he rerouted to the Vietnamese Embassy?”
“Someone at the dam recognised the tattoos. They called the embassy, who sent one of their advisers.” There was no shortage of Vietnamese ‘advisers’ around the capital. Cynics – and Siri was one of the founding fathers of cynicism – suggested that there was so much advice from Hanoi being passed around, it wouldn’t be long before the official language changed to Vietnamese. “You can imagine how delicate the matter is,” Haeng droned on. “A Vietnamese national being interrogated and tortured in Laos. The Cabinet discussed it yesterday. We’re going to request that you be allowed to observe their autopsy and compare notes.”
“Request? Why request? This is Laos. Shouldn’t we be insisting?”
“It isn’t as easy as that.”
“It should be. We aren’t her next province yet, you know.”
“Siri, if you’re going to spend time with the Vietnamese, I suggest you watch your mouth. They aren’t quite as understanding as we are.”
The meeting went on longer than usual, as Haeng felt obliged to outline all the cases that he and Siri had ‘co-operated’ on. But as long as the doctor kept his mouth shut, it was comparatively painless. Things seemed to be winding down – Siri looking towards the door and escape – when Haeng coughed again.
“I’ve been thinking, Doctor. Now that the work of your department is being recognised by the police, I believe it’s time for you to get rid of the moron.”
“The moron?” Siri shuddered. “Oh, I don’t know. I know he has his off-days, but I don’t think that’s enough reason to kick Director Suk out of his job. He has a family. Please give him another chance.”
“Director…? Goodness, no, Siri. I’m talking about the retard you have as your morgue labourer. I’m prepared to offer a full salary for that position now.”
“I’m so pleased. Mr Geung will be delighted when I tell him he can have a living wage.”
“Pay attention. I’m telling you to get rid of him and hire a normal person.”
“I can’t get rid of him. He’s the only one there who knows what to do.”
“He’s mentally deranged.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I’m beginning to wonder in your case, Doctor.”
Siri sighed. “Judge Haeng, Mr Geung has a mild strain of Down Syndrome. His condition makes him ideally suited for repetitive work. My predecessor spent a good deal of time teaching him his job. He isn’t going to forget it. He isn’t dangerous or clumsy, and his condition isn’t likely to offend any of the clients we get passing through our place.
“He’s been at the morgue for three years, so when I say he knows the work better than I do, I’m not being facetious. He’s constantly reminding me of procedures I’ve forgotten, and where things are stored. He has an amazing memory, and my nurse Dtui and I love him very much.”
Haeng was becoming agitated. He tapped his pencil on the table so hard the lead broke. “I’m overwhelmed with emotion. I can barely keep my eyes dry. But now let us return to rational thought for a second. Can you imagine how this would look if a visiting dignitary came to tour the hospital?”
“And I wasn’t wearing my plastic shoes, and Dtui forgot to put on her underwear – ”
“Doctor!”
“Visiting dignitaries don’t go anywhere near morgues; and if by some miracle they did, they’d be struck by the compassion our great and farsighted republic shows by hiring three minority groups to work together in the same office. You have women, retarded, and horribly old people all there on show.”
Phosy, who had been silent and unflinching throughout this embarrassing confrontation, suddenly cleared his throat and offered: “I have a Mongoloid cousin. He doesn’t do any harm. He even fries us bananas every Friday. Most of the time we even forget he’s nuts.”
Siri and Haeng turned to look at the policeman, who wasn’t making eye contact with either of them.
That simple comment poured oil on the troubled waters in Judge Haeng’s office. It also let the judge know he was outnumbered. He agreed that Geung could stay on, pending an external assessment, but that he certainly wasn’t qualified for the raise Haeng had mentioned.
With that, the meeting ended. Siri and Phosy shook the judge’s hand and walked to the door together. But before following Siri into the hall, Phosy turned back.
“Comrade Judge, I feel compelled to tell you that today’s meeting has been a great inspiration to me. I hope it won’t embarrass you too much if I say that my confidence and my faith in the socialist system become re-ignited whenever I meet people such as yourself. I’m so happy that my country has figureheads like you to look up to.”
Hearing this from his spot in the hall, Siri felt like throwing up. When the policeman eventually joined him, they walked in silence along the concrete passageway to the carpark. This was the man they’d given Siri to work with, so, like it or not, he had to be polite. He watched him put his notebook into the pannier at the front of his old French motorbike.
“So, does your cousin live with your family?”
The policeman looked down at his boots. “What cousin’s that?”
“Your banana-frying Mongoloid cousin.” There wasn’t a reaction. “You haven’t got one, have you?”
Inspector Phosy straddled his bike. The slightest of smiles creased his lips. “I’ve got a sister with haemorrhoids.” He kick-started the bike four or five times before it engaged. There was a fearsome noise from the engine. Black smoke belched from the exhaust and neither rose nor dissipated.
Siri threw his head back and laughed, and at that second he made a decision. It was the fastest and potentially most dangerous decision he’d made for a long time. “I need to talk to you about a case.”
“It can wait till Monday.”
“No. No, it can’t.”
The inspector looked deep into Siri’s green eyes and nodded. “I’ll come to your rooms this evening.”
“You know where I live?”
“I’m the police.”
Without bothering to explain, Phosy sped off through a shoal of bicycles, leaving the riders choking in black smoke.
¦
Phosy somehow managed to negotiate the stairs to the landing outside Siri’s door without making a sound despite the loose boards.
When he knocked, Siri jumped. “Come in.”
The policeman let himself in. He’d already left his shoes outside. He was casually dressed and was holding a bottle.
You couldn’t help but respect a man who turned up at your door with a bottle. Siri looked at it. “I hope that isn’t a urine sample you want analysed.”
Phosy quickly located the glasses and started pouring. “It’s only Thai brandy. I should have asked if you drank.” He handed a glass to Siri, who nodded to his generous guest.
“Is this a service of the new police force?”
“I was taught to show respect to my seniors.”
“You don’t have to suck up to me, you know.”
“I know.”
“Good luck.”
“Good luck.” They both drank.
“It seems you learned a lot at that camp.”
“It was a valuable experience. I can recognise seventy-three varieties of vegetables. I could tell you how old a rice shoot is, or how many months pregnant a buffalo.”
Siri laughed. “Good luck.”
“Good luck.”
They finished the first drink, and Siri took the bottle and poured a second round.
“So, they didn’t convert you to communism?”
“They made me aware of the values of the socialist system and the worthy eff – ”
“Okay, okay, I won’t ask you any more questions about the camp. Tell me about Phosy the man.”
