“Sensational. My block won first prize in the ‘Uplifting Work Songs’ competition.”
“Well done. What did you win?”
“A hoe.”
“Just the one?”
“We get it for a week each, alphabetically. What’s the big news of the month up on the roundabout?”
“Big news? We made it to the top of a world list last week.”
“Lowest crime?”
“Highest inflation.”
“In the world? Wow. We should have a party or something.”
“Then there’s the ongoing puppet scandal.”
“Tell me.”
“The Party ordered the puppets at Xiang Thong temple in Luang Prabang to stop using royal language, and said they had to start calling each other ‘comrade’.”
“Quite right, too. We have to show those puppets who’s pulling the strings.” Civilai hit him with a lettuce leaf. “What happened?”
“Puppets refused.”
“Subversive bastards.”
“The local party members locked them up in their box, and they aren’t allowed out till they succumb.”
“That’ll teach ‘em.”
¦
They stretched out their lunch for as long as possible before walking across to the hospital with their arms locked together like drunks. At the concrete gateposts, Civilai reminded Siri he was off to the south for a week and he should reserve the log for the following Monday. They said their farewells, and Siri turned up the driveway.
Before he’d gone five metres, he saw Geung loping towards him. The morgue assistant put on his brakes barely two centimetres from Siri’s face. He was excited, and excitement tended to back up his words inside his mouth. He opened it to speak, but nothing came out. He turned blue.
Siri took a step back, put his hands on Geung’s shoulders, and massaged them strongly. “Take a few breaths, Mr Geung. Nothing is important enough to suffocate for.” Geung did as he was told.
“Now, what earth-moving event took place while I was at lunch?”
“Comrade Kha…Kha…Kha…”
“Kham?”
“Comrade Kham’s…”
“Is here?”
“‘…’s wife.”
“His wife is here.”
Geung was delighted communication had taken place. He snorted, clapped his palms together, and stamped the ground. Two country bumpkins were walking past. They stopped to watch Geung’s little display. Lao country folk were never too embarrassed to embarrass someone else. One of them turned to the other and said loudly, “A moron.”
Geung turned to them sharply. “It takes one to…to know one.”
Siri was as pleased as the visitors were stunned. He laughed at them, put his arm around Geung, and led him off. “Good for you, Mr Geung. Who taught you to speak to rude people like that?”
Geung laughed. “You.”
They walked on past the administration building with Geung apparently deep in thought. At last he spoke. “But, really I am a…a moron.”
Siri stopped and turned to him. “Mr Geung. When are you going to believe me? You aren’t. Your dad was wrong. He didn’t understand. What have I told you?”
“I have a…a…”
“A condition.”
“Called Down syndrome.” He recited the rest from one of the endless lists that were stored somewhere in his mind. “In some aspects I am slower than other people, but in others I am superior.” They walked on.
“That’s right, and one of the aspects you’re superior in is remembering things, things you learned a long time ago. In remembering things, you are even superior to me.”
Geung grunted with pleasure. “Yes.”
“Yes. And another thing you’re superior in, is ice water.”
“Yes, I am.”
Since they’d been banned by the director from keeping personal refreshments in the morgue freezer, the nearest refrigerator was in the staff canteen. Geung enjoyed going there to fetch glasses of water for guests, because the girls flirted with him.
“Is Comrade Kham’s wife here by herself?”
“Yes.”
“Then do you think you could bring her just one glass of ice water? It’s a hot day.”
“I can do that.”
He loped off towards the canteen, and Siri slowed down. He wanted to second-guess Mrs Nitnoy’s purpose for coming here. Her visits invariably spelled trouble, although he couldn’t recall doing anything wrong of late. She was a strong, loud woman with a large, menacing chest and hips that rolled at you like tank treads. She was a senior cadre at the Women’s Union and carried as much weight politically as she did structurally. Above all else, she was a stickler for rules.
“It has to be the shoes,” he thought. Judge Haeng had reported his disobedience, and he’d called in the big gun. She was here to force his feet into sweaty vinyl shoes that would leave him crippled. She’d be sitting at his desk watching the clock to see how late he was getting back from lunch. She’d be superficially jolly and shake his hand and ask after his health, and then humiliate him.
He was feeling sick to his stomach when he walked under the morgue sign. He stood at the door to his office and counted to three before confidently striding in. Dtui was alone at her desk reading something she hurriedly stuffed into a drawer.
“Mrs Nitnoy?”
“In the freezer.”
His face went blank and his mind followed. “Wha – ?”
“They brought her in just after you left for lunch.”
“What happened to her?” He sat heavily on his squeaky chair.
“She died.”
“Well, I’d hope so if she’s in the freezer. What did she die of?”
She looked up at him and, predictably, smiled. “I’m a nurse. You’re a coroner. Isn’t that what
“Could you perhaps give me a start? Who brought her in? What did they say?”
“Two drivers from the Women’s Union. They said she was sitting having lunch, dribbled a little bit, and keeled over. They checked her pulse and she was dead. The Union doctor told them to bring her here as it was a…what do you call it? It was an unnatural death.”
Siri was disturbed to find that his first feeling wasn’t of compassion for the poor woman, but of relief that he didn’t have to wear vinyl shoes. His second feeling was anxiety. This, after ten months, would be his first high- profile case. A lot of senior Party people would be looking over his shoulder. He pondered the possible consequences.
“Does Comrade Kham know?”
“He’s in Xiang Khouang. They phoned him. He said go ahead with the autopsy. He’s flying back this evening.”
“I suppose we should get on with it, then.” He stood, took a deep breath, and walked through to the examination room. Mr Geung was already in there, standing in front of the freezer, rocking anxiously, a glass of ice water in one hand, a tissue in the other.
¦
