Colin Cotterill - The Merry Misogynist

"To what?"

"To say something nice about me."

"Shouldn't it be spontaneous?"

"Not necessarily."

Daeng poured them another drink and Siri considered what story might suit the occasion. He didn't have any fruit or cereal analogies so he resorted to something he knew.

"All right," he said. "You know I told you about the visions I was having?"

"The wormy lady and the dog?"

"Yes, well, I told you they were spectres warning me that Rajid was in danger. But at the time I actually thought they were omens about me and the end of my life."

"I knew that."

"You did?"

"Absolutely."

He wasn't really surprised. Daeng had a far better understanding of Siri Paiboun than he did.

"Anyway, once I got it into my head that I was on my way out, all I could think was how unfair it was that we'd had so little time together. If it had happened a year ago before our reunion I would have held out my wrists for the deathly shackles and gone happily. Now you've given me a reason to fight. I don't want either of us popping off into the ether."

"That's lovely."

They looked up at the clear, starry sky and grinned at the Great Bear, who always seemed to be falling on his backside.

"The census," she said.

"You've just changed the subject, haven't you?"

"Not really. It's an ongoing subject. It's what you asked me on Wednesday, about a department that's high profile, has a reasonable budget, whose employees might go back to the same location twice. It just came to me."

Siri sat up in his seat and glared at his wife.

"To distribute and collect questionnaires," Siri said.

"Right."

"You're brilliant."

"I know. Don't tell Phosy yet."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a policeman. He's not very subtle. He'd go strutting into their office with his police bell ringing and alert everyone that he's on to them and, if he's there, your maniac would go to ground."

"What then?"

"Just wander in there. Have a look around. Just some old fellow interested in the census. No danger. You get your information and if you see anything fishy you tell Phosy. That way you can nail the bastard."

"And you came up with this plan while you were staring at the moon, billing and cooing with me?"

"The woman's brain has two hemispheres," she slurred. "One for loving, one for hating. They can operate quite competently at the same time."

The Minorities Census of '77-'78 was one that the government officially knew nothing about. Despite all the recent posturing on the rights of the non-lowland Lao, it was apparent that nobody actually had a clue as to how many different ethnic groups there were. The prime minister in his annual address put the number at over a hundred, but the Ministry of Culture quoted a figure of sixty-eight. And within those groups, nobody knew how many had survived the war and how many had fled. Before anyone in power was prepared to put his name to a bill to protect the rights and culture of minorities, the Central Committee needed to know just how many people were involved and what slice of the budget it might eat up. Some sceptics, Siri included, suggested that this might just be a subtle plot to seek out and remove groups still opposed to the PL, but nobody was prepared to admit to such subterfuge.

The collection of data had commenced in early '77. The logistics were daunting, especially considering the fact that most ethnic groups lived in remote locations specifically so they wouldn't be bothered by the government. The census was organized by the Ministry of Interior but operated independently out of a two-storey building on Koovieng Road. There was a director, Comrade Kummai, a clerical staff of six who collated data, three drivers, three mobile teams of survey collectors, and a woman who cleaned and made tea. Of the mobile teams, two flew to remote sites, hired a four-wheel-drive vehicle at the location, and headed off into the hills. The other team operated within convenient driving distance of Vientiane and paid local lowland Lao officials to conduct the surveys among isolated communities in their districts.

When Siri arrived that morning, the cleaning lady showed him directly upstairs to Comrade Kummai's office without asking who he was. The director's door was open, and Kummai was facing an enormous wall chart, making 'Pshh, pshh' sounds, and scratching his head. He seemed to be searching for something in the tangle of lines and figures. The maid left Siri there without saying a word to the director, so he had no choice but to introduce himself.

"Excuse me, Comrade."

Kummai turned. He was a portly man not much taller than Siri. He wore a white shirt tucked into his belt only where it was in the mood to be. He wore no socks and his trousers were rolled up his shins.

"You're Dr Siri," he said.

"I am."

Siri tried to place the director but he was nowhere to be found in Siri's memory.

"Kummai, northern zone 3 regiment," said the man. "It's me, Captain Kummai. You were attached to us for a few months. Hot season — '65, I think it was."

"You've got a good memory, Comrade."

"Names and dates stick. That's why I ended up here, I suppose. Not surprised you don't remember me, though. I was a slim fellow back then."

Siri couldn't place him at all but he'd seen so many soldiers. Now if he'd died, that would be a different matter entirely. To Siri's surprise, the head of the Census Department began to unbutton his shirt. Siri took a step back towards the door.

"Remember this?" asked Kummai. He lifted a roll of fat to reveal an appendix scar. Not surprisingly, to Siri it looked like any other appendix scar.

"It's very neat," Siri decided.

"Of course it is. This is your handiwork. I'd wager half the men in our section have scars courtesy of Dr Siri. Wouldn't be surprised if they boasted to their loved ones about having Siri originals."

"I should have signed them."

Kummai laughed uproariously. He crossed to Siri and shook his hand and patted his back.

"Well, well," he said. "Dr Siri still alive. What are you now? Eighty? Ninety?"

Siri laughed. "It feels that way sometimes."

"I bet it does. I bet it does. Well now, Dr Siri. Let me show you around my domain."

"I don't want to be a nuisance," Siri said.

"Nonsense." Kummai took the doctor's arm and led him out of the office. Siri and Daeng had put together an elaborate ruse to get a look at the inside of the building but the director didn't even ask what he'd come for. The tour began with the upstairs clerical section.

"This is old Dr Siri," Kummai told the girls. "Saved my life in the war. Still alive, both of us. Ha ha."

The clerks seemed mentally exhausted by their director's unending joy. While Kummai went into detail about his burst appendix, Siri noted that the walls were lined with samples of every type of official document there was. As they were leaving the room, he asked the director what they were doing there.

"Checks, Siri. Checks. We often have to verify that documents are authentic. Our lasses in there just compare an original with the sample. If it looks suspicious they call in the heavy brigade. That's me."

He was still laughing when he reached the bottom of the stairs. In one of the main rooms, two men sat at one desk poring over a large map draped over the desktop like an oversized tablecloth. One of the men was tall and slim with eyes dark and deep enough to dip a fountain pen into. The other was stocky with a broken nose and a scar on his cheek. He could have been nothing other than a boxer.

"Comrades," said Kummai. The two men looked up. "This is Siri, my old doctor from the war. I still have his handiwork on my gut."

Siri and the men shook hands and wished each other good health. Both men had impressive grips.

"These brave men are leaving for the wilds of the Thon River."