The Coroner's Lunch

by Colin Cotterill

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, everything I’ve read here is conjecture, far-fetched. There’s not a thing we could take to the Vietnamese as evidence that we didn’t torture their people.”

  “Criminals have been convicted on less. There’s enough circumstantial evidence there to at least—”

  “One. We aren’t convicting criminals. We’re protecting the good name of our country. Two. Your circumstantial evidence is based on the word of an amateur coroner with…how many years experience?”

  “Ten months.”

  “Ten months. And on the strength of this…fiction, you want me to launch a major operation to search for an alleged band of mercenaries. And where that information came from, I have no idea. You want me to interrupt bilateral talks on the say-so of a pathologist who hasn’t even done so much as the equivalent of an apprenticeship. Honestly, Doctor.”

  “I see what you mean,” Siri said.

  Dtui grunted. She’d been expecting a fight.

  Siri continued: “I must admit, if I looked at it all objectively, there really isn’t much there.”

  “Exactly. So you’re telling me you don’t have anything else for me to go on.”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “H’mm. Don’t think we don’t appreciate everything you’ve tried to do. Goodness knows, we’d do anything to avoid aggression with Vietnam. It’s just that your efforts have been, at the very least, naïve.”

  “I understand.”

  Dtui could no longer restrain her anger. “You understand?”

  “Dtui, the major’s right.”

  Ngakum stood and turned to her. “So, girl. Do you have anything to add to this?”

  Siri shook his head in the background.

  “I suppose not,” she admitted.

  “Then I suggest you stick to nursing, and stop trying to do my job.” He walked to the door and waited for his corporal to open it. “Take my advice, both of you. In this new society, ambition will only get you in trouble.” And he was gone. The lad ran after him.

  Siri could find no breath. He fumbled for the mask. Dtui hurried over and turned the spindle on the oxygen tank. While Siri was fighting to force air into his lungs, Dtui took his pulse and calmed him with her voice.

  “Easy, Doc. Take it easy. Breathe slowly.” Siri desperately wanted to talk, but Dtui held down the mask and shook her head. Soon, Siri closed his eyes and allowed his metabolism to calm down. When his pulse was normal and his breathing regular, Dtui gently lifted the mask. “All right, now you can tell me. But if you insist on getting excited, I’m going to put the mask back on you.”

  “Dtui, listen. This is very important. I want you to go to the Assembly offices and find Civilai. Make sure…[he drew more oxygen from the mask], make sure nobody follows you.”

  “You know you’ve got a phone here?”

  “No. Can’t phone. Take your bike, and insist on seeing Civilai. Lie down across the driveway if you have to. Kick up a fuss. But get him out of whatever he’s doing. Nothing he has on his agenda can be as important as what I have to say. Tell him to come back here with you right away. He is to talk to no one else.”

  “Wow. You gonna tell me, too?”

  “Go. Now.”

  Siri needed pure oxygen for another fifteen minutes before he felt well enough and composed enough to pick up the telephone. He didn’t have to dial. A male voice answered.

  “Yes?”

  “Who’s that? Where’s the hospital clerk?”

  “I’m Second Lieutenant Deuan. I’m with the Security Section. We’ll be manning this phone twenty-four hours. What can I do for you, Doctor?”

  Siri rethought his plans. “Could you put me through to police headquarters, please?”

  “Is this related to…?”

  “No, it’s another case.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  He assumed the security man would be listening in and taking notes. But he felt an urgent need of Phosy’s support. He wanted someone he could trust on his team. He knew he wouldn’t be able to ask directly. He had to use some pretext to get him to come to his hospital room.

  There were one or two engaged signals before a flustered desk sergeant answered.

  “Central Police.”

  “Hello, this is Dr. Siri Paiboun from Mahosot Hospital. Could I speak to Inspector Phosy, please?”

  “Who?”

  “Inspector Phosy.” There was silence.

  “Just a minute.”

  Siri waited for a few minutes until a gruff-voiced man came to the phone.

  “Hello. Doctor? I’m afraid the Inspector isn’t here.”

  “Damn. Could you leave a message for him?”

  “Well, I’m not sure when he’ll be around again, but I’ll try.”

  “Could you tell him to contact Dr. Siri at Mahosot, urgently. Room 2E.”

  “Okay. I’ll put it up on the board, but I can’t guarantee he’ll see it.”

  “Can’t you put it on his desk or something?”

  “Desk?” The man laughed. “He doesn’t have a desk. ’Bye, Doctor.”

  Siri was left holding a silent phone.

  “Doesn’t have a desk?”

  He lay back on the uncomfortable pillow and looked up at the blue ceiling. Two lizards were either mating or fighting. It occurred to him that peacetime was far more violent and chaotic than war. He became drowsy and must have nodded off again, because he was awakened by Civilai bursting through the door. Dtui was behind him.

  “This better be good, little brother. What’s the point of putting in a phone if—”

  “Come here and sit down. You too, Dtui. And keep your voices down.”

  They pulled chairs close to the bed. Neither of them had ever seen him more serious or his eyes less green. He pulled himself up on his pillow.

  “I’m going to tell you both something that you’ll find incredible. I find it incredible myself. You’ll assume I’m on hallucinogens, or that I’ve finally toppled over the cliff into senility. But in fact I’ve never been more sane or clear-headed in my life.

  “I’ll save you the full-Technicolor version because you’d really send for the nut-wagon if I told you everything. I’ll just tell you the details that are relevant to this case.” He took some oxygen. “For many years, I’ve been able to see things.”

  “Oh, heavens. Not the—”

  “Civilai. No. If our friendship means anything, I ask you to just listen to what I have to say. Please.” Civilai shrugged and folded his arms. “I see the spirits of the deceased. I have no control over when they come, or how they communicate with me. But it’s true. Over the past two weeks, these visitations have been getting more regular, and, I don’t know…stronger, I suppose you could say. I receive messages in certain ways.

  “Ai, you asked me how I knew about the Black Boar. I couldn’t tell you then because I knew you’d mock me, like you always do. But I knew because the Vietnamese told me they were still here. I couldn’t have guessed it, or made it up. They told me.”

  Civilai shuddered. “You’re starting to give me goose bumps.”

  “I get them all the time. I had a dream once. The Vietnamese were protecting me. A child tried to break through them to get to me, but they beat and killed him. The dead child’s face peeled away to show it was really the face of an old man. I saw the same old man in another dream in Khamuan. He embodied the evil spirits that were destroying the forest. Not long ago today, his image filled me with the most dreadful fear.

  “And then he walked into the room.”

  Dtui breathed his name. “Major Ngakum. I knew something was wrong.”

  “Yes, Dtui. The major. I don’t know why; I have no proof. But I truly believe Major Ngakum is the adviser to the resistance forces. I’m sure he’s responsible for this whole affair with the Vietnamese. And he’s probably the one who’s been trying to do away with me.”

  Civilai stood up to stretch his old legs. “I don’t know what to say.” He w
alked over to the wall calendar and inspected the dates. It was a year old. “It’s positively the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard from you, and goodness knows I’ve heard you say some shit over the years. Major Ngakum has been fighting for the revolution for most of his life.”

  “Ai—”

  “But I know you believe it. And because you believe it, and you’re the best friend I’ve got, that means I have to trust you. And for some unfathomable reason, I believe it too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It is true,” Dtui spoke up. She’d been sitting, shaking like a leaf, since he first started to speak. “I knew for a long time, but I didn’t dare say. My mom noticed right away when you came to the house. She said you had the gift.”

  “It could be a curse, Dtui.”

  “Look, both of you.” Civilai came back to sit between them. “Obviously we can’t do anything on the say-so of some senile old fool who sees ghosts. I’ll get some military people I trust to look at dates. See whether it’s possible Major Ngakum could have been at Operation Headquarters when Hok was there. See where he was when the massacre of the Vietnamese troops took place. We’ll take a look at his records and see if anything stands out. If it all matches, then we can go on to stage two.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “And I want back every kip you’ve ever won off me gambling. If I’d known you had accomplices on the other side, I never would have taken the bets.”

  They all laughed until Siri fell into another coughing fit. When he calmed, he looked at his two friends and smiled.

  “But tell me, Nurse Dtui,” Civilai asked, “how safe do you think the great gypsy fortuneteller here feels, knowing the guards outside his door were assigned by a man he thinks is trying to kill him?”

  “No worries, Uncle. Mr. Geung went home to get some bedrolls. Dr. Siri will have his own personal bodyguards tonight. I’ll protect him.”

  Civilai laughed. “I don’t get it, Siri. Seventy-two years old, and you still have young nurses sleeping with you. How do you do it?”

  How to Miss the That Luang Festival

  In fact, there wasn’t a lot of sleep to be had that night. Siri was restless, and his coughing kept the bodyguards awake for most of it. But, at least, they all survived until morning.

  His first visitor of the day arrived with two special baguettes wrapped in greaseproof paper.

  “Lah?”

  “Doctor. They just told me what happened. I came right away. How are you feeling?”

  “All the better for seeing you.”

  “You sweetmouth, you.” She handed him the rolls. “The boy outside went through both of them looking for missiles or such like. Then he decided they might be poisoned, so he tasted both of them. That’s why they have teeth marks.” She smiled.

  “You’re very kind.” Something about the visit and his own tentative grasp on life encouraged him to be uncommonly honest. “You know, Mrs. Lah, I was thinking last night about what regrets I’d have had if that old house had fallen down on me. There weren’t a lot. But one of them was you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, I’ve procrastinated too long. If I don’t die in the next week, I’d be most honored if you’d have dinner with me one evening.”

  The sixteen-year-old girl who still resided in Auntie Lah sent out a smile that lit up the whole room. She came over to him, leaned over the bed, and gave him a very warm kiss on the cheek.

  “You bet.” She almost skipped to the door. She turned the handle, then looked back at him. “But if you die in the next week, I’ll kill you.”

  When she’d gone, Siri couldn’t stop smiling. There was a groan from underneath the bed.

  “I…I…I’d be most hon…honored if you’d have—”

  “Keep it to yourself, Mr. Geung.”

  Geung snorted and laughed cheekily. It was six, and time for him to get up. Dtui had left already to see her ma.

  Out in the streets, people were already preparing for the That Luang Festival. It was one of the few dates on the Lao Buddhist calendar that was guaranteed to spark excitement across generations and ethnic lines. The golden Grand Stupa had watched over its excited children on the thirteenth day of the twelfth moon for as long as anyone living could remember.

  This was the first festival since the revolution, and it promised to be a little more restrained than usual. The new regime had banned certain excesses: the popular freak shows, for one. There’d be no five-legged goats or three-breasted women to entertain the crowds. Alcohol was forbidden, along with gambling, so there were unlikely to be any spontaneous shootings to write about in the papers the next day. The government also put the lid on displays of opulence and “extravagant religious outpourings.” All of which might have made one wonder what could possibly be left to celebrate.

  But the Lao have a remarkable talent for enjoyment, and, for many, the excuse to get their good clothes out of the chest and mingle, in an atmosphere charged with excitement, was enough to keep them awake for a week in anticipation.

  The Lao Patriotic Front announced that this year would be an opportunity for Laos to display its economic and cultural achievements under the new regime. Skeptics like Siri wondered how small that display might be. Civilai suggested an Inflation Marquee where children blow up balloons with “the Lao kip” written on them. Siri joked that they could have a show of the Xiang Thong Temple puppets with their nasty right-wing mouths taped shut.

  Whatever happened, the That Luang Festival would still be the cultural event of the year and Siri, with his dust-filled lungs, would miss it again. In fact, as he’d never lived in Vientiane before this year, he’d never seen the festival. He and Boua had dreamed of attending, after the revolution. It was one of her many deflated dreams.

  At seven, Siri witnessed a sight more rare than a five-legged goat: a white-coated hospital doctor came into his room and showed him his X-rays.

  “Dr. Siri.”

  “Dr. Veui. I was starting to wonder whether they’d put me in a room at the Lan Xang Hotel by mistake.”

  “Now, now. No sarcasm. You know we’re very—”

  “Short of staff. Yes, I know. But you’ll be pleased I didn’t pass away from neglect while you were off tending to real patients.”

  “Your nurse has been keeping me informed as to your progress. We did have a couple of emergencies yesterday that kept us busy. You heard about the fire?”

  “Yes. Kitchen, wasn’t it?”

  “It started there, yes. We were lucky it didn’t spread to the pharmacy. Lord knows we have precious few drugs as it is. We did lose our unimpressive collection of books, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think of your geography, Siri. The kitchen’s directly beneath the old library. It was gutted. Nothing but ash and memories.”

  While Dr. Veui ran his stethoscope around Siri’s chest and back, the patient breathed as deeply as he could. But his mind was on the library. How did that piece fit into the puzzle?

  Sometime about eight, he had his nicest visit of the day. Miss Vong poked her head around the door and smiled.

  “Miss Vong. Come in, why don’t you?”

  She didn’t. “Can’t visit this trip, Dr. Siri. How are you?”

  “Not bad.”

  “I have to rush. I’m supposed to be at work.”

  “You don’t want to stop off at the khon khouay office first?”

  “The khon khouay office? Whatever for?”

  “I’m not supposed to say anything, but it can’t do any harm. Mr. Ketkaew spotted you at the Department of Education the other day. He came back frisky as a river rat, telling us all about this stunning woman he’d seen. He asked me if I knew you. He was positively glowing. I’m no expert, but I’d say he’s fallen for you.”

  “For me? Don’t be silly.” She couldn’t keep the corners of her mouth down. “Anyway, I’m here with some fans of yours. Manoly and her sisters wanted to come see how you are.”

  “Oh, h
ow wonderful! How are they?”

  “I don’t think they’ve really come to terms with what happened. They’ve been very quiet.”

  “Send them in.”

  Vong left, and the three little girls came in as a chain. Manoly was the lead link. Siri chose that moment for his first serious cough of the day, and the girls stood back by the wall watching him. When he was through, he smiled and called them over.

  “Well, ladies. How nice of you to come to see me. Where are you staying?”

  Manoly was the spokeswoman. “Auntie Souk’s house. She’s nice. She’s outside. You want to see her?”

  “No. I want to see you. I was worried about you all.”

  “Auntie Souk said you were very brave when you went in to look for Mommy.”

  “Manoly, do you know where your mommy is now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “In the temple.”

  “That’s not your mommy.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No. In the temple is just the package your mommy was kept in.” The smallest sister giggled at this. Manoly seemed angry.

  “It’s Mommy.”

  Siri reached out for her hand and put it against his face.

  “This skin, this hair, all this outside stuff. It isn’t me. It’s just my package. It’s like the wrapper around the sweet; it isn’t the sweet itself. What we really are is all inside the package. All our feelings. All our good moods and bad moods. All our ideas, our cleverness, our love, that’s what a person really is.

  “It’s called a spirit. Your mommy’s spirit has left her package already. I met your mommy’s spirit when I was in your room that night.”

  “Is that like a ghost?”

  “No. A ghost is just something in make-believe stories. A spirit is really her. Some people can see it, but most people can’t.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Yes, she was worried.”

  “Why?”

  “She was worried you might not love her because she was cross with you sometimes. But she wanted me to tell you, being cross was part of loving you.”