Colin Cotterill - The Merry Misogynist

Even though there was a guard on duty specifically to discourage acts of obeisance, Mr Tickoo, Crazy Rajid's father, had smuggled in a dozen jasmine leis and a whole box of incense to give thanks to the Lord Shiva for his son's recovery. He had astounded Siri and Daeng earlier when they cornered him at his room above the Happy Dine. Given his knowledge of foreign languages and his obvious intelligence, Siri had decided the man could make better use of his talents. The Lao Huksat newsletter was expanding into English and they needed a writer and editor. Siri knew the publisher and had made a very good presentation on the Indian's behalf. There was a small but livable wage and a free room behind the office. It meant Mr Tickoo could have money rather than curried potatoes in his bank account.

"Oh, sir," he had said, "you are far too kind. But, you see, I have promised to look after the owner of this restaurant. I made a vow to his father that I would not allow him to go bankrupt and destitute. I fear without me he would be on the streets. But I am deeply honoured by your offer."

Mr Tickoo laid a discreet prayer that down behind a bush at the Lord's left hand and told the others to collect him on their way out.

Mrs Fah's children, Mee and Nounou, were running excited rings around the inside of a giant pumpkin. Dtui and Phosy walked with Malee from statue to statue, explaining who these giants actually were. It was an early step along the little girl's path to becoming a doctor. Tong and Gongjai, the ladies of ill repute, were carrying a twin apiece, and everyone wondered how they'd cope with being separated from their surrogate babies. They had all the appearances of kidnappers about to make off with their button-nosed loot.

Comrade Noo, the renegade Thai monk, had wanted very badly to join the house excursion. Siri had explained that it might be inadvisable for an incommunicado alien member of the Sangha to be seen strolling around Buddha's own Disneyland in robes. Noo had obviously taken the teachings of Siri to heart because, as they were all loading into the truck, he'd appeared in white slacks, a bowling shirt, sunglasses, and a straw hat. He had entered the Buddha Park unnoticed, yet, despite his clever disguise, he still had the walk: head bowed, hands gently clasped, that left nobody in any doubt as to his calling.

"You can take the man out of the saffron, but you can't take the saffron out of the man," Daeng said as they watched him wander around in the afternoon heat.

There was one more unexpected participant in this Sunday jaunt. Comrade Civilai hadn't come to see the nine drowning victims or the waving naked damsels or the five-headed serpent. Nor could he care less about the five-metre-high reclining Buddha. He'd been forced to attend because for four days he'd been hounding Siri for the facts leading up to the denouement of the strangler case. He had everything clear up until Siri's sudden departure by motorcycle for the Thon River district. He knew that the killer had been cornered and somehow lost his life in a struggle. It was all the stuffing in between that he lacked and it was driving him insane. In the space of four months the old politburo member had been relegated from a man who was told everything to one who didn't even know the name of his next-door neighbour. As his best friend, Siri was obliged to fill his dull life with adventure, and if Civilai had to endure a day at the Buddha Park to get it, so be it.

After the picnic lunch, he cornered the doctor once more.

"It doesn't look like your little Hmong general's going to put in an appearance," he said.

"She'll come," Siri told him with confidence. "I know her."

"Good, then while we're waiting…"

Siri smiled. He enjoyed the odd occasion when he could keep his older, non-related brother dangling.

"I promised Madame Daeng I'd show her the…" Siri began.

"She's seen it already. Siri!"

"Tsk, tsk. And you used to be such a calm elder statesman."

"I've been having testosterone injections. You'd better not mess with me, little brother."

"All right. You win."

Siri laughed again and led Civilai to a concrete bench overlooking the river. They were shaded by an old-fart bamboo, which seemed appropriate. Siri began by telling him of Phosy's mission to Pakxan and everything leading up to their arrival at Phan's base in Nahoi.

"Which brings me to my contribution," Siri said at last. "You wouldn't like to go and get a soft drink or visit the bathroom at this juncture, would you?"

"Just get on with it."

"Certainly. Here we go. Although I'd hit the road several hours after the census truck, I was on a thunderous machine and I had the spirit of Steve McQueen. You'll recall we saw The Great Escape in that illegal back-room cinema in Da Nang? You'll agree that was — "

"Can we dispense with the garnish and go straight to the meat?"

"If you insist. I caught up with the truck just after we passed the Thon tributary turn-off but I decided I could afford to hang back. A truck isn't a helicopter, and it's limited to roads, and there weren't that many to choose from in that part of the world. So I stayed a way back and kept out of sight. The first major intersection was at Natan. I assumed they'd report to the local cadre and drop off the census coordinators at their respective sites. Avoiding police checkpoints isn't really that hard on a motorcycle. I didn't want anyone reporting that there was an old codger asking questions so I steered clear of anyone who looked official."

"That wouldn't be a bad philosophy for you to adopt in your day-to-day life," Civilai suggested.

"If you insist on interrupting, you won't get the story."

Civilai afforded him a polite nop. "My humble apologies."

"I'd had a lot of time to think about things during the ride. Phan was my prime suspect, but one of the other collectors, young Nouphet, also fitted the bill in some respects. So I wanted to keep my options open. All I knew for certain was that the truck was involved. They'd seen it in Vang Vieng and in the south. I believed if I could keep the truck in sight, or at least in earshot, I'd have a good chance of discovering who was using it for his nefarious deeds.

"I learned from the locals that there was only one track leading to the first base at Ban Noo and there was nothing beyond it. When the truck came back down I was sitting by the road with a group of old fogies eating peanuts so I was fittingly camouflaged. Nobody in the truck noticed me. I could see they'd dropped off the first census collector. They dropped off the second, Nouphet, at base two: the next intersection at Ban Nahoi. That only left Buaphan and the driver on the journey to base three. I decided that was where I should be. Sound carries up there in the hills so when I saw the lamplight up ahead I got off and pushed the bike the last kilometre."

"I admire your stamina."

"It killed me. I hid the bike in the bushes at the top of the track. It was dark. I was covering it with branches so they wouldn't know I was there and I managed to skewer my hand on a sharp sprig and bled like a spigot."

"But you didn't cry out in pain, thus giving away your position?"

"No. By now I was in my undercover mode. I swept around the outskirts of the village like a black moth on a dark night and located the hut of Buaphan. He was sitting out front, reading by the light of a hurricane lamp. There was something…how can I put it? Something serene about him. I talked to Daeng about it after the event and she'd come to the same conclusion in her own way. He didn't match our mental picture of the perpetrator at all. The man we were looking for had to be charming. He had to win hearts. Neither of us could imagine Buaphan switching so drastically. He just didn't like people. His Nirvana was to be alone. That was his motivation for working on the census project.