The Merry Misogynist

He’d attach a note to the tarts and go. Or he’d take them with him somewhere else. Somewhere he’d be appreciated. There was no shortage of people in need of lemon meringue. He stretched out his long legs and one foot kicked a large cardboard box on the floor.
∗
    Siri removed his rubber gloves and went to the sink to wash his hands.
    “Right,” he said. “If that wasn’t the silliest task we’ve performed here I’d say it ranks in the top three.”
    “Come on, Doc,” Dtui said. “It was a public service.”
    “It was a private service, and I feel like an accessory.”
    The deputy minister of sport had arrived at the morgue before midday with his mother on a stretcher. The old lady had just passed away, but on her deathbed she’d asked to see the family diamonds for the last time. Reluctantly, the deputy had brought her the seven tiny cut stones that would pass down to him and his wife once his mother was gone.
    “Let me touch them,” the old lady had said.
    Who could refuse a dying wish? Her son had placed them on her withered palm and seen the expression change on her face. She’d smiled and, according to one of the gardeners who’d helped carry the litter, said something like, “You’ve been drooling over these all my life. Now you’re really going to have to work for them, you greedy ingrate.” With that she threw the diamonds into her mouth, reached beside the bed for a glass of water, and washed them down. That had been both her final act of defiance and her final act.
    So how else would one remove one’s inheritance gracefully from a dead mother? The deputy had even written himself an official extraction order on ministry stationery. Siri knew this wasn’t the last he’d be seeing of the freshly mined lady, and he’d whispered an apology before releasing her body to her son. He hadn’t bothered to wash off the stones before handing them over.
    Siri was grumbling and wiping his hands when he walked into his office. He’d expected to see worms, so he was pleasantly surprised to find Civilai at his desk rummaging through his bones.
    “Hello, old brother,” said Siri.
    “Siri, you have a box of ancient relics.”
    “I do?”
    “Some of this crockery’s five hundred years old.”
    “And how would you know such a thing?”
    “I have skills.”
    “I know you do. I just didn’t realize they stretched to archaeology.”
    “Don’t forget they had me showing all those bored foreign dignitaries around the museums. I’ve had to explain all this stuff a thousand times. It sticks. You can recognize pottery from its glaze and ribbing. This translucent green glaze was typical of the stuff they dug up from the old kilns on Tar Deau Road in 1970. This is valuable.”
    Siri took up a sliver of pottery in his left hand and a lemon meringue tart in his right.
    “So tell me,” he said, “why would Crazy Rajid have a box of valuable ancient relics?”
    “These are Rajid’s? Have you found him yet?”
    “No, but I think we must be getting close.” He told Civilai the whole story about the Indian’s father and the family disaster and the riddles, pausing only to swallow bites of pastry. Mr Geung went for coffee, and the four of them sat around eating and discussing Rajid.
    “The question remains, where else could he have gone?” said Dtui. “We’ve been to the edges of his universe. He’s never been missing this long. Something must have happened to him.”
    Siri looked over her shoulder and saw Saloop amble into the office. The creature walked up to Dtui, managed one pathetic tail wag, and put his head on her lap. Siri was surprised to see his nurse reach for her leg as if she were about to pat Saloop on the head. Instead she scratched her knee. She was, of course, unaware of the dog’s presence. Only Siri saw the animal.
    Dtui continued. “It just frightens me that he might be in trouble and we can’t help him.”
    Saloop looked up at the doctor and raised one side of his brow, and finally Siri came to, crawled from his stupidity like a fly pulling itself free of paint. He excused himself, walked out of the room, out of the morgue, and around to the rear of the building. There was nothing back there but a vacant office and a ladder. Siri walked through the open doorway, stood in the middle of the floor, and danced. He jigged and he polkaed and he Highland flung and he sang some nonsense he’d learned on his travels and then he laughed. Anyone passing at that moment might