Colin Cotterill - The Woman Who Wouldn't die

‘Places,’ she said. ‘All places are governed by the holy mothers of the pantheon. Before we contact them we need to pay homage to the wandering souls. They delight in the ashes of riches and finery. My brother is finding a rhythm that will ease me into a shallow trance, although I have to admit I don’t have trouble slipping away. I’m told that normally we need all the trappings and I should wear a red hood and all that, but I think that’s for the tourists. I merely wait for my spirit guide like a passenger on a train platform; when he gets here I’ll shudder a little as he enters my body and, from there on, he does all the work. If you could just be patient for a few moments. Thank you.’

Siri had been expecting a song and dance act. He’d attended enough exorcisms and seances — had even conducted one of his own, albeit like a drunk attempting to fly a jumbo jet. So he expected that at any minute the kaftaned assistant would drape the red hood over the medium’s head and beat the hell out of a tambourine until she fell into her trance. But Madame Peung merely put the brother’s photograph on the plastic-covered chair arm beside the minister, took hold of his wrist and found a pulse. She nodded to the beat and Tang the assistant beat in time to it on the drum.

Madame Peung smiled at Siri, sighed and lowered her eyes. The sounds in the room came from the drums and shouts and music speakers back down along the river bank. They all watched the medium. Tang was tapping the drum with two fingers but the sound seemed to vibrate around the room. Then, a hum, a deep melodic hum emerged from the back of his throat. It was unvoiced, monotone, hypnotic and seemed not to need an intake of breath in order to continue its seamless drone. Everyone in the room sank into its warmth. And then the witch shuddered. It was barely noticeable but everyone in the room, on edge, witnessed it. She nodded slowly. Smiled now and then. Laughed silently once. Then, after, some five minutes, she sighed. Her brother ceased his dirge and began to collect together the props. He seemed to know it was all over.

‘Hmm,’ said Madame Peung, as if mulling over a minor plumbing problem. ‘I know now why his body wasn’t found.’

‘Why?’ asked the minister.

‘He was trapped on a boat. It was a large boat and he was inside the cabin when the vessel capsized. It flipped over and he was unable to get out. He drowned.’

‘Where?’ asked the minister.

‘Not far from here, as I already intimated. It’s about ten kilometres upriver. I am still visualizing the landscape.’

‘Why, after all these years, has nobody noticed a boat submerged in the river?’ asked Daeng.

‘That’s a good question, Madame Daeng,’ said Madame Peung. ‘I think it’s because, well, I don’t feel water around him. It’s more claustrophobic than that. Perhaps he’s in a cave? Or, no. In fact, I believe he and the boat might be encased in mud.’

‘That’s not unlikely,’ said the minister. ‘There are long, deep stretches around these parts. In places the river can reach a depth of sixty metres. In some spots you could sink a pirogue and the silt and mud just sucks you down. Over time I wouldn’t be at all surprised if a sunken boat vanished completely.’

‘Oh, my word. This is a major project,’ said Madame Ho. ‘Call in the engineers, husband.’

‘Now wait!’ said the minister. ‘I can’t requisition a unit of men just like that. What would I tell their commanders?’

‘You’re the Minister of Agriculture,’ she reminded him. ‘You don’t have to tell them anything. You give the order. They come running. Not terribly complicated.’

Siri let out a silent puff of air. If he’d had a wife like this he would certainly have shot her long ago.

‘Before I start calling for reinforcements I hope you don’t mind if I go and take a look for myself,’ said the minister, although his sarcasm had a pleading element to it. ‘Madame Peung, would you care for a short helicopter ride?’

‘Oh, that sounds like fun,’ she said.

‘Right then,’ said the minister. ‘My helicopter is only fitted with four passenger seats. So that’s-’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said the witch, ‘but I’ll have to have my brother along. I may be in need of another brief trance as we get closer to the site.’

‘Then we’re full,’ said the minister. ‘You, your brother, me and Dr Siri.’

‘Why him?’ said Madame Ho and Daeng at exactly the same time.

‘He’s the coroner,’ said the minister. ‘There might be bodies down there. I’ve never seen my brother without his skin on, so if we find him I’d need a formal identification. That would avoid having to bring in troops. We can ship his remains home and be done with all this nonsense. You do have his medical records with you, don’t you, Siri?’

Siri tapped his shoulder bag.

‘I don’t actually swim that well,’ he said.

‘Never mind,’ said the minister. ‘If there’s anything in the water I’ll have the pilot and the mechanic bring it up to the bank.’

Siri could see that the minister was sold on the idea that Madame Peung would be able to pinpoint the whereabouts of Major Ly. He’d arrived sceptical but was now a believer. As evening was fast approaching, they scheduled the flight for first thing the following morning. Siri was every bit as excited about the trip as Madame Peung.

It was then that the French made a seriously bad call. The Thais were posturing again, claiming this stretch of land, moving that boundary line. The French knew that we Lao showed little loyalty or gratitude to our colonial leaders. They were certain we were so spineless we would side with anybody, and the Thais — at a great stretch — were our ethnic counterparts. Our histories were interlaced (usually with the Thais sacking and pillaging our cities). But thanks to a little cardsharpery at the diplomatic level, the Thais had claimed the west bank of the Mekhong as their own and a third of our Lao brothers and sisters now found themselves on Thai soil. There were more ethnic Lao in the northeast of Thailand than in Laos itself .

So, in response to this Thai flirtation, the French administrators decided to instil in us a pride in our nation. They organized youth movements across the country. The larger towns held Lao camps where teenagers were gathered to hear about the great Lao kings and famous battles against the cowardly Siamese. They printed anti-Thai propaganda for us to read around the campfire. But something else happened at those camps. The same national pride the French hoped might turn us against the Thais turned round and bit the hand that beat it. The camps formed a foundation for what became a movement to overthrow the colonists. And I was there at the camp in Pakse. Too old to register as a camper, I signed on as a cook .

‘I’m not going to let you read any more till it’s finished.

‘Is this the part where I arrive on the scene?’

‘Why on earth would I find that important enough to include in my memoirs?’

‘I bet you loved me at first sight.’

‘You’re so vain.’

When the French and the Vietnamese came to inspect us, we sang Lao songs and learned what native plants could be used as balms against burns, and waved little paper Lao flags we’d made during art and craft sessions. And when they were gone, our teachers told us about the French atrocities .

Like me, the young people there had seen no worth in themselves and the camps gave us a value. And two of our teachers had studied in France but they weren’t royals. Through their own hard work and raw ability they’d earned degrees in Paris and even though they could have stayed in Europe and made a lot of money, they came home to help develop their people. One of them, a nurse called Bouasawan, whom I wanted so much to be, taught us about the uprising of the lower classes throughout the world. Her husband, Dr Siri Paiboun (and there was the reason I wanted so much to be Boua), was a dashing, funny, intelligent man who taught us the real reason we should be proud. Not because some ancient king massacred another’s army but because we were human beings. We had rights. We deserved respect .