Dr Siri Paiboun 01; The Coroner’s Lunch

were destroying the forest. Not long ago today, his image filled me with the most dreadful fear.

“And then he walked into the room.”

Dtui breathed his name. “Major Ngakum. I knew something was wrong.”

“Yes, Dtui. The major. I don’t know why; I have no proof. But I truly believe Major Ngakum is the adviser to the resistance forces. I’m sure he’s responsible for this whole affair with the Vietnamese. And he’s probably the one who’s been trying to do away with me.”

Civilai stood up to stretch his old legs. “I don’t know what to say.” He walked over to the wall calendar and inspected the dates. It was a year old. “It’s positively the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard from you, and goodness knows I’ve heard you say some shit over the years. Major Ngakum has been fighting for the revolution for most of his life.”

“Ai – ”

“But I know you believe it. And because you believe it, and you’re the best friend I’ve got, that means I have to trust you. And for some unfathomable reason, I believe it too.”

“Thank you.”

“It is true,” Dtui spoke up. She’d been sitting, shaking like a leaf, since he first started to speak. “I knew for a long time, but I didn’t dare say. My ma noticed right away when you came to the house. She said you had the gift.”

“It could be a curse, Dtui.”

“Look, both of you.” Civilai came back to sit between them. “Obviously we can’t do anything on the say-so of some senile old fool who sees ghosts. I’ll get some military people I trust to look at dates. See whether it’s possible Major Ngakum could have been at Operation Headquarters when Hok was there. See where he was when the massacre of the Vietnamese troops took place. We’ll take a look at his records and see if anything stands out. If it all matches, then we can go on to stage two.”

“That’s fair.”

“And I want back every kip you’ve ever won off me gambling. If I’d known you had accomplices on the other side, I never would have taken the bets.”

They all laughed until Siri fell into another coughing fit. When he calmed, he looked at his two friends and smiled.

“But tell me, Nurse Dtui,” Civilai asked, “how safe do you think the great gypsy fortune teller here feels, knowing the guards outside his door were assigned by a man he thinks is trying to kill him?”

“No worries, Uncle. Mr Geung went home to get some bedrolls. Dr Siri will have his own personal bodyguards tonight. I’ll protect him.”

Civilai laughed. “I don’t get it, Siri. Seventy-two years old, and you still have young nurses sleeping with you. How do you do it?”

? The Coroner’s Lunch ?

20

How To Miss the That Luang Festival

In fact, there wasn’t a lot of sleep to be had that night. Siri was restless, and his coughing kept the bodyguards awake for most of it. But at least they all survived until morning.

His first visitor of the day arrived with two special baguettes wrapped in greaseproof paper.

“Lah?”

“Doctor. They just told me what happened. I came right away. How are you feeling?”

“All the better for seeing you.”

“You sweetmouth, you.” She handed him the rolls. “The boy outside went through both of them looking for missiles or such like. Then he decided they might be poisoned, so he tasted both of them. That’s why they have teeth marks.” She smiled.

“You’re very kind.” Something about the visit and his own tentative grasp on life encouraged him to be uncommonly honest. “You know, Mrs Lah, I was thinking last night about what regrets I’d have had if that old house had fallen down on me. There weren’t a lot. But one of them was you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I’ve procrastinated too long. If I don’t die in the next week, I’d be most honoured if you’d have dinner with me one evening.”

The sixteen-year-old girl who still resided in Auntie Lah sent out a smile that lit up the whole room. She came over to him, leaned over the bed, and gave him a very warm kiss on the cheek.

“You bet.” She almost skipped to the door. She turned the handle, then looked back at him. “But if you die in the next week, I’ll kill you.”

When she’d gone, Siri couldn’t stop smiling. There was a groan from underneath the bed.

“I…I…I’d be most hon…honoured if you’d have – ”

“Keep it to yourself, Mr Geung.”

Geung snorted and laughed cheekily. It was six, and time for him to get up. Dtui had left already to see her ma.

Out in the streets, people were already preparing for the That Luang Festival. It was one of the few dates on the Lao Buddhist calendar that was guaranteed to spark excitement across generations and ethnic lines. The golden Grand Stupa had watched over its excited children on the thirteenth day of the twelfth moon for as long as anyone living could remember.

This was the first festival since the revolution, and it promised to be a little more restrained than usual. The new regime had banned certain excesses: the popular freak shows, for one. There’d be no five-legged goats or three-breasted women to entertain the crowds. Alcohol was forbidden, along with gambling, so there were unlikely to be any spontaneous shootings to write about in the papers the next day. The government also put the lid on displays of opulence and ‘extravagant religious outpourings’. All of which might have made one wonder what could possibly be left to celebrate.

But the Lao have a remarkable talent for enjoyment, and, for many, the excuse to get their good clothes out of the chest and mingle, in an atmosphere charged with excitement, was enough to keep them awake for a week in anticipation.

The Lao Patriotic Front announced that this year would be an opportunity for Laos to display its economic and cultural achievements under the new regime. Sceptics like Siri wondered how small that display might be. Civilai suggested an Inflation Marquee where children blow up balloons with ‘the Lao kip’ written on them. Siri joked that they could have a show of the Xiang Thong Temple puppets with their nasty right-wing mouths taped shut.

Whatever happened, the That Luang Festival would still be the cultural event of the year and Siri, with his dust-filled lungs, would miss it again. In fact, as he’d never lived in Vientiane before this year, he’d never seen the festival. He and Boua had dreamed of attending, after the revolution. It was one of her many deflated dreams.

At seven am, Siri witnessed a sight more rare than a five-legged goat: a white-coated hospital doctor came into his room and showed him his X-rays.

“Dr Siri.”

“Dr Veui. I was starting to wonder whether they’d put me in a room at the Lan Xang Hotel by mistake.”

“Now, now. No sarcasm. You know we’re very – ”

“Short of staff. Yes, I know. But you’ll be pleased I didn’t pass away from neglect while you were off tending to real patients.”

“Your nurse has been keeping me informed as to your progress. We did have a couple of emergencies yesterday that kept us busy. You heard about the fire?”

“Yes. Kitchen, wasn’t it?”

“It started there, yes. We were lucky it didn’t spread to the pharmacy. Lord knows we have precious few drugs as it is. We did lose our unimpressive collection of books, though.”

“What do you mean?”