The Merry Misogynist

11

Civilai's ancient cream Citroen with one hubcap missing sped toward Si Muang. It was less than two kilometres from Mahosot but urgency made the distance more daunting. Civilai drove directly into the temple grounds and stopped only half a metre from the ordination hall that guarded the pillar. Despite all the noise they'd made, there was nobody around to chastise them. They alighted — Dtui, Siri, and Civilai (Geung had been placed in charge of the morgue) — ran through the empty vestibule, and into the pillar sanctum.

If it hadn't been for the patchy gilding and the string of unlit coloured Christmas lights, the pillar of the city might have been mistaken for a lump of rock. It rose from a high platform surrounded by plastic flowers in various stages of bleaching, several guardian Buddhas, and an impressive array of unconnected artefacts, presumably placed there to pick up holy vibrations. Siri walked around to see if there was a way inside the platform but it was a solid block.

"Now what do we do?" Dtui asked.

"I have no idea," Siri confessed.

"Have another premonition, quick."

"I can't just conjure them up."

"Why not?"

"They arrive whenever they're in the mood. I've told you. I'm not the one in control here."

"Then let's find somebody who is," said Civilai and went in search of a monk or a curator. He returned a few moments later with a young man who had all the appearances — shaved head, victimized expression — of being a monk, but wore only royal blue soccer shorts.

"This fellow knows Rajid," said Civilai.

The young man covered his chest with his arm as if he were ashamed of his nipples.

"He used to come often," said the monk, "but I didn't know his name. We'd feed him if we had anything to give and let him wander around. He was harmless enough."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Dtui asked.

"Ooh, I don't know. A few weeks? Three perhaps?"

Siri recalled the worms and the scent of wet earth. "Do you have any catacombs here, son?" he asked.

The soccer monk laughed. "We flood here every wet season, uncle. If there were chambers down below they'd be mud by now. That's why they started to put in the pipes."

"Pipes?" Siri perked up at the mention. "Where do they run?"

"They don't, uncle. They were supposed to drain out the rainwater. The temple grounds are half a metre lower than the streets in front and back. In the monsoons it's like living in a rice paddy. They were going to lay the pipes from here all the way down to the river, but the project was put on hold when the new people took over."

"How far did they get?" Civilai asked.

"I don't know. About seven metres? They dug the trench, put in the pipes, then didn't come back. We had to fill in the trench ourselves. They didn't even make it as far as the road."

"Are there drains?" Siri asked.

"They didn't get around to putting any in."

"So there's no way down?"

"Wouldn't make any difference if there was."

"Why not?"

"The pipe's only twenty centimetres in diameter."

"Why didn't you say so?" Siri was annoyed.

"You didn't ask."

"The good news," Dtui said, "is that we won't have to go burrowing around underground. Heaven knows how much we all enjoy that."

The three of them were sitting on one of the concrete benches donated to the temple by a follower who had long since fled. A fearful monkey king watched over them. They were shaded by a mango tree but it was still painfully hot. Dtui fanned herself with a handful of calling cards from her purse.

"The bad news," Civilai continued, "is that we aren't any closer to finding poor Rajid. Everything here's above ground. Looks like your premonition was a false alarm, little brother."

"I don't believe that." Siri shook his head. "There was all that paraphernalia. He had to get that from somewhere."

"It could have been any one of fifty temples in a five-kilometre radius."

"But this one matches: the pregnant woman, the age of the pots. We know he was nosing around underground."

"But certainly not here," Civilai decided.

"It must be the pipes," Siri said. "They must be bigger than the monk remembers them."

"Look" — Civilai put his hand on Siri's shoulder — "we aren't likely to bring spades and dig up the entire temple grounds, are we now? Why don't we go together to the Iand Department on Monday morning and see if they have a record of any tunnels or underground chambers around here."

"Monday's too late."

"Well, you were wrong about Si Muang Temple; perhaps you're wrong about his dying too."

Siri bit his lip.

"I think we should all go home and have a nice rest," said Dtui. "I'm sure the solution will come to us in a flash after a little sleep." She put her hand on her belly. "I feel like I'm carrying the entire politburo around, and they're starting to give me indigestion."

"You're right." Siri nodded. "I apologize for my over-enthusiasm. Let's go back — "

"Good."

"After one quick circuit of the temple." Siri stood. "Nurse, you may stay here on this shady bench and wait for us. If you feel a birth coming on, just scream and we'll come running."

After probing around the gardens and the monks' quarters, and a very thorough search of the old Khmer ruins, Siri and Civilai stood on the shady side of the stupa. Apart from one poorly renovated patch halfway up, the chedi was a sad structure. The Thais would have cemented it over and painted it gold long ago but here it stood like a stack of charred rusks. To their right a concrete lion sat obediently on a plinth, and sleeping in its shade was Saloop.

"This is the place. He has to be here somewhere," Siri said. "We can't — "

He was interrupted by a woman's scream.

"Somebody sounds distressed," Civilai decided.

Another scream.

"If I didn't know better," Siri smiled, "I'd say that was our own Nurse Dtui having a little fun with us."

The third scream was straight out of Bride of Frankenstein, and it didn't end.

Phosy, Siri, and Civilai paced up and down in front of the maternity theatre at Mahosot like three expectant fathers. In front, in this case, meant under the stars and beneath the electric bulb that burned over the door. A cloud of flying ants competed with them for space and forced the men back whenever they dared step forward to listen at the door. The short-lived and very annoying creatures usually appeared as a result of sudden rainstorms, but there hadn't been a drop since November. Civilai put it down to the fact that Dtui's water had broken with such force, the insect kingdom had interpreted it as the coming of the monsoons. Dtui hadn't been in the mood to see the funny side of that. Whatever the reason, the theatre had been forced to close its doors and shutters to keep the insects out.

"You were supposed to be a doctor," Phosy said angrily.

Siri raised his eyebrows. "And when did I cease to be?"

"There you were, forcing her to work and having her traipse around hot temples on the day she was giving birth to our baby."

"Phosy, these things are unpredictable. The baby doesn't have a wall calendar in there. She comes when she's ready. She just happened to be ready a few weeks before we were expecting her. It happens."

Phosy seemed to be enjoying his bad mood.

"Why does everyone keep assuming the baby's a girl?" he asked.

"Auntie Bpoo, the fortune-teller, told us," Siri smiled.

"You're all mad," Phosy decided. "And who is that clown in there birthing her? Why aren't you doing it?"

"The clown in there is Dr Bountien, the head of gynaecology," Siri said patiently. "Although he may know more egg jokes than most, he is probably the best man in the country for this job. The reason I'm not doing it myself is that I'm a coroner, Phosy. The skills don't overlap."

"It's just not good enough," Phosy huffed. Neither Siri nor Civilai was certain what 'it' was.

"The world will seem a better place as soon as you see your daughter," Siri told him.

"Why's it taking so long?"

It occurred to Civilai that he had no cause to pace so he sat cross-legged on the dry grass. "Honestly, Phosy," he said. "You're acting like you've never had children before."

"I haven't. Not live and in person. My ex always managed to produce when I was far from home."

"It could have been that you were far from home more often than not," Siri commented.

"Which in turn might explain why she's his ex," Civilai added.

"Will you two stop bullying me? Can't you see I'm tense?" They all heard a shrill sound like a whistle being squeezed out of a sparrow. "What was that?"

"If I'm not mistaken, that was the sound of Dtui Junior making her debut," Siri smiled.

"Are you sure? Is it supposed to sound like that?"

"If she's got that much wind already, I think you should be very proud of her."

When the door finally opened, the nurse carrying five-minute-old Malee looked up at the cloud of insects and immediately covered the new arrival's face with the towel. She ran a few metres until she was clear of the plague then turned to ask who the father was. Siri and Civilai both put up their hands but it was Phosy who stepped forward. The nurse unveiled the tiny girl, and Phosy's face lit up like the fairy lights at the That Luang Festival. He looked at his friends with a smile so bright the insects left the lightbulb and started to circle around the inspector.

"I'm a father," he beamed.

As the theatre and the maternity ward were in different buildings, the nurse hurried away, leaving Phosy by himself. Siri was about to remind him that he was a husband as well as a father, but the policeman had already started for the door. He knocked once and was told to go around the side where Dtui was recovering in an alcove.

"She's all right?" Phosy shouted through the door.

"Fitter than I'll ever be," replied the doctor.

Phosy punched the air and started for the side door. He paused, turned back, and hugged first Siri then Civilai — then Siri again — before vanishing around the side of the building.

"Funny. I didn't get the impression he was the hugging type," said Civilai.

"He's a strong lad," wheezed Siri.