Colin Cotterill - Thirty-Three Teeth

“No. I’m nearly finished.”

And here came the lie Siri hoped might destroy the destroyer.

“He said there was only one person he could never find it in his heart to forgive.”

Although his expression remained passive, Kumron’s face drained of color like whiskey poured from a bottle.

“You betrayed him.”

“I don’t know who you are, sir, or why you came to me.”

His voice trembled. The suddenness of the accusation had overwhelmed him. He’d had no time to compose himself. It was as if the king were standing before him, exposing his treachery.

“You thought you were too clever to be found out, Comrade Kumron. You thought he would never suspect you, his most trusted confidant. He believed you were a friend. I’m disgusted with you, as was the whole family.”

“I …”

Kumron could put up no fight because he was certain he had been undone. Siri walked around the table and leaned into his ear.

“The reason I asked you about ghosts, Comrade Kumron, is because I believe the remnants of the Royal spirits will ruin you sooner or later. I’m sure you know of their power.”

And his piece de resistance, “Prince Phetsarath and I will see to that.”

And he left.

He had been about to add “We both have thirty-three teeth,” but as yet he wasn’t sure he did, and he decided enough damage had been done. Through the dining room window he could see the man crumpled in his seat, no longer the successful dignitary. This old man would now have to haul the twin burdens of guilt and revenge. Siri decided that a small battle for loyalty had been won and he dedicated the victory to his gardening friend. He didn’t know whether the king knew of Kumron’s role in his downfall, but it didn’t actually matter. A good lie in the right place can make up for any number of wrongs.

Dtui had been sitting for an hour in front of the office of the politburo member. She hadn’t made an appointment with Civilai. That wasn’t a particularly Lao thing to do. Appointments were rarely kept. She knew he had to come to his office eventually, and much sooner than she’d expected she was proven right. He walked along the corridor, flanked by two officious men who seemed much more flustered than their boss ever had.

“Nurse Dtui,” he said. “You brighten my day with your smile.”

“Comrade Civilai, can I have a quick word?”

The two aides protested.

“Why, certainly. I’m informed someone else is on his way to see me, but you’re most certainly my priority.”

In his office, Dtui told him about the talk with Ivanic.

“So,” she concluded, “do you think we can call off the ‘shoot to kill’ order on the bear? It’s been worrying me sick.”

“Dtui, my darling, remember where you are. It’s incredibly hard to get the simplest things done here. But it’s next to impossible to get anything undone. By the time the order’s filtered down to the bozos with the guns, it’ll certainly be too late.”

“Can we change it to a tiger hunt?”

Civilai laughed. Despite the difficult life he’d lived, he remained a jocular man who was intelligent enough to take his status and circumstances without too much seriousness. He had the presence of mind to greet all his disasters with a Lao laugh. This attitude worried many of the more somber Party members.

Some wondered if he was really interested but, in fact, he cared deeply about most things.

“The Department of Interior already thinks I’ve got a few screws loose. If I start announcing open season on all varieties of wild animals roaming the city, they’ll have me in a straitjacket. Don’t forget, this is all on the say-so of a Soviet circus performer.”

He could see that the matter was starting to depress her.

“Don’t you worry. Our army sharpshooters are all terrible shots. They’ll probably miss.”

“I know this all looks really silly, but our office is responsible for fingering that bear. I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink if I thought she got herself shot on our recommendation.”

“When’s your boss coming back?”

“I’m off to meet him at Wattay now. He got a regular flight, I guess, thanks to you.”

“It’s who you know. Is this a new morgue service, going to meet Siri at the airport? Or do you just miss him?”

“He called. He wants me to go and take care of a guest. He’s bringing someone, but he wouldn’t say who.”

“Whatever next?”

There was a knock at the door and one of the aides poked in his head.

“He’s here, Comrade.”

“All right.”

Civilai escorted Dtui from the room. In the waiting area a round-faced Chinese-looking man with a paper fan sat on a bench between two others sweating in suits. His curly hair sat on top of his head as if he were balancing a bunch of black grapes there. He was out of shape and wore a tight safari suit that proved it.

Civilai went over to him and shook his hand. He looked up through his unfashionable glasses but didn’t bother to stand.

“Comrade Kim, how nice to see you again,” said Civilai without enthusiasm.

It was translated by one of the damp shirts, but there was no verbal reply, just a nod. Civilai dragged Dtui up beside him.

“This is Nurse Dtui. She’s a soldier in the revolution to cure the sick, toiling day and night to look after our small but blossoming proletariat and make them well enough to further the cause of the blah, blah, blah, etcetera, etcetera. You know the lines,” he said to his Korean-speaking aide. The man had recently returned from Pyong Yang.

“Just keep the bull going till I get back.”

He smiled at the visitor and walked Dtui to the door.

“Who was that?”

“Secretary of the North Korean Workers’ Party. Next president. Son of present President Kim, a.k.a. ‘Living God.’ I’m supposed to keep the bundle of joy entertained while he’s in town.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“Really? If you knew what cultural delights the boy finds entertaining, you wouldn’t be enthusiastic either.”

“I tell you one thing, Uncle.”

“What’s that?”

“He wouldn’t get a date if he wasn’t the son of a Living God.”

At Wattay in the late afternoon, the Antonov 12 bounced along the runway until it came to a skidding halt. The previous year, in one of the major policy decisions of the Transport Department, perhaps the only one, Air Lao had become Lao Aviation. But the only investment that entailed was a few pots of paint. Bits still fell off during turbulence and on the few days it was working, passengers still vanished in a fog of air-conditioning.

The plane purred with achievement some eighty meters from the arrival shed so the passengers would have to plod across the sticky tarmac with their bags. As per Siri’s confusing instruction, Dtui had commandeered a songtaew taxi and told the driver to wait with her. She saw her boss come down the wobbly airplane steps from the rear door. He waited at the bottom until a sprightly old man with cropped white hair joined him. They walked quickly toward the shed, engaged in a serious conversation.

Siri gave a pleased smile and waved when he saw his assistant perspiring in the uncooled arrival lounge. She was behind a short barrier that separated the arrivers from the waiters. This was a domestic flight, but there were two officers in a booth checking every passenger’s laissez passer.

Siri was escorting an illegal traveler bereft of paperwork, so this could have been the start of a bureaucratic nightmare. But as he’d assumed, it turned out to be quite simple. The officers only checked the papers of those who crowded around them waving their travel documents and their house registrations and their birth certificates and their lists of signatures. One could avoid this melee by not going to the booth at all.