Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

mean the other type.”
    “I swear he’s turning into a Vietnamese. If it was police business he’d be here banging on the door. But I doubted it was. Everything in his personal life is suddenly urgent.”
    “Why on earth does he need to consult me on domestic issues? You were here. Why couldn’t he ask you for advice?”
    “He’s a man, Siri. You lot still aren’t ready to admit in front of a woman that you’re clueless.”
    “How did I ever make it through seventy-three-point-nine years without you?”
    “I think I got here just in time.”
    “I’ve a good mind to invite you to the cinema tomorrow.”
    “We haven’t got a cinema.”
    “K6. They’ve fixed the projector There’s a film showing in the afternoon. A romance, according to Civilai.”
    “And we have tickets?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “I rather saw that as a yes or no question.”
    “Then, yes.”

2
THE TRAIN FROM THE XIANG WU IRRIGATION PLANT – THE MOVIE
    D r Siri and his good lady waltzed in through the double doors with such confidence and aplomb that the quiet usher didn’t dare ask to see the tickets they didn’t have. There were polite, nostalgic greetings from the old politicians who stood in the side aisles mingling. There wasn’t one of them who hadn’t tangled with Siri at one time or another, so their offers of, ‘We must find some time to get together so our wives can become acquainted’ had as much life expectancy as storm ants. The women looked down their noses at Daeng’s ankle-length phasin skirt. There was an accepted socialist mid-calf standard these days which supposedly allowed freer movement to labour for the Party. Daeng had refused to cut her beautiful old skirts and, had anyone asked, she would have reminded them you couldn’t do much hard labour in a skirt whatever its length.
    Had he been a more diplomatic sort, a man of Siri’s calibre would have soared heavenward through the ranks of these old soldiers. A forty-eight-year Communist Party membership and a degree in medicine from Europe had to count for something. But there wasn’t a person in the room he hadn’t belittled or insulted. A man with no mind to compromise is condemned to sit in the back stalls watching the stars on the screen. So, after a few brief and unnecessary bites at conversation, Siri and Daeng seated themselves in the eighth row chewing on sweet chilli guava and waiting for the show. There was a mumbled comment from the projectionist and the audience, very noisily, took to its seats. Civilai arrived late. As it was impolite to push his way along the rows to an empty place, he accepted a supplementary fold-up chair from the usher and sat to one side. He didn’t seem particularly surprised to see Siri and Daeng. Siri casually mentioned to Daeng that their friend had his shirt buttoned incorrectly.
    Although the gathering was missing a president, a prime minister and three politburo members, if a person happened to have anti-communist leanings and a large bomb, this would have been a particularly fruitful place to explode it. The room was a Who’s Who of leading cadres, high-ranking officials, ministers, Vietnamese advisors, and foreign ambassadors. Judging from the turnout, it appeared there was a large population of dignitaries starved of entertainment.
    The main feature was a Chinese film entitled The Train from the Xiang Wu Irrigation Plant . The cultural section of the Chinese embassy had gone to a good deal of trouble in first translating, then applying Lao language subtitles to several of their popular films. In a back room, half a dozen Russian-language spectaculars, also with Lao subtitles, lay waiting for their opportunity to bedazzle the Lao leaders. For the cinema fan, being a political ping-pong ball had its benefits.
    The lights were doused and a small window someone had forgotten to board over was quickly patched. The conversations subsided to a mumble. Siri held his breath waiting for that magical sound that announced the coming; the clack, clack, clack of the film through the projector. And there it was. The screen was blasted with light and the film leader numbers began to flash before them. If Civilai had been beside him, they would have counted aloud together, “eight…seven…six.”
∗
    Following what feels like a day and a half of credits, the film finally opens in a busy urban train station. The vast majority of extras milling about on the platforms are in uniform. Everything on the screen is either