The Merry Misogynist dsp-6

by Colin Cotterill

  "Who'd have thought Crazy Rajid had a father?" said Phosy. "And could write. Wonders will never cease. Any luck with the second riddle?"

  "Not exactly," said Siri. "I think the combination of its being written by a madman and translated from Hindi makes it doubly difficult."

  "But he isn't a madman, is he, Dr Siri?" Dtui asked. "I mean, he wasn't born crazy. It was a trauma in his childhood that made him like this."

  "You're right," Siri agreed. "And he may very well have a treatable condition for all we know. But we don't have the expertise or the resources here to do anything for him. We can barely treat basic medical conditions."

  Phosy took the note from Siri. "It's obvious there's a sane person in there somewhere or he wouldn't be able to write things like this." He unrolled the paper and read aloud, In the belly of the brainless one, Made in Thailand. Watched by four thousand eyes.

  "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call it sane," said Dtui.

  "It's a riddle, Nurse," Siri reminded her. "It's supposed to be confusing."

  "Then it succeeds," she decided.

  "Made in Thailand. Made in Thailand." Phosy seemed to hope that repeating it might make it clearer. "Should we be thinking dirty?"

  "I think Madame Daeng and I have been through all the dirty possibilities," said Siri with a slight blush.

  "Is…is four thousand m…more than am…million?" Geung asked.

  "No, mate," Dtui told him, "it's not that many. But it's a hell of a lot of eyes."

  "We thought 'brainless one' might refer to the grand assembly building," Siri confessed. "But we would never know which seat to look under."

  "The national stadium?" Phosy offered.

  "Come off it." Dtui laughed. "When was the last time they got more than fifty people watching anything there?"

  "True."

  "Because if…if…if it's a million…" Geung persisted.

  "It could be the spot where the Thai military intelligence put their telescope to watch what we're doing over here," Dtui suggested.

  "Not sure Crazy Rajid can swim that far," Siri smiled.

  "…then th…there's at least a m…million eyes at…at…at Wat Si Saket."

  "Then there's…What was that, Geung?" Dtui asked.

  "Wat Si Saket," repeated Geung.

  "The little Buddhas." Phosy nodded his head. "There are certainly a lot of them."

  "It isn't out of the question," Dtui agreed.

  "But what's the 'made in Thailand' connection?" Phosy asked.

  Siri clicked his fingers so loudly the others were afraid he'd broken a bone.

  "Of course," he said and added another handprint to his forehead. "Shame on me. They taught us all this stuff at the temple in Savanaketh. Why is it I can remember verbatim French radio jingles for chocolate biscuits and not the history of my own country?"

  "Probably because — " Dtui started.

  "It was a rhetorical question, Dtui."

  "Sorry."

  "Wat Si Saket," Siri began, "is the oldest surviving temple in Vientiane, and that's probably because, when the Thais flooded in to rape and sack and pillage in eighteen something or other, they didn't want to destroy anything that reminded them of home. The temple was one of Prince Chao Anou's creations. He was educated in Bangkok and was probably more Thai than Lao. The Thais set him up as a puppet king here, and he built old Si Saket in the Thai style. Made in Thailand. Voila."

  He walked to Geung and planted a large kiss on his forehead. Geung wiped the kiss away violently but grinned with pleasure.

  "I don't know why we just don't hand all our mysteries directly to you, Geung," Phosy said with very little sarcasm in his voice.

  "Any thoughts on the lady in the freezer, Inspector Geung?" Dtui asked.

  "Sh…she's very pretty," Geung decided.

  "So who's the brainless one?" Phosy asked. He shouldered his bag for the trip to the airport.

  "It could refer to us," Siri conceded. "But I think I shall take Madame Daeng for a cultural soiree at the temple this evening."

  "Well, I'm husbandless tonight, so I'm coming too," said Dtui.

  "I'm husbless t…too, so so am I," said Geung.

  "That's settled then." Siri laughed. "It looks like Si Saket Temple will be doubling its annual quota of visitors in one evening."

  Siri had been speaking only partly in jest. The residents of Vientiane had become very self-conscious about being seen in temples. People had begun to worship discreetly. Their faith had not been dented by the constant notices and the loudspeaker broadcasts decrying the curse of religion, but they found it prudent not to advertise their beliefs. The government interpreted the empty temple grounds as evidence that socialism was a more powerful dogma than Buddhism.

  This perhaps explains why, on that warm evening in March, the visitors arriving at Si Saket had to find the keeper of the keys in the nearby compound and convince him it was vitally important to the security of the nation that they gain access to the inner sanctum of the temple immediately. As there were no lights, they were forced to buy sanctified orange candles from the abbot and place them at intervals around the rectangular cloister. This created a splendid, albeit rather creepy, atmosphere. The walls on all four sides contained small alcoves from floor to beam, and each nook had its own Buddha image in bronze or silver or stone: three-dimensional dharmic wallpaper.

  "How many eyes would you say?" Siri asked Daeng.

  "At least four thousand. Do you suppose he counted them?"

  "Nothing about Rajid would surprise me. It does make me think we're in the right place. All we need now is to decide which is the brainless one."

  "We could ask them all twenty general-knowledge questions."

  "By my calculations that would take longer than I have left on this earth," he said. He smiled uneasily and Daeng glared at him. "What? Why are you giving me that look?"

  "Has something happened to you this week that I should know about?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean has the spectre of death landed in your morgue and handed you an invitation?"

  Daeng's comment was intended as a joke but, like a hammer thrown from the far side of the room, it had somehow managed to hit the nail on the head. Siri felt a now familiar clenching at his heart. Every day the harbingers had visited him. Worms travelled the extremities of his desk, and the scent of damp earth filled his lungs. Saloop was everywhere — beside the road, beneath the table in the cutting room, outside the shop in the undergrowth opposite. Tonight, as they walked to the temple, the dog's yellow eyes had glared from every alleyway and nook. Death was closing in on Dr Siri, but it was news he'd decided to keep to himself. There was no point in depressing anyone else.

  "I don't know what you mean," he lied.

  "Oh, Siri, you've managed to swing every other conversation we've had this week around to death."

  "I have not."

  "You have. You've mentioned graves at least twenty times."

  "Let me hear the tapes."

  "Take my word for it."

  "Daeng, I'm a coroner. It comes with the territory. If you wanted sweet talk you should have married someone at the boiled candy works. Death is my stock-in-trade."

  "Then why do I get this niggling feeling it's getting personal?"

  "Because you're not as young as you used to be. Elderly people start to have delusions."

  "Is that so?"

  She might have wrestled him to the ground at that point and twisted his arm behind his back had it not been for a shout from Dtui at the far end of the cloister.

  "Doc, Auntie Daeng, I think we've found brainless."

  They joined Dtui and Geung in front of a small gallery of much larger Buddhas, some up to one metre tall. They stood or sat as if in a line-up of suspects: similar but different. And the fellow who stood out from the crowd had a head that ended above the ears. He was made of hollow cast iron and had obviously experienced a traumatic event that had removed the top of his head and half his back. His
vintage and historical significance allowed him a place in otherwise complete company.

  "Looks like a candidate," said Daeng. "Anyone feel like sticking their hand in there?"

  Geung raised his arm.

  "Yes, Mr Geung?"

  "I will."

  "Go ahead."

  Geung put his hands together and muttered a quick prayer of apology before very excitedly reaching down into the bowels of the Buddha. He rummaged around for a few seconds before re-emerging with a small roll of paper. He handed it to Siri, who unrolled it to reveal a page of unfathomable Hindi letters.

  "Mr Tickoo," Siri shouted, "Bhiku."

  "Wake up, Mr Tickoo!" Daeng yelled even louder, her voice echoing around the silent neighbourhood. They stood in front of the shutters of the Happy Dine Indian restaurant, looking up at the gaping open window on the second floor. Geung's dormitory at Mahosot and Dtui's police hostel room weren't far from the temple, so they'd agreed to walk each other home, leaving Siri and Daeng to pursue what was hopefully the last instalment of the riddle. They all hoped this final clue would lead them to Prince Crazy Rajid's palace. Mr Tickoo's face arrived at the window with a smile that lit up the sidewalk around them.

  "It is even more fiendish," said Rajid's father. Mr Tickoo was sitting inside the restaurant with Siri and Daeng. The fluorescent tube above them was buzzing and cutting out every now and then like at an amateur discotheque. It was annoying but the note kept them spellbound. They watched the Indian consider and contemplate and finally compose. They sipped their tea impatiently, waiting for the last word of the last line. When it arrived and Bhiku looked up with a satisfied smile, they pirouetted the notepad around to see its Lao translation. One million pachyderms And one spirited bear Look sadly at the all-night sun.

  Siri looked up from the paper as if he'd won the national lottery.

  "Why so smug?" Daeng asked.

  "I've got it," he replied.

  "Already?"

  "More by luck than intelligence, my love."

  "Well, that's no fun at all. Don't tell me the answer. Let me get it for myself. Pachyderms…the old word for…"

  "Elephants," Siri put in.

  "I said don't tell me. I knew that. So obviously a million old elephants equals Ian Xang. Name of the ancient kingdom of Laos."

  "And?"

  "Several businesses."

  "The largest being?"

  "The Ian Xang Hotel?"

  "Spot on."

  Mr Tickoo clapped his hands. "My word," he said. "It's like watching the gods laying out their plan for the universe. Such brilliance."

  Daeng and Siri looked at each other.

  "Don't let yourself be diverted by conceit," Siri said.

  Daeng continued, "I know I'm close here. A bear. The logo on a bottle or a can? No? A bearskin rug? A certain configuration of stars? Spirit…a drunken bear? A dead bear? A dead bear at the Ian Xang Hotel…the empty cages."

  "You are remarkable." Siri smiled and squeezed her hand. The riddle had only been simple for him because it paralleled a case he'd handled the previous year. The Ian Xang Hotel had previously imprisoned live animals for the edification of the general public. One black bear had been the star attraction until it was freed. Siri could imagine Rajid wandering into the Ian Xang grounds and watching the poor old girl behind her bars. Somewhere there lay the secret to the location of Rajid's palace.

  "What time is it?" Siri asked.

  "Who cares?" answered Daeng.

  The grounds of the Ian Xang were spacious for a Lao hotel. There was some thick tropical vegetation, native flowers that had been dug up and replanted in unnatural rows, and a swimming pool that was starting to look more like a lotus pond. It had so many leaves floating on it a skinny teenager could have walked across its surface without getting wet.

  Siri and Daeng had strolled through reception arm in arm as if they owned the place. They dismissed the night clerk with a 'Don't even think about asking us a question' look and ambled towards the door that gave access to the grounds. To any observer they were merely guests who intended to take a short promenade before retiring to their suite. Once they were outside they were alone. Squashed up against one wall there were four cages that had housed a variety of wild inmates in their time. Currently they served as an aviary. There was a crane in one, a dowdy hornbill in the next, a couple of dubious characters that looked like chickens in heavy make-up in the third, and a male peacock with barely enough space to spread his impressive tail in the last.

  "Where was the bear?" Daeng asked.

  "That one."

  Siri pointed to the sad hornbill.

  "She looks depressed," Daeng decided. "Why can't they let her just wander around the grounds?"

  "That's the problem with birds. They have this nasty habit of flying."

  "She's lovely. I doubt there are many of these left in the wild."

  "It's her own fault. Look at all that meat. She'd make three square meals. She's in the cage for her own protection."

  Siri had spent much of his life in the jungle and had eaten every endangered species there was. In those days a man didn't give a hoot about the survival of an avian family lineage. It was them or us. If a hornbill with a machete had run across Siri in the bush and hacked him to death, he would have succumbed in good grace: a victim of the survival of the fittest rule. He believed that if God made you colourful, overweight, and delicious and didn't give you any survival skills, you deserved to get eaten.

  Daeng obviously didn't see it that way. Siri knew straight away what his unblushing bride had in mind. There were large padlocks on the cages, but he knew his lady had ways and means.

  "Can we solve the last riddle before you liberate her?" he pleaded.

  "What does he say about the sun?"

  "The all-night sun."

  They looked up simultaneously at the single electric bulb that dangled in front of the cages. There were other bulbs that hung here and there from the same untidy cable. One hung by the pool, another by the garbage bins. The extension to the cages was nailed to a tree.

  "Our night sun's up that tree, Siri."

  "I can see that."

  "Well, you surely don't expect me to climb up there in my condition?"

  Siri had climbed enough trees in his life, but none since he had turned seventy. He held up his fist.

  "Surely not," said Daeng, but she knew this was the only solution. She raised her own fist to the same height as his and stared into his eyes. Their version of rock-paper-scissors was elephant (fist), mouse (palm), and ant (little finger). The elephant crushed the mouse, the mouse squashed the ant, and the ant crawled up the elephant's trunk and paralyzed his brain.

  They shook their fists twice and disclosed their opening gambits for the first round: Siri-elephant, Daeng-mouse. The second shake was Daeng-ant, Siri-elephant. All even. Everything came down to the last shake. They glared into one another's eyes and let loose their final creatures.

  Siri-mouse…Daeng-ant.

  "Shit," said Daeng.

  Luckily she was wearing fisherman's trousers and not a skirt. There was no need to disrobe. She walked once around the tree and homed in on her branch of choice. Faster than Siri's eye could follow she was up on the first hub and above the dangling bulb.

  "You're only part human," he called up to her.

  She edged along the branch. "I don't see anything that looks like a note," she said. "We might have outsmarted ourselves again."

  "Can you get closer to the bulb? They'd have to replace them regularly so take a look at the socket."

  Daeng hung like a sloth. She reached down and, sure enough, wrapped around the socket and held in place with a rubber band was a slip of paper: the last clue. A map.

  "Are we or are we not a team?" she asked.

  It wasn't easy to disagree with a sixty-six-year-old lady hanging upside down from a tree.

  "We are indeed," he said.

  7

  AN INVISIBLE RICE FARMER

  Ph
an had the letter written already. His handwriting was impeccable: not one questionable vowel or missing tone marker. The paper was headed Department of Water Management, and the contact details had a false telephone number and post office box number. All he needed to add was the date and the name of the recipient. Dearest — How did she spell her name? Oh, yes — Wei, I am back in Vientiane, although my heart is still in your village with you and all the wonderful people I met on my trip. I cannot concentrate on my work because you are in my mind all the time. My life has suddenly changed because of you.

  I received wonderful news today. I have to return to your area on — he checked the schedule on the wall — March 26 to do a follow-up to my project there. I will only be there for a day or two. When I heard this news I felt so happy because it means I can see you again. I have been afraid we wouldn't get together for three or four months. Sadly, this will be my last trip of the year. It pains me that our marriage will be such a long way off.

  That is why I want to make this presumptuous suggestion. The thought of being apart from you for so long makes me feel ill; so, if you are willing, I have a solution. My darling, what if we were to marry during this coming visit? I know it's short notice, and you might have trouble making arrangements, but I would be so happy if you could return to Vientiane with me as my wife. I have a nice home here, and I believe we would have a chance to go to Eastern Europe soon for my work. I would be so honoured if you could be there at my side.

  I would understand completely if this is not convenient for you, but I hope with all my heart that you agree. I apologize if this letter is too formal and not chatty. I have never had the opportunity to write a letter of love before, so I'm not certain how to go about it.

  I miss you so much that my eyes are wet with tears as I write this. I pray that you are thinking of me and that we can be together soon and for ever. With all my heart, Phan

  He shook his head and let out a little puff of air. He wrote the name of his betrothed and her address on the envelope and ran the gummed edge across the damp sponge that sat permanently on the desk before sealing it. There was a longdistance bus scheduled to leave the next morning for Natan. He'd give the driver a few kip to drop it off on his way through her so-called town.