The Merry Misogynist

from every alleyway and nook. Death was closing in on Dr Siri, but it was news he’d decided to keep to himself. There was no point in depressing anyone else.
    “I don’t know what you mean,” he lied.
    “Oh, Siri, you’ve managed to swing every other conversation we’ve had this week around to death.”
    “I have not.”
    “You have. You’ve mentioned graves at least twenty times.”
    “Let me hear the tapes.”
    “Take my word for it.”
    “Daeng, I’m a coroner. It comes with the territory. If you wanted sweet talk you should have married someone at the boiled candy works. Death is my stock-in-trade.”
    “Then why do I get this niggling feeling it’s getting personal?”
    “Because you’re not as young as you used to be. Elderly people start to have delusions.”
    “Is that so?”
    She might have wrestled him to the ground at that point and twisted his arm behind his back had it not been for a shout from Dtui at the far end of the cloister.
    “Doc, Auntie Daeng, I think we’ve found brainless.”
    They joined Dtui and Geung in front of a small gallery of much larger Buddhas, some up to one metre tall. They stood or sat as if in a line-up of suspects: similar but different. And the fellow who stood out from the crowd had a head that ended above the ears. He was made of hollow cast iron and had obviously experienced a traumatic event that had removed the top of his head and half his back. His vintage and historical significance allowed him a place in otherwise complete company.
    “Looks like a candidate,” said Daeng. “Anyone feel like sticking their hand in there?”
    Geung raised his arm.
    “Yes, Mr Geung?”
    “I will.”
    “Go ahead.”
    Geung put his hands together and muttered a quick prayer of apology before very excitedly reaching down into the bowels of the Buddha. He rummaged around for a few seconds before re-emerging with a small roll of paper. He handed it to Siri, who unrolled it to reveal a page of unfathomable Hindi letters.
 
    “Mr Tickoo,” Siri shouted, “Bhiku.”
    “Wake up, Mr Tickoo!” Daeng yelled even louder, her voice echoing around the silent neighbourhood. They stood in front of the shutters of the Happy Dine Indian restaurant, looking up at the gaping open window on the second floor. Geung’s dormitory at Mahosot and Dtui’s police hostel room weren’t far from the temple, so they’d agreed to walk each other home, leaving Siri and Daeng to pursue what was hopefully the last instalment of the riddle. They all hoped this final clue would lead them to Prince Crazy Rajid’s palace. Mr Tickoo’s face arrived at the window with a smile that lit up the sidewalk around them.
    “It is even more fiendish,” said Rajid’s father. Mr Tickoo was sitting inside the restaurant with Siri and Daeng. The fluorescent tube above them was buzzing and cutting out every now and then like at an amateur discotheque. It was annoying but the note kept them spellbound. They watched the Indian consider and contemplate and finally compose. They sipped their tea impatiently, waiting for the last word of the last line. When it arrived and Bhiku looked up with a satisfied smile, they pirouetted the notepad around to see its Lao translation.
One million pachyderms
And one spirited bear
Look sadly at the all-night sun .
    Siri looked up from the paper as if he’d won the national lottery.
    “Why so smug?” Daeng asked.
    “I’ve got it,” he replied.
    “Already?”
    “More by luck than intelligence, my love.”
    “Well, that’s no fun at all. Don’t tell me the answer. Let me get it for myself. Pachyderms…the old word for…”
    “Elephants,” Siri put in.
    “I said don’t tell me. I knew that. So obviously a million old elephants equals Ian Xang. Name of the ancient kingdom of Laos.”
    “And?”
    “Several businesses.”
    “The largest being?”
    “The Ian Xang Hotel?”
    “Spot on.”
    Mr Tickoo clapped his hands. “My word,” he said. “It’s like watching the gods laying out their plan for the universe. Such brilliance.”
    Daeng and Siri looked at each other.
    “Don’t let yourself be diverted by conceit,” Siri said.
    Daeng continued, “I know I’m close here. A bear. The logo on a bottle or a can? No? A bearskin rug? A certain configuration of stars? Spirit…a drunken bear? A dead bear? A dead bear at the Ian Xang Hotel…the empty cages.”
    “You are remarkable.” Siri smiled and squeezed her hand. The riddle had only been simple for