The Merry Misogynist

he’d be on his back counting stars if he didn’t study the road all the way. Motorcyclists in Laos didn’t get to appreciate a lot of scenery. He didn’t take any stretches fast enough to feel his hair flapping against the side of his head but he was able to smell the scent of the share-a-fistful blossoms that edged the highway. At that speed there wasn’t a worm on earth that could keep up with him. For a man standing at the exit of existence, it was exactly what he needed.
    He arrived in Ban Xon mid-afternoon looking like he’d been dipped in powdered cinnamon. He removed his goggles and stared at himself in the mirror. He was a perfect photographic negative of the Lone Ranger. He needed a wash very badly. He went into the nearest coffee stall, ordered water and coffee, and selected a packet of Vietnamese munchies that hung from a string at the front of the shop. He dusted himself down and washed from the communal clay water pot. When he was presentable he sat down to drink his coffee. Inevitably, it tasted of road dust.
    The shop owner was a heavily built and – after a little coaxing – jolly woman in her fifties. She was the same well built, jolly woman who ran the coffee shops and noodle stalls the length and breadth of the country. He’d seen her everywhere: the same smile, hair in an untidy bun, the same bawdy humour. The same washed-out pastel blouse and threadbare purple phasin .
    Siri was the only customer and the woman must have been starved for company because she sat with him as soon as she’d served the glass of coffee. Once all the preliminaries – work, travelling from, age (you look much younger), marital status, children, etc. – were out of the way, she got around to “What brings you to Ban Xon?”
    “I’m here to see the invisible woman,” he said and smiled.
    “You know, Granddad?” She leaned on the table and it creaked. “It beats me how that silly rumour got so much mileage. I have people stop here all the time asking if it’s true.”
    “And it’s not?”
    “You’re a doctor, Granddad. How likely is it?”
    “I see things all the time I can’t explain.”
    “Well this is just…just silly. There was a perfectly good reason why the girl was wrapped up like that.”
    Siri’s heart did a little dance. “So there was a girl?”
    “Oh, yes. And you could see her. Very pretty. She came to dances and village events. All after dark, of course.”
    “Why, of course?”
    “She had a condition. Some medical thing to do with the sun. Everyone knew about it. People round here like to tease strangers who pass through. I suppose that’s how the invisible woman story started.”
    “Why do you talk about her in past tense?”
    “Oh, she’s gone, Granddad. Stroke of luck, if you ask me. Married a very eligible young man and left.”
    “When was this?”
    “Over a week ago now. I was at the wedding party. It was a good do.”
    “So you saw the groom?”
    “Interesting-looking chap. Nice personality. Very happy man, I’d say. I wouldn’t have minded a fling with him myself. He’s something important with the roads department if I remember rightly.”
 
    The rice farm was four kilometres out of town along a dirt track that was all deep ruts. By the time he reached his destination, Siri had attained the dexterity of a gramophone needle. It didn’t take a great detective to see how poor the family was. The house was loosely woven elephant-grass panels on a bamboo-and-wood frame. The roof was thatched. There was a bamboo conduit that snaked down from the hills, bringing water from a spring to a large oil drum. Three chickens scratched around in the dirt, and an anorexic dog, one that Siri didn’t recognize, slept under a bush of thistles. Siri called out. There was nobody home.
    In March there was no water in the paddies; so the farmer’s work was to repair damaged levees and clear land for new fields. Siri passed the little altar that held offerings to the spirits of the land. With the kind cooperation of Lady Kosob, the rice goddess, there would be early rains, and they would not fall in torrents that destroyed the earth embankments that separated the rice troughs. It was clear the offerings had been too paltry to raise this family from poverty. There were only two small paddies attached to the farm but they appeared to be deserted. After a long, circuitous walk, Siri finally found a sunburned man and two teenaged boys sheltering in a flimsy grass-roofed