Colin Cotterill - Anarchy and the Old Dogs

“I… I’d tell him to mend his ways and… and send him home.”

“Of course you would. But let’s not forget-a child isn’t necessarily a ‘he,’ is it? Could have been a she.”

“Boys are more likely.”

“More likely to climb in through one of these big gaping windows on the river side and mess around unsupervised. Cause damage. Talk back. Real little bastards, some of these local boys. Right?”

“I don’t know.”

“My word, yes. And they have no respect at all for the royal family.”

“That they don’t.”

“They probably hear in school that His Preciousness was making a mint in stolen goods and protection and drugs. Even that he was selling arms to the communists in Vietnam just to make a few more fr-”

“He never did. That’s all rubbish.” Her fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white.

“Just to make a few more francs for his retirement. When the kids hear that kind of thing, of course they’d repeat it if they met anyone defending the prince. It’s only natural.”

“It’s slander-vulgar socialist propaganda. Children shouldn’t be told spiteful lies like that.”

“Who was there to put him right? He only knew what it was like for his family to starve under a Royalist regime while the big honcho got rich and built an obscene palace. He wasn’t here to cause trouble. He just came to make sense of it all.”

“He had no respect.”

“No respect for what?” Siri’s volume had risen in tandem with hers to the point that they were a yard apart yelling at each other.

“For the centuries of proud and noble royal families that have ruled our lands in the south. For the great battles won to protect its people. For the culture they brought to us.”

“Really? Perhaps he wondered-with all that culture and protection-why he was still living in a wooden hut in the mud.”

“His kind will always be in the mud. That class of people never seize the opportunities they’re offered.”

“That class is ninety-five percent of the population. That’s an awful lot of people not seizing opportunities. Perhaps the boy saw himself as their knight. Perhaps he thought by coming here and breaching your castle he could avenge injustices.”

“Or perhaps he was just a foul-mouthed little tyke out for trouble. Have you considered that?”

Siri’s volume dropped to a whisper. “And he found it, didn’t he?”

She fell silent and lowered her eyes. Siri looked at Tao and nodded.

“We’re going to take a look at your water tower, Comrade,” the policeman said, taking a step toward the looming concrete turret. There was a fire in the woman’s eyes that flashed, first at Tao, then at Siri.

“This is private property. Get off our land,” she snarled.

Tao smiled. “This is the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos,” he said. “There is no private property. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to lead the way.”

They let her climb the ladder first. At the top she stood on the small landing that was barely wide enough for one. Siri joined her there and Tao remained on the fifth rung from the top.

“Open it,” Siri said.

The tower was twenty feet deep and had a circumference of about sixty feet. In the wet season it would remain open to the elements to catch rainwater, but in the endless summer a temporary roof was attached to the top. This stopped the water evaporating and kept out thirsty birds who drank so much they often died and rotted right there in the tank. The top of the tower was turreted so that there was a gap of about an inch all around the rim that kept the hot summer water aerated but allowed access to only the slenderest of creatures. There was a hatchway in the roof leading to a removable ladder inside the tank.

The caretaker lifted the lid and sidled around to allow Siri to look inside. The light from the gap reflected on the still surface of the water below. He kicked off his sandals, rolled up his trouser legs, and clambered over the ledge onto the interior ladder. Carefully, he climbed down.

“Not a lot of water in here, is there?” he said.

She looked down through the hatch. “What do you expect? You bastards stole the pump.”

“So how much would you estimate is in here? About three feet?”

“If you say so.”

When his foot touched the warm water, Siri stopped and looked up at the halo of light filtering in around the edge of the roof-a UFO circling above him-and he knew this was the last sight Sing had seen in his short life. He lowered himself into the water and cringed when his foot met the slime at the bottom. He could barely conceive what torture it had been for the boy. How many days had they left him here up to his waist in water? Hungry, eaten alive by mosquitoes, alone and afraid. Overcome by exposure or fatigue, he’d finally slipped below the surface of the water and drowned.

Siri waded carefully around the wall of the tower until he came to some markings. They were scratched in brown on the gray concrete. Siri visualized the scene: hours of yelling for help, the sounds muffled by the thick walls, desperation, boredom. A river pebble or two in the pocket of his school shorts. Around the second day, trembling from exposure, awful pain in his leg and thigh muscles, he occupies his mind by drawing a masterpiece. The stones aren’t soft enough to be manageable, but over the course of the day he etches a lovely picture-a little girl with a smile half the size of her head. She’s holding hands with a boy who has horns like a buffalo, or a devil. Beneath them a single word: friends.

The mixed emotions of the previous week welled up in Siri and he leaned his forehead against the concrete and bawled shamelessly. Tao’s voice filled the tank twice before he could respond to it.

“You all right down there, Doctor?”

Siri wiped the tears from his face and waded to the ladder. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

When all three were back on the ground, Siri put his face close to the woman’s and drilled his meadow green eyes into hers. His voice was a growl.

“I’ve never in my life shown violence to a woman,” he said. “Never. But for somebody like you, I could easily break my own rules. You are…”

He felt an almighty thump against his back and found himself flying through the air. He landed facedown in the mud, and within a split second some snarling and punching creature was on him. It bit into his ear and Siri felt the sharp pain of the membrane being ripped away. He smelled a vile breath and sensed an uncommon, inhuman fury. Only by rolling slightly to one side and digging his fingers into the attacker’s face could Siri make out the identity. The brother, roused and angry, had come to the aid of his sister. His was an instinctive, animal reaction. Lurking inside the frail, silent man was a wild beast. This was the weapon that kept out intruders. They had no need of a gun.

Out of the corner of his eye, Siri could see Officer Tao locked in battle with the woman. She was scratching and spitting like a cat. The policeman was behind her with his arms locked around her chest but she was more than a match for the overweight cadre. There was no hope of his coming to Siri’s aid anytime soon. Siri had wrestled in Paris, but in the lightest weight class. If his attacker had been more than a skeleton, Siri knew he’d have had no chance. Yet he prayed to summon just a fraction of his former skill to overcome the man who was beating him black and blue. With his fingers still clawing into the flailing brother’s face, Siri rolled and pushed him farther away. The punches no longer landed with their full force, allowing Siri to catch his breath. With one final push he unbalanced the man, who fell sideways onto the damp earth. Siri used this momentum to roll him even further until his back was exposed, then latched onto him. He hooked his arms through the man’s and locked his hands behind the man’s head.