Slash and Burn

of Johnny Red but even Civilai was slowing down on the alcohol input. Too much of a good thing.
    “Where’s our Major Disaster tonight?” Daeng asked.
    “Probably double-checking his dynamite stock,” Phosy told her.
    “I rather suspect he’s avoiding the senator,” Siri added. “I know I would if I were in his boots.”
    “Do you think he’s all right?” Dtui asked. “I mean, what if he’s had a heart attack? He’s normally really fond of his food. I think someone should go and take a look.”
    Civilai got to his feet.
    “ Bravo, mon frère ,” said Siri.
    “I was just going to the bathroom,” said Civilai. “It could be quite a while. My bladder has a mind of its own these days.”
    “At your age you should be grateful for a mind wherever you can find it,” Siri laughed.
    Civilai walked through the diners and did a little dance to the Carpenters soundtrack for the benefit of the Americans. They clapped. Most of the guests had gravitated back to their own kind. In fact the only mixed grouping was Auntie Bpoo and Dr. Yamaguchi who were engaged in an intimate discussion on a rear table. She’d finally got him alone and he didn’t appear to be too fazed by the attention.
    When Civilai returned to the table he seemed somewhat distracted.
    “How is he?” Dtui asked.
    “What?”
    “The major,” she reminded him. “You were going to knock on his door.”
    “Ah, yes. You’re right. I was, wasn’t I. I … damn. I completely forgot.”
    “Bananas,” said Madame Daeng.
    “Eh?”
    “They’re good for the memory.”
    “Yes. Yes, right,” he said, and sat down with no apparent inclination to go back and rectify his lapse. Siri noted his friend had returned from the bathroom a slightly different man to the one who had left them a little while before. Something was wrong.
    As a good deal of Johnny Red was called for to wash down the chewy lasagna, everyone drank more than they needed to that evening. After an hour, the major still had not emerged. Dtui went to knock on his door but got no answer. In Siri’s mind, something profound was happening. Time appeared to be changing pace, a gallop here, a legless drag there. As they got closer to the dark hours after 9:00 P.M ., everyone seemed to drink faster and speak like chipmunks. He felt as if he was the only constant amid all this stop–start action. He was unnaturally alert. The whiskey wasn’t having its usual effect. There were times when he felt as if his chair was a meter higher than all those around him. He scanned the dining room and could see everything in great detail. The white talisman vibrated against his chest. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Auntie Bpoo was staring at him from the rear table. There was a sudden connection between them as if she were holding a rope, the end of which was tied around his waist, tugging. He wondered whether this was the moment of his demise; perhaps a strip of lasagna had wedged in his throat and choked him. If so, it was a calm death; one observed rather than experienced. He turned to look at Bpoo but she shook her head. “Not yet, Siri. Not yet.”
    When he turned back to the table, a remarkable thing had happened. It was as if the restaurant had been edited. The film had skipped several dozen frames and jumped from a full, noisy dining room to a room half-empty. He had no recollection of how and when the majority of the guests had left but only a few stragglers remained. The head table was empty now and most of the Americans had gone. Daeng sat beside him and the diehard Lao opposite. He turned to see the empty table where a few seconds before he’d shared a moment with Auntie Bpoo.
    “Are you all right?” Daeng asked him.
    Her hand was on his. Dtui was laughing at something Phosy had said. Civilai was showing Geung a fork trick. Siri couldn’t organize his thoughts. His lungs were heavy as if he’d undergone some physical exertion. His fingers were cold and he had a peculiar scent in his nostrils. What was it? Turnips?
    “I think so,” Siri told her.
    “You’ve been very quiet,” she said.
    “Daeng?”
    “Yes, my husband?”
    “I’m going to ask you an odd question. I don’t want you to be surprised.”
    “It’s the lack of odd questions that disorients me.”
    “I’m serious.”
    She assumed a serious expression.
    “Have I been somewhere?” he asked.
    She looked into his watery green eyes and understood he was having a Siri moment.
    “You excused yourself