the first thing on the mind of the monk, who joined the stampede the moment he stepped down from the bus. Siri and Daeng had assorted malfunctioning parts but bladders were not amongst them. They stood in the bus terminal attempting to identify a delegation. They were to be met there at nine. It was nine-fifteen. What exactly would a delegation look like? Once identified, should they ask them to sign some sort of receipt? They’d never been couriers before. In a way, Siri was disappointed the mission had been so uneventful. A little weird, perhaps but not exactly an adventure.

  Like Laos, Thailand was currently under the influence of a military government. But while the Pathet Lao made no promises their national status quo would ever come to an end, numerous Thai coup leaders were keen to hand over power to a trustworthy civilian government as soon as it was safe to do so. This process involved the officers resigning from the military, putting on suits a
nd stepping into lucrative ministerial roles. For some reason, the population never seemed to notice or care. In many ways, politics in Thailand had greased the wheels of the Communist takeover in Laos.

  “Look over the river,” they’d say. “Do you want to live in a system like that?”

  Thailand served to remind the Lao of what life was like under the rule of sleazy politicians.

  Given the high-profile army presence in the northeast, perhaps it wasn’t such a surprise when an armored car drove into the bus station and parked with one wheel on the curb. Three very smart officers in white dress uniforms stepped from the vehicle and straightened their jackets. They were scanning the crowd for somebody.

  “I bet they’re our boys,” said Daeng. “Let’s go say hello.”

  The officers looked right through the old couple when they approached.

  Daeng sidled up to the best-looking and most senior officer and, in a stage whisper from behind her palm, said, “Are you fellows here to pick up a parcel from Laos?”

  The officer looked down at her. “What if we are?” he said.

  “Well, he’s taking a leak,” she said. “Be with you in a shake or two.”

  “You’re the best thing the Lao could offer up as bodyguards?” said the second officer. His colleagues laughed rudely.

  “We’re in disguise,” said Siri. “Actually we’re twenty-five-year-old academy graduates with black belts.”

  Ugly was sniffing around the soldiers’ shoes, expertly avoiding their kicks.

  “And that’s Rin Tin Tin,” said Siri. “He’s got a black belt too.”

  The officer stiffened when he realized he was being made fun of. “Go and get the monk,” he said. “We haven’t got all day.”

  “Well, comrade,” said Siri, “you know you can’t hurry an eighty-year-old bladder.”

  The word “comrade” hit the three Thais like mortar fire. It wiped the smiles off their faces and labeled Siri as the enemy. But, of course, he’d known that would be the result. The senior officer nodded to his juniors and they headed off to the latrines. This left the commander, Siri and Daeng in an awkward silence. Daeng decided to fill it.

  “Been mild for the time of year,” she said to the Thai officer. He ignored her.

  “Usually really hot about now,” said Siri.

  “Don’t you think the officer’s uniform is spectacularly white?” said Daeng.

  “You know I was just thinking the same thing,” said her husband. “No, don’t tell us.”

  “I’d hazard a guess the officer uses Rinso,” said Daeng. “Only Rinso can give whites that true sunshine sparkle.”

  “Not very useful as camouflage, I’d have to say,” said Siri.

  The officer was looking particularly hot in his dress uniform. Ugly lay a meter behind him snarling.

  “Unless you’re in Finland,” said Daeng.

  “Right enough. If I were in Finland this is exactly the uniform I’d wear. I might have to powder my nose a bit.”

  “Most certainly. A sniper would pick out that nose from three hundred meters.”

  “And I wouldn’t want my nose picked out. You can’t—”

  “Will you two shut up,” shouted the officer.

  Ugly began to bark. Siri and Daeng stood to attention and saluted. They were still in that position when the two other men returned at a trot.

  “He’s not there,” said the second officer.

  “What do you mean he’s not there?” said the senior man.

  “What do you mean he’s not there?” said Siri.

  “The toilet cashier woman said some old monk walked straight past her table to the motorcycle taxi rank. He jumped on the back of one and they went off.”

  “Went off to where?” yelled the elder.

  “None of the other riders heard,” said the junior. “They headed northwest on Prajak Road.”

  “Goddamn him,” said the elder. “You!” He pointed to the second officer. “You stay here in case he comes back. We’ll head after him.”

  He pointed at Siri and Daeng. “And you two, you’re coming with me,” he said.

  “No we’re not,” said Siri.

  “You’ll do as you’re told unless you want to be arrested. You know what the old guy looks like.”

  “Can’t help you there,” said Daeng.

  “Do you really want to be wrestled into an armored car?”

  The good thing about the dress uniform was it didn’t include a pistol. The soldiers weren’t even carrying their swords.

  “You should tell him, Daeng,” said Siri.

  She stepped forward. “Firstly,” said Daeng. “If you and your fellow snowmen laid a hand on us you’d come off worse. And secondly, just touching this man would spark a diplomatic disaster for your country. This is Civilai Songsawat, ex-member of the Lao politburo. Go and look it up. With your prime minister trying so hard to mend fences with our government, at the very least you’d lose your rank for abusing a senior Party member. But my guess is they’d be more likely to shoot you as an apology to Laos.”

  The red of the senior soldier’s face contrasted nicely with the white of his damp collar. “You shitty little Commie bastards!” he said.

  “Now that in itself is worth a rebuke at the highest levels,” said Siri.

  “Come!” said the elder to the junior officer, and they ran to the car. “Don’t let these two reds go anywhere until we get back.”

  The vehicle reversed clumsily in the confined spaces of the depot. Siri and Daeng smiled at the poor officer who’d been left behind.

  “It’s all right, son,” said Daeng. “We’ll go sit over there on the benches. Our bus doesn’t leave for twenty minutes.”

  Any hope the Lao might have harbored of remaining incognito had by now been extinguished. Everyone in the terminal was looking at them. Most were smiling. Two criminal types even gave up their seats so the old couple could sit down.

  “Thank you, young men,” said Daeng.

  They sat quietly for a while. Siri admired the splendid old clock that was stuck on twenty past three. Daeng jiggled her legs just to enjoy the painless thrill of them. Buses came and went. Aggressive coach boys old and young leaned from the doors to solicit passengers. Resting drivers played checkers with bottle tops and drank syrupy caffeine drinks. Ragged dogs came to sniff Ugly then went on their way.

  “Right then,” said Siri.

  “If this isn’t a fine basket of winkles,” said Daeng.

  “I suppose, technically, we didn’t fail,” said Siri. “I mean, we did get him here.”

  “Didn’t quite manage the handover though, did we? If only the lily-white soldiers had been here on time they’d have offloaded him from the bus, and we’d be on our way.”

  A reversing bus ran over a bicycle. Both the driver and the owner of the crumpled wreck laughed away their embarrassment.

  “So you think we’re still responsible for him?” Siri asked.

  “No question about it.”

  “Damn.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Daeng.

  “We think more deeply about what we’re involved in. The Sangharaj sneaks out of Laos early in the morning on a fiberglass boat.”

  “So this obviously isn’t an official state visit. More like an escape.”

  “But, unlike most of our fleeing countrymen, he isn’t arrested and carted off to a refugee camp,” said Siri.

  “In fact he gets a very official reception committee,” said Daeng.

  “But they don’t want to meet him at the border. Too many of our people up there. Looks too much like a rescue. Too high profile? Too official? So we have to bring him to Udon.”

  “And once he’s here they show him some respect, which suggests someone important is waiting for him. Probably a helicopter in an airfield somewhere.
What does that say, Daeng?”

  “He’s defecting.”

  “‘Supreme Patriarch treated badly in wicked Communist country.’ Their propaganda people could dine out on that for a year.”

  “But I thought the Thais were courting us,” said Daeng.

  “You know as well as I do how fickle that kind of romance is. You always have to maintain some leverage. Plant the seeds of goodwill, but keep the chainsaw oiled. They’re being nice to us because border skirmishes cost money and don’t look nice in the international press. They send us some beads and mirrors to keep us docile while they build up their arsenal. A defecting Lao Sangharaj would be a great asset in the hands of the enemy.”

  “So you think the monk got cold feet?”

  “He seemed pretty calm to me.”

  “Then what happened? Why did he flee the scene?”

  They considered that question for a while.

  “You know,” said Siri, “I wonder if he didn’t plan this all along. Go through with the escape but have no intention of going to Bangkok.”

  “How could he have known the military boys would be late?”

  “This is Thailand. Fifteen minutes isn’t late.”

  “If that were true then he’d need somewhere to hide out in Thailand,” said Daeng.

  “He’s a monk,” said Siri. “Unless he’s planning to slip back into civvies the only place he could fade away is with other monks.”

  “So he’d be heading for a temple. Well, that narrows things down to no end. There are half a million temples in this country.”

  “But he wouldn’t turn up at just any temple asking for a room,” Siri reminded her. “A lot of Thai monks have shady pasts. Temples are great refuges for escaped convicts and disgraced politicians. So he’d have to go to a place where they wouldn’t turn him in for the reward money. It would have to be a temple run by a friend. A Thai monk he’s had recent contact with. It’s almost impossible to send letters out of Laos uncensored, and there’s only one overseas phone line.”