Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

demons in a future incarnation. I turn back and look at the bodies and I am embarrassed to think of Voltaire at such a moment. I’m afraid that by evoking the words of the writer I might condemn him to the same fate as the books from the library, and the Catholic cathedral and the dove that was just feathers on a rib cage. But he was right .
    “ One owes respect to the living but to the dead, one owes nothing but the truth .”
    I wonder how long these dead souls might have to search for that truth or whether they will understand it when it’s found. I don’t ask the monk what he’s doing there because, in my mind, I know. The gaolers are turning on their own kind. The monster has already started to consume its tail. It’s only a question of time before there is nothing left .
    We are at the bottom of the staircase now, me, my man Thursday and mother and child. The effort of reaching the ground floor has drained me dry. My breath sounds like waves hitting a pebble beach. I don’t think I can go on. I need a nice glass of port and eight hours on a soft bed. But the omens bode well. We haven’t heard the sound of our desperate prisoner friend being cut down in his escape. In fact we haven’t heard anything. I’m starting to believe my skinny guard was the only man on duty this night. There are no lights on this level. We pause at the rear exit. Thursday seems to be in charge now. I’m glad. He listens then gestures for us to follow across the muddy yard of the school. The grass is up to our knees. I can’t feel my feet but I have a rhythm now. And we are making good time when Thursday suddenly stops and looks down. I catch up and I look down also. Lying in the thick grass in front of us is a body with a bayonet wedged between its shoulder blades. The blood is still fresh .
    Thursday looks at me and sighs. We both know who it is. His cellmate hadn’t made it to the fence. I hear a laugh from the shadows of the building behind us and a very slow, drawn-out ‘tut, tut, tut’ like a disappointed clock. I turn to see the smiley man illuminated only by the lights from above. He is swaying like a boatman. He is shirtless and my talisman hangs around his neck and swings from side to side. He walks slowly towards me, uncoordinated, drunk, and I stagger forward to intercept him. Perhaps I can give my comrades a chance to get away. In silhouette against the dimly lit school, the smiley man would make a remarkable cover for a French noir comic book. The pistol solid in his hand. Black blood specks across his chest. No features visible on his head save a grey smile. Yes, sir, he’s a natural .
    “ You are a terrible disappointment, Dr Siri Paiboun,” he slurs .
    I laugh. Perfect. What an epitaph. What a way to go .
    The smiley man takes one more step, so close now I can smell booze on his breath. He hooks one arm around my neck and pulls my head to him. He lifts his gun and shoots. The last thing I hear is the explosion. It thumps into my temple but I feel nothing. It’s all over. One second you are, and then you aren’t. Is this the way it’s supposed to be, my spirit fellows?

20
HAUNTED
    A fter several days of pressure from the Lao politburo, the Democratic Kampuchean embassy in Vientiane was finally prepared to make an announcement. Those in attendance were representatives from the Ministries of Defence and Foreign affairs, Judge Haeng from Justice, a clerk of the central committee, an interpreter, Madame Daeng and, at her insistence, Comrade Civilai. For two days they had been haggling over a location for the meeting. As the Lao refused to go to the shopfront embassy of the Khmer, and the Khmer Rouge ambassador refused to be dragged ‘like a goat’ in front of the Lao, their first secretary and a soldier arrived at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs with a typed statement. This was the first and only comment on the disappearance of Dr Siri.
    The Khmer secretary was an older man who sagged from the distress of being alive. He made a brief apology for the ambassador’s absence but didn’t bother to make it sound authentic. Then he read:
    “The Republic of Democratic Kampuchea offers its respect to the representatives of the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos. We are two nations who share a common heritage and are striving to achieve true democracy in our region. This announcement is in regard to the disappearance of Lao national, Siri Paiboun in – ”
    “He’s a doctor,” said Daeng loudly.