Anarchy and Old Dogs

by Colin Cotterill

  Siri walked her to the front door and came back with red cheeks and an indelible smile.

  “Is that a wicked grin I see on your face, Dr. Siri?” Dtui asked.

  “He’s got a g … g … girlfriend,” Mr. Geung posited philosophically.

  In the face of this onslaught, Siri elected to remain silent. He pretended he was engrossed in Haeng’s report and ignored all of Dtui’s attempts to draw him away from it. At first, he believed it was her curiosity that caused her to stay after the siren had sounded calling the nursing staff to tend their radishes. It didn’t occur to him that she might have a bombshell or two to drop herself. As he was putting the final sentence into his report, her significant shadow loomed over him. She was directly between him and the low evening sun.

  “Nurse Dtui, you’re causing an eclipse.”

  “I’ve cut back on banana fritters.”

  “Nevertheless …”

  She stepped away from the window but continued to look at him.

  “I have no intention of discussing Madame Daeng with you at this juncture,” he said.

  “It’s not that,” she replied.

  She looked uneasy, most un—Dtui-like.

  “Sit,” he said. She lowered herself onto the chair in front of his desk. He placed his pen on top of the report and folded his arms. “Speak!”

  “I …”

  It was the first time he could recall her hesitating.

  “You … ?”

  “I’ve contacted the overseas study committee and told them I … I won’t be going to Moscow in January.”

  Siri’s eyes protruded from his face like golf balls. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve asked if I can defer for two years.” He was too stunned to react. Getting a placement on the study program was harder than finding a cold beer in a socialist state. “They said yes.”

  “Dtui, have you gone mad? You’ve been cramming for this since you got your nursing certificate. It’s been your dream to study overseas.”

  “I know.”

  “What in Trotsky’s name happened?”

  She leaned forward with her elbows on her lap and knotted her fingers.

  “First, there was Ma. I’d always thought if I could go to another country, I’d work part-time and send money back for her treatment. Then she …”

  “That was never the only reason, and you know it. You have a sponge for a brain, young Dtui. You thirst for knowledge. You always have. That was always your chief motivation. You have a unique opportunity here. You’ve worked … we’ve all worked too hard to get you there to just give it up. If there’s no other reason …”

  “There is.” She sighed. “Can I tell you without your blowing up?”

  “I think I’m ready for anything.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  He realized he’d lied when he’d said he was ready for anything. If he hadn’t been sitting he would have fallen to the floor.

  “What?”

  “You heard.”

  “How?”

  “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how.”

  Siri was too overwhelmed to bother with good grammar. “I mean—you—how? Who?”

  “Now just calm down. I’m not going to give you any details until you start breathing again.”

  “I’m not breathless. I’m speechless.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that. Perhaps I’ll be able to get a word or two in. Don’t forget, this is a big thing for me, too. A girl doesn’t get pregnant every day. I’m a little bit speechless myself. I’m having a lot of firsts here. First baby, first …”

  “Oh my word.” Siri slid open his drawer and fumbled deep inside. “Who was it? Who did this to you?”

  “I hope you aren’t looking for a gun in there.”

  “If I had one, I’d probably use it on you. But for the present I’m searching for a name card.” He removed the entire drawer and put it on top of the desk. “I know it’s in here somewhere. Come on, I’m waiting for an answer.”

  When he looked up he saw her staring down at the tiles. There was a hint of guilt on her face that gave away her secret.

  “He didn’t?”

  “He did.”

  “In Ubon?”

  “Twice.”

  “Then I do need a gun.”

  “No, Doc. Really, you don’t. I didn’t exactly play hard to get.”

  “How can you tell so soon?”

  “These are the seventies, Doc. There have been great advances in medical science since you went to school.”

  “Dtui, this isn’t a game. And he’s married, for goodness’ sake.”

  “His wife deserted him. He filed papers for divorce in her absence. It came through last month.”

  “Well, isn’t that convenient? Here.” He peeled an old throat lozenge from the name card he sought and held it up triumphantly. “Lucky I kept this. It’s a lady doctor I met through the Women’s Union. She’s perfectly respectable.” He handed her the card.

  She read it and her eyebrows rose.

  “Dr. Siri, I’m not telling you all this because I want to get rid of the baby. I’m going to keep it.”

  “And raise it by yourself?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You don’t honestly believe Phosy’s going to do the right thing by you? He’s a randy middle-aged man who merely took advantage of an opportunity.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear you think so highly of him. In fact, I’m a little bit offended myself. What makes you think it was he who took advantage?”

  “Dtui, what’s come over you?”

  “I think they call it love.”

  “Oh, child. What does he say about all this?”

  “He seems OK with it.”

  “Seems OK?”

  “He isn’t a big talker when it comes to feelings and personal odds and ends. But I told him I was going to keep the baby and he said he’d raise it with me.”

  “Not the most impassioned proposal I’ve ever heard.”

  “He’s a policeman.”

  “Right. And you realize, I suppose, that policemen get shot.”

  “Only in the movies. Phosy’s a sticky-rice policeman.”

  Siri tilted onto the back legs of his chair and leaned against the file cabinet.

  “Until I met you, Nurse Dtui, I could outstubborn anyone in the country. Once you make up your mind I know a battery of field artillery can’t shake you. So I’m not going to waste my time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I know it’s a terrible decision and it will lead to disaster, but if it’s a boy …”

  “Your name’s already penciled in.”

  “And I expect to see Phosy here in my office.”

  “He’s waiting outside.”

  Siri didn’t expect Phosy to turn up with his hat in his hand, but a little more remorse might have been in order. He walked into the office, shook his head, and laughed.

  “Who would have thought it?” he said.

  “Not me, certainly,” Siri replied. “How could you?”

  “Come on, Doctor. I’m not all bad. She could do a lot worse.”

  “I’m not so sure. You’re two decades older than she is.”

  “Just numbers.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “No.”

  Siri raised his brows. “I was expecting you to think about that for a bit longer. Does she know?”

  “We’ve talked about it. Siri, she and I are friends. I respect her. I like her personality, most of it anyway. And she did save my life in Ubon. There’s fate connecting us.”

  “Gratitude’s hardly a fitting motive for committing your life to someone. Besides, your life was never really in danger, Phosy. You had someone looking out for you. He wouldn’t have let anything happen to either of you.” Siri knew that Civilai had ensured no harm would come to Dtui or Phosy while they were at the camp.

  “Yeah? Who was that then?”

  “That I can’t tell you.”
/>
  “You know I’ll get it out of you over a drink.”

  “I don’t drink anymore.”

  “Right. And I hear they’ve drained the Pacific so they can tile the ocean bed.”

  “Believe what you want. And stop changing the subject. Dtui’s a daughter to me.”

  “Look! I loved a woman in my way and she ran off. So, as far as I’m concerned, love’s overrated. It doesn’t suit me.”

  “She loves you.”

  “Dr. Siri. I made an offer. She accepted it. She knows I’ll be good to her. I’ll look after our child. We’ll grow old together and fight a lot and laugh a lot. I’m not going to invent an emotion I don’t have, but I’m a stayer.”

  “If you ever go back on your word I’ll haunt you for life, and you know that isn’t an idle threat.”

  “I promise.”

  Siri stared into Phosy’s eyes and beyond them into his mind. “All right,” he said at last. “I believe you.” They shook hands. “Congratulations, Pa.”

  “Thanks, Grandpa.”

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Sorry. Now, is all the father—son-in-law stuff over with yet? I have some news.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “The dentist’s wife.”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s a sow.” Siri once again exercised his eyebrows. “Or, at least, her blood wasn’t human.”

  “You don’t say. The test came back from Bangkok?”

  “Pure one hundred percent pig.”

  “So her murder was staged.”

  “The whole marriage was staged. I went back to Dong Bang and asked around. The dentist was a bachelor. They said the woman only turned up a few months before his death.”

  “When the letters started.”

  “Right. And it appears she only came to the village on certain days. The neighbors assumed she was a nurse or housekeeper. On the day we went there, she just happened to still be around. She was probably trying to figure out a way of getting her hands on the latest note. Waiting for the authorities to send his things home.”

  “And we brought it right to her.”

  “Remember, she took a while to read it? I wouldn’t be surprised if she was memorizing it.”

  “So she was just a courier, there to pick up the week’s code.”

  “She just put the old fellow on the bus on letter days and waited for him to bring it back.”

  “But why on earth go to all that trouble? Surely she could have just taken his key and picked up the letter herself.”

  “She probably would have preferred to do that, but something was stopping her.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s ask your Inspector Migraine. What do they have at post offices?”

  “Stamps?”

  “Think of something that might stop her wanting to be seen inside one.”

  “Being seen … ? I know. Wanted posters. Her picture’s on the wall of the Bureau de Poste.”

  “Very good.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Espionage. She didn’t look it but that lady’s caused a lot of trouble for the new administration. I noticed the poster when I went to ask about Dr. Buagaew’s post box. The Security Division has a file on her a foot thick. The dentist had a little file of his own but only as a suspected Royalist sympathizer. I imagine they didn’t see him as much of a threat, what with his disability and all. He’d had the PO box under a false name for over ten years. I can’t imagine what he was using it for during the old regime.”

  “Sleazy dental material from Europe, I wouldn’t wonder. But the woman? Is she still at large?”

  “She always seems to be one step ahead of the authorities.”

  “How intriguing, an aging adversary. She did a marvelous job of faking her own death to put us off the trail. She deserves a code name. Something to do with the devil, perhaps.”

  “Sorry, the Security Division’s already christened her.”

  “Probably some very dull name. They don’t have much imagination up there. ‘Woman 17B’?”

  “They’re calling her ‘the Lizard.’ “

  “Ooh, she must have really upset people in high places. Good for her.”

  “Siri, she’s the enemy.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.”

  Never Hand Money to a

  Transvestite on a Street Corner

  Won’t be long

  Wrong sex and wrong gender

  Return to sender

  Killed by tender loving lust

  Dirty damned needle jab, dust to dust

  What lethal sin

  In just

  A pleasure tax.

  “Very nice, thanks. But, to tell you the truth, what I wanted to talk to you about was—”

  “Five thousand kip.”

  “What? I’m not asking you a question.”

  “No. You want a conversation. That’s five thousand kip.”

  Siri sat beneath the Aeroflot sign with a peaked cap pulled down over his face. Auntie Bpoo was wearing a hideous skintight cowhide-pattern dress that rode up her thighs. Fortunately, she had on khaki Y-fronts to preserve what little dignity she had. A light drizzle was falling and the fortune-teller held up a red-and-white polka-dot umbrella. Siri just got wet. Everyone passing along Samsenthai that evening felt sorry for the two crazy people.

  “All right, so if I did give you five thousand kip, would you indulge me?”

  “That was a question. To answer that I’d need another ten thousand.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “All right. I’ll give you a discount. You can have a question and a ten-minute conversation for six thousand.”

  “God, man. It’s cheaper to bribe a treasury official.”

  “Take it or leave it. And it’s ‘Miss.’ “

  “All right. I’ll take it. What I want to talk about—”

  “In advance.”

  “Look, if you can see the future, you know I’m not about to run off without paying.” Auntie Bpoo looked away and twirled her umbrella. “All right. All right.”

  He handed over two bricks of fifty-kip notes. Since the devaluations, people in Laos had dispensed with their purses and wallets and taken to carrying cement bags for their small change. Auntie Bpoo counted each wad and decided he’d given her enough.

  Siri considered this to be one of the most foolish investments he’d ever made. He could see her at the morning market buying a new leather miniskirt with his hard-earned salary. But the big female impersonator was good, he had to give her that. He’d even go so far as to say “gifted.” Siri had so little contact with freaks like himself, he often hungered for company. There were still a million questions he needed answers to with regard to his unwanted and poorly utilized abilities. He hoped Auntie Bpoo might be able to help. Mysticism produced strange bedfellows and there were few stranger than the couple seated on plastic bathroom stools on Samsenthai that evening. Auntie Bpoo took great pains to secrete the money in an enormous handbag.

  When she was satisfied it was safe, she said, “All right, Dr. Traitor. You have eight minutes left.”

  “But I haven’t … Very well. What I want to talk about is … our connection to the spirit world.”

  “Our connection?”

  “Yes, you see, I receive messages from the dead.”

  Auntie Bpoo’s eyebrows nearly clinked against the wooden shop sign above her head before returning to her face. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, I get messages that tell me how people died.”

  She yawned. “Look, Granddad, perhaps you ought to cut back on the MSG.”

  Siri laughed to cover his irritation. Why was it that so many obnoxious and infuriating people were blessed with gifts? Perhaps one was a counterpoint to the other. But he was determined to lure this brilliant transvestite into a discussion on the paranormal. Perhaps she’d respond to aggression.

  “Listen, young man or young lady or both, if you prefer. I am Dr. Siri Paiboun, the national
coroner, but of course you know that. I host the spirit of a thousand-year-old shaman.” Auntie Bpoo started to collect her cards and charts and pack them into a number of plastic bags. “Are you listening? Through him I am able to communicate with the dead. I have come to you because—”

  “Prove it.”

  “What?”

  “Prove to me that you can communicate with the dead.”

  “How?”

  “Tell me what my uncle Sithon was wearing when he passed away.”

  “What he was wearing? I don’t know. I don’t do tricks.”

  “No? You should learn. Even the shadiest mediums down at the old ferry crossing can do that one. They chat with dead people all the time, relive some funny event only departed Granny Ting could have known.”

  “Well, I can’t.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Auntie Bpoo stood and nodded in the direction of the other stool beneath Siri. “Time’s up. I have a mud-pack sauna appointment.”

  Siri refused to vacate his stool. “You can’t just take my money and leave,” he said. “That’s abuse of a senior citizen. I can bring the Aged Union down on you just like that.”

  The fortune-teller leaned forward and squared up to Siri. His scent was a mix of lavender and lighter fluid. “Look, Granddad. I’ll be honest with you. I get a lot of crackpots coming down here trying to elbow in on my action. They think they can get me to show them my tricks. Next thing you know, they’d be setting up shop all the way down Samsenthai, and I wouldn’t have any customers for myself.”

  “Customers? But you don’t charge for your normal service. It’s only senile old fools like me you hit up for money. What does it matter how many customers you get?”

  Auntie Bpoo put the back of her hand against her forehead and looked to the puffy heavens. It was an action made famous by a popular Thai screen actress. A gamut of emotions played across her face.

  “It’s true,” she said in the soft, female version of her voice. “I don’t really need money, you see. I have all I want. But money can’t buy companionship. No matter how many kilograms of kip you have, it can’t bring you true respect. Why else would people come to listen to someone like little me? I need a gimmick.”