Colin Cotterill - The Woman Who Wouldn't die

‘Stack of lizard poop,’ he said, leaning towards Siri.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Spirits and digging up the dead. Best left where he fell, as far as I’m concerned, Siri. Rest in peace, isn’t that what they say? No need for all this.’

‘I was under the impression you’d signed all the travel documents for us to be here,’ said Siri.

‘Certainly I did. It was the only way I could shut her up.’

On the word ‘her’, he’d raised his chin in the direction of his colourful wife. Siri looked at the woman. He recalled that the Ministry of Culture had issued a list of culturally unacceptable fashion statements. On it were long hair for men, clipped hair for women, revealing shorts and skirts, uplifting brassieres and, as far as he could remember, make-up. The list had obviously passed Madame Ho going in the wrong direction. She was ablaze with cornfield yellow and fresh-bruise purple and Wattay blue. Siri was certain if anyone struck a match in front of her she’d go up like a rocket. She was loud, too, and spoke Lao with the same linguistic prowess as Yul Brynner speaking Thai.

‘I take it this wasn’t a love match,’ said Siri, not caring in the least how offensive the question might have sounded.

Popkorn glared at him, then smiled.

‘Her family had a fleet of cargo ships out of Hai Phong. We needed the concession. They needed someone to marry their daughter.’

Siri admired her hairy ankles and the quote, ‘Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends,’ sprang into his mind. Undefeated as a general. Massacred as a husband.

The minister leaned forward and addressed the group.

‘Can we get this damned thing over with?’ he said.

His wife glared at him. Madame Peung stood and smiled at the old soldier.

‘Comrade Popkorn,’ she said. ‘I’m terribly sorry to have imposed this journey upon you. I know you’re a busy man. But I needed to be here in person in order to cross-reference the location of your brother’s corpse. I know that you believe this is all a lot of nonsense. Three months ago I would have felt exactly the same. Then, suddenly, something remarkable happened. I woke up as a different person. I was, you might say, in another reality. And I suddenly had a gift.’

Siri looked at her. She did not emote. Nor did she prance. She spoke calmly and used simple Lao. She told her story the way a baguette seller might describe the day she’d won a minor prize in the Thai national lottery. There was excitement in her eyes but not boasting. Siri hung on her every word. He might even have been smiling. At least that was how Madame Daeng noticed it. All this and the main feature had not yet begun. Brother Tang sat to one side ripping up crude paper cartoons of money and clothes and gold bullion.

‘You’re all in doubt,’ said Madame Peung. ‘I would be too. But the spirits come to me with ease. It’s as if I can pluck them out of the air at will. Let me take this one, for example. Madame Ho.’

The minister’s wife let out a Pekinese whelp.

‘Since our session together when we discussed your sister she has visited me often,’ said Madame Peung. ‘But I am sorry to tell you her bones will never be reunited with those of your ancestors. She was afraid of the socialist takeover. She boarded a refugee boat headed for Australia. It was not seaworthy and it sank in the deep ocean. I am sorry. Nobody survived.’

The minister’s wife gasped then burst into tears.

‘Kiang,’ she sobbed. ‘Kiang. Why didn’t you stay? I could have found you a gullible husband in the military. You would have been safe.’

The minister’s eyes rolled to the ceiling and back. He rarely travelled with his wife and everyone could see why. Madame Peung left her seat, squeezed through a gap between the tables and knelt in front of the Vietnamese woman. She held her hand.

‘Kiang took something of yours to remember you by. Was there something you both treasured?’

‘Our cat, TinTin,’ said Madame Ho.

‘TinTin is there with her,’ said Madame Peung. ‘They both miss you.’

‘That’s lov … lov … lovely,’ said Mr Geung.

Madame Daeng’s eyes joined the general’s on the ceiling.

‘I really don’t want this to be a circus,’ said Madame Peung. ‘I’m usually alone with the victim’s relatives. But in order to find the minister’s brother I need a sympathetic audience. Let’s not forget I’m new to all this. I can feel the hostility in the room. It doesn’t help. So, excuse me for what I’m about to do.’

She turned and looked directly into Daeng’s eyes. It was all the doctor’s wife could do not to turn away.

‘The red-haired man is with us,’ said Madame Peung.

Just that and Daeng closed in on herself like a frond of sensitive grass. She didn’t want to hear any more.

‘He has been punished over and over for what he did to your sister. He holds no grudge against you. There is no threat from him. From others, yes. But not him.’

Daeng said nothing but the witch had reached an icy hand inside her chest and pulled out her deepest tumour. She could feel the cold space that remained there.

Like a chess master playing several games simultaneously, Madame Peung walked around the rectangle of tables to where Mr Geung sat. She reached out her hand and he looked at it unaware that he was expected to take hold of it.

‘Geung,’ she said, ‘your father is sorry. He will always be ashamed of the way he treated you.’

‘My father is … is … is …’ said Geung.

‘He’s gone, Geung,’ said Madame Peung. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, he’s not,’ said Geung.

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Mr Geung surprised everyone by smiling at this news. But he had no more to say. He was a man with an elaborate network of lights and sounds that played inside him like a tightly wrapped pinball table, but few of them could be seen or heard from the outside.

Meanwhile, Madame Peung had arrived at the seat of Dr Siri. She knelt in front of him, smiled and took his hand. He doubted anything she had to say would cause him any great concern. He was wrong.

‘Would you like to hear from Boua?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said, instinctively. His hand now grasping hers tightly.

‘I mean …’ he continued. ‘No. But thanks.’

There were any number of reasons why this would not be a particularly appropriate time to chat celestially with his dead wife. Not least of these was the presence of his current wife seated opposite.

‘I understand,’ said Madame Peung. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps some other time.’

She turned and, still on her knees, crawled before the minister.

‘The energy is right now, Comrade,’ she said. ‘We can find your brother.’

Inspired by the show he’d witnessed, Minister Popkorn had no hesitation. He pulled the black and white photograph from his top pocket. It showed a dashing Lao soldier, arm in arm with a younger and skinnier Popkorn. They were posed in front of the Hanoi opera house. Attached to the photo with a paper clip was a small plastic photo envelope. She looked at him quizzically.

‘My wife thought it might help,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘He spent-’

‘He spent some time as a monk,’ Madame Peung interrupted. ‘When he was first ordained they cut off his eyebrows. For some reason he kept them. He was a little strange like that. He said that if anything ever happened to him you should plant them and grow a new him.’

The minster was astounded.

‘It was … a joke,’ he said. ‘He liked to joke. He was a fun-loving young man.’

Siri, it had to be said, was a little perturbed that the general should hang on to his brother’s eyebrows, but he could see a real affection between the two men. He was more impressed with his witch with every revelation. Her melodic laugh. Her matter-of-fact telling of intimacies. The glint in her eye. She was, no doubt, the real thing. Her brother had already sensed that the time was right. He had lit incense sticks on either side of her chair and was tapping gently on a small, handheld drum. The smoke of burning spirit money rose from a large mortar behind him. Madame Peung returned to her seat. With everyone’s permission she began the ceremony to locate the body of Major Ly. She started with an explanation.