Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

whether anyone else in this city had been able to mourn the death of culture. It was then that he believed it all. If Big Brother could destroy literature and history, he could destroy lives.
    He walked back through the overgrown grass of the lawn and raked his fingers through his hair. He had to get out of this place, this country. He was in the dead centre of a dead city. He had to convince somebody of what was happening here, but he had no proof. One more block and…The song was playing loudly in his brain now, confusing his thoughts. And finally the lyrics came to him. Not to his mind, exactly, but to his ears. He could hear the male tenor voice as clearly as from a radiogram. It was even more hauntingly beautiful than he remembered it from his dreams. It came to him not from the giant speakers in front of the Ministry of Information, nor from the prayer room of the empty temple, but from the ground beneath his feet.
    This was the spot. This was, in some inscrutable way, the answer. He dropped to his knees, put his hands together to show respect and, without once considering the ramificartions, began to dig into the rain-softened earth.

16
CAN WE HAVE SEX TONIGHT?
    P hosy and Dtui had run out of tears. They were as dry and exhausted as old batteries. Phosy had squeezed his wife’s hand bloodless. They sat on the flat roof of the police dormitory on two director’s chairs their neighbour had once requisitioned for evidence and forgotten to give back. There was still rain in the air but it was an almost imperceptible mist. The low clouds denied them a view of the universe, and the night all around them was so black they might have been in the belly of a giant river dragon. But still they thanked the stars they couldn’t see that only Siri and Daeng had been witness to their foolishness.
    Phosy had been astounded at Siri’s accusations at first. Why in blazes would he have an affair? Who’d want him? Where would he ever find the time? How would he muster the enthusiasm? And, what would the point have been? He already had a wife and he was doing a poor job of keeping her happy. At first he’d wondered whether Siri had been encroaching on the subject because the old fellow himself was on the hunt, or already had his snout in the chicken coop. But then, no. Who in their right mind would cheat on Madame Daeng, a woman very handy with a cut-throat razor? And then the note. Siri’s hurried note before he left. Tying up loose ends. Expressing doubts, and then the postscript. The last thought of Chairman Siri. “If you’re having an affair, stop it.”
    He’d told Dtui about the note. He hadn’t been able to show it to her because he’d destroyed the postscript. But he laughed it off as one of Siri’s overprotective moments. A ridiculous thing.
    “Are you telling me you aren’t having an affair?” Dtui had asked.
    “Why on earth would I want to?” he’d replied.
    “That wasn’t the question.”
    “No, Dtui. Of course I’m not having an affair. Don’t be ridiculous.”
    And that introduction had led into a long painful confessional of the doubts of the pair of them. They’d asked policewoman Wan to look after Malee and they’d fled to the roof where nobody could hear. And all the anxiety, the frustration and stupidity were released into the night like steam from an old rice cooker. Phosy, for the first time since they’d been together, perhaps for the first time ever, had shared his feelings. It was a significant step for a man who kept everything bottled up inside. He told her about his family and his first wife and his fears that one day he’d come home to find their room empty. When the words were all out they both sighed. Phosy noticed that he was holding Dtui’s hand in his and it felt squashed and numb, but she hadn’t attempted to wrestle it free. The fine rain had mixed with their tears and left them fresh-faced. Everything would be all right. Malee wouldn’t be growing up in a single-parent household.
    “All you need is love,” said Dtui, in English.
    “What?” said Phosy, who didn’t speak the language.
    “Beatles.”
    He had no idea what she was talking about.
    “As a medical person, I’m predicting we’ll catch pneumonia if we sit up here in the rain for much longer,” Dtui told him.
    “That’s all right. We can share a bed in emergency. Joint drips.”
    “That’s so sweet. I think I’m going to like this new romantic Phosy.”
    “Don’t get your hopes up. If this