The Merry Misogynist

giant pumpkin. Dtui and Phosy walked with Malee from statue to statue, explaining who these giants actually were. It was an early step along the little girl’s path to becoming a doctor. Tong and Gongjai, the ladies of ill repute, were carrying a twin apiece, and everyone wondered how they’d cope with being separated from their surrogate babies. They had all the appearances of kidnappers about to make off with their button-nosed loot.
    Comrade Noo, the renegade Thai monk, had wanted very badly to join the house excursion. Siri had explained that it might be inadvisable for an incommunicado alien member of the Sangha to be seen strolling around Buddha’s own Disneyland in robes. Noo had obviously taken the teachings of Siri to heart because, as they were all loading into the truck, he’d appeared in white slacks, a bowling shirt, sunglasses, and a straw hat. He had entered the Buddha Park unnoticed, yet, despite his clever disguise, he still had the walk: head bowed, hands gently clasped, that left nobody in any doubt as to his calling.
    “You can take the man out of the saffron, but you can’t take the saffron out of the man,” Daeng said as they watched him wander around in the afternoon heat.
    There was one more unexpected participant in this Sunday jaunt. Comrade Civilai hadn’t come to see the nine drowning victims or the waving naked damsels or the five-headed serpent. Nor could he care less about the five-metre-high reclining Buddha. He’d been forced to attend because for four days he’d been hounding Siri for the facts leading up to the denouement of the strangler case. He had everything clear up until Siri’s sudden departure by motorcycle for the Thon River district. He knew that the killer had been cornered and somehow lost his life in a struggle. It was all the stuffing in between that he lacked and it was driving him insane. In the space of four months the old politburo member had been relegated from a man who was told everything to one who didn’t even know the name of his next-door neighbour. As his best friend, Siri was obliged to fill his dull life with adventure, and if Civilai had to endure a day at the Buddha Park to get it, so be it.
    After the picnic lunch, he cornered the doctor once more.
    “It doesn’t look like your little Hmong general’s going to put in an appearance,” he said.
    “She’ll come,” Siri told him with confidence. “I know her.”
    “Good, then while we’re waiting…”
    Siri smiled. He enjoyed the odd occasion when he could keep his older, non-related brother dangling.
    “I promised Madame Daeng I’d show her the…” Siri began.
    “She’s seen it already. Siri!”
    “Tsk, tsk. And you used to be such a calm elder statesman.”
    “I’ve been having testosterone injections. You’d better not mess with me, little brother.”
    “All right. You win.”
    Siri laughed again and led Civilai to a concrete bench overlooking the river. They were shaded by an old-fart bamboo, which seemed appropriate. Siri began by telling him of Phosy’s mission to Pakxan and everything leading up to their arrival at Phan’s base in Nahoi.
    “Which brings me to my contribution,” Siri said at last. “You wouldn’t like to go and get a soft drink or visit the bathroom at this juncture, would you?”
    “Just get on with it.”
    “Certainly. Here we go. Although I’d hit the road several hours after the census truck, I was on a thunderous machine and I had the spirit of Steve McQueen. You’ll recall we saw The Great Escape in that illegal back-room cinema in Da Nang? You’ll agree that was – ”
    “Can we dispense with the garnish and go straight to the meat?”
    “If you insist. I caught up with the truck just after we passed the Thon tributary turn-off but I decided I could afford to hang back. A truck isn’t a helicopter, and it’s limited to roads, and there weren’t that many to choose from in that part of the world. So I stayed a way back and kept out of sight. The first major intersection was at Natan. I assumed they’d report to the local cadre and drop off the census coordinators at their respective sites. Avoiding police checkpoints isn’t really that hard on a motorcycle. I didn’t want anyone reporting that there was an old codger asking questions so I steered clear of anyone who looked official.”
    “That wouldn’t be a bad philosophy for you to adopt in your day-to-day life,” Civilai suggested.
    “If you insist on interrupting,