Colin Cotterill - Disco for the Departed

“Once a popular myth begins, son, it takes on a life of its own,” Siri said. “The colonel had been so devastated by the news of his daughter’s condition that he’d become dependent on opium to pull him through. I’m afraid the ambush came at a time when he was too drugged and grief stricken to appreciate the reality of the situation. His batman told us that the colonel wasn’t fit for duty. He shouldn’t have been on that patrol. But his reaction had nothing to do with witchcraft. The drug had unsettled his mind.”

“So the last hope of Isandro and Odon was a mirage. They’d been fooled, too.”

“Yes and no. Santiago refused to perform the ceremony because he knew he didn’t have the ability to produce the result they all hoped for. By handing over the responsibility to Odon, he also removed the pressure from himself. You see? Dr. Santiago believes wholeheartedly in his magic. It must be terribly frustrating for him to be such a failure at practicing it. But I sense-and perhaps he did too-that Odon had some innate ability. By preparing Odon to perform the rite, I imagine the doctor could vicariously experience success,”

“Are you saying that Odon was a shaman?”

“No, just that he was probably able to channel. He believed all the mumbo jumbo would work, that his friend and his friend’s lover truly had a chance to be united in eternity. That made him a very appealing vessel for the spirits.”

“You think he might have been successful?”

Siri’s thoughts returned to his first visit to the president’s cave, to the wardrobe, and the shadow of the mysterious bat. “It isn’t impossible,” he said. “He might actually have hit on the right formula for once.”

“Should I tell him his magic worked then?” Dtui asked.

“Goodness me, no. We don’t want to confirm him in the belief that he actually possesses the ability to send people off into eternity. The less enthusiasm he has, the better. I get the feeling Dr. Santiago will soon be recalled from his post here. Civilai tells me the embassy was very interested to hear about his background. I think he may be going home any day now.”

Dtui looked down at the old Cuban, still vainly searching for an appropriate spell to dispatch his guests. “Okay, perhaps one last question,” she said. “If the ceremony was successful, and Isandro and Hong Lan are now sitting under a bo tree in heaven somewhere sharing a bottle of fizzy nirvanic nectar, why is Odon’s spirit so restless?”

“Ah, yes. Good question,” Siri agreed. “Originally I thought his spirit just wanted a hunky, physically perfect body in which to dance the nights away. That’s why he chose me, of course. Then I started to wonder what might have happened to unsettle him. I found the answer when I met the Hmong scout, the one who led the raid that night. He’s an interesting old character. An eccentric. In fact, he wears the nails on his little fingers long and varnished. It’s a traditional thing.”

“The nail in the mummy’s tomb?”

“Right. But I didn’t pursue that. He told me that night, when the laborer arrived to report his sighting of the two Cubans, the raiding party had already been selected and was ready to attack them.”

“How come?” Lit asked.

Dtui was the one who answered his question. “They’d been tipped off.”

“And I think we can guess by whom,” Siri added. “Santiago wanted the ceremony to go ahead. He was curious. But he was also afraid that Odon might blackmail him when it was all over. Or maybe he was afraid word would get out that he, the great doctor and magician, was a fraud. I doubt Santiago expected the Vietnamese soldiers would kill Odon. Perhaps he didn’t care, but once the young fellow was out of the way, he made sure that there was plenty of circumstantial evidence to suggest that Odon had been the Palo priest.”

“So Odon’s spirit knows that and he wants revenge,” Dtui said.

“Which leaves only one thing to do,” Siri decided. He went to the desk and smiled at Dr. Santiago. The Cuban seemed to have recovered from his shock and was again looking confident. “Could you tell the good doctor that we know everything. I can’t pretend to like what he’s been doing, but I still have great respect for him as a surgeon. I’m sorry he won’t be able to practice his profession anymore after this, but I wish him good luck in the future.”

While Dtui translated, Siri offered his hand to the Cuban and gave him a warm smile. Santiago slapped his palm into Siri’s and returned the smile. He seemed surprised at the strength of Siri’s grasp. And then he appeared to understand.

The Cuban screamed and tried in vain to remove his hand from Siri’s. A force passed swiftly between them. Dtui watched Dr. Santiago squirm and shift on his seat. His posture improved and his demeanor seemed to change. By the time Siri pulled his hand away, a different person seemed to be seated at the desk.

Comrade Lit also noticed the change. “Dr. Siri, can I ask what just happened?”

In the light of everything the security chief had just heard, Siri decided there was nothing to be gained by keeping secrets. “Comrade Lit, for the past week, I have been hosting the spirit of Odon. He first came to me at Santiago’s altar. At the time I thought he was trying to abuse Nurse Dtui, but, as it turns out, his aggression was directed toward Santiago. I should have realized that earlier.”

“What? That no self-respecting spirit would want to abuse sweet little me?” Dtui asked. She had abandoned all attempts at translation. She felt no obligation to be polite to the old Cuban now.

“That there was no logical reason for it,” Siri said. “Spirits are predictably logical. Odon wanted to clear his name and that of his friend, for a man’s reputation survives his death. And to point us in the right direction. Now he’s taken over the man who caused his death.”

“So what should I do now?” Lit asked.

“Oh, I think the doctor will be quite cooperative. He may even confess to a thing or two. You should offer him temporary accommodation in your security complex for the night, perhaps have a little chat with him tomorrow together with the Cuban delegation. I think they’ll be surprised to hear what he has to say. I imagine they’ll want to contact the families of Isandro and Odon and see what they want done with the bodies. I’m sure our politburo would gladly ship them home.”

“Shouldn’t Hong Lan be buried with them?” Dtui asked.

“Oh, I don’t see why,” Siri replied. “They’re just bodies. Their souls are already together.”

The concert was scheduled to begin at six thirty. It was almost eight and Dr. Siri still sat beside an empty chair fifty yards from an empty stage. The first twenty-six rows had just started to fill, giving him a view of the backs of famous Lao heads and heads that were probably famous in other communist countries. The politburo members were there with their wives, including Civilai and his companion, the lovely Mrs. Nong. There was a cordon of uniformed troops seated between the VIPs and the common people in the rear where Siri sat near the back, saving a place for Dtui.

People were shown to their places by ushers who had once been senior military officers under the Royalist regime. They had undergone almost two years of reeducation and were considered to be trustees. They wore borrowed shirts and ties and expressions of defeat. Today’s assignment was barely a humiliation compared to some of their experiences out in the jungle. Many of them didn’t know that their king and queen had joined them in their exile, and most could not have cared less.

Fashionably late, the president and prime minister and the heads of the Vietnamese delegation arrived to thunderous applause from the audience. They turned and returned the applause before sinking into the sofas and armchairs that formed the front row. As was the case at any event, large or small, in the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos, proceedings couldn’t begin without an insufferably long speech mentioning everybody involved in the revolution and their grandfathers. Dtui turned up toward the end of it.