The Merry Misogynist

Siri hadn’t arrived a moment too soon.
    “Mind?” he shouted. “Mind? I want everyone not registered in this house out of here this minute. And take your petrified children with you. Now!”
    This proclamation didn’t exactly lead to a frenzy. Given all they’d suffered in their lives, the Lao no longer panicked, nor did they move very fast. There was an orderly departure during which they exchanged friendly conversation, made obeisance to the monk, and strolled past Siri, who stood with his fists on his waist.
    “Hello, brother Siri,” said Inthanet. “We don’t get to see you nearly enough these days.”
    “Is that so?” Siri replied. “Well, the way things are going, you’ll be able to come to visit me in prison for the next few years.”
    “Why?” asked Mrs Fah with an expression of surprise on her face. “What have you done?”
    “It’s not what I’ve done,” he replied. “It’s you lot. This house is under surveillance, and you’ve broken every ordinance there is.”
    Inthanet smiled and came out with the inevitable, “ Bo ben nyang !”
    If the founding fathers of the great European languages had been at all aware of the efficacy of the Lao expression bo ben nyang , they would certainly have invented their own versions of it. It magically expressed, That’s all right, it’s not important, I don’t care, you’re welcome, no problem, plus several more obscure nuances, but with a Lao slant that suggested there was no matter of such great importance in the world that one needed to get one’s knickers in a twist. The slender panic grass would continue to grow, and the orb of the sun would not cease its lethargic lob from horizon to horizon. It was a heal-all balm of a phrase, but there were times when it could be utterly infuriating.
    “That’s easy for you to say, old man,” said Siri through clenched teeth. “I don’t see your name on the lease. No,” he addressed everyone. “Changes have to be made here, starting today.”
    “Perhaps you’d like an orange cordial to help you cool down, uncle,” said lady of the night Gongjai.
    “I don’t want to be cool,” Siri replied. “I want my head as hot as I can make it so you understand I’m not just speaking for my own benefit.”
    “So you don’t want a drink?” Gongjai tried again.
    “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you thinking it’s going to make me any calmer.”
    “Right, I’ll go and mix it.” She smiled. “And you, Madame Daeng?”
    “Please.”
    “Or you could have some rice whisky,” said Inthanet. “It’s not yet cooled off from the still but it – ”
    “Don’t tell me you’re brewing your own hooch here too,” Siri interrupted.
    Inthanet laughed. “Of course not, brother. Old Khout from the ice works brings it in payment for teacher Noo’s serm – for his meditation services.”
    The monk lifted his eyes towards heaven and smiled, showing his few remaining betel-ravaged teeth.
    Once everyone except Comrade Noo had a drink in front of them, Siri, seated beside his wife on his old wooden cot, called the house meeting to order.
    “Right,” he began. “Madame Daeng will be taking the minutes and will post them on the bathroom door when we’re finished.”
    Daeng held up her pen to show them it wasn’t an idle threat.
    “Rule one,” Siri continued, “no vulgar underwear visible at the front of the house.”
    Gongjai and Tong were about to protest, not at the rule, but at the description of their underwear. Their aunt settled them down and reminded them whose house they were staying in.
    “Rule two, down comes the spirit house.” There was a momentary mumble from Inthanet. “I have it on good authority that officials will soon be going from building to building registering spirit houses and we don’t want any more government people nosing around here than we already have. If there are resident spirits, apologize to them, and move it round the back where no one can see it.”
    “Rule three, no more religious services in, behind, or in the close vicinity of this house.”
    “I was merely – ” Comrade Noo began, “You’re hiding out, you damned fool,” Siri interrupted. The girls looked shocked. “You aren’t even supposed to be in the country. Even our own monks don’t feel safe performing services. I didn’t invite you to stay here so you could turn the place into the great Vientiane alternative temple. From today, you’re an inactive monk. You want to