Colin Cotterill - The Merry Misogynist

He sighed at the thought of it all.

Wei used her teacher's voice to be heard above the growl of the engine.

"What are you thinking about?" Wei asked.

That damned stupid question again. Surely, if a person was thinking something, wasn't it because he chose not to speak it? "Be patient," Phan told himself. He turned to his bride with the same smile that had won her.

"You," he lied. "Imagining what it will be like when we're together."

He reached for the gear knob to drop the old truck into second and, before he realized it, she had leaned forward and squeezed his hand. The fine hairs on his arm bristled and bile rose in his throat. He switched back to third gear, throwing off her hand as if by accident. There certainly wouldn't be any of that. If there was contact it would be when he was good and ready. Nothing would happen until its allotted time.

"Are you nervous?" he yelled to his bride: his possession in the passenger seat. She was only a shadow, but he could tell she was smiling.

"Not really nervous," she shouted. "More excited. If I hadn't had so much to drink I'd be scared to death, I'm sure."

"Really!" he mumbled beneath the angry engine noise. "You don't know yet just how scared you'll be, my little darling."

His mind wandered again. The day hadn't gone the way he'd planned it. He'd killed two men that afternoon. Killing was nothing new to him. It didn't trouble his soul at all, didn't make a dent on his conscience. But it had disoriented him. The sense of control, so important on his wedding days, had been sent into a spin. He'd lost his calm. They'd asked for it. There was no question about that, the imbecile especially. Than had caught him tinkering with the engine, threatening to take parts out and clean them. He'd said the truck would have to stay at the camp overnight. This was Phan's wedding night, for God's sake. Weddings only came around two or three times a year. He wasn't going to let the idiot spoil this day for him. It was easier to kill him than argue about it. He'd slit him with a bayonet. He'd had it coming for a long time. There would be no more discussions over who was in charge of the truck.

But for some reason that didn't make him feel any better and as if he wasn't already disoriented enough, then came the old man: nosy little blighter. He wouldn't shut up with his questions. He saw the blood on Phan's hands so there'd been no choice but to slit him too. Being forced to gut two men on your wedding day had to be a bad omen. It was as if he could feel a warning drape itself across his shoulders. He'd dragged the second body over beside the first, blood and entrails everywhere. He wasn't worried about being caught. They were in bandit territory. All Phan had to do was shrug, "I wasn't there, Comrade. I just drove up to the base and there they were — dead." They'd blame the Hmong. They blamed everything on the Hmong.

He should have been able to get it out of his mind but he'd been irritable all evening. Not even the thought of defiling the woman he owned could settle his mind. He just wanted it over and done with. All through the ceremony he'd been unable to summon his charming self. He was curt and insulting. He'd looked at his wristwatch more times than he'd looked at his bride. If they'd been sober, the guests might have put his mood down to nerves. But nobody seemed to care and it no longer mattered. He had his prize.

An hour on the road and they hadn't passed another vehicle. They were only ten kilometres from the Ban Nahoi turn-off. The moon nudged its way between two large clouds. Soon the rains would come, and all these roads would be impassable, even with a four-wheel drive. He slowed as he approached a withered tree that stretched its desperate branches across the road like the spines of a windblown umbrella. This was his marker. He stopped in the middle of the road. When he turned off the engine the silence hit them like a sigh of relief. Apart from the clicks and hisses of the cooling motor the sounds of nature all around were as soothing as a swim in a warm water stream.

"Why have we stopped?" Wei asked.

"I have a surprise for you," he said. "But I need to prepare everything. Promise me you'll stay here in the truck till it's ready?"

She laughed. "Than, you really are a special man."

It was as if he couldn't pretend any more. Urgency had taken him over.

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

He climbed from the cab and ran around to the flatbed. He used the metal stirrup as a step and clambered up. One feature of the old Jiefang army trucks was a fixed tool chest that could be locked. It was nestled up against the back of the cab and had the dimensions of a good-sized coffin. He took out his padlock key, unfastened the lid, and retrieved his holdall. There were other tools of his trade in the chest but this was all he needed for now. He jumped off the truck, called, "Don't go anywhere," and vanished into the undergrowth beside the road.

Wei sat enjoying the buzz of the whisky and the silence and the thrill of being a wife. She'd imagined all the wonders the position might bring into her life. She couldn't believe her luck. This was no ordinary man and this was an extraordinary day. He hadn't really been himself this evening but who could be themselves on such an occasion? Goodness knows she hadn't behaved naturally since she'd first met him.

Ten minutes later her husband was back, running around the front of the truck. He waved at her through the windscreen and climbed into the driver's seat. He seemed so happy.

"I have to park off the road," he said. "We don't want to be disturbed."

She started to speak but her words were overwhelmed by the restarting of the engine. He didn't put on the lights. He reversed across the road, bumped heavily into a bank of dirt behind them, then aimed at a small gap between an old dead tree and a younger version to its left. There hardly seemed enough room to get through. The side mirror grazed the dead trunk. Wei laughed. It was all part of her fairy-tale adventure. The truck forged through the thick undergrowth, leaves and twigs caressing the windows, branches twanging from the mirrors.

A little way ahead, a pale aura of light beckoned them on. She leaned forward in her seat excitedly to get a better look. They arrived at a sandy clearing barely twice the length and breadth of the truck and he switched off the engine. At the centre of the clear patch of ground was a beautifully embroidered double quilt. It was surrounded by a ring of flat temple candles. Their flames were untroubled by the breeze. At the head of the forest marriage bed was a tray with a bottle of champagne and real champagne glasses and small snacks on a plate. To one side, pink ribbons were tied around a tree trunk.

Wei looked at it all with her mouth open. She had never seen or imagined anything so beautiful. It was a scene from a mythical tale that perhaps she might tell her students: of handsome princes and poor country maids. A lump formed in her throat and tears began to flow from her eyes.

"You don't like it?" he asked.

She finally found words, "Oh, Phan, it's…it's so lovely."

The cheap make-up was smeared around her eyes. She leaned across to kiss him but he was too fast for her. He was out of the door and standing in front of the truck, signalling for her to get down. Her legs wobbled as she walked into the circle. Her posture was bad. He'd already started to notice her failings. He was anxious. He couldn't rush this but he didn't want it to take for ever.

"There's a bucket over there with soapy water," he said. "And a mirror."

"You want me to wash?" she asked.

"Just your face for now. They make brides put on so much junk at their weddings. You're beautiful. I want to see the girl behind the mask, just take off the make-up."