The Merry Misogynist

favourites.”
    “You’re very easy to be around, Wei.”
    “I hope so.”
    “You know I’m leaving very early in the morning?”
    “Yes, we’ll be sorry to see you go.” She cursed herself. She wasn’t saying any of the things she meant.
    “I can’t tell you how much I’ll miss this town, and especially you,” he said.
    She blushed again and looked out at the water.
    He continued. “Wei, I have a question I need to ask you. It’s something I’ve never asked anyone before. It’s very personal, probably the most personal question a man can ask a woman.”
    She felt a mixture of joy and trepidation but no words came to her.
    Phan kept going. “I’ve been agonizing about it all day. But it’s vital that I know. You see? My family…my upbringing was very proper. I was instilled with ideals that seem to have lost value in this day and age. If I ask I know you’ll think me rude and old-fashioned. And still I don’t know how to put my question. Wei, everybody possesses a gift. They are born with that gift and decide when they should share it, although some people don’t realize its value and…no, I’m not doing very well. Wei, you might find this hard to believe but I have never been with a woman, sexually.”
    She let out all the air she’d been holding back in one loud gasp. Her face turned the colour of an overripe chilli.
    “I kept my gift until I found somebody worthy to give it to. I need to know…” he continued.
    “Than, it’s all right,” she said, but she was far too stunned to look him in the eye. She spoke to the surface of the pond. “I understand, and I don’t think you’re rude or old-fashioned at all. You don’t need to be embarrassed. I think it’s lovely. I haven’t either…I mean, with a man…or anyone.”
 
    He liked the fact that she was tongue-tied, and he laughed with her. He reached for her hands. They were damp and trembling, most unpleasant. It was just as well he hadn’t touched her fingers earlier or he might not be here in this situation now. But it was too late to turn back .
    “ Then I can’t think of any reason why I shouldn’t go to speak with your parents .”
    She pulled her hands away, not because she wanted to but because it was proper to do so. She stood and turned her back to him. Her hands went to her face .
    “ It’s not that bad, is it?” he asked .
    She spoke through her finger mask. “No, it’s…I’m pleased .”
    Good, a woman of few words. Nothing worse than one who wouldn’t shut up – gushing, annoying. When at last she was able to pull herself together and turn back to him, he showed her the ring. It was a single gold band .
    “ Where did you…? ”
    “ It was my mother’s,” he told her. “I always carry it with me in her memory. It’s an old tradition our family picked up from the French. I know I can’t give it to you till I talk with your father, but I was curious to see whether it fitted.” He took hold of her slimy hand again and slid the ring onto what in the West they called the engagement finger. It paused briefly at the joint then eased down towards the knuckle. He always got it right. He had a dozen rings of varying sizes in the truck and could judge with impressive accuracy which would fit. “I’m afraid it’s rather plain. It’s just a symbol of my sincerity. I promise I’ll do better with the wedding ring .”
    “ Oh, no, Phan. It’s perfect .”
    “ No, Wei. It’s you who’s perfect. Trust me .”
 
    They’d passed the midpoint of the week in Vientiane and there still was no new evidence in the strangled woman case. The ribbon that had been used was sold in two or three shops in the city but the shopkeepers couldn’t recall selling it to any suspicious characters. The pestle was made in Thailand and was expensive. Only one shop sold them, a store that specialized in exotic imported fare. The woman who owned the establishment hadn’t sold more than one to any of her customers. The strangler would have had to travel to Thailand to buy them there before travel restrictions had been imposed.
    Inspector Phosy’s meeting with the truck driver had proven fruitless. The man claimed that his sighting of the shrouded farmer and the invisible woman story were made up. Either that or he’d heard them from another driver. He couldn’t remember who because, assuming that really was how he’d come by the story, he must have been drunk at the time. Phosy had given the man his telephone number