Colin Cotterill - The Woman Who Wouldn't die

‘Marvellous,’ said Civilai. ‘And how did you gut him?’

Siri laughed.

‘Be subtle, why don’t you, brother?’

‘I was on the swing,’ said Daeng. ‘I had our bathroom mirror tied to the swinging post in case he might come at me from behind. It was broken later. But I had a feeling he’d want to talk. When he first arrived in front of me I was leaning forward. My head was a clear target. I let him digest that fact. As we spoke I walked the swing backwards. The headrest was a few centimetres above the seat. With every step backwards I was reducing the angle of his first stroke. He didn’t notice because I continued to lean forward. A clear target. Of course he could have hit me from the side and then it would have been all over. But you men tend to cosh vertically. It’s a fallback to your days in the caves with your wooden clubs.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Siri. ‘And they run courses on this at the Women’s Union?’

‘Observation, my husband,’ said Daeng. ‘And the predictability of the male.’

‘Continue, my teacher,’ Civilai urged.

‘He could have finished me a lot quicker with a gun,’ said Daeng. ‘But the fact that he’d brought a chunk of iron told me he wanted that personal touch. And I was certain after all those years of bottled-up hatred he’d want to tell me what a cow I’d been. He’d betrayed his country because of a tryst with me and he hadn’t been able to tell anyone. This was his confessional. I was sure he’d want to stretch it out.’

‘Meanwhile, back at the disembowelling?’ said Civilai.

‘I had to be ready, Civilai. Ready for that split second when he decided there was nothing more to be said. And I had to be the one who pushed that button. I had to rile him enough to force his hand. But I needed to be ready for it. A younger man’s reflexes would have beaten me. But I saw Barnard’s shoulders dip before the bar rose and I pushed back on the swing with all my might. He was a tall man with long arms so the bar was coming at me in a wide arc. I leaned back. The metal crashed into the seat rest above my head. Smashed the wood. He was off balance but he brought the bar up for a second blow. That was my moment. I had the fish knife in the fold of my phasin . I’d honed it to a razor’s edge. I didn’t have the leeway for the blade to be blocked by his clothing. It passed through him as if he were butter. A thrust. A twist. A swipe. A spray of blood. It was over. I expected him to fall at my feet but he dropped the bar and stood there. It was an eerie moment. He had that look on his face. One I’d seen many times before. Amazement that the Lao could be trained to do anything right. Then he walked away. He didn’t stagger, which surprised me. He walked upright, quite naturally, into the jungle with his hand on his stomach. I knew he would soon die there.

‘I was covered in his blood but once the adrenalin wore off I couldn’t get my legs to walk or my hands to stop shaking. I was crying, of course. I felt nothing in my heart but tears came to my eyes every time I killed a man. I never learned how to stop them. I’m not heartless, you see. Some subconscious part of me wanted to grieve for all the victims. When, at last, I had my limbs under control, I took the knife to the river and threw it as far as I could. I stripped off my bloody clothes and I bathed. That combination, naked and victorious, was just too seductive. The celebrants had left inner tubes and paddles on the bank so I went upstream on one. I felt I could paddle all the way to China. I went until I really had no more breath in me and that was when the calm draped itself around me. I threw away the paddle just as the moonlight illuminated the river. I lay back on the tube and let old Mother Khong take me where she wanted.’

Mr Geung was looking away.

‘You. You must not. Not …’ he began.

‘Be stark naked in public?’ Daeng asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I probably won’t do it again,’ she said. ‘It was a one-off.’

‘Well, I’m sorry I missed it,’ said Civilai. ‘I was embroiled in a serious game of rummy with the abbot. If I’d known …’

Siri leaned across and flicked his friend’s lobeless left ear with his finger.

‘Ouch,’ said Civilai. ‘So tell me. I consider myself something of an authority on the region, but I fail to see what difference the London document made to events in Dien Bien Phu?’

‘As long as there was a possibility of Allied airstrikes,’ said Daeng, ‘the Viet Minh was reluctant to place field guns in strategic positions for fear they’d be wiped out by an air attack. With that threat in mind, the Vietnamese had to keep their objectives modest; just to hold the French. It would have been a long campaign with a lot of casualties on both sides, but with no resolution. But once they knew there would be no additional support, that the French had to go it alone, it gave the Viet Minh the green light to go on the attack. They went all out for victory. The leaking of that document lost the French their war.’

Nurse Dtui had an hour before her Intermediate Russian class. An hour seemed barely enough time to thank someone for two lives. Barely enough time to explain how everything from that moment in the morgue had been a gift. How long would it take to say that every second until those two lives met a more natural end would be dedicated to that good Samaritan?

But what a revelation it had been. Not until her conversation with Dr Siri the previous evening had the possibility crossed her mind. Of all the men in Vientiane, he would have been the least likely. She’d never heard him speak and, although Inspector Phosy and the others claimed to have heard him utter a few words on one occasion, she doubted he had the ability to conduct a conversation. But Dr Siri was adamant. On the day he deposited Ugly the dog at the Happy Dine Restaurant, he’d taken Crazy Rajid to one side and entrusted him with a task. The Indian was a young man who spent his life wandering the streets of Vientiane. He walked endless circles around the Nam Poo fountain and slept beneath the stars.

Siri had told him, ‘If you see a tall Westerner, an old man with a star over his right eye — don’t let him out of your sight. Don’t let him see you but don’t lose him. He’s up to no good and you could be the only person around to stop him doing harm.’

When he had spoken those words, the doctor hadn’t been certain the young man had heard him. Nor had he realized how true the prophesy would be. At some point, Crazy Rajid had found the Frenchman, probably too late to prevent the fire. He’d followed him to the morgue. He’d heard the threat and he had acted. The young man was no mute. His was a psychological silence caused by a family disaster. Inside his troubled head was a poet, a linguist, a mathematician, and a hero. The gun? Perhaps a result of his fascination with fireworks. A Chinese cracker or two? Again, who would know? But Siri had been certain of one thing. It was Crazy Rajid who’d saved the lives of Dtui and her daughter.

The nurse parked her bicycle in front of the Happy Dine Indian Restaurant and removed Malee from the sizeable shopping basket. The restaurant owner was gushingly polite until he realized she wasn’t there to eat. But the restaurant was empty so he had no excuse not to point her to the kitchen. Mr Bhiku, large and shirtless, sat on an upturned bucket reading an ancient copy of Bangkok World . When he saw Dtui he dropped the paper and crumpled into a deep nop . He was a man who considered himself to be every other man’s inferior. Dtui returned the nop and pulled the old chef to his feet. Malee reached out to him and he wrapped his dark fat fingers around her light, tiny ones. His smile lit up her face.