Slash and Burn

somebody had found a cure for rheumatism. For the first time this trip, her joints were as fluid as those of a ten-year-old Romanian gymnast.
    “Everyone’s gone mad,” said Geung, and gave another tug on her foot.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I don’t know what’s happened. Everybody’s mad.”
    “Geung, what’s happened to your speech?”
    “It’s the same as ever.”
    “No, it isn’t.” She sat up on the bed, which rocked from side to side in an attempt to shake her off. The room was truly beautiful. She yanked her foot from Geung’s grasp. “You aren’t stammering and stuttering.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Geung! What have you done?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Did you drink the tea?”
    Daeng was OD’ing on senses: smell, hearing, the taste of her own tongue.
    “Yes,” said Geung. “One half mug.”
    Despite the dire seriousness of the situation, Daeng laughed. On the strength of just a few teaspoonfuls of her tea, she was floating. She’d had her share of marijuana in her life but nothing this potent. This was outstanding. And Mr. Geung had drunk half a mug full. What had she done? She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks.
    “You forgot people,” said Geung, looking quite serious which only caused Daeng to laugh more.
    “What?”
    “Some people didn’t get tea. Comrade Civilai, Auntie Bpoo, Dr. Harikiri.”
    “Did you give….” It was just too funny.
    “It was good tea. It’s not fair to give to some and not to others. The guards liked it.”
    “You gave it to everybody?”
    It was so awful she was afraid she’d wet herself.
    “Some had two mugs.”
    Daeng roared with laughter and fled to the bathroom. What a balls up. Friendly fire. Hoist with their own petards. Scuttled. Buggered. Yet still she laughed. Even more so when the bathroom tap produced nothing but a rude fart. She bounced back into her room on legs that felt like pogo sticks. Geung was still staring at her shape in the thick quilt as if he hadn’t noticed it had already released her.
    “I’m here,” she said. “Let’s go.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “To the carnival.”
    The discovery of Major Potter’s hidden documents had its downside. They were all written in English. But, once he’d made that discovery and wished for a translator, the wishful thinking service couldn’t have been any better. He looked up at the sound of the knock at the door. He hurried across the room and turned the handle. Auntie Bpoo stood outside with a large mug in each hand.
    “It’s soon,” she said.
    “My death?”
    “Unless we can prevent it.”
    “What’s that you’re holding?”
    “Tea. Mr. Geung said it was delicious. I brought one for you.”
    “Hardly worth the effort if it’s just going to end up as postmortem stomach contents.”
    The doctor paced back to the bed, leaving Bpoo in the doorway.
    “I tell you what,” he said. “This is really bad timing. I”ve probably got all these valuable leads and clues and whatnot but I can’t read the darned things. Can’t we … I don’t know … postpone it or something?”
    “I don’t think death is that cooperative,” said Bpoo. She stepped into the room and closed the door with her rump. Siri, through his bizarre experiences of the past few years had learned not to ignore the signs. If Bpoo said he was going to die—die he would. But he wasn’t about to sit down and wait for the ox cart of death to pull up in front of him.
    “All right,” he said. “So time is of the essence. Put those down and come over here and take a look at these. Tell me what they’re all about.”
    He fanned out the papers and sat on the bed with them. Auntie Bpoo downed anchor halfway across the room.
    “Old man,” she said. “Don’t you want to prepare or something?”
    “Prepare what?”
    “Yourself. For death.”
    Siri laughed.
    “Well, Bpoo. Let’s see. If the Buddhists are right, I’m just on my way to the next incarnation. Unless there’s a manual for how to behave correctly as a gnat I’m not sure how I’d prepare for that. If the Catholics are right, nothing short of an asbestos suit and a glass of iced water will help where I’m going. And if the communists are right, you do your best and when you’re gone they put up a statue in your honor and the locals dry their laundry on it. So, if I’m going, you’re the heir to today’s legacy. So come here and translate for me.”
    Half an hour later Siri and Bpoo walked into the dining room. Fellini was