He wasn’t sure where to turn next. He knew it was a mistake but he stopped by his house out beyond the That Luang Stupa. The place was a menagerie of his own making. Through his benevolence it had become a guesthouse for strays, some of whom he hadn’t yet met. Mrs. Fah’s kids were running around like headless chicks, shaking off the cobwebs they’d gathered at school. Inthanet, the puppeteer, was having a serious fight with his girlfriend, Miss Vong, in the kitchen. Something about a wife he’d forgotten to mention. Comrade Noo, the forest monk who was in hiding from the Thai junta of the month, was giving a seminar to half a dozen students in the backyard. And two attractive young ladies he didn’t know sat in his room watching a TV he didn’t own.
None of the inhabitants could shed light on the events at the morgue and he realized staying at the house would do him no good. He grabbed some fresh clothes from one of the two piles the women were leaning against and retired to the bathroom. He tried to ignore the brassieres in lurid colors that hung there, had a quick shower, and fled. At the door, he ran into Mrs. Fah coming back from the market with instant noodles for her brood.
“Dr. Siri. When did you get back?” she asked. Siri was delighted at least one person had noticed his absence. “We heard you’d been kidnapped.”
She didn’t seem all that concerned. It was as if “kidnapped” and “bitten by a mosquito” carried the same weight in her addled mind.
“I escaped.”
“That’s nice.”
“Mrs. Fah, have you heard anything from Dtui or Phosy?”
“No, Doctor. Since she moved out, I haven’t heard a thing.”
“Has there been any news around?”
He didn’t mean newspaper news or radio news. He wasn’t particularly interested in crop yield or cooperative farming advances. He meant reliable social hearsay news such as was in ready supply at the markets.
“Nothing much. They say there was a killing out at Kok Pho. Plenty of police out there. Just rumors, probably. Like some noodles, Doctor?”
But when she looked back he was already on his bike.
What in the blazes was happening? He needed answers and there was only one person he could rely on to provide them. He sped out along the Phonkeing Road. The potholes were more challenging than he remembered and there were several occasions when his hands were the only parts of him in contact with the bike. He skidded left at kilometer 6, sped along the side road, and soon found himself surrounded by boys with big guns at the entrance to the government compound. In spite of the fact that he’d been there a thousand times they still insisted on escorting him to Civilai’s house. His friend might be retired now but he still had his security rating.
From the curbside in front of the little bungalow, Siri sat on his saddle and yelled, “Old brother, could you come out here and tell this midget I’m not a threat to national security?”
It was dark now and the light on the porch went on and the door opened. But it was Civilai’s wife, Madame Nong, who stood there smiling.
“Well, if it isn’t the second most handsome man in Laos,” she said in her songlike Luang Prabang lilt.
“You know this man?” the little guard asked. It seemed to Siri that if the government didn’t insist on changing sentries every week they might save themselves a lot of effort.
“It’s fine,” she said. “He’s harmless.”
The escort rode away and Siri climbed off his bike. He went through the silly little American gate that any horse or bullock could have stepped over and kissed Nong’s cheek. She too was a product of a French education so she didn’t recoil from physical contact like the wives of her Vietnamese-trained neighbors.
“I was hoping to see the old man,” Siri said.
“I was hoping too. He’s been gone all this week.”
“Gone where?”
“Don’t know.”
“Come on. There’s nothing you two don’t share.”
“I’m serious. He came home one day in a fit of nervous excitement, packed a few clothes, told me not to worry, and left.”
“He’s retired.”
“It doesn’t feel like it. He’d been working on something with your Nurse Dtui and Inspector Phosy.”
“Did he say what?”
“Look, dust yourself off and come inside. I’ll make you a little drinkie and tell you all I know.”
“My fantasy.”
“What?”
“Civilai out of town…”
“Dream on, Casanova. I still keep my Luger under the pillow.”
“That’s encouraging. At least we make it to the bedroom.”
At the kitchen table, Nong told Siri everything she knew-about the booby trap, the poisoned cakes-everything up to the day Phosy and Dtui decided to follow up on a lead they had about the Lizard studying at Dong Dok. Civilai had told her not to worry, and was gone in twenty minutes.
“And, of course, you’ve worried,” Siri assumed.
“It’s been three days. Of course, he used to do things
like this all the time when he was in the politburo. I wouldn’t see him for weeks at a time. But he’s not supposed to be doing anything official these days. That means he’s doing things he shouldn’t. Ornery old men can get themselves in a lot of trouble, Siri.”
“Well, if he was dead you would have heard by now.”
“That’s very comforting, thank you.”
“Have you asked around?”
“All his old comrades. Nobody seems to know anything. It’s as if my darling husband has just vanished off the face of the earth.”
“Don’t panic, my love. I’ll find him.”
Every step, every line of inquiry had made the mystery even more baffling. He had one more stop to make before he would allow hopelessness to overtake him. Phosy had an office at police headquarters at the Interior Department. It was one of the few buildings where the wandering-in policy didn’t apply. A scruffy man in a large green uniform sat at the desk. His hair was so short it was more pink than black. He seemed surprised to have a visitor after dark.
“Help you?”
“I’m looking for Inspector Phosy.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“Haven’t seen him all week.”
“Do you have any idea…?”
“No. I just man the desk. If you have any inquiries-”
“I know. Ask in the morning when someone with a mind is on duty.”
“Hey, no need to be rude, old man.”
Siri took a deep breath and reminded himself where he was.
“Look, I’m sorry. This isn’t police business. I’m a friend of the inspector. I haven’t seen him for a few days and I’m worried about him.” Just for effect he added, “I’m Siri Paiboun, the national coroner.”
“Then I reckon I’ve heard of you.”
“Could you just give me a hint?”
The night man looked up into Siri’s tired eyes and obviously decided he wasn’t a threat to security.
“All I can tell you is that something big went down earlier in the week and your pal was caught up in it. Him and a couple of other people have been missing since. Nobody’s saying what happened to them. We’ve had the director of police and half a dozen Vietnamese advisers here running around. But I didn’t tell you this.”
Siri’s was the only engine disturbing the silence in Vientiane that night. He’d reached the stage where he didn’t know what to do, who to ask. The fatigue of the past few days was squeezing rational thought out of him. With no idea how much precious petrol there was in his tank, he rode around the streets of Vientiane’s humble downtown. It was a grid of no more than twenty blocks, most of them dark, deserted, and uninviting. Few Lao could afford a night out and for those who could, the curfew had them home by ten. The resident foreigners had their favorite spots and kept them alive. Ninety percent of the entertainment venues had closed down since the
Royalists left and the remainder were pale shadows of their lively pasts.
Siri had no idea why he was still there. If he’d been looking for inspiration, it didn’t come. He’d ridden four times past Daeng’s shop and banged on the shutters twice. He’d stopped at the spot on the bank of the Mekhong where he and Civilai ate their baguette lunches and solved the problems of the universe together. His heart felt heavy in his old chest. He didn’t want to assume the worst but the worst kept tapping him on the shoulder.
Finally, he stopped at a roti stall down by the old deserted Odeon cinema. He figured sugar might be the solution. He ate two sweet condensed-milk roti with castor sugar sprinkles and ordered a third before it occurred to him he hadn’t eaten since the pork the previous evening. What a different place, time, and dimension that all seemed now.
“Siri?”
The voice from behind him was warm. He turned to see Bassak, one of the clerks from the Department of Justice. He was waiting for a girl to fill an order at the minced-fowl stand beside Siri’s.
“Good health, Bassak.”
“It’s good to see you alive, Siri. Welcome back.”
“Thank you.”
“I hear the judge made it back too.”
Siri shrugged.
“Never mind,” Bassak sighed. “So you’d all be out celebrating then?”
“No, just can’t sleep. You know how it is? It’s like traveling by air. Once you land, your soul takes a while to forget it’s flying.”
“Never flown myself.”
Bassak collected his spicy minced duck and climbed onto his bicycle.
“What did you mean, ‘you all’?” Siri asked.
“What’s that, comrade?”
“You said, You’d all be out celebrating.’’’
“Oh, I assumed you’d just left the others.”
“What others?”
“I just dropped off some quails’ eggs at the Russian Club. The wife raises quail for a bit of extra cash. They’re a bit like chickens: eat whatever you feel like giving them. We can make about…”
“Comrade, who did you see?”
“Your people, Dtui and Geung. I can’t see them turning up for work on time tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know who’s footing the bill but there seemed to be enough beer bottles on the table to put the glass factory on double shift again.”
“You’re sure it was them?”
“Come on, Siri. How likely is it I’d mistake Geung and Dtui for any other couple?”