Colin Cotterill - Disco for the Departed

“Actually, I’m planning to stay out at the hospital tonight.”

“What on earth for?”

“Oh, I might be able to help a little bit, and it would be nice to get some sleep. That confounded discotheque dance has managed to wake me up every night since I got here.”

Lit laughed. “Doctor, this is Vieng Xai.”

“So?”

“So there hasn’t been a dance here since the senior members all left for the capital. That’s why next week’s concert is such a big deal.”

“Comrade Lit. I hear it. I feel the vibration of the speakers.”

“Perhaps it’s a radio or someone’s record player. What type of music is it?”

“That annoying American rubbish. The type they used to bounce up and down to in the hotel nightclubs in the old days.”

“Well, I’ll look into it for you, Doctor. We certainly don’t want our youth polluting their minds with decadent Western pop. But, believe me, Dr. Siri, there never has been a discotheque in Vieng Xai, and as far as I’m concerned, there never will be.”

At the wheel of his yellow jeep, Santiago arrived at Kilometer 8, like every swashbuckling hero, with a screech of brakes and in a cloud of dust. The beleaguered interns came out to greet him, sighing with temporary relief. Only one person knew who the little white-haired man in the passenger seat was. While the rest of the staff gathered around Santiago, Dtui strolled over to Dr. Siri.

He smiled at her ruffled look. “How’s it going, Nurse?”

She laughed a sort of desperate laugh. “How many years did you do this?”

Siri climbed from the jeep and wiped the dust from his face with an old towel. “It gets easier after the seventeenth year.”

“This is my second day and I’m a wreck.”

They walked into the ward, and Siri briefly summarized the events of those two days from his point of view. “Santiago seems quite certain the body is that of Odon, the smaller of the two interns.”

“Did you ask him about the parallel scars?”

“I pointed them out to him and I noticed a look of… I don’t know, not fear exactly… but some darkness came over him. Don’t forget, we can’t speak to each other, so I’m looking forward to your translation later tonight. Meanwhile, what’s to be done here?”

Siri and Santiago were a formidable team. Dtui followed them on their rounds and assisted them in the four operations they performed. Everything seemed so much more straightforward in their hands. By eight, the wards were settled and the staff was sitting around a table eating a dinner of baked lemur and sticky rice. Santiago preferred to save his comments until the three of them were alone, so Dtui entertained them with the story of Mrs. Nuts. Both surgeons were so fascinated by the tale they went to her ward the second they finished their meal. Dtui was saddened to see how pale the old lady had become. She still spoke in her stolen voice, although now the words issued painfully on labored breaths. They had to lean close to catch them, and her breathing was rank with decay.

Santiago asked what she was saying.

“She says, ‘Almost too late,’” Dtui told him.

“What is?” Siri asked.

“I think she means she won’t be around for much longer.”

But Siri believed otherwise. The amulet around his neck was warm against his skin. It seemed to vibrate as if it were receiving an incoming call. The doctor was starting to recognize its signals. He took the old woman’s hand in his and held the amulet in his other. Images fell into his mind that he knew weren’t his own.

“Dtui, remember what I say,” he called and began to describe what he saw. “Bushes, chest high. I’m falling. Water trickling. Concrete. All of this surrounded by darkness. A door, a very thick metal door, green, too heavy to budge. Hands. Small white hands. My own, as if I’m looking down at myself. There’s blood on them.”

And then, as if the line were suddenly cut, Siri saw nothing at all. He opened his eyes and the old woman was silent. He knew she was dead. “What did I say?” he asked Dtui.

“You don’t know?”

“Not at all.”

Dtui recited back his words as accurately as she could, then translated for Santiago, who seemed to have no idea what he’d just witnessed. She asked whether anything Siri had seen sounded familiar to him. He shrugged and opined that bushes and water could be anyplace.

“All right. Let’s start with bushes.” Siri took control. “Is there anyone on staff who’s lived here all their life?” After a consultation they came up with Nang, a jittery nursing orderly who still fainted from time to time at the sight of blood. She seemed delighted to discuss something that wasn’t related to surgery. What Siri wanted to know about was fruit. He didn’t have the sample with him but he was able to describe the berry he’d crushed in his room at the guesthouse. The others looked on, bemused, as they tried to give it a name.

“Monkey ball plums,” said the girl at last. “That’s what you’re talking about.”

“And where can they be found?” Siri asked.

“All over if you know where to look. They grow on the karsts. At the market they pay well for this fruit, so a lot of village people go looking for it. More than a few people have been blown up while out scrounging for monkey ball plums.”

“Can you find them around here?”

“Of course, at certain times of the year. All the mountains at Kilometer 8 have bushes where they grow.”

“Do you want to share what this is all about, Doc?” Dtui asked.

“Clues,” Siri told her. “We mustn’t ignore any clues. Like the green door. Ask Santiago again if he remembers any green doors.”

She did just that and watched the Cuban flick mentally through all the doors he’d known in his life. At last he asked her whether she was sure it was green and not blue. Siri had no recollection at all of his vision and could not confirm the color.

“If we say blue,” Dtui asked, “would that make any difference?”

Santiago told her that indeed it would. The bomb doors at the old hospital were heavy metal, and they were blue.

“And where is the old hospital?”

He pointed through the window to the black shape of the mountain. It stood out from the indigo sky, looming over them like a giant raven.

She translated for Siri, who knew the hospital well. When they’d moved everything down from the original buildings, the old place was abandoned and closed up. There was no way in. The bombproof doors had been locked to keep out inquisitive children from the middle school down the hill. But in his mind all the pieces fit together: the berries, the doors, the water, and the concrete. “Who has the key?” he asked.

Santiago took them to the administration office, unlocked the desk drawer, and rifled through the bunches of keys till he found the one that should have opened the old hospital main-door padlock. From the store cupboard he took a machete and three battery packs that powered headband-mounted lamps; their hands would be free. He led the way along the overgrown path that snaked up to the nearest entrance to the hospital. The door was nine inches thick and hadn’t been opened for a few years. It took the combined effort of all three pulling on the handle to budge it enough to permit them to squeeze through the gap.

A sad, musty odor escaped as they entered. The hidden vents that brought air from above were clogged with weeds, and the air they walked into was old and stale. The histories of the hospital’s victims still clung to the place. But Siri recognized something else deep inside its unrelenting blackness-the smell of a recent death. Dtui took a little longer to identify the scent. She and Siri switched on their batteries, and the three headlight beams swept back and forth across twelve hundred square meters of gray stone. The old doctors had spent many hours inside this hidden chamber, so the only thing that surprised them was the absence of sound-no scurrying of animals, no chirping of bats. It was as if nature had been too afraid to take over the vacated premises.