The man stood directly in front of the lens, his face filling the screen. Siri recognized him, an acquaintance who had become significant in Siri’s personal Otherworld. During his cynical years, Siri had always mocked the fact that mediums throughout Asia had a hierarchy of spirits. Shamans might dress like a king or a royal consort and messages to the beyond would begin through the ear of the departed aristocracy. He’d always considered that to be somewhat classist. But, of late, he’d come to realize there was some logic in it. The kings and princes always surrounded themselves with the most powerful shamans. Thus they had a direct line to the beyond. It was only natural that the royal courts would have a thriving afterlife community. In death as in life, the royals would rule the roost.
The recently departed king’s face hogged the screen. He spoke. Siri heard nothing. But this was not the usual contact where the spirits came into the doctor’s world through his head and spoke using his voice. This was more a portal that he was being invited to step into. He had no idea how. He wanted to get closer but this was a dream. There was no actual television. No sofa. No living room. The king raised his voice. There was something. It was faint, like listening to the neighbour through a drinking glass pushed up against the wall. He couldn’t make out words but there were sounds. This was a breakthrough. But the king soon became frustrated as he realized his words were not passing over. He stepped back and considered the situation. He then held up one finger. Then nine, one, and then he formed a zero with his index finger and thumb. 1910. It was a year. Siri committed it to memory. Before the king turned back into the blizzard, there may have been a roll of the eyes, a dip of the head. The gestures a schoolmaster might make in the presence of a remedial pupil.
When he woke that morning, Siri had prodded his wife’s shoulder but she was already awake. He’d asked her, ‘Daeng, what happened in 1910?’
She’d smiled and turned to him.
‘Most women are awoken first thing on a Sunday morning with erotic requests and all I get is a history test.’
‘Consider the erotic request the first prize for the first person in this bed who can tell me what happened in 1910.’
‘Siri, I don’t know. I wasn’t born yet.’
‘Damn. I need an historian.’
‘You’ve had a dream.’
He sat up on one elbow.
‘Just once,’ he said. ‘Just once I’d like to decipher the dream clues before I’m forced to resort to my huge intellect. Because it won’t be very long before my intellect goes the way of my ebony-black hair and rock-hard pectorals. Life would be so much easier if I could just wake up with the answers.’
So, Siri had told Daeng all about the frozen Frenchmen and the king. They wracked their brains as to how this might be connected to their latest mission. And, leaving Daeng to discover what had happened in 1910, Siri had departed for his helicopter flight. But then it was, with the helicopter swinging back and forth like a fat sailor on a hammock in a high sea, that Siri recalled one other memory from his dream. One that had remained suppressed during his discussion with Daeng. There hadn’t been six Frenchmen but seven. One sat to one side just as naked as the rest and he’d borne a remarkable but incongruous resemblance to Comrade Koomki from Housing.
Siri was snapped from his reverie by the sight of Madame Peung slapping the young pilot on the back and pointing. The pilot panicked and threw the craft into a rapid spiral descent they all doubted he’d pull out of in time. Miraculously, at the last second, he had the beast under control and hovered a few metres above the bank. The sound of sighs could be heard over the growl of the engine. But Siri was trying desperately to recall what it was that had transpired just before the shoulder slap. There had been a gesture, a moment between Madame Peung and her brother. It was something that looked trivial but Siri’s instinct told him that it was significant. But, there and then he wasn’t able to untangle it from his dream recollections. It would come to him, he was sure.
Despite its gentle hover at two metres, the Mi-2 dropped so heavily to the ground it bounced, not once but three times. Had Siri’s teeth been false they would now be embedded in the inside of his skull. The minister swore like a twisted bantam but Madame Peung squealed with delight. They alighted, all but the chastised pilot, on to a patch of grass on a bank that dived steeply down to the water. There were hills on both banks and a sharp turn that threw the mighty Mekhong into a wall of rock.
‘It’ll be deep here,’ said the minister, once the engine noise had been extinguished. ‘The river has nowhere to go but down.’
‘This … this is where it happened,’ said Madame Peung. She walked down the slope to the water’s edge and closed her eyes. A breeze off the water sent ripples through her loose-fitting satin trouser suit. ‘Major Ly is here. He’s so pleased to feel your presence, Minister.’
The minister stood beside her and looked out at the swirling water.
‘Prove it,’ he said.
His tone was sceptical but Siri knew he’d been convinced long before this.
‘I know,’ said Madame Peung, but not to the minister. ‘So give me something.’
She raised her head and listened to the Mekhong. Siri fancied he could hear voices too but it was likely just the swirl of the water through the rocks.
‘Minister,’ said Madame Peung. ‘Are you sure you want to test him here, like this?’
‘Yes.’
‘In front of strangers?’
‘I have nothing to … Why? What did he say?’
‘You and your brother had a tent when you were young. It was pitched in the back yard. One game you played was called Arabia.’
‘How …?’
‘You would take it in turns to be the erotic female dancer. You would tuck your—’
‘Enough. All right.’
He looked around. Four of the five litres of blood in his body had found their way to his cheeks. Only Siri had been close enough to hear. The doctor filed it away.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said the minister. ‘But, well I suppose we might as well get on with this. Hey, you.’
He called to the mechanic. The young man jogged down to the group.
‘You told me you could swim,’ said the minister.
‘Like a fish, Comrade.’
‘Right. Let’s hope you swim better than your pilot flies. Get yourself in the water down there and see what you can find.’
The boy stripped off his shirt and boots and confidently dived into the choppy flow. To everyone’s surprise, Tang, the witch’s brother, strode down the bank, peeled off his long robe and jumped into the water also. Siri and the minister looked at Madame Peung incredulously.
‘He looks unathletic,’ she smiled, ‘but he’s a remarkable swimmer.’
The doctor and the minister exchanged another look but the brother did indeed appear to be very happy in the water. He it was who reached the middle first and his was the first duck-dive sending him deep into the river. Madame Peung walked over to sit on a large boulder that hung over the swirl. It was an idyllic spot surrounded by thick jungle and probably inaccessible by land. Siri thought it would be a great location to photograph a Bière Lao advertisement or a pornographic movie. He clambered over the smaller rocks and sat next to the medium.
‘Ah, Siri,’ she said. ‘You are full to bursting with questions.’
‘I could burp them out one at a time,’ he told her.
‘Keep a cool heart, Doctor. There’s no hurry. Why were you so reluctant to hear from your first wife?’
‘It seemed … I don’t know … disrespectful to Madame Daeng.’
‘Aren’t you curious at all?’
‘I’m …’ Siri reached for his missing earlobe. It was a habit he’d developed whenever verging on the supernatural. ‘I’m so curious I could scream. You probably know about my shaman-in-residence, Yeh Ming?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, whether I like it or not he’s in me somewhere. But, for reasons I don’t really
understand, he’s putting down barriers between me and the departed. I know they’re there. I see them. But I can’t talk to them.’
‘What can I do for you, Siri?’
‘Teach me.’
‘To make contact?’
‘Yes.’
She smiled.
‘Can you teach somebody not to be colour-blind?’ she asked. ‘To not grow hair out of their ears?’
‘I’m not sure what that means.’
‘Dr Siri. You are a man of science. Your education gave you proof that there was only one world. This physical one we see all around us. Yet, without warning, you were tossed into this other dimension. You see it just as I do. You experience it. And, even though you can’t deny it’s there, your incorrectly educated self is always at odds with it. It’s there but it cannot possibly be there.’
‘So, how do I …?’
‘It might be too late, Siri, my darling. Cynicism is a big part of who you are. It’s the shutter you pull down to keep out the storms you can’t weather. As long as that shutter is down, your ghost friends will be on the other side of it.’
She stood and started back over the rocks. As she passed Siri she stumbled and he caught her. She looked into his eyes.
‘You know, I’m probably not the most qualified guru to be working with you on this problem. What makes me flesh and blood and them not, I have no idea. But I cannot deny they’re there nor can I deny my role in their unsettled state. The moment you’re able to do the same, that’s when you’ll communicate with them. It’s standing-room only out there, doctor. Your waiting room is full. I see them.’
The two divers had returned to the river’s edge. She released his hand and continued along the bank. There had been something déjà vu about her words. He’d had this conversation before in this same place. But not in the waking world. The divers’ return was an annoyance. He hurried along behind her to where the minister leaned over the mechanic.
‘Anything?’ shouted the old general.
‘A lot of mud down there,’ said the mechanic. ‘No sign of a wreck.’
But Tang was out of the water and ripping branches from the nearest tree. He returned with two, handed the pilot one and dived back in.
‘I think he wants you to follow him,’ said Siri.
The mechanic shrugged and swam out after the brother. Once more they duck-dived at the deepest point. The onlookers stood still and silent watching the surface of the Mekhong. Siri, with his troubled lungs and his modest beginner swimming ability, could only marvel at how the two could be so comfortable under thousands of kilograms of water. In fact they were down so long he was starting to get anxious. Not so anxious that he might rip off his shirt and dive in to rescue them, but enough that he asked the minister how well he could swim.
But then the divers’ heads appeared above the choppy water and each had a broad smile on his face.
‘Have a nice time?’ asked Madame Daeng, sniffing the air around Siri like a dog taking in the hindquarters of an interloper.
‘I’m lucky to be alive,’ he told her. ‘Our pilot trained on Dumbo the elephant.’
‘This Dumbo wears lavender perfume?’
Siri didn’t hear. He looked out over the balcony. The river was so crowded with craft you could step from one to the next and reach the far bank. Daeng wore sunglasses and had a half-empty beaker beside her on the rattan table. There too sat her notebook and a pen.
‘Ice tea?’ he asked.
‘Mekhong whisky and water,’ she told him.
‘At eleven a.m.?’
‘I’m on vacation.’
‘Are your legs playing up?’
‘Will you stop talking about my damned legs,’ she growled. ‘My legs are fine. I’m more than just a pair of legs, you know? Ask about my elbow, why don’t you? My fish-gutting skills. My ability at mental arithmetic. Just leave my bloody legs alone.’
‘I … how many glasses have you had?’
She ignored the question. Siri brought over the second deckchair and set it up beside hers. He sat. Silent. Decided this was as good a time as any to keep his mouth shut. They watched the chaos on the river for a good ten minutes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘No problem.’
‘So. What happened upriver?’
‘Are there any other words I shouldn’t use? Buttocks, for example.’
She smiled.
‘Just shut up and tell me about the trip,’ she said.
‘How can I shut up and—?’
‘Siri!’
‘We had a lovely time, impending death notwithstanding.’
‘Did you find the brother?’
‘We’re not sure. There is something just below the mud.’
‘A boat?’
‘It’s likely. They poked it with sticks and estimated it was about five metres long. The mechanic said it might be a rock but the deaf and dumb fellow seemed pretty excited.’
‘So, she’s legitimate then, your witch.’
‘It’s too early to confirm but too eerie to ignore.’
‘But you have a gut feeling.’
‘She is rather impressive.’
Daeng took up her glass and drank from it.
‘Right,’ she said.
‘Any luck with 1910?’
‘I found the one and only Pak Lai schoolteacher.’
‘Oh, well done.’
‘He graduated from fifth grade. Didn’t make it as far as high school history.’
‘Oh.’
‘And, are you sure it was a date?’
‘What else might it be?’
‘A telephone number?’
‘I just couldn’t imagine a royal spirit giving me his telephone number. Did you …?’
‘There’s no phone here. Or, rather, there are four phones but no line. This area isn’t a priority … for anything. Do you think we might use the helicopter radio to call Phosy?’
‘They’ve gone already. Popkorn and his frightful wife went directly back to Vientiane after dropping us off.’
‘Madame Peung didn’t go with them?’
‘No, the minister said he’d send a team of military engineers. Madame Peung will greet them and lead them to the site. Could be tomorrow or the day after. Meanwhile, she’s invited us to dinner at the governor’s house tonight.’
‘You naturally accepted.’
‘Would have been rude not to. And it’s an opportunity to talk. We had precious little time this morning and it was hellish noisy on the flight. She’s a difficult woman to tie down. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to get her alone for a little while and do a bit of probing.’
Madame Daeng knocked back her drink and stood.
‘Steady on, ma fille,’ said Siri.
‘I can look after myself,’ she snapped. ‘Always could.’
9
The Cadaver of Short Stature
Nobody had laid claim to the cadaver of short stature. It was Monday and Inspector Phosy had left a number of messages with the Housing Department asking them to let him know whether Comrade Koomki turned up for work that morning. There had been no reply. And so he sat at his desk. He’d progressed to a rank where a quick response to a call for help was no longer his concern. This was largely a desk job. Promotion generally led one away from the work one enjoyed and into a state of inertia.
Still unable to get word to Siri and Daeng in Sanyaburi, Phosy had nothing to do other than thumb through the incident files on his desk. It had been a weekend of misadventure rather than crime. A grandmother in Amone had made a cake. She had mistakenly mixed the eggs and lard with gunpowder instead of flour. The oven blew up but as she had rushed to the bathroom to take care of business she was unharmed. Then there was the gardener at the Lane Xang hotel who had slipped on wet leaves and broken his head in the empty swimming pool. And the mysterious disappearance of one of the three hundred stone busts of the president recently arrived from Romania. More likely a miscounting of stock than a theft.
Nothing there called for his professional expertise. So he allowed himself some time to mull over the odd situation they’d encountered in Ban Elee. Phosy was a simple policeman – a hero of the revolution perhaps but uncomplicated in terms of seeing and believing. He could gather facts, analyse them and draw conclusions. Perhaps the only man he’d met who could better him at detection was Dr Siri himself.
The fact that such a logical man as Siri claimed to see ghosts had always been a mystery to the inspector. Phosy had no personal contact with the spirits. He didn’t pay homage to his ancestors or apologize to the land spirits for cutting down a tree. On his trip out to Ban Elee, he had encountered ten villagers who claimed to have witnessed a reincarnation. He knew uneducated people were given to animist beliefs and leaned on the side of gullibility. But what did they have to gain by inventing this bizarre story? What would be the point of setting up such an elaborate scam? No, unlike Siri and Dtui who were prepared to accept such events as paranormal, Phosy was an investigator. He would investigate until there was nothing left unexplained and only then would he be prepared to join the ranks of the unhinged.
‘The facts,’ he said out loud, then internalized the rest when he saw the clerks were looking at him. The wife of a royalist general most certainly had a security file and he’d gone in early this morning to dig it out. It sat beside the incident reports on his desk. He’d been through it already. It wasn’t particularly meaty. As a widow she’d continued to export timber to Thailand through old contacts in the Thai military. This with the blessing of the Party. The wealthy had not been summarily shipped off to re-education and stripped of their belongings. The Pathet Lao had a country to run and they needed this back-up capitalist base to be able to afford to do so. Not all the successful business people fled across the Mekhong. Many were courted and encouraged.
The Woman Who Wouldn't Die Page 11
