The Merry Misogynist

have assumed he was an old man in the grip of a chronic alcohol binge, but he had never felt more sober or more alive. The omens that had hounded him for the past week, the feeling that death was getting closer, none of this had been directed at Siri. He was not going to die – Rajid was.
    He walked back into his office still carrying that wonderful and awful feeling and fought to keep the smile from his lips.
    “I’ve had a premonition,” he said. “Rajid’s in very serious trouble.”
    Both Civilai and Dtui knew of Siri’s dalliance with the spirits, and Geung didn’t really seem to care. Nobody was surprised when he made his announcement.
    “How serious?” Civilai asked.
    “If we don’t find him soon he’ll die.”
    “Any location or characters attached to this premonition?” Dtui asked.
    Siri quickly shuffled through his week of dreams and visions, substituting Rajid for himself.
    “A pregnant woman,” he said.
    “Dtui,” said Dtui.
    “No, the one I mean is ugly, and I think she’s buried. Been buried for a long time. There must be a connection here too.” He went to the box of relics and rummaged through them. As soon as he made contact with the bones, a realization swept over him. “Oh, my word. Of course.”
    “What?” asked Dtui, Civilai, and Geung at the same time.
    “The pillar of the city: Si Muang Temple. The founding of Vientiane,” said Siri.
    “Fifteen…?” Civilai began.
    “Fifteen sixty something,” said Siri. “Could this pottery date from then?”
    “Very likely,” said Civilai. “They dragged an ancient Khmer pillar from somewhere as the heart of the new Vientiane. They dug a huge pit to bury it and threw in valuables and pots and keepsakes that held meaning to the people at the ceremony.”
    “They didn’t tell us all this in school in the north,” Dtui said.
    Siri took over. “Before they could plant this two tons of stone in its hole, they had to placate the spirits of the land whom they were about to dispossess. The elders called for a sacrifice. They’d left it until a bit late in the day, and there weren’t that many volunteers. But then one wronged woman swollen with child ran forward. “Take me, take me,” she cried and leaped into the pit. The ropes were cut, the pillar dropped, and the pregnant lady was suddenly lacking a dimension. I didn’t make the connection because I’d always imagined the sacrificed girl to have been a gorgeous flaxen-haired beauty. But the vision of a woman I’ve been having all week was frightening in its ugliness. I can’t think how she managed to get herself pregnant in the first place.”
    “You’ve been having these visions all week?” Dtui asked.
    “And you’re just telling us now?” Civilai chimed in.
    “Yes, but you see, I didn’t relate the spectres to Rajid. I thought it was…eh, bo ben nyang . It doesn’t matter what I thought. The important thing is that on the site of the burial of the pillar they built Si Muang Temple, and I have a strong feeling Rajid’s there. I think his time’s running out.”

11
BROKEN WATER
    C ivilai’s ancient cream Citroen with one hubcap missing sped toward Si Muang. It was less than two kilometres from Mahosot but urgency made the distance more daunting. Civilai drove directly into the temple grounds and stopped only half a metre from the ordination hall that guarded the pillar. Despite all the noise they’d made, there was nobody around to chastise them. They alighted – Dtui, Siri, and Civilai (Geung had been placed in charge of the morgue) – ran through the empty vestibule, and into the pillar sanctum.
    If it hadn’t been for the patchy gilding and the string of unlit coloured Christmas lights, the pillar of the city might have been mistaken for a lump of rock. It rose from a high platform surrounded by plastic flowers in various stages of bleaching, several guardian Buddhas, and an impressive array of unconnected artefacts, presumably placed there to pick up holy vibrations. Siri walked around to see if there was a way inside the platform but it was a solid block.
    “Now what do we do?” Dtui asked.
    “I have no idea,” Siri confessed.
    “Have another premonition, quick.”
    “I can’t just conjure them up.”
    “Why not?”
    “They arrive whenever they’re in the mood. I’ve told you. I’m not the one in control here.”
    “Then let’s find somebody who is,” said Civilai and went in search of a monk or a curator. He returned a few