The Merry Misogynist

13

The letter Phan had been waiting for arrived on the Tuesday lunchtime. He took the truck to the Bureau de Poste and found two envelopes in his box. One was pink and scented and from Thaxi. He didn't even bother to read it. He ripped it in half and threw it into the large plastic waste basket that stood by the door. She'd failed, this smelly perfume girl. In her last letter, wracked with remorse, she'd admitted that she'd lied to him at their last meeting. She confessed to a small sexual encounter when she was fifteen. She hoped he'd appreciate her honesty as she didn't want there to be any secrets between them. She hoped it wouldn't interfere with the plans for their marriage.

"No, dearie. It didn't interfere with them. It obliterated them. You are a slut!" The only thing he wanted from her she no longer possessed.

This second letter, this was what he needed. It had arrived in his box without a stamp through the magic of acquaintanceships. He sat beneath a large Mangifera on the grounds and unfolded the lined school paper. A tiny delicate green caterpillar abseiled down a fine silk thread and landed on the open page. It was an omen. He didn't need omens. He crushed it with his thumb and wiped his hand on the side of his navy blue trousers.

He read her neat handwriting. Dearest Phan, I can't tell you how special your letter was for me. I'd prayed at our temple that you would take me to your world. I've seen and learned everything I can here in mine. Now it's time for me to grow and improve myself. We have planned the wedding ceremony for the evening of the 26th. I hope that's convenient for you and your work. It means we can leave directly on the morning of the 27th.

Phan, there are so many thoughts and words in my heart that I am too shy to write. Like you I have never written a love letter. I hope you'll be able to teach me how to express myself so I don't embarrass you in front of the Lords and Ladies of Europe. From Wei to Phan

Five days away. That was more like it. To the point. No mushy sentiment or scents or last-second confessions. No poetry or bad grammar. She really was perfect, this schoolteacher. He climbed back into his truck and sat behind the wheel. He turned the key and pulled the ignition knob. His beast roared. People on the post office steps turned to stare. "Yes, yes, morons. It's me. Notice me! You'll all hear about me soon enough." He let his foot growl on the accelerator. This was it. This was the feeling. A woman and a truck. What else could a real man want? He pulled out onto Ian Xang Avenue without bothering to look. If anyone on the road was so deaf they couldn't hear his engine they deserved to be mowed down. He drove twenty metres on the wrong side of the street before crossing to the far lane. It rarely mattered in Vientiane. He allowed himself a gratuitous honk of the horn. He was a very merry misogynist.

Siri had ridden to the Morning Market after lunch and bought some chicken wire. The hornbill wasn't getting along too well with the ducks and chickens in Madame Daeng's backyard so he was planning to divide the garden like East and West Berlin. He hoped he wouldn't have to resort to machine-gun turrets and barbed wire. On his way back, some idiot in a truck almost wiped him out in front of the post office. Siri's heart was still pounding when he arrived at the morgue. Mr Geung was standing waiting for him on the front step with a note in each hand. He held them up in front of Siri's face.

"M…messages," he said.

"What do they say?" Siri asked, walking past him and into the office.

"I…I don't know. They're in…in writing."

After many hundred hours of earth-staggering patience, Dtui and Siri had succeeded in teaching Geung some of the mechanics of reading. He had what Dtui called a 'learn-two-forget-three letter system'. He finally recognized words more from their overall shape than their spelling. Handwriting was noodles to Mr Geung.

Siri read the notes aloud for Geung's benefit. The first was from the Lao Patriotic Women's Association. Siri, how are you? I'm sure you're very busy, but it would be wonderful if you could come and see me as soon as possible. Very best wishes, your friend, Pornsawan

The second note was from Justice. Siri, I expect you here at 1:30, my office. Don't be late. Haeng

Siri smiled. "Now, Mr Geung, did you notice any difference in style between these two notes?"

Geung shook his head.

"Perhaps I read them badly. Here!" He read them again using his soft and fluffy voice on the first and his Judge Haeng impersonation on the second.

"Now did you see any difference?"

"This one," Geung pointed, "is…is nice. This one is bad."

"That's quite right, Geung. So which one do you think I'm going to respond to first?"

"The nice one."

"Correct. See? You'll be reading in no time."

"Judge H…Haeng is going to be, to be p…pissed off."

"You might be right."

Dr Pornsawan was working with a group of rural medical interns when Siri arrived at the Women's Association. As soon as she saw him outside the room she excused herself and went to greet him. She swung his hand from side to side and squeezed his fingers.

"Hello, Siri. Thank you so much for coming. My office?"

He followed her to the simple doorless booth she called her own and they both sat. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a thick wad of notes.

"You'd be surprised how small our country can be, Dr Siri."

"This is all in response to our strangling?"

"Some of it's dross — some fantasy and myths," she said. "But there are one or two reports in there I think could be relevant."

"But it's only been three days," Siri reminded her. "And one of those was a Sunday."

"We don't mess about, Doctor. We had ladies coming here from the provinces for training and girls going out for workshops. The word got around very quickly. An angry bunch of women actually knows no bounds."

"You're telling me."

"I've taken the liberty of singling out two stories. One was from a lady's personal experience. The other was anecdotal. Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you."

Pornsawan poured and related the first tale.

"A girl in Champasak, in the south," she began. "It was in September of last year. Her parents had sent her off to work on a logging concession in the neighbouring province: Attapeu. It appears one of the foremen had taken a shine to her when he was on leave and saw her around Pakse town. He convinced her parents she'd make a good secretary for the projects in the hills. She'd only completed grade three and had never seen a typewriter, so obviously the foreman was a master at recognizing potential."

"Obviously."

She sat and let her tea cool on the desk beneath the ceiling fan. Siri sipped at his right away.

"The foreman arranged her travel documents and drove her up into the hills. On her first night there he made his inevitable advances, and the girl, a virgin, ran to the house of the local headman and his family to complain and seek refuge. Staying at the house was a gentleman attached to the Department of Agriculture. He was shocked by the girl's story and went to the logging foreman's house and thumped him one. Some rumours would have it that he beat him half to death, but we all know what rumours are like, brother Siri. We're doctors so we aren't allowed to say things like, "He had it coming." The girl stayed at the headman's house for a few days, and she and the gentleman from Agriculture fell in love. They were parted for two weeks, but as soon as they reunited they were married."

"That was quick."

"One of our policies here is to return to the old tradition of getting to know the person you marry. It sounds fundamental but what with all the upheavals — troops relocating, men dying, and roads being built through remote villages — there are families only too willing to put their daughters into the hands of a stranger who is better off than themselves..Our peasantry is getting poorer and more desperate.

"But I digress. On the night of the wedding at the girl's home in Champasak, the groom announced that he had to return to Vientiane in two days. Given the state of the road, that seemed like an insurmountable task. So he left with his bride directly after the ceremony. He had a truck, but our witness couldn't say what type it was, just that the village boys were all gathered around it oohing and aahing. That was the last the parents saw of their daughter. They didn't hear from her again."

"And that was the anecdote?"

"No, it came directly from the wife of the headman in Attapeu. She hadn't been able to get a laissez-passer in time for the wedding, but the next time she went to Champasak on Women's Association business she looked up the family and discovered they hadn't heard from their daughter."

"Did she remember the man's name?"

"Yes, it was the same as her eldest son's. Khamphan."

Siri whistled. "Another Phan. Anything else?"

"That's all she could remember. She's going back south tomorrow, and she's promised to look for the man's letter of introduction to her husband."

"I'm sure it'll be as fake as the last one. Doctor, I'd like to put the lady in touch with Inspector Phosy before she travels. Did she happen to say what the man looked like?"

"Tall, muscular, mid to late thirties, hair a little too long. Sound familiar?"

"Much too familiar, I'm afraid."

"It is all thoroughly depressing, isn't it?"

"Just the thought that he's out there killing innocent girls and we can't do anything to stop him makes me sick. You said there was another story?"

"Much more sketchy, this one. One of our members heard about a woman who attended a wedding just outside Pakxan. Country girl, sophisticated city man. He lived in Vientiane and planned to take her overseas."

"That's it?"

"Only that they left for a secret romantic honeymoon directly after the ceremony and vanished."

"Any time frame?"

"No, we're checking up on it."

"Did she recall when she heard the story or from whom?"

Pornsawan consulted her copious notes. "She said it was early last year — when she heard the story, I mean. I'll let you know what comes of this one."

"Excellent. You're sure the other reports — ?"

"I'll give you the lot. If you think there might be anything else, you can get back to me and I'll follow it up."

"You're doing a marvellous job, Comrade."

"I'm sure there'll be more."

"Thank you."

"Bo ben nyang."

He stood to leave and she walked him to the door.

"I must say you're looking good, considering your exploits at Si Muang Temple," she said.

Siri rolled his eyes. "How on earth could you have…? All right. Silly question. Yes, thank you. I'm fine."

"How's your Indian friend?"

"Doing well. Very soon he'll be well enough to roll about in mud, eat worms, and walk aimlessly around Nam Poo Fountain again."

"I'm sure he doesn't see it as aimless. We all have different goals. His are achievable."

"You're so right," Siri smiled.

"Oh, and Doctor, I have to let you know you have a growing fan club here at the Lao Patriotic Women's Association."

Siri blushed and headed out into the sunshine.

It was a little past one thirty when Siri arrived at Justice. One hour and fifteen minutes past, to be exact. His visit to police headquarters had taken longer than he'd anticipated. Manivone hurried him along the corridor.

"He's spewing fire, Doctor," she said, scurrying ahead. "I swear if he knew which end of a gun was forward, he'd shoot you."

"What did I do?"

"He was expecting you over an hour ago."

"I was expecting a comfortable retirement on full pay. You don't always get what you expect on this planet, Comrade Manivone."

"Well, I don't think he'll buy an argument like that right now. If you don't want a lecture, you're going to have to come up with a good excuse."

Siri briefly considered using 'Mr Geung ate my note', but settled on an excuse that better suited his personality. Manivone knocked on the judge's door and said, "Judge, Dr Siri is here."

She stepped back to let the doctor go past her only to find him gone. She went outside and looked around but saw neither hide nor hair of him.

"I'm sorry, Judge," she said. "He was right beside me. Honestly."

The judge was too enraged to speak. The pencil snapped between his fingers and half of it jumped up and hit him in the eye. He couldn't even get ire right. A minute later Manivone returned, this time pushing Siri in front of her. She heaved him into the room and closed the door behind him.

It only took Siri a few seconds to take in the scene and understand the reason for his summons. Judge Haeng and Vietnamese adviser Phat were sitting at their respective desks. But to one side, seated on the sticky vinyl guest sofa, were three upright gentlemen in grey, pale blue, and brown safari suits respectively. In front of them on the slightly inclining coffee table were several used cups and glasses, hard evidence of the amount of time they'd been there waiting for him. Siri recognized one of the men, Comrade Koomki from Housing.

Comrade Phat performed an 'I did my best' shrug and grinned at the papers in front of him.

"Siri," said Haeng in a much deeper voice than Siri had ever heard him use, "where the hell have you been?"

"To the toilet," Siri answered honestly. As was custom, he went along the line of sofa sitters and shook their hands. Though his own hand was damp, they had no choice but to respond.

"For two hours?" Haeng yelled at Siri's back.

"No, just now. I was taken short and happened to pass the WC, so I — "

"I called you here for one thirty."

"Right. I had something more important to do."

"You…?" The judge looked and half smiled at the visitors. "These comrades have been here since one fifteen."

"They refused to leave until you got here," said the Vietnamese with the slightest of smiles pencilled across the bottom of his face.

"It's good to see there's one government department with sufficient time on its hands that it can waste it doing nothing," Siri said and sat in front of Haeng's desk. "Not many of us have that luxury."

"Siri, this is a serious matter," growled the judge. "Comrade Koomki here is accusing you of — "

"I know what he's accusing me of: charity and kindness. Goodness knows we don't want any of that kind of behaviour in the new republic."

"Judge Haeng," said the little man, "if I may."

"Go ahead," said the judge.

"Although we have reservations as to the type of person staying at Dr Siri's house," Koomki began, "that is not the matter at hand. We have evidential proof that you, Dr Siri Paiboun, are not resident at government housing unit 22B742."

"Let's see it," said Siri.

Koomki stood and walked to Haeng's desk. He carried a large grey envelope.

"My colleagues and I performed five days of surveillance on both unit 22B742 and the commercial property on Fa Ngum Street owned by the doctor's wife, Madame Daeng."

"Good grief," said Siri, slumping back in the chair. "We have foreigners stealing great chunks of our ancient temple at Wat Poo because the government can't spring for a couple of guards to look after it, and here we have three grade-two public officials spending a week watching a noodle shop? Surely our nation has better ways to harness your rapacious enthusiasm?"

"Firstly, I am a grade-three official," said Koomki. "And secondly, on the contrary, I consider the honesty and transparency of the actions of our high-ranking officials to be a priority in these troubled times."

"Really? Then let's bring in an opposition party," Siri hissed. "That'll straighten all of us out."

"Siri," Judge Haeng interrupted, "can we just see what evidence the comrade has, please?"

"Judge, surely you can't — ?"

"Siri! Thank you."

Siri held up his hands in submission, and the small man sneered. He produced a wad of documents from the envelope and fanned them back and forth.

"Your Honour, here — "

"You aren't in court, Comrade," Haeng said. "'Judge' will be sufficient."

"Yes, Comrade." Koomki nodded. "Here we have five days of surveillance records. They clearly show that Dr Siri was not at unit 22B742 for that period but was unlawfully residing at his wife's shop."

"For the entire time?" Haeng asked.

"What?"

"Was Dr Siri at his wife's establishment for the entire period of the surveillance?"

"Yes, well, no. There were some gaps."

"How many?"

"Three. Either we saw him leave but not arrive, or vice versa."

"Three out of five?" The judge raised his eyebrows. "Not a very impressive statistic."

Siri looked up in surprise.

"He probably slipped in through the back," Koomki said with confidence.

"I'm a judge, Comrade. I don't deal with probabilities, only evidence."

Siri turned to Phat, who was buried in his work.

"Do you have proof that it was actually Dr Siri your man saw at the noodle shop?" Haeng asked.

"Yes, Judge. We have a photograph of him sneaking in at night. Our camera has a gadget that records the date and time."

"Which is adjustable?"

"Yes, Judge."

"Meaning you can change the time and date at will."

Siri leaned forward to make sure the judge hadn't been replaced while nobody was looking.

"Well, technically." Koomki was getting flustered. "But of course we wouldn't falsify evidence."

"Of course not. Show me the picture."

Koomki handed him a large coloured zoom shot. In it, a short brown-faced man in goggles and a backward-facing baseball cap was being allowed entrance to the shop by Madame Daeng. Not even Siri could recognize himself.

"And who is this man?" Haeng asked.

"Why, it's Dr Siri."

"All I see is a dark-skinned person with glasses."

"They're goggles, Judge. He'd just arrived on his motorcycle."

"Which doesn't appear in the photograph. Nor does the street address of the shop." Haeng was at his most belligerent, and Siri had a sudden urge to lean over the desk and kiss him on the nose.

"The fact remains — " Koomki attempted.

"The fact remains," Haeng interrupted, "that you haven't a shred of evidence that would stand up in any court in the land. I'm offended that you even brought this matter before me. Where was your man stationed at unit 22B…whatever?"

"The tree opposite," called the man in question.

"Then, Dr Siri, can you give me a good reason why this man might not have seen you leave or arrive at your house?"

Siri took the judge's lead.

"Certainly." He thought for a moment. Haeng tapped his half pencil on the desk: "I park my motorcycle in the unfinished project behind my house and leave and enter through the hole in the back fence. That way I don't wake up the children when I arrive late."

"There you have it," said Haeng.

"That doesn't make any sense," said Koomki.

Judge Haeng stood and put one knuckle on the desk. "What doesn't make any sense," he said, "is you petty bureaucrats with your silly rules wasting the time of hardworking forty-year members of the Communist Party. I've humoured you, looked at your evidence, and it is ridiculous. I'd like you to go back to your department and re-evaluate your roles in our society. Remember…"

"Motto time," thought Siri.

"…the washerwoman takes her laundry to the line and shakes out the creases before hanging out the clothes. Does she look around for those shaken-out creases when she's finished? No. A good Party member understands that not everything has an explanation and knows when to give up. I would like you to deliberate on that thought on your way out, Comrades. Good afternoon."

The laughter was raucous enough for the nurse to come in from the next ward and tell them not to get Comrade Rajid too excited. He was still weak, she told them, but she couldn't help noticing a broad smile on his face. Two of the three beds in the dingy Mahosot ward were unoccupied. The third was surrounded by people on plastic stools. There was Mr Tickoo, whose sleeping bag was rolled up beneath his son's bed, then Siri, Dtui, with Malee at her breast; Civilai, Geung, and Phosy. They'd just heard Siri's rendition of the previous day's meeting at Justice.

"See?" said Dtui. "Judge Haeng's secretly liked you all along."

"I was beginning to think so," Siri agreed. "He let me thank him a few times, accepted my gratitude humbly, then limped out leaning on his cane. But it was soon explained to me what was going on. You'll recall, I'd enlisted the aid of the Vietnamese adviser to help me overcome Housing. It turned out he had access to information that not many others knew. It transpires, for example, that Judge Haeng as a government employee has housing allocated to him. But recently, the honourable judge completed the building of a very fine two-storey villa on the way to Dong Dok Institute. It was rumoured that a certain young lady chanteuse at the Anou Hotel is currently residing in his official residence in town. Comrade Phat, as an adviser, merely pointed out to Haeng what an unfortunate precedent it would set to allow Housing to successfully evict the lodgers at my bungalow and sully my name. Haeng obviously agreed."

They laughed again.

"Darn it," said Civilai. "And here I was thinking the tin man had found his heart."

"And here I am thinking it's time to shake out the creases from Rajid's sheets and let him get some rest," Dtui announced with a laugh. She stood with her baby and let everyone have a little hand squeeze and cheek sniff of Malee before stepping out. Geung followed her. Mr Tickoo stacked the stools and bowed a goodbye to his son's guests.

Phosy cornered Siri and Civilai and told them he wanted a word with them. They went to the canteen and ordered three glasses of Mahosot coffee, a gooey brew rumoured to have polished off a number of patients who might have pulled through otherwise. They sat by an open window where the scent from the hairy jasmine bushes overwhelmed the general antiseptic atmosphere of the hospital. A fan above their heads kept off the evening mosquitoes.

"All right, boys. Here's the latest," Phosy said. "First, we've had no luck at all with the ministries, the Central Committee, or any of the aid programmes. No projects planned or executed in or around Vang Vieng on the dates our villain was there."

"Damn," said Siri.

"Doctor, as soon as I got your information yesterday, I contacted the police station in Pakse. It's one of the few places you can get a phone call through to these days. They're a bit behind in submitting their case ledgers. They still had the last two years' books down there. I thought it might take a few days for them to go through them, but one of the officers remembered a complaint filed by the parents of a missing girl. It rang a bell with the sergeant when I mentioned the logging concession incident."

"I know the officers in Pakse," said Siri. "There wasn't a lot of bell ringing going on down there."

"I imagine the complaint wouldn't have been remembered, and perhaps not even filed at all, if it hadn't been for the peculiar events that surrounded it," Phosy continued. "The mother was still upset about what happened, or almost happened, to her daughter at the concession. The girl had promised solemnly that she'd phone her at the Bureau de Poste on a certain day at a certain time. The mother and father travelled overnight to be there. She didn't call. The parents waited there for five hours. They tried to get through to the Vientiane number the groom had given them for emergencies but the post office clerk told them there was no such code. That's when they went to file with the police.

"It was while they were telling their story that the sergeant tied it together with another case being looked into. And this sounds very much like our villain. There'd been a complaint about a false laissez-passer. You both know how it works — when you travel between provinces you have to report at a police box."

"Do they take down licence plate numbers?" Siri asked excitedly.

"I'm afraid not."

"Typical. Something that might have been useful…"

"There are army barricades that take down plate numbers, but they tend to ignore anything that isn't privately owned. We're checking with the military posts down there anyway. All they do at the migration checkpoints is slowly and painfully copy down all the information on the laissez-passer and write the date in an exercise book. That information goes to the central registry in Pakse, where somebody else copies it out of the exercise book and into a bigger book — "

"So on ad infinitum," said Civilai.

"Well, it turns out that the registrar who noted the information was out drinking one night with a couple of mates from the Champasak Forestry Department — "

"Which I believe is now officially known as the Champasak Deforestry Department," Civilai cut in again.

"Are you going to let me finish, Comrade?"

"Sorry."

"He told his drinking friends that he'd noticed Forestry had a bigwig from Vientiane in town. They said they hadn't heard about it. They mentioned it to their regional boss, and he confirmed there weren't any visitors from anywhere around the date noted in the book, hence the fake laissez-passer complaint. After further investigation they found that the impostor had checked out of the province at the same checkpoint two days later. Don't forget it takes a while for the checkpoint information to reach the city. These were exactly the dates the parents of the missing girl claimed her suitor was in town. He was calling himself Khamphan this time, by the way. There aren't that many non-military strangers hanging around so the Pakse police put two and two together."

"Brilliant," Siri said. "And what did they do about it?"

"Nothing," Phosy confessed. He stirred the coffee and condensed milk together in the glass. It was barely liquid. "They thought it was just a lover's tryst, that the fellow faked the pass so that he could marry his fiancee. They didn't see it as very important."

"That's more like the police force we know and love," Siri decided. "So the story ends there?"

"Yes. We're gathering information about any ongoing projects within a day's drive of Attapeu town over that period. We're going back to all the same ministries. You see, Phan told the parents he was heading north to Vientiane on the night of the wedding. But he didn't cross the northern border. He crossed back into Attapeu. He'd told the parents he'd arranged a laissez-passer for his new bride but there was no mention of her in the ledger at the police checkpoint."

Civilai whistled. "So he killed her in Champasak because it was easier than getting her across the border."

"Either that or he just snuck her across after dark when the police were partying or fast asleep. He could have bribed his way through the barrier with her."

"I'd go with the first theory myself," said Siri.

"Me too," Phosy agreed.

Despite its heat, Siri cradled his glass between his palms, putting off the drinking for as long as possible.

"So," he said, "what we have here is a nasty piece of work who's travelling around the country on some official business. It's work that involves returning after two weeks to — I don't know — to follow up or something. He has influence because he's able to falsify documents that pass cursory inspection. He has a truck, which suggests he's at least the head of a section or department."

"With a very generous gas allowance, judging from all the travelling he's been doing," Phosy added.

"Quite. So it's a project that's far more important than the usual road measuring or rice testing — 'Let's look like we've actually done something' — mission. He goes out to the countryside some way from his actual project site and assumes a false identity. He woos a country girl, takes advantage of her naivete, and she falls in love with him. He promises to come back and marry her. Two weeks later he's in the village bamboozling everyone with all the paperwork he's put together. He convinces them he's registered the marriage and arranged travel documents, and he whisks her off on their wedding night."

"To a honeymoon in hell." Civilai sighed.

"You aren't wrong, brother."

"Then why would somebody so smart be so sloppy?" Civilai asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, he was clever enough to fool the regional cadres, and parents and village elders, and then he left the bodies no more than twenty metres from a main road where anyone might stumble across them."

"I think that's the point," said Phosy. "He wants the bodies to be found."

"Exactly," Siri agreed. "It completes the humiliation of the women."

"Who is he, Doctor?" Phosy asked. "I mean what's going on in his head? What are we looking for exactly?"

Siri stood his spoon in his coffee and let it go. It didn't fall to the edge, just stood there, trapped.

"Well," he said, "my psychology training was two semesters, fifty-odd years ago, and it leaned rather heavily towards Freud. And Freud would probably have suggested that our strangler had problems with his mother, or at least a woman in his past. The symbolism of the pestle doesn't take a great deal of imagination to work out. I wouldn't be surprised if he was impotent. All I can be certain of is this: for him to go to so much trouble, something happened to make our Phan hate women with a vengeance."