The Merry Misogynist

Siri agreed, recalling all his other dust-ups with government officials.
    “Probably not. Did you know you had ladies of ill repute at your house?”
    “He has to be talking about Mrs Fah’s nieces.”
    “She didn’t mention their old career?”
    “All she said was they were back from the islands. She could have meant a resort vacation for all I knew.”
    “More likely the internment camps on the reservoir. But if they were released it means they’ve served their time. And if they were really on Don Nang with hardened criminals it wouldn’t have been a very pleasant experience. The last thing they want is nosy cadres breathing down their necks.”
    “It’s the last thing any of us wants. According to Fah, they both lost husbands to the war and children to disease. They’re long overdue a gust of good fortune.”
    “Well, they did find a kindly old gentleman to take them in off the streets. And what about your monk?”
    “Comrade Noo? He did well to keep his mouth shut. If they’d found out he was Thai they’d have whisked him off to Immigration, never to be seen again.”
    “Your house is getting out of control.”
    “So it would appear. Since Nurse Dtui and I moved out to our respective love nests it’s been hard to keep a check on who’s moving in or out. I suppose I should stop by there tomorrow and do a head count.”
    “I’ll come with you. It’s always a laugh to spend time at your house. It makes me feel…I don’t know, saner.”
 
    Phan often considered the possibility that he might have the ‘everything’ that other men craved: a regular job that allowed him to travel, several government letters of identification, and looks that naive country girls found interesting. And of course he had a truck. A man with a truck was somebody in Laos. With its solid double-plated frame and its growling Chinese engine, it broadcast his power. Of course he didn’t own it but nobody needed to know that. Being allowed to drive a department vehicle was almost as good. He liked the way they watched him pass, the dull nowhere girls sitting on their front porches, hoping for life to come by and call for them to climb aboard. If he chanced to stop they’d almost turn pirouettes and crash face-first onto the dirt .
    That power had taken control of him. It wasn’t simply that he could bed them; that was easy. Mothers sometimes brought their daughters to him and asked whether he’d like to take them for a trial run. No, it was the knowledge that he could woo a respectable girl – untouched, unsullied, saved for something special – that he could talk his way into the family home, make a seemingly genuine display of his affection, and have them all believe he was a legitimate catch .
    His record had been five days: the platonic seduction, dinner with the parents, a display of credentials and bank statement, trip to the registry office in the nearest town – all before the week was over. It still amazed him how quickly he had taken possession of her. The document said she was his. All he needed was to take her maidenhead, and then her life. Was there anywhere else in the world where you could claim ownership of another human being in such a short period of time? He didn’t know of it. Perhaps there was a place in Africa or South America where parents were so desperate to see their loved ones secure that they’d overlook little discrepancies, take shortcuts with paperwork .
    These were desperate times. “She had her opportunity,” they would have said. “This nice fellow came from the city and he fell in love with her. But he was only in town for a month before his project ended. We couldn’t let a chance like that go by, could we now?” All they wanted for their daughter was a good, financially secure suitor with polite manners, reasonable looks, connections with the Party…oh, and a truck would be nice .
    All he required was beauty, virginity…and a long, squeezable neck .
 
    He walked from the headman’s house, where he’d secured a mattress for the night. The sun was setting behind the grey-mauve mountains and the insects were at evensong, filling the valley with a monotone soprano. A crest of pines surrounded the village of bamboo-and-elephant-grass shanties with odd corrugated roofs. Most huts had twig fences around them and flowery borders of bougainvilleas and steamy blue convolvuli. It gave the place that nice feeling that always made Phan uncomfortable .
    On his work roster