Don't Eat Me

by Colin Cotterill

  “By whatever skills we could employ,” said Wee.

  “Perhaps you could give us an example,” said Haeng. “Were you, or were you not involved in a project in Khammouan?”

  “I was, sir.”

  “And what was the point of that project?”

  “To shut down a human-trafficking gang.”

  “And did you not achieve your ends by killing the leader of the gang before he was brought to trial?”

  “No, sir, he died of a heart attack.”

  “Most convenient,” said Haeng, playing to the crowd.

  “And did the village headman in Ban Mapao also have a heart attack?”

  “No, sir, he committed suicide.”

  “Right. I’m sure we all believe that. (More laughter.) Now, look there. Have you ever seen our good friend Comrade Vilai who is sitting in the second row?”

  “I have, sir.”

  “On the second of September, were you instructed by Comrade Phosy to raid Comrade Vilai’s compound?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And during the course of the raid did you threaten his men, release a number of his legally registered animals, and set fire to his house?”

  “We did, sir.”

  “And was Comrade Phosy there with you at the time?”

  “He was.”

  “And did he torture Comrade Vilai and threaten to burn him alive?”

  “No, sir. He threatened to torture him and burn him alive.”

  “What exactly is the difference?” asked the judge.

  “If Comrade Phosy had actually tortured him, Vilai wouldn’t be sitting there in the second row with that smug look on his face.”

  There were some giggles from the audience. Phosy raised his eyebrows.

  “Hey, you,” said the minister. “Show some respect.”

  “What sort of respect am I supposed to show to a man who massacres animals for a living?” said Wee.

  Phosy allowed himself an ironic smile as he remembered one of Dr. Siri’s famous lines, “There’s no such thing as more dead.” Wee was driving in the final nail for both of them. Phosy looked to his left where the guard was distracted by the proceedings. It would have been easy enough to overpower him were it not for one of the armed military escorts, who’d taken up a position behind them all.

  “I was all for throwing him into the burning house,” said Wee. “Chief Inspector Phosy talked me out of it.”

  “All right,” said the judge, “I think we’ve heard enough.”

  The vice minister pointed at Wee. “You’re in enough trouble as it is,” he said.

  “Oh, I think I can get in much worse trouble,” said Wee. “Especially considering what just happened in the back room.”

  “Guard, take this man to the cell,” said Haeng.

  “There you were, little judge, telling us what to say,” said Wee. “How you’d go easy on sentencing us if we blamed everything on Comrade Phosy. Shame on you.”

  “Guards!” shouted the vice minister.

  Phosy’s minders got to their feet, then, mysteriously, sat down again with their weapons still holstered. Phosy couldn’t see why. The armed escorts who’d accompanied the new witnesses didn’t move. The committee members seemed uneasy. There was a buzz of anticipation from the audience.

  “Guards, are you deaf?” shouted Haeng. “I want all of these mutants out of this courtroom.”

  The guards were not deaf, neither were they guards. Only the two policemen on either side of Phosy could claim that role, but they had been silenced by the escort behind them, who was holding a gun to their heads. One other escort drew the pistol from his holster and trained it on the committee. Its members clucked like worried fowl. The other escorts also drew their weapons, took up positions at the corners of the room and told everyone to remain calm. After a lifetime of war, the Lao were not given to mass panic so the counter-mutiny proceeded in a rather orderly fashion. The five accused death squad members shook off their unlocked shackles, reached into their belts and produced handguns of their own. The new video operator did the same, as did the interpreter and the Vietnamese advisor, who, it turned out, wasn’t.

  “You’ll all lose your heads for this,” said the minister.

  Phosy thought that was quite brave under the circumstances. Like most of the people in the room, he was seeing the action disconnected from any reality.

  Wee nodded to the escort nearest the door who went outside.

  The minister got to his feet. “I promise you this coup will not change the outcome of this hearing,” he said, “nor the steadfast progress of socialism.”

  “Oh, Uncle,” said Wee, “sit down and don’t get your underwear twisted. This isn’t a coup. This is a . . . What did we decide to call it?”

  The female member of the squad removed her glasses. “An intervention,” she said.

  “That’s right,” said Wee. “This is an intervention. We have no intention of overthrowing the government. In fact we’re all very fond of it. We’re all committed socialists. I’m a paid up member of the Communist Party. I’d show you my card, but they took it off me when I got arrested this morning.”

  Judge Haeng had fallen silent since the overthrow. There was an escort with a Luger at his back. The judge was clearly disoriented. None of this was in his script, but he did manage one cliché question.

  “What is it you hope to gain by all this?”

  “Be patient, little spotty man,” said Wee. “All will be revealed soon enough.”

  At that moment the escort returned and threw open the double doors. And in walked every friendly face Phosy had missed these past three days. Leading the parade were the president’s personal secretary and his chief of staff. These were followed by officials of the Ministry of the Armed Forces including the quite healthy general who had been removed from the panel after the first day. Then came Phosy’s Captain Sihot with a group of police officers Phosy trusted and respected. Then came Dr. Siri, Madame Daeng, and then Comrade Civilai who walked to the front of the room and commandeered the table of one shell-shocked judge.

  Bringing up the rear was Nurse Dtui with her daughter Malee in her arms. They made their way directly to Phosy who scooted over the table and looped his shackles around his loved ones. They cried, the three of them, although Malee probably didn’t understand what she was crying for. All she could say was:

  “Daddy smell bad.”

  The guard closed the doors even though there were clearly a lot of people outside in the reception area. The newcomers took up places around the room, many sitting cross-legged on the floor. Members of the original audience attempted to give up their seats to the elder statesmen but were waved away. Siri and Daeng raised their thumbs to the chief inspector who sat impertinently on his table with his girls beside him.

  He watched Civilai who had obviously been nominated as spokesman for the invading forces. He was both a lawyer by training and a diplomat. There were those who wondered how these two conflicting demons could occupy his soul, but somehow the old man had achieved a balance. Phosy knew his friend needed to recruit both for the task ahead of him. He had to use guile to defuse what promised to be a keg of gunpowder.

  It was astounding what influence a brief bronchial cough could have over a room full of noisy people. Yet everyone seemed to hear Civilai’s throat-clearing and shushed. Within seconds he was presiding over a deathly silence.

  “My name is Civilai Songsawat,” he said. “You may remember me from my years on the politburo. Six days ago my comrades and I were dragged from a bus, locked in a cell and told that we would be sent north for reeducation. We heard no charges and were not allowed to make contact with the outside world. But, thanks to a remarkable, some might say magical, chain of events, one that I shall not describe here, we were released along with a number of others who had been rounded up and i
ncarcerated. We heard of the arrest of our Chief Inspector Phosy. Thanks to friends on the inside—”

  “Traitors,” said the judge.

  “. . . we were able to learn of the charges against him and the location of this tribunal. We could probably have disrupted these proceedings at an earlier juncture, but we decided to follow the process of law and refute all of the accusations made here. I apologize to Phosy for leaving him rotting in jail for so long, but I’m sure he’ll forgive us when he learns of the results.”

  Phosy was so chuffed he would have forgiven dismemberment.

  Civilai continued. “We have all had dealings with Judge Haeng, so we know how devious he can be.”

  “That,” shouted Haeng, “is slanderous. I demand an end to this circus.”

  “As the panel is still seated I suggest we let them decide who in this room is guilty,” said Civilai.

  “The charges have already been read,” said Haeng. “All we expect from the committee now is a judgment.”

  “Then consider this a last-minute introduction of new evidence,” said Civilai.

  “Respected committee members,” said the judge. “I had the resources of the Ministry of Justice at my disposal. I had a professional team of investigators. Our minister signed off on all the charges. The evidence we have presented is irrefutable.”

  “If that were true I would hesitate to refute it,” said Civilai. “But given the background of your investigators and your own biased motives, I feel it within my right to question every piece of flawed evidence you’ve submitted.”

  “You couldn’t possibly know what evidence I have,” said the judge.

  “I have copies of everything,” said Civilai.

  “That you couldn’t possibly have obtained legitimately.”

  “They arrived on my desk from an anonymous source,” said Civilai. “It would appear you don’t have the staff loyalty you think you do.” He turned to the Minister of Justice. “With your permission, comrade,” he said, “I should like to demonstrate the inaccuracies in the judge’s case.”

  The minister looked over his shoulder at the representatives from the office of the president and at the military officers.

  “Did you think to ask my permission to overrun my courtroom and point weapons at our heads?” he asked angrily.

  “No, comrade, and for that I’m truly sorry,” said Civilai. “I hope, as the morning progresses, you’ll see why it was necessary to intervene.”

  “I went through every item of Judge Haeng’s files,” said the minister. “I was, and still am convinced that your Comrade Phosy is guilty of the crimes he’s accused of committing.”

  “Then, if I’m unable to change your conviction by lunchtime I shall yield to your superior judgment,” said Civilai. “All I ask is to be able to present my evidence to the panel.”

  The minister shook his head and glared at Phosy. “You can have an hour,” he said at last.

  “That should be more than enough,” said Civilai.

  “Minister!” said Judge Haeng. “You can’t side with these insurgents.”

  “Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” said the minister. “I’m prepared to listen, but as far as I’m concerned your case still stands.”

  “It’s not—” the judge began.

  “Enough,” said the minister.

  “Thank you, comrade,” said Civilai. “I shall begin with the most fundamental question, ‘Did Comrade Phosy have any sort of relationship with the deceased, Miss Vatsana?’”

  “Minister,” said the judge, “I think we’ve proven beyond a doubt that Comrade Phosy was having an affair with her.”

  “Comrade Civilai?” said the minister.

  “All that’s been proven is that Miss Vatsana had regular visits from a man in a full face mask helmet riding a lilac Vespa.”

  “The only one of its type in Vientiane,” said Haeng.

  “That used to be true,” said Civilai, “until one of our investigators found a second Vespa in a lockup some two kilometers from Judge Haeng’s house. The scooter had been spray painted lilac. I have here a photograph of the machine and the garage.” He handed the photo to the minister.

  “What’s that supposed to prove?” asked Haeng.

  “Prove?” said Civilai. “Perhaps nothing. But it does beg the question, why would Chief Inspector Phosy drive some other vehicle to the lockup and ride the lilac scooter to his lover’s house? And why would he wear a helmet that covered his face?”

  “Why not?” said Haeng.

  “This is Laos,” said Civilai. “Nobody wears a full helmet here. In fact, nobody wears any type of helmet anymore, especially when pottering along on an old scooter that barely hits thirty kilometers per hour.”

  “Then it was clearly to hide his face from the neighbors,” said the judge.

  “Odd then that he’d ride a scooter that immediately identifies him.”

  “Are you suggesting someone other than Phosy was Miss Vatsana’s lover?” asked the vice minister.

  “So far, all I’m suggesting is that there’s no proof that Chief Inspector Phosy went to her house or that they had any kind of relationship at all. We showed his photograph to all of the neighbors and none of them could identify him.”

  “Then what about the intimate photographs from the party?” said Haeng. “Are you saying they lie?”

  “They don’t lie exactly,” said Civilai. “They just withhold the truth from time to time.”

  He pulled some prints from his briefcase.

  “These,” he said, “are the photographs exhibited to the tribunal on the first day. They purportedly show Chief Inspector Phosy talking to Miss Vatsana at a social gathering. In fact you attended that function with Miss Vatsana and positioned her beside the chief inspector. These (he took out three larger prints) are the original, uncropped photographs from that day. The clerk you had dispose of them hadn’t got around to it when we visited your office. As you can see, Comrade Phosy is sitting beside his wife and talking to someone behind the deceased. I doubt the chief inspector would remember very much about that day as he looks exceedingly drunk.”

  “As a cane toad in a bucket of fermented rice,” shouted Phosy.

  The audience laughed. The minister called for order.

  “And it most certainly does not prove that Comrade Phosy knew the deceased,” said Civilai. “Neither does it prove that Miss Vatsana knew the identity of the man sitting beside her at the party.”

  “Nonsense,” said the judge.

  “Which brings us to the supposed relationship between Chief Inspector Phosy and airport director Maysuk,” said Civilai. “As far as we could ascertain, there was none. It would appear they met for the first time when Phosy went to the airport on August twenty-fifth. But we did find an interesting link between Maysuk and our own Judge Haeng. According to records at the Soviet Embassy, they studied in Moscow at the same time. They attended all the fundamental courses together. Other students who were there at the time say that Haeng and Maysuk socialized together. When they returned to Laos they continued that relationship. Maysuk married to please his family, then quickly took on a mistress named Soukjanda, who he put up in a residence. On occasions, they would have drink and drug parties at—”

  “I object to this pack of lies,” said Haeng.

  “. . . at an outbuilding at Wattay airport,” Civilai continued. “We have signed statements from a number of the women Judge Haeng brought along to these parties. It upsets my stomach too much to describe what took place there, so I shall leave it to your imagination. These ‘girlfriends’ were all paid for their services and none were regular. Not until recently. Two months ago, Judge Haeng brought along a woman he referred to as his lover. It appears he had set her up in a house out at Nong Tewada. He brought her to the parties on three occasions riding pillion on the back of his lilac Vespa.”<
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  “I will not stand here and listen to this drivel,” shouted Haeng. “Can’t you see what they’re doing? The only way they can get their man off the charges is to dirty my name. It’s an old trick. I hope we’re mature enough not to fall for it. Where are these supposed witnesses?”

  Civilai smiled and called to the escort at the door.

  “Would you call in Miss Soukjanda, please?”

  The escort went out of the room and returned a few seconds later with Maysuk’s minor wife, Soukjanda. The video operator gave up his seat for her. The judge’s brow collapsed.

  “We found Miss Soukjanda in Bolikhamxay,” said Civilai. “It was nice to see that she hadn’t been disposed of as we’d feared. She had, however, been threatened not to speak to anyone about the parties and had been given a wad of cash by one of the judge’s assistants to stay away from Vientiane. She was disturbed but perhaps not heartbroken to hear of the death of Comrade Maysuk. She is prepared to give evidence about the parties. In spite of what you’ve heard at this hearing, Chief Inspector Phosy was not one of the participants. But there is one odd connection. According to Miss Soukjanda, when the judge started to bring his lover, Miss Vatsana, to the parties, he had her believe he was a policeman. Miss Soukjanda was paid a little extra to sustain this charade. As far as Miss Vatsana knew, her lover’s name was not Haeng, but Phosy.”

  Gasps bubbled around the room.

  “This sounds like a lot of he said, she said to me,” said the vice minister.

  “At last,” shouted Haeng, “someone who understands the law. Of course, this is all one huge fairytale. Who’s going to believe the word of a slut from the rice fields against a respected member of the government?”

  Miss Soukjanda smiled at him.

  “Me for one,” said Civilai, which elicited a brief ripple of applause from the audience. He pointed at Phosy. “Miss Soukjanda,” he called, “have you ever seen the man sitting there on his table before?”

  Miss Soukjanda stood and smiled beautifully.

  “Yes, Uncle,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “He came to the office at the airport one afternoon to talk to my . . . my boss.”