Colin Cotterill - Thirty-Three Teeth

“I don’t understand. What caused this?”

Soth looked beyond Siri.

“That.”

Siri turned his head and was stunned to see a trim version of Saloop lying in the corner of the room with his head on one paw.

“Saloop? Well, I’ll be. So this is where you got to. How are you, boy?”

Soth’s eyes grew wide. “So you can see it.”

“Of course I can.”

“Of course? My wife can’t. The kids can’t. Nobody else can see the damned thing but me. I’ve had three fortune-tellers here telling me it doesn’t exist.”

Siri stared at Saloop, who showed no sign of recognizing his old master. His eyes were glazed and red like cocktail cherries. His fur was dull. His left ear seemed to sit lower on his head than his right. There was no movement but for the irregular rise and fall of its breath. Siri was overcome with a sudden pang of sadness.

What he saw there was not his dog; it was the malevolent spirit of an animal that had suffered an unnatural death.

“It’s dead,” Soth said, and a tear appeared in the corner of his eye.

“Why’s he here?”

“It’s here to haunt me. It won’t rest till it sees me on my pyre. It won’t let me eat or sleep. It plans to stay here until I rot away.”

“But why?”

“Why? Why? Because I killed it, that’s why.”

“You killed my dog?”

“Yes, but because of you. Because you tried to make a fool of me. You didn’t leave me with any choice. I lured it into my yard and brained it with a shovel. It was to get back at you. This is all your fault.”

“The dog didn’t have anything to do with you or me.”

“It was your dog. I knew you liked it. It was just revenge.”

“But of course he’s not going to see a connection. Only man would hurt a third party to get revenge on someone who’d wronged him. It’s against nature. If your grievance was with me, you should have settled your debt with me directly. The dog’s spirit doesn’t know why you hate it.”

“It’s you I hate. This was all your fault. The bloody dog drove me out of my house, then followed me here. I can’t shake it off. You make it go away.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Can’t? Look at me, Siri. Look what state I’m in. You want my death on your conscience forever? Call off your dog.”

“No. I mean it isn’t for me to do. You have to beg forgiveness from the spirit of the dog for what you did.”

“Huh? I’m not asking a damned dog for forgiveness. What do you think I am?”

Siri looked at the man, still arrogant even at the threshold of death. He showed no remorse. The only person who could remove this curse was Soth himself, but to do that he had to accept responsibility.

“Mr. Soth, I’m going to be perfectly frank with you. There’s only one way for you to save yourself, but it is possible. You need to stop shifting the blame for all this onto me. You have to perform a basee ceremony and truly believe that you and you alone have caused this. You have to ask the spirit of the dog to forgive you. No one else can remove this burden.”

“So you’re refusing?”

“No. I’m telling you what to do. I’m giving you a way out.”

“I curse you for this, Siri. I curse you a hundred times.”

Siri closed his bag and walked to the door. He looked down at Soth.

“You’re in exalted company on that front, Mr. Soth. Don’t forget what I said. It’s all up to you.”

Soth spat in the doctor’s direction.

In the living room, he reported his warning to Mrs. Fah and gave her the same instructions.

“He’ll never do it,” she said.

“If he doesn’t, he won’t survive this.”

“No? Good riddance.”

Her honesty shocked but didn’t actually surprise him. He’d heard how the husband talked to the wife. He’d seen her kept as a slave in his house. She was glad this was happening, and once Siri confirmed that her husband wouldn’t make it, she’d finally had the courage to speak her mind.

“If you need any help,” Siri said, “you know where I live. I’m serious.”

On the short ride home, Siri tried to put his emotions into some kind of order. He didn’t feel guilt at this haunting. He was sad his dog had died, but proud the animal had gone after the bastard. It’s what he would have done. As for Soth, this was the backlash of Yin to punish him for his years of Yang. He couldn’t fight that. It comes to everyone, either in this life or in the next. He was glad to see that even in times of confusion such as these, the laws of I Ching were still in order.

The sign at the back of the stage was written in stylish letters on a white banner.

BENEFIT SHOW FOR THE NURSES’ MEDICAL FUND

For everyone on the Medical School football field that evening, this was the undisputed highlight of the Songkran celebrations. There had been so few events to cheer.

Politburo Directive 873 had basically put an end to spontaneous celebrations. New Year water throwing had only been allowed at designated spots under the watchful eye of pl representatives. There had been arrests of those who ignored the directive, and in places where anarchy reigned in large numbers, long lists of names were submitted to the authorities.

Due to the prolonged drought, water was throwable only from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. and had to be taken from natural sources such as ponds and rivers. Water from the public supply was off limits under threat of a nine-thousand- kip fine. Most musician and comedian concerts had been cancelled, and the giving of alms to monks in the morning had been kept very low key. There were to be no outward signs of extravagance.

So, for people living in and near the downtown area, this show was pretty much it, and if it hadn’t been for Siri, they wouldn’t even have had this. In the late afternoon, the Medical

School football team had won the annual grudge match against the Law School, 13-8. They then started to set the field up for the entertainment.

Chairs for VIPs were laid out in twenty rows in front of a stage. These were cordoned off from the standing public by lengths of pink nylon string tied to bamboo posts. The team’s supporters were all made to leave the field and re-enter, this time paying their fifty kip. All proceeds were to go to the Nurses’ Fund.

By 6:30, most of the VIP chairs were full and the field was crammed with onlookers mumbling with excitement. Children and particularly short people were hustled good-naturedly to the front of the standing gallery, and people at the back stood on boxes and bricks.

In the sixth row of the VIP chairs sat Civilai, Mr. Geung, and Siri, in that order. They watched as the most “I” of the VIPs arrived fashionably late. The same people who had banned festivals and public gatherings were excitedly taking their seats in front of them, nodding and waving as if they’d organized this show themselves.

Civilai had maintained a foul mood for three days now. He’d spent much of his life as a frustrated Nostradamus. He knew what benefits or consequences there would be from decisions made or policy introduced at any given time. He really knew. But he’d rarely been able to convince the majority. No matter how often he’d been proven right, they still saw him as a noisy reactionary cog in the revolutionary machine.

The festival directive, he knew would be a disaster. The people were suffering. They’d tightened their belts at the behest of the new regime. They’d pooled their scant resources and given up their humble luxuries. And what reward did they get for their unselfishness? Zilch. They needed festivals and concerts and happy days now and then in order to forget their frustrations.