Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

around for most of the day fine-tuning his report on the épée murders, scratching about for something to keep himself busy, a case, a phone call, a body, a visit, some splattering of bureaucratic foolishness for him to complain about. But there had been nothing until four in the afternoon. Then everything happened. At one stage, Mr Geung came  running into the  office and  spent several minutes catching his breath, attempting to filter out a word or two. Siri had rubbed his friend’s shoulders and calmed him down, and finally he was able to say…
    “She…she’s back.”
    “Who’s that, Geung?”
    “The Down’s Syndrome. Sh…she…she’s a part-time staff in the can…the can…in the canteen.”
    He’d left again, this time realising by himself that he hadn’t brought back the coffee he’d been sent for. Siri wondered whether the excitement was hostile territorialism or passion. He suspected the former. In fact, it occurred to him that even though he’d been acquainted with Geung for two years, he knew very little of the psychology that made him who he was. Did he have the same emotions as others? How many of his feelings were instincts? Where did his heart settle along the parameters between human and beast? Siri was disappointed that he could work alongside a man and not understand him. Perhaps his library could shed some light on what went on in Mr Geung’s mind.
    It occurred to Siri that he himself had recently emerged from a long hibernation of ignorance. Suddenly he’d become aware of the deep feelings of those around him. He’d always focused on physical well-being and danced lightly around emotions. He wondered whether this awakening might be just one more stop on his journey through the senses. Was the spirit world leading him on a guided tour through the various rooms of the other world, or had he arrived at the garden of love all by himself like some long-haired hippy ganja smoker? Was he closer to heaven? After all the years of war and killing he’d suffered, with his heart as heavy as mud, was this the natural conclusion? After so many years of hate, there could only be –
    Hospital director Suk had interrupted his transcendental train of thought. Siri caught him out of the corner of his eye striding past the office door towards the cutting room. He had a tall foreigner beside him. Siri counted on his fingers, one…two…three…
    “Siri, come here!” the director yelled.
    Siri smiled, and put on his white coat. It always seemed easier to lie in a white coat for some reason. He strolled casually into the cutting room with his hands in his pockets.
    “Siri, can you explain this?” said Suk, pointing at the single strip light overhead and the two vacant fittings. Dtui came out of the storeroom and looked at the doctor, hoping he had an excuse at hand.
    “Can you , Comrade?” Siri asked.
    “Can I what?” Suk replied.
    “Can you explain why those Chinese engineers came to take away our perfectly good lights?”
    Dtui smiled and returned to the stores. All was in order.
    “Chinese? What Chinese?” Suk asked.
    “How should I know?” Siri replied. “They had a work order written in Chinese and the interpreter said something about the wattage of the lamps being inappropriate for the size of the room. She said you’d sent them.”
    Director Suk spent several minutes in stunted dialogue with the Russian engineer who was clearly upset. Siri stood there, indignant, with his arms folded. He knew the hospital administration had no idea who was donating what and which experts were due when. He was sure this small matter would be lost in the war of dominance between the superpowers. Suk and the Russian walked out of the morgue without another word to Siri.
    The doctor thought that incident would be the grand total of excitement for the day. Geung returned again without the coffee and too grumpy to talk to anyone. Dtui left at five to pick up Malee from the creche. Siri did his rounds, closing the louvres in the cutting room and checking the water level in the ornamental flood overflow pond which now sported two attractive lotus flowers. He stacked the papers on his desk and began to write a list of duties to keep his morgue team occupied for the next four days. Halfway through the list he looked up and saw his angel mother in the doorway. He smiled, as was his habit. She chewed betel and frowned, as was hers.
    “Hello, darling,” he said. “Enough rain for you these days?”