Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

him. “I’m your superior .”
    Yes, I’m the grand emperor of knowing when to keep my independent mouth shut .
    “ If that’s true,” said the man. “Why are you in chains while I am free to walk out? ”
    “ Because you’re a despot,” I told him, “and despots act out of panic. History shows us that a tyrant’s reign is short because it’s conducted in an atmosphere of fear. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder. You’ll always make mistakes. Despots invariably end up with a burning poker up their rear ends .”
    The smile on the face of the smiling man sagged momentarily. Then, from the cloth bag over his shoulder he produced another sheet of paper and another pencil. He held them out to me .
    “ My student,” he said, “you would be surprised how few people in here get a second chance. But I believe that even the most naive student wouldn’t fail to learn from a mistake. And so I am giving you a second chance. If you get it right this time it will make your passage to freedom very simple. I can even give you the answers to your examination questions and you can walk from the room with a degree and honours .”
    I had to laugh at that. I said, “Great master, tell me the answers. Show me the light .”
    The last of the unconvincing compassion drained from the man’s eyes .
    “ You are a foreigner,” he said. “And we don’t want to involve you in our struggle. All you need to do is write what my superiors want to read and you are free to return to your country .”
    I took the pencil and paper and sat poised to write .
    “ I’m ready, oh masterful one,” I said .
    “ All I expect is that you tell us your real name and describe in detail when the Vietnamese first recruited you as a spy. Tell us the name of your coordinator in Hanoi and what information he told you to gather. As simple as that. You write it. We file it. You go home .”
    I did my best to match the man’s smile tooth for tooth. And, yes, I did, I considered writing his confession. I wondered what the odds were of being released if I made up a story and names and places. But, deep in my soul, I knew there was no point. They could either execute me as a confessed spy or just shoot me or torture me to death as the fancy took them. I’ve heard and seen too much of what they’re doing here. I will never see the outside of this school .
    “ Any chance of a bit of lunch before I start?” I asked. “Writing fiction can really take it out of a person .”
    The man sighed and carried his heavy smile to the door. He stood there and watched me tear off strips of paper and put them into my mouth .
    “ It has no nutritional value, of course,” I told him between mouthfuls. “And all that glue and chemicals won’t do me a lot of good. But it should quiet the grumbling in my gut for an hour or two. If I close my eyes it’s just like eating noodles .”
    The smiling man slammed the door behind him .
    It’s dark now and I feel an ache in my stomach. I wonder whether it’s dark because I ate my homework and I’m being punished, or because the world has come to an end and there’s nobody to turn on the power. And as I lie back contemplating being the last person on earth, starving to death in a classroom, something moves in the darkness and takes hold of my hand .
∗
    “…and he was dead.”
    “He was dead?”
    “Completely.”
    “He was dead?”
    “Is your needle stuck?”
    “What happened to the Hollywood ending?”
    Siri and Daeng lay on their mattress. It was one a.m. Whatever bribes needed to be paid to whomever on the Thai side of the river had been paid and the street lamps burned yellow there. The glow shimmied across the Mekhong and crawled up the Lao bank. Despite the drizzly clouds that masked the starry sky, there were no longer any completely black nights. Even by the dim light that filtered through the rose-patterned cotton curtains Siri could see his wife clearly and she could see him. There would be no mistaken identity on that bed.
    “It wasn’t a Hollywood film, dear husband,” she reminded him. “It was pure Chinese propaganda and Wei Loo was dead as a beefsteak by the end of it.”
    “But Ming Zi had spent two hours looking for him.”
    “Tough! It epitomised the futility of false hope.”
    Siri sat up on his elbows and was starting to wish he hadn’t chosen this time to have Daeng tell him the story of the movie he’d missed, The Train from the Xiang Wu Irrigation Plant . He