Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

full of people, Daeng decided that the circus was over. The doctor needed his rest. When the last hanger-on was shoved into the street and the shutters were closed, she took Siri by the arm and led him up to the bedroom.
    “I could tell them,” he said.
    “You aren’t telling anyone anything until I hear it first,” she told him. “I don’t care if the president himself arrives by helicopter. I’m not letting him in. Come! To bed with you.”
    Siri laughed.
    “I don’t think – ” he said.
    “Oh, wipe that conceited smirk off your face, Siri Paiboun. Look at you, scrawny bruised old man that you are. You think I’d be interested in anything but watching you sleep?”
    “I’ve had…I mean, I’ve slept enough.”
    “Four hours? That was barely long enough to get those puffy eyes closed. You’ve barely the energy to speak. You have a month to catch up with. And I want you rested so you can keep something down. I won’t have a man throwing up my noodles in my own shop.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I forgive you.”
    “But I want, I mean…I want to talk about it.”
    “And you will, my hero. As soon as I’m ready to hear.”
    “I’m not treated.”
    “What?”
    “No, tired, I mean. I’m not tired.”
    “Good. Then lie down here beside me and hold my hand.”
    He had barely tucked his fingers between those of his wife when sleep poured over him like liquid cement. He slept through the rest of that day and into the night. He missed the dog-howl chorus at ten and the midnight transformer explosion somewhere across the river. It was four a.m. when he finally stretched and groaned and rolled onto his side to see Daeng beside him. The night was bright but the light came from an open room along the hallway. His wife was smiling.
    “I dreamed the world was an awful place,” he said.
    “It wasn’t a dream,” she told him. “How are you feeling?”
    “I don’t know. Heavy,” he said.
    “Do you want to eat?”
    “No, Daeng. I want to talk.”
    And so he began. His speech was still slow but sleep had reorganised his mind. He told her how he’d discovered the letter clutched in the hand of the corpse of the young man from the Information ministry. How he’d decided to pass it on to Civilai because his friend hadn’t broken the rules and had a chance to get away. But Siri himself was a marked man. His hours of freedom were numbered. He had been captured leaving his friend’s room. He told her how he’d been dragged to the S21 torture camp and charged with spying and subversion. He left out a lot of details, facts he was sure she’d be able to insert herself, but even the abridged version frightened both of them. By the time he reached the night of his escape his whole body was shaking like an old water pump. Daeng had her arm over him to anchor him down.
    “The heavy monk had become the enemy already,” Siri said, staring his story into Daeng’s eyes. “One minute he was running the show, the next he was chained to corpses and soon to become one of them. Everyone was aware that they could be next. I don’t know how long the smiley man had been nursing his bottle of Johnnie Black on the back porch. He’d just put in a solid eight hours of torturing his colleagues. A man has to have doubts about job security when that happens. There’s nothing like Johnnie Walker for showing a man how fleeting his stay on the earth might be.
    “When he saw the first prisoner fleeing across the backyard I assume it was instinct rather than conscientious duty that made him grab a bayonet and go after him. He was so drunk I’m surprised he made any contact at all. But I doubt the kill gave him any pleasure. I’m sure the hopelessness had eaten into him by that stage. When he saw me and Thursday and the woman, we were just more walls tumbling down around him. End of optimism. End of life. He had the gun in his hand even before he reached me. There’s an old saying, ‘Only a fool sits next to a man with a gun to his head’. Well, I was that fool. He pulled me to him and I didn’t have the strength to push him away. I’m sure he had it in mind to do away with me as well as himself.”
    “You can take a break if you like,” Daeng told him. Siri’s sweat had soaked her clothes. She wiped his forehead with a cloth.
    “He pulled the trigger. I heard it click,” Siri went on. “Then all I remember was being in the middle of this ball of energy, like…like watching an explosion from the inside. I