Colin Cotterill - The Merry Misogynist

"No, dearie. It didn't interfere with them. It obliterated them. You are a slut!" The only thing he wanted from her she no longer possessed.

This second letter, this was what he needed. It had arrived in his box without a stamp through the magic of acquaintanceships. He sat beneath a large Mangifera on the grounds and unfolded the lined school paper. A tiny delicate green caterpillar abseiled down a fine silk thread and landed on the open page. It was an omen. He didn't need omens. He crushed it with his thumb and wiped his hand on the side of his navy blue trousers.

He read her neat handwriting. Dearest Phan, I can't tell you how special your letter was for me. I'd prayed at our temple that you would take me to your world. I've seen and learned everything I can here in mine. Now it's time for me to grow and improve myself. We have planned the wedding ceremony for the evening of the 26th. I hope that's convenient for you and your work. It means we can leave directly on the morning of the 27th.

Phan, there are so many thoughts and words in my heart that I am too shy to write. Like you I have never written a love letter. I hope you'll be able to teach me how to express myself so I don't embarrass you in front of the Lords and Ladies of Europe. From Wei to Phan

Five days away. That was more like it. To the point. No mushy sentiment or scents or last-second confessions. No poetry or bad grammar. She really was perfect, this schoolteacher. He climbed back into his truck and sat behind the wheel. He turned the key and pulled the ignition knob. His beast roared. People on the post office steps turned to stare. "Yes, yes, morons. It's me. Notice me! You'll all hear about me soon enough." He let his foot growl on the accelerator. This was it. This was the feeling. A woman and a truck. What else could a real man want? He pulled out onto Ian Xang Avenue without bothering to look. If anyone on the road was so deaf they couldn't hear his engine they deserved to be mowed down. He drove twenty metres on the wrong side of the street before crossing to the far lane. It rarely mattered in Vientiane. He allowed himself a gratuitous honk of the horn. He was a very merry misogynist.

Siri had ridden to the Morning Market after lunch and bought some chicken wire. The hornbill wasn't getting along too well with the ducks and chickens in Madame Daeng's backyard so he was planning to divide the garden like East and West Berlin. He hoped he wouldn't have to resort to machine-gun turrets and barbed wire. On his way back, some idiot in a truck almost wiped him out in front of the post office. Siri's heart was still pounding when he arrived at the morgue. Mr Geung was standing waiting for him on the front step with a note in each hand. He held them up in front of Siri's face.

"M…messages," he said.

"What do they say?" Siri asked, walking past him and into the office.

"I…I don't know. They're in…in writing."

After many hundred hours of earth-staggering patience, Dtui and Siri had succeeded in teaching Geung some of the mechanics of reading. He had what Dtui called a 'learn-two-forget-three letter system'. He finally recognized words more from their overall shape than their spelling. Handwriting was noodles to Mr Geung.

Siri read the notes aloud for Geung's benefit. The first was from the Lao Patriotic Women's Association. Siri, how are you? I'm sure you're very busy, but it would be wonderful if you could come and see me as soon as possible. Very best wishes, your friend, Pornsawan

The second note was from Justice. Siri, I expect you here at 1:30, my office. Don't be late. Haeng

Siri smiled. "Now, Mr Geung, did you notice any difference in style between these two notes?"

Geung shook his head.

"Perhaps I read them badly. Here!" He read them again using his soft and fluffy voice on the first and his Judge Haeng impersonation on the second.

"Now did you see any difference?"

"This one," Geung pointed, "is…is nice. This one is bad."

"That's quite right, Geung. So which one do you think I'm going to respond to first?"

"The nice one."

"Correct. See? You'll be reading in no time."

"Judge H…Haeng is going to be, to be p…pissed off."

"You might be right."

Dr Pornsawan was working with a group of rural medical interns when Siri arrived at the Women's Association. As soon as she saw him outside the room she excused herself and went to greet him. She swung his hand from side to side and squeezed his fingers.

"Hello, Siri. Thank you so much for coming. My office?"

He followed her to the simple doorless booth she called her own and they both sat. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a thick wad of notes.

"You'd be surprised how small our country can be, Dr Siri."

"This is all in response to our strangling?"

"Some of it's dross — some fantasy and myths," she said. "But there are one or two reports in there I think could be relevant."

"But it's only been three days," Siri reminded her. "And one of those was a Sunday."

"We don't mess about, Doctor. We had ladies coming here from the provinces for training and girls going out for workshops. The word got around very quickly. An angry bunch of women actually knows no bounds."

"You're telling me."

"I've taken the liberty of singling out two stories. One was from a lady's personal experience. The other was anecdotal. Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you."

Pornsawan poured and related the first tale.

"A girl in Champasak, in the south," she began. "It was in September of last year. Her parents had sent her off to work on a logging concession in the neighbouring province: Attapeu. It appears one of the foremen had taken a shine to her when he was on leave and saw her around Pakse town. He convinced her parents she'd make a good secretary for the projects in the hills. She'd only completed grade three and had never seen a typewriter, so obviously the foreman was a master at recognizing potential."

"Obviously."

She sat and let her tea cool on the desk beneath the ceiling fan. Siri sipped at his right away.

"The foreman arranged her travel documents and drove her up into the hills. On her first night there he made his inevitable advances, and the girl, a virgin, ran to the house of the local headman and his family to complain and seek refuge. Staying at the house was a gentleman attached to the Department of Agriculture. He was shocked by the girl's story and went to the logging foreman's house and thumped him one. Some rumours would have it that he beat him half to death, but we all know what rumours are like, brother Siri. We're doctors so we aren't allowed to say things like, "He had it coming." The girl stayed at the headman's house for a few days, and she and the gentleman from Agriculture fell in love. They were parted for two weeks, but as soon as they reunited they were married."

"That was quick."

"One of our policies here is to return to the old tradition of getting to know the person you marry. It sounds fundamental but what with all the upheavals — troops relocating, men dying, and roads being built through remote villages — there are families only too willing to put their daughters into the hands of a stranger who is better off than themselves..Our peasantry is getting poorer and more desperate.

"But I digress. On the night of the wedding at the girl's home in Champasak, the groom announced that he had to return to Vientiane in two days. Given the state of the road, that seemed like an insurmountable task. So he left with his bride directly after the ceremony. He had a truck, but our witness couldn't say what type it was, just that the village boys were all gathered around it oohing and aahing. That was the last the parents saw of their daughter. They didn't hear from her again."

"And that was the anecdote?"