“It is.”
She stopped in the doorway but didn’t look back.
“I knew it. So … when am I going to die?”
She was silent.
“Bpoo?”
“Soon, I imagine. Day or two.”
“Any idea how you’re supposed to prevent it?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Well, good luck anyway. I’m supporting you a hundred per cent on this one.”
Bpoo turned around and leaned against the door jamb.
“I … er….”
“What is it?”
“I think it might have something to do with sticking a finger in your ear.”
“The death or the antidote?”
“I’m not sure. Does it mean anything to you?”
“It doesn’t sound like a pleasant way to die.”
“You’re right. Look, I might have got that part wrong. I’ll keep my ears cocked in my bad dreams until I get something more specific.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Would you like a poem now?”
“It’s the very least I can do.”
There really was no avoiding Bpoo’s traditional yet meaningless poems. Luckily they only ever ran to one stanza. Some might have analyzed them to see what hidden meaning they contained, but it was invariably better to nod, say “Interesting,” and walk on.
She began:
“Finished?” Siri asked.
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
It was Nurse Dtui who first commented on the makeup of the crowd gathered for the day’s show-and-tell. They were either women, children or men over sixty. The war had wiped out an entire generation of able-bodied young men. And for what? She admired the resilience of the types who’d journeyed up through the hills with hope of a modest reward. She wanted to pay them all but she had little more than they did. Probably all of them would be returning to their villages empty handed. She doubted any would bother to take their offerings home with them. Some had brought half shell casings full of parts on the back of goat carts. Others had spread tarpaulins on the ground and laid out their non-matching bones in the shape of complete skeletons in various cartoon poses. Others had brought souvenirs. One wore a helmet lining that sat on his head like a lampshade. Another was in combat boots five sizes too big for him. An old couple had brought their blond-haired, darkskinned grandson to claim child support. The atmosphere was that of a large MIA boot fair more impressive than anyone on the Lao team had imagined. There were a lot of desperate people in the northeast.
The teams set up three separate reception areas and taught the locals the fine art of queuing. A number of claimants thought this meant they had three chances. Rejected at one table they’d make their way to join the queue at another. Communication was also a problem. Many of the villagers came from different ethnic groups and few spoke fluent central Lao. Inspector Phosy was competent in three northern languages, Judge Haeng in two. Dtui spoke Khmu well enough and Cousin Vinai-thankfully not completely useless-spoke four different Tai dialects passably well. Lit and Siri (when the spirits were in harmony) also spoke Hmong. Information was passed through these convoluted channels down to the American team who had Dtui, Peach and Auntie Bpoo translating for them.
By noon on day one it was quite obvious that merely sifting out the scam artists and career bounty hunters would take far longer than the five days allotted to them. They needed some way to eliminate the frauds. As often happened at such moments, Dr.
Siri had an idea. He vanished into the hills at lunchtime with a can of corned beef and a rope. When he returned half an hour later, that rope had a dog attached to it. It was a large, feral, dirtgray animal. After seven or so years of being ignored it seemed bemused by all the sudden attention. It was half-starved and quite clearly the corned beef had elevated Siri to sainthood in his mind.
“Siri, that is one very ugly dog,” Daeng laughed.
“You’re right,” Siri agreed. “He needs a bath.”
“A bath will just make him clean and ugly.”
“Then clean and Ugly he shall be.”
Siri threw Ugly into one of the cement sections that doubled as a water trough and scrubbed him down with a straw broom. He emerged still dirt-gray and no less ugly but his head was held high and he smelled better. Siri walked him once around Long Cheng at the end of the rope allowing him to sniff wherever he wished. The doctor then arranged for the rumor to spread: Ugly was a US military bone dog. He could sniff out animal and Lao remains like a hog to truffles. All those who had brought bones to be assessed would be asked to line up for Ugly to get a good sniff. Anyone found to be deliberately fobbing them off with bear tibias or dead auntie’s scapula would be imprisoned and probably end up in front of a firing squad.
It was merely gossip but the reappearance of the enemy on Long Cheng soil gave credence to such a rumor, and before Ugly’s second lap of the compound, some two-thirds of the villagers had disappeared, leaving their parts behind. The task at hand now seemed far more achievable. When Peach passed this news on to Major Potter, he came in search of Siri with his arms outstretched. Only Ugly’s attempt to bite off the major’s right hand prevented Siri becoming another hug victim. But Potter and all on the American team gave him a peculiar collection of
It wasn’t until they were in the helicopters that Judge Haeng recognized Auntie Bpoo. He was beyond shock. She was another thorn in his hoof.
“What in Lenin’s name are you doing here, man?” he asked, shouting above the whirr of the rotor.
“I’m very well thank you, Judge, and you?”
“I asked you a question.”
“So you did, and very rudely too. Let’s start again with manners, shall we?”
“Show me some respect. You know who I am and what I am capable of. In fact, I’m going to have you arrested. Put in prison.”
“On what charge, my little magistrate?”
“Trespass. Illegal encroachment on a government project.”
“Ah, but I have a booking.”
“A what?”
“A reservation, at the Friendship Hotel. I always sojourn in the north. I was enjoying my holiday when the
