Anarchy and the Old Dogs

Never Hand Money to a Transvestite on a Street Corner

Won’t be long

Wrong sex and wrong gender

Return to sender

Killed by tender loving lust

Dirty damned needle jab, dust to dust

What lethal sin

In just

A pleasure tax.

“Very nice, thanks. But, to tell you the truth, what I wanted to talk to you about was-”

“Five thousand kip.”

“What? I’m not asking you a question.”

“No. You want a conversation. That’s five thousand kip.”

Siri sat beneath the Aeroflot sign with a peaked cap pulled down over his face. Auntie Bpoo was wearing a hideous skintight cowhide-pattern dress that rode up her thighs. Fortunately, she had on khaki Y-fronts to preserve what little dignity she had. A light drizzle was falling and the fortune-teller held up a red-and-white polka-dot umbrella. Siri just got wet. Everyone passing along Samsenthai that evening felt sorry for the two crazy people.

“All right, so if I did give you five thousand kip, would you indulge me?”

“That was a question. To answer that I’d need another ten thousand.”

“Oh, come on.”

“All right. I’ll give you a discount. You can have a question and a ten-minute conversation for six thousand.”

“God, man. It’s cheaper to bribe a treasury official.”

“Take it or leave it. And it’s ‘Miss.’’’

“All right. I’ll take it. What I want to talk about-”

“In advance.”

“Look, if you can see the future, you know I’m not about to run off without paying.” Auntie Bpoo looked away and twirled her umbrella. “All right. All right.”

He handed over two bricks of fifty-kip notes. Since the devaluations, people in Laos had dispensed with their purses and wallets and taken to carrying cement bags for their small change. Auntie Bpoo counted each wad and decided he’d given her enough.

Siri considered this to be one of the most foolish investments he’d ever made. He could see her at the morning market buying a new leather miniskirt with his hard-earned salary. But the big female impersonator was good, he had to give her that. He’d even go so far as to say “gifted.” Siri had so little contact with freaks like himself, he often hungered for company. There were still a million questions he needed answers to with regard to his unwanted and poorly utilized abilities. He hoped Auntie Bpoo might be able to help. Mysticism produced strange bedfellows and there were few stranger than the couple seated on plastic bathroom stools on Samsenthai that evening. Auntie Bpoo took great pains to secrete the money in an enormous handbag.

When she was satisfied it was safe, she said, “All right, Dr. Traitor. You have eight minutes left.”

“But I haven’t… Very well. What I want to talk about is… our connection to the spirit world.”

“Our connection?”

“Yes, you see, I receive messages from the dead.”

Auntie Bpoo’s eyebrows nearly clinked against the wooden shop sign above her head before returning to her face. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, I get messages that tell me how people died.”

She yawned. “Look, Granddad, perhaps you ought to cut back on the MSG.”

Siri laughed to cover his irritation. Why was it that so many obnoxious and infuriating people were blessed with gifts? Perhaps one was a counterpoint to the other. But he was determined to lure this brilliant transvestite into a discussion on the paranormal. Perhaps she’d respond to aggression.

“Listen, young man or young lady or both, if you prefer. I am Dr. Siri Paiboun, the national coroner, but of course you know that. I host the spirit of a thousand-year-old shaman.” Auntie Bpoo started to collect her cards and charts and pack them into a number of plastic bags. “Are you listening? Through him I am able to communicate with the dead. I have come to you because-”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove to me that you can communicate with the dead.”

“How?”

“Tell me what my uncle Sithon was wearing when he passed away.”

“What he was wearing? I don’t know. I don’t do tricks.”

“No? You should learn. Even the shadiest mediums down at the old ferry crossing can do that one. They chat with dead people all the time, relive some funny event only departed Granny Ting could have known.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“I didn’t think so.” Auntie Bpoo stood and nodded in the direction of the other stool beneath Siri. “Time’s up. I have a mud-pack sauna appointment.”

Siri refused to vacate his stool. “You can’t just take my money and leave,” he said. “That’s abuse of a senior citizen. I can bring the Aged Union down on you just like that.”

The fortune-teller leaned forward and squared up to Siri. His scent was a mix of lavender and lighter fluid. “Look, Granddad. I’ll be honest with you. I get a lot of crackpots coming down here trying to elbow in on my action. They think they can get me to show them my tricks. Next thing you know, they’d be setting up shop all the way down Samsenthai, and I wouldn’t have any customers for myself.”

“Customers? But you don’t charge for your normal service. It’s only senile old fools like me you hit up for money. What does it matter how many customers you get?”

Auntie Bpoo put the back of her hand against her forehead and looked to the puffy heavens. It was an action made famous by a popular Thai screen actress. A gamut of emotions played across her face.

“It’s true,” she said in the soft, female version of her voice. “I don’t really need money, you see. I have all I want. But money can’t buy companionship. No matter how many kilograms of kip you have, it can’t bring you true respect. Why else would people come to listen to someone like little me? I need a gimmick.”

“It’s much more than a gimmick.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s just a party trick.”

“It is not. You know things. You knew my name.”

“It’s a small town.”

“No. You were able to tell me things nobody else has access to. That’s why I’m here. I know you’re in contact with the spirit world.”

“Look, it’s great that you’re in touch with dead people.” Her voice had returned to basso. “It means you’ll have contacts up there when you kick the bucket. That always helps in the first couple of days when you’re finding your feet, looking for a place to sleep, somewhere to eat. But don’t expect me to say, ‘Wow, you too, eh? Let’s compare notes.’ Because there is no connection. Get it? I don’t want to disappoint an old coot like you who looks like he’s had more than his fair share of disappointments in his life. I wouldn’t know a spirit if it bit my titties. There is no supernatural. I don’t get messages. I just guess. Got it? I just say the first thing that comes into my head. Half the time I haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about. But people keep coming back, so I keep doing it. It’s just a bit of fun. Nobody buys it. You gonna give me back my stool now?”

Siri stood and sacrificed his little white perch. Auntie Bpoo slotted it together with her own stool and put them in a black plastic garbage bag. She tossed her big mauve handbag over her shoulder and hoisted her other luggage. Siri stood dripping in front of her.

“You know why I’ve been charging you and no one else?” she said. “It’s because I didn’t want you to keep coming back. There’s something weird about you, old man. I get a funny feeling in my bladder when you come around. It puts me off. This is just a bit of harmless amusement, but people like you take the fun out of it. Lighten up, why don’t you?”

She turned and headed toward the black stupa.

“Wait,” Siri called after her.

The transvestite turned back with attitude. “What?”

“You owe me a prediction.”

Auntie Bpoo splashed back to him in her platform sandals.

“After everything I’ve just told you, you still want me to see for you?”

“Once more and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

“Is that so?”

“Coroner’s honor.”

“But you know I’m just going to say the most ridiculous thing that comes into my head.”

“I’ll take it.”