Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

to himself.
    “I’m not really feeling too well myself,” Civilai announced. “I’m wondering whether something in the lunch was off.”
    “I assure you – ” the short-haired minder began.
    “But, at least one of us should make the effort,” Civilai decided. “I’ll carry our flag to your collective, comrades. Let’s hope my colleague is well enough to attend the reception this evening. I’d hate for this to turn into a diplomatic matter.”
    He told them he wouldn’t push the issue with the Chinese as long as the doctor was given care and rest for the afternoon. The guide seemed almost relieved to leave Siri there. And so it was that Civilai and Comrade Chenda boarded the bus to District Seventeen and Siri did not.
    Phnom Penh, under whatever tyrant or warlord, had always observed the colonial French custom of sleeping after a good meal. Those two hours during the hottest part of the day belied the claim that Kampuchea did not know worklessness. Comrade Ta Khev, the sun-blistered cadre attached to the Lao embassy, was no exception. As soon as the man began his customary afternoon nap, and the bestial sounds of his snoring could be heard behind the door of his room, the embassy came alive. One diplomat was posted in front of the cadre’s room. Ambassador Kavinh was kneeling on the floor at Siri’s cot, hugging him like a newly deceased relative. It was a desperate and unexpected gesture.
    “Siri, Siri, my old friend,” he whispered.
    “Kavinh? I thought you’d forgotten me.”
    “My past is the only thing I can think fondly of,” he replied. It was a curious comment but Siri instinctively understood it.
    “Come, we don’t have much time,” Kavinh said, climbing slowly to his feet. “And there’s a lot to do.”
    Siri was led through the house to the larder. In the corner stood a stack of wooden crates. Those on the top contained cans of meat and fish. The lower boxes were apparently empty. Two of the junior diplomats quickly slid the stack to one side and revealed a large metal ring on a hinge embedded in the wooden floorboards. They prised the ring upwards and pulled. A heavy trapdoor lifted slowly and without sound and Siri found himself staring down into a black pit. The embassy staff looked at him and gestured that he should go down. Siri, it had to be said, had a problem with black pits. Some of his worst living nightmares had taken place in such places. He baulked.
    “Really, Siri,” said Kavinh. “We don’t have much time before the bastard wakes up.”
    “Oh well.”
    A metal ladder led down into the darkness. Siri took a deep breath and began to descend. The ambassador followed close behind. Siri arrived at a concrete floor He stood aside and Kavinh stepped down. The trapdoor closed and Siri could hear the rearrangement of the crates overhead. The darkness was total and overwhelming.
    “Bien,” said the ambassador.
    There came a tinkle of glass, the strike of a match, and Siri saw a disembodied hand suspended in mid-air. It carried the flame to a wick and a dirty yellow light from an oil lamp bathed the cellar. Twenty eyes looked out of the ochre shadow.
    “Good afternoon,” said Siri.
    There was a long moment of hesitation before four men and six women stepped up to him, smiling, taking his hand, squeezing his fingers. None of them spoke.
    “This is the real briefing,” Kavinh whispered. “It will have to be quick. But this is the information you need to take back to Vientiane when you leave.”
    “Who are these people?” Siri asked.
    “They’re Khmer. All of them. Some we found. Others found us. This room is ventilated and sound doesn’t carry. But we have to be careful. If they’re found we’ll all be killed.”
    “But, why are they here?”
    “Siri, you’re going to learn a lot today that will stretch your belief. Things so horrific you won’t sleep well for a year. We haven’t had direct contact with Vientiane for eight months. We have no phone here. We can’t travel without our minders. Every document passes through censors at the foreign ministry. So I haven’t been able to alert our government as to what’s happening. When I learned there would be a May Day reception and that a Lao delegation was invited, I knew it would be our best chance. Perhaps our last. I was so happy when I saw your name on the list, Siri. You’re exactly the type of man I need to fight for us, for the Khmer.”
    The situation seemed somewhat ridiculous to Siri, far too