The Merry Misogynist dsp-6

by Colin Cotterill

  "But of course you didn't?"

  "It was difficult, Civilai. If I'd left then I didn't know how long it would take me to find Phosy. I had no idea that he was already in the district. I was afraid that if I went to the local police, they wouldn't believe me. They certainly wouldn't arrest a man on my say-so. And in the meantime, I was giving the driver free rein to run off and kill again. So I made my decision. There was a rubber groundsheet in the chest. I wrapped it around myself and waited. I'd left myself breathing room in the chest, just a wedge of daylight under the lid. Through the gap I could see him approach the truck. The driver had completed his transformation already. It was astounding. He was Buaphan, complete with hair and clothes and confidence. It was as if he'd taken over the other man's skin.

  "To my horror, he climbed onto the bed of the truck, threw something into the chest on top of me, slammed the lid shut, and locked it. As you know, I've had more than my fair share of claustrophobic dices with death since I became coroner, but this was a nightmare. It was midday, and the temperature in there was in the mid thirties, so hot, I needed to do something fast. It was a solid, Chinese-built metal coffin riveted to the bed of the truck. I calmed myself, slowed my breathing, and recalled that there was a toolbox in the chest. I fumbled my way to it and found a hammer and a screwdriver. A metal drill bit would have been handy but fate wasn't that kind.

  "The truck started and I used the cover of the noisy engine to hammer myself an airhole. But these Chinese, I tell you. Why use twenty-millimetre metal plate when you can use fifty? I pounded myself into a good old sweat making the tiniest of holes. I was still going at it when I passed out for the first time. And, Civilai, that pinprick of a hole saved my life. When I came round I had no idea where I was. The truck was stopped and it was quiet out. I was afraid someone might hear me but I needed more air. I used the sharp end of a file to gouge out a larger hole. After an hour I had it to the size of a nostril. I could see through it. It was dark out. We were parked beside a road in some sort of village. There was nobody in sight. All I could think about was Phan being with a new victim somewhere and me stuck in the chest.

  "I was deciding whether to yell for help and risk him catching me when I heard the music. It was a band of bamboo instruments and a small choir of drunk-sounding singers. The music was getting closer. I wrapped myself up in the groundsheet again in case anyone opened the chest. It wasn't a logical response, but I was suffering from oxygen deficiency by then, so don't expect common sense."

  "I never do. You know? If only we had a campfire and a good bottle of whisky, this would be one of your most classic Siri tales of the improbable."

  "We can still do that sometime. Trust me. This story will get better every time I tell it. Where was I?"

  "Wrapped in a groundsheet."

  "Right. I have the groundsheet over my head, and I am blocked from the airhole, so I pass out for a second time. On this occasion I absolutely believe I'm a goner. As I'm fighting off the black moths, I try to summon my resident spirits: my mother, my dead dog, even the pregnant lady with worms, anybody to get me through it. But I was alone. When you need a good spirit there's never one around. But next thing I know, the lid of the chest is open, and I can see actual stars. I can see Phan's face looking down at me. I'm drowsy from the lack of air, and he's a blur, but I'm sure he must be able to see me if I can see him. Yet he didn't. It was dark in the chest and he was in a hurry. He reached beside me for something — the holdall, it must have been — yanked it out, and he was gone.

  "I was disoriented, nauseous. My breathing was awful, but the rush of night air cleared my head a little. Sounds and images were passing in and out of my consciousness: footsteps, the truck starting, driving through thick undergrowth, silence, a distant conversation. I tried to climb out of the chest, but I couldn't summon the energy."

  "Where was he going?"

  "He'd pulled off the road and gone a little way into the trees. I knew in my heart that this was where he'd be killing his next victim, but all I could see was white spots in front of my eyes. I might have even passed out again if it hadn't been for the pop. I know now it was the sound of the champagne cork, but in my fuzzy state I imagined it to be a bone snapping. That small rush of adrenalin was enough to get me out of the chest and off the truck. I was sure he must have heard me, but no. I don't remember when I picked it up, but I had a large wrench in my hand. I staggered towards a light. He'd set up a space like a sort of open-air love ring with a quilt and candles. I saw them there. I really didn't believe I could make it, but he was on her, forcing her to drink, and he smashed a glass and held a shard in front of her face. I knew he'd use it."

  "So you whacked him over the head with the wrench and killed the bastard," Civilai yelled and let out a loud, "Woohoo!" It frightened a small whiskery-nosed otter out of the tall grass beside them. Siri cast his eyes downward, not sharing his friend's glee. Murder was nothing to be proud of.

  "Come on, you have to be pleased about it," Civilai told him.

  "Of course I'm pleased that he's not free any longer to kill. But what kind of world are we living in where something like this can happen?"

  "I'd prefer to see it as a one-off. I don't want to believe there are maniacs crawling out of the woodwork. You have to admit this was a special case, Siri. I heard a rumour your strangler was a bit confused in the gender department."

  "He was a hermaphrodite."

  "That'd be enough to throw anyone off-kilter. It doesn't pardon him but it does explain what happened. Even I'd go nuts if I didn't have a willy."

  Siri looked into his friend's eyes and smiled.

  "Mrs Noy tells me…"

  "Don't even think about saying it."

  "How do you know…?"

  "Whatever it is, keep it to yourself. I recognize that mischievous glint. Finish the story. How did the girl come through it all?"

  "She was in shock, of course, but unharmed. We spent the night asleep in the truck. I wasn't in any state to drive. I caught up with Daeng and the police the next day. By then they'd discovered the bodies of Buaphan and the census collector and put two and two together. Daeng was in a terrible state. She'd expected the next body they found would be mine. I'm afraid I'd rather set her up for that by telling her about my premonitions of death."

  Young Nounou came skipping along the path to the two old men.

  "Grandpa," she said. "Granny Daeng says your friend's looking for you."

  "Ah, at last," Siri smiled. "I suppose it's time for the handover. You coming, old brother?"

  "No," said Civilai. "Give me a few minutes. I want to bask in the afterglow of your adventure. I need to work out the few changes I'd have to make to turn it into a story about me for the next cake party."

  Siri laughed and thumped his friend on the cranium with his fist. He took Nounou's hand and she led him back towards the giant pumpkin. Daeng was standing talking to a small man in a floppy Burmese bush hat. As they got closer, he saw that it wasn't a man at all. The figure looked up with a beaming smile.

  "General Bao?" Siri laughed and switched to Hmong language. "Is that you inside that ridiculous disguise?"

  He didn't know whether to hug her or kiss her so he settled for a long, lingering handshake. It had concerned him during their time together in the north that he had fallen in love with this beautiful, brave little warrior. But once they were apart, it began to make sense. She was the daughter he'd wanted so badly all his life — the daughter his wife claimed would distract them from the fight for political freedom. She was the girl upon whom he could bestow all his paternal pride and joy. When they'd parted a few months earlier it had been harder than he could understand. And now, at their reunion, he felt he could cry. He wanted to boast to the world that his brave girl had survived.

  "Who is that?" Nounou asked.

  "A very special lady and a very good friend," he said. "Do you want to go and find your auntie Tong and auntie Gongjai and tell them to bring the twins?"

  "OK
." She ran off.

  "How did you two…?" Siri began.

  "Instinct," said Madame Daeng. "We sort of gravitated to one another."

  "That's nice. Do you mind…?"

  "Of course not." Daeng smiled at Bao and went to sit on a bench. Siri realized he was still holding the Hmong's hand.

  "Is everybody safe?" he asked.

  "We lost Chia."

  Siri felt a pain in his heart at the matter-of-fact way she reported her sister's death. But the tribe had lost many before her and the departed were best grieved for in private.

  "We walked for three weeks," Bao said, smiling proudly. "A few kilometres every night. We hid from the PL and the Vietnamese during the day. And it was true. The twins would have given us away with their crying. You saved our lives."

  Siri blushed. "And Chia?"

  "She went to find us water and was shot by a lone guard. She didn't suffer. How are the babies?"

  "They're enormous. You won't recognize them. How did you get across the river?"

  "It was easy. The uncle who made this garden has another garden on the Thai side. He has a little boat and he travels back and forth bringing his Buddhas and amulets. The guards don't dare stop him because they believe he has very strong magic. He sometimes lets people hide on his boat."

  Siri laughed. "That's marvellous. I bet he doesn't have too many passengers coming in this direction."

  "He said I was the first."

  Siri introduced Bao to his friends. It was time for the surrogate mothers to hand over the babies. Tong and Gongjai watched teary eyed as Bao cooed and snuggled her nose into the babies' bellies. They seemed to recognize her scent or her language because they glowed pink as if their batteries had been recharged.

  "Very well, ladies," Siri said. "It's time to let Bao take her relatives home."

  The two women looked at each other. It was Tong who said, "Uncle Siri, we're going too."

  A shocked mumble rolled around the crowd.

  "The twins have a family," Siri said. "A whole tribe even."

  "It's not about the babies," said Gongjai. "We know we can't keep them. That's not why we're going."

  Siri understood immediately. He'd heard the officials at Housing describe the women. They'd served their sentences but he knew they would never be free of the stigma. He turned to their aunt.

  "Are you all right about this?"

  "It's for the best, Dr Siri," she said.

  "Life won't be easy on the Thai side," Siri told them.

  "We know girls who have gone over," Gongjai told him. "They're earning a living wage. We might even get a little respect over there. Who knows?"

  Siri doubted that, but he knew they'd weighed the odds.

  "So be it," he said.

  They all kissed the babies, then the women, and it was time to part company. General Bao took Siri to one side.

  "Yeh Ming," she said, using his shaman name, "none of us will ever forget you." She squeezed his hands in hers and kissed his cheek. For good measure, she said in Lao, "Thank you."

  She turned and joined the twins and the ladies of ill repute and walked jauntily off toward the workers' huts and the little pier. He knew in his heart he would never see them again. With a catch in his voice he whispered, "Bo ben nyang."

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