Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

building blocks to his left, and his drink selection – actually rice whisky and slightly cheaper rice whisky – neatly displayed in the body of an old TV cabinet to his right. He sat watching over his three-umbrella establishment like a eunuch keeper of the crown jewels, silent and threatening.
    “Tell me again why we come here,” Civilai asked.
    “The ambiance,” Siri told him.
    “Right.”
    “And, for this: Hey! Two Thumbs!” Siri called. He and Civilai hoisted a thumb each. Two Thumbs gave them a two-piece thumbs-up with his left hand. It was his party trick. They never tired of it.
    “Great!” they shouted, and threw back their drinks. They were on their second bottle and it was a wicked brew only two degrees short of toxic. They splashed their feet like children and wondered what diseases might be lurking there in the dirty ground water.
    “I blame the Chinese,” Civilai decided.
    “For the rain?”
    “For everything. They’re responsible for all our ills.”
    “I thought that was the French.”
    “Huh, don’t talk to me about the French. I hate the French.”
    “That’s most ungrateful of you. They did educate us.”
    “Educate? They certainly didn’t educate me. I educated myself, little brother. Like you. We just used their schools and their books…”
    “And their language.”
    “And their language, granted. But we used them. We educated ourselves in spite of the French. But the Chinese. They’re sneaky bastards. I mean, really sneaky. The French…you have to admire the French.”
    “I thought we hated them.”
    “Hate? Yes. But you can admire people you hate. I admire their tactics. They steamroll in, shoot everyone, take over and treat us all like dirt. You see? You know where you stand with oppressors like that. But the Chinese? All through the war they were building roads. A damn war going on all around them and they have seven thousand military engineers and sixteen thousand labourers up there in the north building roads.”
    “That’s good, isn’t it?”
    “Good? Good? It’s devious, is what it is. You think they were up there building roads so we could move troops?”
    “Yes?”
    “No, sir. They were building roads ‘cause they knew one day they’d own us. They were putting in their own infrastructure, damn it.”
    “Are you sure you’ll be able to drive home?”
    “No problem. The roads are all canals right now. I just wind up the windows and float home. Where was I?”
    “Discussing how to make a good pie dough.”
    “Right. Right. So, ‘the monstrous plot’. That’s what the Vietnamese call it. The monstrous plot. They’ve got that right. Those Chinks have got their eyes on us. They’re carnivores. As soon as the timing’s right we’ll all be speaking Chinese and eating the sexual organs of endangered animals. You mark my words. And what’s all this Voltaire crap?”
    “I suspect you’ve changed the subject.”
    “What do you think you’re playing at, quoting Voltaire at a hero interview?”
    “I’ve chanced upon one or two insightful books. I thought a quotation might help in my self-destruction.”
    “Oh, I see. One minute you want to be a hero. Then you don’t. A hero has to be decisive, Siri. Into that phone box, on with the tights and the cape. Go for it, I say. Whether or not we deserve it is irrelevant. We either vanish into superfluity or we go down in history. Take your choice.”
    “Voltaire said the superfluous is a very necessary thing.”
    “You’re plucking my nostril hair, aren’t you?”
    They raised their thumbs to the proprietor who responded obediently.
    “She did have spectacular lips though, didn’t she?” Civilai recalled.
    “They took me back, I tell you.”
    They waved at the people two mats away who were celebrating a birthday. The group had a glazed bun with a candle in it. These were frugal times.
    “I probably shouldn’t tell you this…” Civilai began.
    “Then don’t.”
    “They’ve fixed the projector.”
    “At K6?”
    “They got someone in from the Soviet Embassy. Now, there’s another sneaky oppressor, the Russian overlords. Damn these subtle invaders. Good electricians though. Said it was a fuse problem. Fixed it in a minute. And…”
    “What?”
    “There’s a showing tomorrow afternoon.”
    “You weren’t going to tell me.”
    “It’s invitation only. All the big nobs will be there. Half the politburo. I only got a ticket ‘cause the foreign minister is in Cuba.”
    “What’s