Colin Cotterill - Thirty-Three Teeth

“No. Dear Mr. Soth moved out under mysterious circumstances. I came home one evening to find him and his family and all their furniture gone. I mean the other neighbor, my own Miss Vong.”

“Vong and Inthanet? You must be joking.”

“Not at all. They appear to be getting along very nicely, and it does keep her out of my hair.”

“Are they, you know, performing together?”

“Dtui. No. It’s all very proper. They go for motorbike rides down to the river, hold hands listening to her traditional tapes in the back garden.”

“How sweet.”

“I think it was all a bit too sickening for my dog.”

“Saloop?”

“He’s left home.”

“I thought you two were inseparable.”

“Obviously not. I think he’s found himself a-”

“Siri.”

“What is it?”

He hurried across to check her pipes and wires.

“I saw him. I saw Saloop.”

“Where?”

“That day. That day in the tunnel when I came around. It completely went out of my head till you mentioned him. He was just sitting, watching Seua run amok.”

“You sure you didn’t add him later, in your dreams?”

“No. ‘Cause when I saw him, I remember wondering whether you were around, too. I guessed you’d come looking and brought Saloop with you.”

“He wasn’t with me.”

“And you didn’t see him?”

“No. When I got the flashlight working, I saw the aftermath of the scene you just described, but with one addition. There was an old lady-I mean the spirit of the same old lady that came to our office often when you two had gone home.”

“You forgot to mention that.”

“Didn’t want to spook anyone. Well, she was there, or it was there, standing over Seua’s body. I went to do what I could for you, and she vanished. But Saloop; I have no idea how he found his way into the tunnels. I’ve been seeing him in some odd places lately, but he’s definitely gone back to his old street life. He doesn’t even have the manners to come and visit from time to time.”

“Perhaps he’s afraid of all those house guests, Siri, and he’ll come home when they’ve gone. Doc?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“For?”

“Everything. Thanks for coming to look for me that day. Thanks for taking care of Mom. Thanks for being here now. I owe you big-time.”

“You can pay me back by passing those exams.”

“Just as well you don’t want it in cash. What was the secret about paying the bills here you couldn’t tell me?”

“Dtui, sweetheart, it’s three-thirty in the morning and I have a kidney to dissect at eight. You don’t suppose I could have a little sleep before then, do you? Even if you aren’t tired, I’m exhausted.”

“Sorry. You’re right. Go get some sleep.”

“You need anything?”

She thought about spending the rest of her life with a triangular face.

“A new perspective? You couldn’t flip my face, could you?”

“I don’t see why not.”

He took her chin in one hand and her forehead in the other and gently dragged her nose across the pillow to face the other wall. It gave her a brief preview of the pain she’d be enjoying over the next week. Siri sighed and creaked back into his chair.

“G’night, Dtui.”

“G’night, Doc.”

“Oh, Doc?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it still hot outside?”

“Damned hot.”

Vientiane was preparing for New Year on the 14th with its usual verve. Houses had to be cleaned, repairs made, old scores forgiven. It was customary to begin the new year in a state of physical and moral cleanliness.

March and early April had been the hottest on record, and a lot of people had forgotten what rain felt like. Excluding the Government, everyone was looking forward to a few days of water tossing, and hosing down, and walking around in shorts and rubber sandals. Songkran was Laos’s most joyous and uninhibited calendar event.

All the splashing generally got Mother Nature in the mood too, and she’d join in with some generous pre-season rainstorms to begin the long process of slaking the thirst of the land. But if old Mother Nature had been in the meeting at the Interior Ministry on the eleventh, she’d probably have become as hotheaded as Civilai.

He stormed out after the final vote with his glasses steamed up and his two aides scuttling along after him.

“Fools,” was all he had to say.

It was Sunday. Inthanet, with the invaluable aid of his lovely assistant, Miss Vong, was making the final preparations for his big show. From his vantage point on the hammock in the back yard, Siri couldn’t help noticing the red flushes on their collective cheeks. Either sewing hems on Royal capes was hot work, or they’d been up to something. Siri didn’t relish getting a mental picture of what that may have been, but he was pleased that Miss Vong finally had a little romance in her life.

Manoluk lay sleeping on the cot on the veranda. One overworked fan whirled at her feet at the end of a daisy chain of extension cords that brought it out to the garden. Another chain led to the living room, where a second fan swept back and forth drying the new paint faces of a lineup of delighted puppets. A third fan puffed at the ruddy cheeks of the lovers in the back room. The radio played northern flute music live from the army studio. The refrigerator made ice for the lemon tea. The rice cooker prepared lunch.

The drain on the national electric grid from Siri’s house alone was enormous. He expected a raid at any second. So when the bell rang from the front gate-a bell that only strangers used-he knew the jig was up.

“Visitor,” Miss Vong called out.

“So I gathered,” Siri agreed. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go and see who it is, would you?”

“I’m threading.”

“Of course you are.”

The old Miss Vong would have been at the fence with her binoculars and notepad at the first footfall on the front path. Now she didn’t care. Siri reluctantly climbed down from the hammock and shuffled stiffly through the house. The bell had rung with great urgency twice more before he reached the front.

“Patience, patience,” he said, and creaked open the gate that was neither locked nor latched.

To his amazement, Mrs. Fah, the wife of his old neighbor, Soth, stood a few paces back from the gate. She’d been crying and was shaking violently.

“Mrs. Fah. What’s wrong?”

“Dr. Siri, can you come with me, please?”

These were more words than they’d exchanged in all the time they’d lived next door to one another.

“What is it?”

“My husband is dying, and he says it’s your fault.”

Siri rode his motorcycle with Mrs. Fah on the back, holding his bag. She gave directions, and he was interested to see that the neighbors had moved about a mile from their old house to a similar suburb. The woman insisted on getting off the bike long before the house came into view and walking ahead, lest her husband see her. In fact, the new house was almost identical to the one they’d left in such a hurry. It was all most peculiar.

Mrs. Fah hadn’t given Siri any details of her husband’s ailment, so he didn’t know what to expect. He parked in the street and followed the wife through the opulent house to the bedroom. The huge king-size bed contained a remarkably shriveled Mr. Soth at its center. His skin was gray, and his cheekbones stood out on his face.

“Mr. Soth, what’s happened to you?”

The man opened his eyes slowly and glared at Siri.

“As you see, Doctor, I’ve been struck down.”

“By what?”

He reached out for Soth’s wrist but the man pulled away.

“I don’t need your medicine. I can afford a dozen real doctors. None of them have helped.”