Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

here for the doctor. Now they’ll have to make the trip again tomorrow.”
    There was an awkward moment of silence.
    “No, Madame,” said Bhiku at last, “I am equally as joyful to greet elder statesman Civilai.” He handed over the lotus he’d been holding and somehow the evil spell that hung around them was blown away. They smiled and patted Civilai on the shoulder. They all milled around him and spoke at the same time but, as they walked to the taxi rank, first Dtui, then Daeng looked back at the plane.
∗
    It was late afternoon and Civilai and Nong were sitting at their kitchen table sampling the sugared dumplings he’d been given before leaving Peking. Nong had described her sister’s attempts to grow straw mushrooms in her backyard. How the place smelt like a stable the whole time she was there and only two collar-stud-sized mushrooms to show for all that manure. Civilai had talked about their arrival in Peking and the food and their act for the hidden camera. He was delighted to see that his apology and promise to be a better husband had brought his wife home to him, but neither of them had been able to speak about the subject that smouldered in the background. Until suddenly there was no choice.
    “Anybody home?” came the unmistakable voice of Madame Daeng. Neither of them was surprised by this visit. In fact they’d expected it earlier. Daeng’s gauzy figure stood outside the mosquito-wire door.
    “How did you get out here?” Nong asked.
    “Siri’s Triumph,” she replied, kicking off her shoes and pushing past the flimsy door. “The idiots made me leave it at the gate. That one walked me over here in the rain.”
    She indicated the armed guard standing at the front fence. He nodded to Civilai and went on his way.
    “They always get super vigilant after a bombing or a murder,” said Nong. She accepted Daeng’s bag of longan with a nod of thanks. “I suppose that’s always the way, isn’t it? Putting the lid on the basket after the snake’s out.”
    “Have you talked about it yet?” Daeng asked. There was obviously no space for preliminaries.
    “Not yet,” said Civilai.
    “Then, where should we sit?”
    They opted for the outside lounge suite with a view of the gnomes and the two-foot windmill. A plastic sunroof overhead showed the faint outlines of flattened leaves. Rain clung to low clouds. Daeng refused both small talk and a drink. Her determined eyes bore into Civilai’s like steel drill-bits.
    “I’m not supposed to – ” he began.
    “I don’t care,” she said.
    “I know.”
    He leaned forward and rested his skinny elbows on his skinny knees. He began his story with their visit to the Lao embassy in Phnom Penh. That was the last time he’d seen Siri. He reached the May Day reception without interruption. He hesitated then, not for effect, but more like a visitor at the Devil’s front door. Daeng egged him on with her eyes.
    “It was obvious the guide knew something,” he continued. “And I pushed him as far as I could to get it out of him. But all he’d tell me was that there’d been an incident. He led me down to the reception. I thought I might get some information there. The Lao ambassador was in the room but the minders were shepherding the crowd. They were deciding who should stand where, who should talk to who. I had my Lao-speaking guide all to myself and he’d obviously been told to stick to me. I was introduced to a couple of bigwig Khmer but I couldn’t tell you who they were. They were as focused on not answering questions as the guide was on not translating them. They paraded us all through to the dining room and sat me at a table with people I didn’t know, and, for the most part, couldn’t communicate with. I doubt they could even – ”
    “Civilai!” said Mrs Nong, firmly.
    “Yes, sorry. I wanted a chance to talk with Ambassador Kavinh alone. I could see him on the diplomatic table on the far side of the room. He made eye contact often. But there followed an hour of interminable speeches. Once they were over and the food was to be served, all us weak bladders made a run for the toilets. I saw Kavinh head that way and I followed. I thought my boy would insist on coming with me but he didn’t. The ambassador was in the bathroom. There was a crowd in there, including the ambassador’s minder. Kavinh greeted me and asked me how the afternoon went. He shook my hand. As he did so he palmed me a note.
    “He was a very nervous man. Even