The Merry Misogynist

been hard. He did just enough to fit in .
    Children came and laughed and poked fun. Teenaged girls came by, pretending not to be interested in the game, secretly whispering together about his fine muscles and his interesting face. And Wei came. She came with a queer friend. Phan couldn’t abide queers. What was she thinking? Didn’t she have any pride? Perhaps she was just kind. He put it out of his mind, became wrapped up in the tournament: slapped backs, told jokes, lost when he had to, put on a show, and took off his shirt .
    He wouldn’t have been disappointed if he’d had to wait three or four days for the invitation. That was normal. He knew he had her. But at the headman’s house that evening as he was showering off sweat and dust in the backyard, the old lady called to him, “Better put on your best shirt, young Comrade Phan. You’ve got a date for dinner tonight .”
 
    Wei’s father wasn’t a wealthy man, but he had buffalo and the knack of breeding them. It gave him a steady income and allowed him to keep his promise to his wife that their children would study up to the level of their abilities. This was a minority Tai Dum village, and opportunities were not readily available to hill dwellers. Wei had done well at the local primary school, and they’d sent her off to stay with an aunt in town to become a teacher. At the age of fifteen she’d received her pedagogical certificate from the provincial governor and come home to the two-room school she’d left three years earlier. Now, at seventeen, she had lived her little dream and was beginning to wonder whether she’d used up all her luck. Then he’d arrived.
    She looked at him over the rim of her glass and wished to the gods that she could keep from blushing. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was merely a girl.

3
THE OVERSIZED MONDAY
    D ays had always had a standard length and breadth until that Monday. It began at six a.m. for Siri. He was awakened by Daeng stroking his temple. The sun had not yet risen so he saw her outline by the light of the Thai streetlights across the river. Silhouettes had always been a weakness of his.
    “I might need a few minutes,” he said.
    “It’s not that .”
    “Why else would you be caressing me gently?”
    “Because I’m not the type of girl to slap you and scream and say, “There are strange men gathered opposite our shop.””
    “And are there?”
    “Three of them.”
    “Anyone we know?”
    “The little one, Koomki. The others are bigger. I think they’re planning an attack.”
    Siri laughed. “What should we do?”
    “Well, imagine that I’m a young married woman and my husband’s just come home unexpectedly.”
    “You want me to climb into a closet?”
    “No, I think you should go out the back door, being very careful not to disturb the fowl, and hop over the fence into the garden behind ours.”
    Siri laughed again and listened to the silence.
    “You’re serious.”
    “Yes.”
    “You want me to flee from the Department of Housing.”
    “Just until we can sort everything out, get the twins registered and the bungalow fixed up.”
    “Where does my dignity fit into all this?”
    “I was thinking this might preserve some of it. Unless you want to be dragged to a hearing.”
    “You’re right. Where should I hide out?”
    “Go to the morgue. You’ll be safe there. It’s a shame you’ve alienated the people who could help you. A word from Judge Haeng and all this would go away. Won’t you consider talking to him?”
    “I’d sooner eat my own foot.”
    “I thought you might say that. But don’t rule it out. Think about it, for me.”
    He looked at her erotic outline against the window and decided there was very little he wouldn’t do for her.
    There wasn’t a great deal to do in a morgue at six thirty in the morning. Siri sat at his desk and tidied the files and pens that lived there. He decided to focus his mind on the conundrum of why a beautiful young woman had such gnarled feet and calluses on her hands. He returned to the freezer and slid out the tray, then talked through what he was seeing as if he were Dtui itemizing and explaining.
    “No sun damage,” he said. “So…never outside or only when covered in some way. Covered from head to foot, or to ankle. Why would anyone go to so much trouble to stay out of the sun? And then, having gone to the trouble, leave their feet exposed? Madness.” And these weren’t feet baked from the sun and