Not for any religious conviction, Sunday was a day of rest in Vientiane. It had certainly been the Sabbath when the French oppressors ruled the roost and it was a habit that carried forward even after the churches were closed and the preachers sent on their way. Although they would never admit it, there was a number of reasons for communist Vientiane to stick with old colonial trends. In fact, historically, had it not been for the French, there would have been no Vientiane in 1978.
In the sixteenth century the Lao king had moved the capital from Luang Prabang in the north to a run-down, almost indefensible ancient kingdom on the bank of the Mekhong. With all the advisors at his right hand, one might surely have mentioned the fact that on the far bank of that same river – a stretch of water sometimes so low and slow you can wade across it – lived the Thais: the mortal enemy of the Lao. To nobody's surprise, Vientiane was sacked on a number of occasions and finally left in ruins. Only its old stupas and one temple remained standing but even these had been tunnelled into and looted by scavenging Chinese bandits. And there the old city rotted, strangled by the encroaching jungle, ignored, until deep into the nineteenth century.
Enter the French. Following a treaty with the Siamese, the east bank of the Mekhong was ceded to the invaders from Europe. Vientiane was dug from the forest, replanned and rebuilt in French colonial style. Temples grew around the crippled stupas and That Luang, the soul of the Lao nation, was recreated from French missionary etchings of centuries past. The buildings were a confused mismatch of Asian frugality and modest European splendour. It was a typical South-east Asian city as conceived on a budget on a drawing board in Paris. Just as in Saigon and Phnom Penh, the colonists had always known what the locals wanted better than the natives knew themselves. And the children grew up believing that this was their style, their architecture, and they were annoyed that the hokey temples didn't make any attempt to fit it. But there it was, voila, la nouvelle Vientiane, renamed to accommodate the French inability to pronounce the original name: Viang Chan.
And now, that same Vientiane which had once been consumed by jungle was being washed away by unseasonal and unceasing rains. Like ice-cubes in a sink, the buildings seemed to be melting away, first their mustard colours, then their shapes. The streets of brown mud melded into the shop fronts and invaded front yards. The heavy hibiscus bushes sagged and spread and blended together like slowly collapsing jellies. And, in their still-religious hearts, the Vientonians, who had prayed for rain for most of the previous year, were beginning to pray for it to stop.
Sunday was the day that Daeng shut her noodle shop and she and Siri would spend all their time together. Since the early rains had begun to thunder down on the city, just negotiating the motorcycle around town had become an adventure. There were potholes so deep it was believed they tunnelled all the way through to Melbourne, Australia. There were stretches of mud so slick it was like riding on hair oil, spots where you couldn't tell the road from the river. It made the city they lived in a wonderfully unpredictable place. On this particular Sunday their plan had been to have no plan. They might just slither around town or chance the northern road to Thangon and enjoy a fish lunch by the ferry crossing. Or they might hit a submerged rock and spend the day in a motorcycle repair shop. It didn't matter either way as long as they were together.
But Inspector Phosy had other plans for them. They were eating their pre-Sunday adventure breakfast behind the loosely pulled together shutters when they heard a thump against the metal.
"We're closed," Daeng called.
"Siri, it's me," came Phosy's voice.
The doctor thought he heard the splash of disappointment dropping into his belly. "We're shut anyway," he said. Then, under his breath he whispered to Daeng, "A million kip says it's gripe."
"Don't," Daeng said. "He's just a concerned father."
"He's a…Ah! Phosy. Come in. Had breakfast yet?"
Daeng was already dishing out an extra bowl. Phosy had squeezed in between the shutters but paused there and gazed back towards the river bank.
"Did you know Crazy Rajid is camped opposite your shop?" he asked.
"Yes," Siri nodded. "He's been there on and off for a month."
"We're assuming he's watching out for Siri," Daeng added. "Of course, it's hard to tell for certain." She put the bowl of rice porridge on the table and poured a glass of fresh orange juice from the jug. "We're guessing he thinks he owes us a debt of gratitude."
"For saving his life? Well, he should," Phosy said coldly. "I can't think of anyone else who'd go to so much trouble to help a fool."
Rajid was certainly crazy – mad as a lark – but he was no fool. He had migrated to the region from India with his father, mother and three siblings: The ship they travelled in went down in a heavy sea and only Rajid and his father, Bhiku, had been spared. The disaster had turned the young man's mind and he never again spoke to his father. The old man, who worked as an underpaid cook at the Happy Dine Indian restaurant, was still of the opinion that his son had been struck mute. But Siri and Phosy had heard Rajid speak, and the young man wrote weird but wonderful prose in Hindi. No, there was a good deal going on in the Indian mind, not a fool at all. But, seeing Rajid camped out in the pouring rain beneath a beach umbrella night after night, a person would have to believe there were power lines down somewhere between his brain and his common sense.
Phosy paused and watched the Indian playing with a toad. To the policeman's mind, the two creatures were equally mindless. He shook his head and came to sit at the table. Once there, he said nothing and tucked into the meal as if he had a reservation. Daeng smiled at Siri.
"What brings you out on a drizzly Sunday morning, Inspector?" she asked.
"Bad news," Phosy said. "As if we haven't had enough. We've found another one."
"Another what?" Siri asked.
"Another dead girl."
"Lord help us," said Daeng.
"Fully clothed, this time," Phosy said between spoonfuls. "Wearing a tracksuit. We found her in a school classroom. But it was a sword. Just the same as the girl yesterday. Through the heart."
"When did you – " Siri began.
"Two hours ago. The head teacher at Sisangvone primary school went in early to prepare for the Sunday Junior Youth Movement meeting and he found her in the room skewered to the blackboard."
"Through the heart?" Siri considered the scene. "So she was standing? Held up by the sword?"
Phosy nodded.
"That must have taken a lot of strength," Daeng thought aloud.
"Is she still there?" Siri asked.
"No," said Phosy. "We took her over to the morgue. We got Director Suk out of bed and had him open up for us. Sorry. I know this is your family day…"
"I can't understand what's happening to this country," Daeng sighed. She had already abandoned her breakfast, along with her hope for mankind. "It's not even May and we've had seven murders in the country already this year. And all women. It's almost as if Laos is doing its utmost to keep up with North America. Vientiane is turning into New York City."
"Madame Daeng," Phosy said. "Seven murders in New York would be one slack afternoon. We have a long way to go before things get that bad."
"I'm sorry, Inspector," she said. "But seven murders is seven murders too many as far as I'm concerned. We've had our wars. We've killed our brothers because this or that politician or general told us to. But it's over. Can't we enjoy our peace yet? Can't we stop all this insanity?"
"I agree," Phosy said, rising from his seat and wiping his mouth with a tissue. "And there's no time like the present." He drained his glass of juice and nodded. "Thank you for breakfast. Doctor?"
Siri hurried upstairs to change and followed Phosy to the morgue on his Triumph. As Phosy's Intelligence Section had used up its petrol allowance for the month, Phosy was on the department's lilac Vespa. For once, Siri thought it wise not to make fun of the policeman about his effeminate mount. This was a different Phosy from the man he'd befriended two years earlier, from the cheerful policeman who'd married Siri's assistant, nurse Dtui. Something had happened. A peculiar intensity had landed on Phosy like an enormous blot and suffocated his sense of humour. Siri wondered whether it was the job, whether it had started to infect him. Confronting the face of evil in so many dark corners had to have an effect; dealing daily with the depraved. For a man who'd grown up believing that the Lao were inherently good and kind, it must come as a shock to learn that his fellow man and woman were just as capable of committing atrocities as the foreign devils.
When Siri arrived at the morgue, Mr Geung, Phosy's Sergeant Sihot, and nurse Dtui were there in the office waiting for him. Phosy followed the doctor inside and was obviously surprised to see his wife there.
"Where's the baby?" he asked Dtui accusingly.
Dtui smiled. It was a smile which usually made people feel at ease but it apparently had little effect on Phosy.
"She's at the Sunday creche," Dtui said.
Siri noticed Phosy jerk his head towards the door as if he wanted to talk to his wife out of earshot of the others. Everyone noticed the gesture, including Dtui who chose to ignore it. Phosy, obviously frustrated, was forced to resort to a strained laugh and a warning couched as a joke.
"You do know our daughter's only three months old?" he mumbled to the woven plastic rug.
"And what better time to start socialising?" Dtui said.
It was clear that if they'd been alone, a serious domestic dispute would have exploded at this point. Siri, it was, who snipped the red wire.
"We have a body in the cutting room," he said. "It's Sunday and everyone's irritable, especially me. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can return to our loved ones."
It almost worked. Everyone snapped into action apart from Mr Geung who stood rocking in the corner by his desk. This was peculiar given that he usually led the charge into the examination room.
"Mr Geung?" said Siri.