Colin Cotterill - Curse of the Pogo Stick

It was Siri’s view that tomorrow couldn’t come a moment too soon.

“It isn’t the way she would have liked it, but these are odd times,” Long continued. “I wanted to invite friends and neighbors from other villages. She was a popular woman. There would have been a few hundred people here. But… well, you know how things are now. Of course, my great shaman, I won’t insult you by asking you to preside at the ceremony. That wouldn’t be right. But we’d be glad to have you there as guest of honor. If you don’t mind.”

Siri didn’t actually see that he had a choice. He was a helpless captive after all. The women kept topping up his cup and filling his plate. He wondered whether the time was right yet to find out why they’d brought him there. There were courtesies and there was probably a diplomatic way for him to inquire but he didn’t know what that was, so…

“Why am I here?” he asked.

“Aha,” said Long. “Don’t try to fool us with your trickery.”

The time obviously wasn’t right. Siri tried a different tack.

“Can I ask you about my… abduction?” he said.

“What do you need to know?” Long asked. He was throwing back the misty white liquor as fast as the cup could be refilled and it seemed to be embalming him fast. His movements were much suffer now and his speech was beginning to sound like a tape recorder whose batteries had run down.

“Well, I’m assuming you’ve brought me here deliberately. Or, rather, you’ve brought Yeh Ming here for some purpose. How did you know where to find me? How did you know I was on the road?”

“The music of the geng. The music kept track of you.”

“That’s very impressive.”

“That, and the wireless. The rebel base over the ridge got hold of your route and travel plans. They told us when you’d be passing.”

Siri was a little disappointed. He liked the image of being lured to his destination like some rat from Hamelin.

“Yeh Ming seems to be something of a celebrity around these parts then,” Siri smiled.

“Oh, everywhere, Yeh Ming. Not just here. Everywhere the Hmong live they sing of you. I know you are the only one who can rid us of the evil that’s come over us.”

“I was afraid you might say something like that.” Siri shook his head. “So it was the rebels from the base who ambushed the convoy this morning?”

“Oh, no. The rebels have more important things to do. No offense.”

“So…?”

“We were the kidnappers, sir,” said young Yer. It was the first time any of the women had addressed him directly.

Siri looked around the mat at the angels of innocence who smiled serenely and glowed brightly from the whisky.

“You? You organized the whole thing? The avalanche? The gun attack? The…” He couldn’t think of the word for tranquilizer. “The sleeping poison?”

“My general here,” said Long, pointing at Bao, one of the least likely of the group to be a fighter. Obviously, somewhere deep down Siri still believed pretty women didn’t need to be good at anything. The Women’s Union would have his name on a blacklist if they ever found out. It was tough being an old man from a patriarchal society in the new Laos.

“You’re a formidable soldier,” he told her.

She nodded in agreement and, having been spoken to, she countered with, “And you were a fearless foe. The orange was very tasty.”

The women all laughed. Not polite Japanese giggles but hearty real-woman belly laughs.

“And, forgive me, Yeh Ming,” said Ber. “You’re mistaken about one thing.”

“Oh?”

“It wasn’t this morning we brought you here. It was yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Sorry,” said General Bao. “We mixed the potion a bit too strong. We’ve only used it on wild ponies before.”

They all laughed again.

“I slept for twenty-four hours? I don’t usually manage more than five hours a night. It’s no wonder I’m rested.”

“And who’s in your bed to give you only five hours of rest?” asked Chia, which again produced a round of laughter.

The alcohol was rough but effective and the women grew prettier with every cup. Siri assumed he too was getting younger and more handsome as the evening wore on. But at some stage in the celebrations Madame Daeng entered his head. Dtui found her way in there too and

Geung and the odd assortment of characters living in his house in Vientiane.

“People at home will be worried about me,” he said. “Is there any way you could get word to my friends that I’m safe?”

“Don’t worry, Yeh Ming.” Long swayed as he spoke. “I’ll get word to Vientiane through the rebels. They’ve got a good network.”

Siri thanked him. “And what about the people in the motorcade with me yesterday?”

“They were unhurt,” General Bao told him. “We aren’t real soldiers. We don’t kill unless it’s really necessary. We fight to survive. Only one of your party got lost.”

“Lost?”

“He ran into the jungle. Your soldiers searched for him for many hours.”

“I stayed to watch,” said Phia. “I’m fat but I can hold my breath and disappear like a hungry ghost.”

“It’s true, she can,” laughed Yer.

“The soldiers gave up. They had to clear the road before it got dark. They went back the way they came.”

“The one that fled,” Siri asked. “What did he look like?”

“He ran like a man with no backbone. His face had raspberries growing from it.”

“Judge Haeng,” said Siri to himself. “Do you know where he went?”

“I watched for a long time, Yeh Ming. He had no sense of direction. The soldiers called and he went the opposite way. He’s probably still walking in circles.”

“But any man with instincts can survive up here,” General Bao pointed out.

It struck Siri that the type of instincts employed by the judge probably wouldn’t help him. And he’d been alone in the forest for two days. Although Siri had admired the heroes of French literature during his studies, he’d secretly envied the callousness of the villains. Fantфmas and Thйnardier were so completely without scruples they must have enjoyed remorse-free lives. Siri often regretted having morals. This was one of those occasions. He briefly imagined the young judge being eaten alive by red ants or stung by the lethal toothbrush spider. Would life be better at the morgue without him? Probably not. They’d bring in another prodigy from the Eastern Bloc and Siri would have to start the training all over again. He had no choice.

“The boy in the jungle with the raspberry face is Yeh Ming’s assistant,” he said. “Without him I cannot perform… whatever it is I’ve been brought here to perform.”

“Are you sure, Yeh Ming?” General Bao asked. “He couldn’t even help himself.”

“That’s true,” said Siri. “But a great shaman has to have a weak-minded person in his entourage to… to confuse the spirits. Empty vessels make the most sound, don’t forget.”

“All right,” said Bao. “If you say so, Yeh Ming. We’ll look for him tomorrow, after the funeral.”

“Don’t take too many of my troops,” slurred Elder Long, who was teetering on the edge of consciousness. “We have to finish tapping the opium before we leave.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Ah, Yeh Ming, Yeh Ming. Why do you play with us like this? You see all and you know all.”

“No, actually I…”

“I see. You want us to understand ourselves by speaking out.”

“No, I really…”

“No problem, Yeh Ming. I respect your wisdom. Soon the end is coming for all of us. We chose the wrong side. Or the wrong side chose us. Whatever! We have to leave. So many of our brothers and sisters have joined the big march to escape the land of the Red Dragon. Soon it’ll be our turn. Turfed out again by the bastards.”