The Merry Misogynist

growing woozy. He grabbed another brick and threw it into the pit. This time he hit Rajid on the side of the head. The effort dislodged a shower of brick dust. There were one or two seconds when Rajid vanished in the cloud, then, when the thin air cleared, Siri saw that one of the Indian’s eyes was open slightly. The light of the flashlight caught its secret. It was an eye one blink away from death.
 
    Not for the first time, Siri awoke in one of the private patient rooms at Mahosot. An oxygen mask covered his lower face. He wondered what had happened to him this time. His mind travelled back over some of the other disasters he’d awoken from over the past two years: the house that had fallen on him, the maniac’s attack, the possession, the electrocution, and of course the drowning. It was a wonder he woke up at all any more. But he was glad he did.
    Life really was something to hang on to for as long as possible. It wasn’t until you were on the verge of losing it that you appreciated its worth.
    Whether it was as a result of the oxygen or the sleep he couldn’t say, but he’d honestly never felt better. He took off the mask and looked around the room. The two-year-old Royal Thai Ploughing Ceremony calendar still hung on the wall, and the paint was still Wattay blue like the airport. But the buffaloes looked happier than they had a year earlier and the walls jollier. He gazed down at his own body and he was Johnny Weissmuller, alias Tarzan from the movies. Everything was perfect with the world, and he knew in his heart that Crazy Rajid had survived his ordeal and that it was all due to him.
 
    For a couple of days there was nothing but sunshine and joy. Siri was a hero, albeit with a very small following. Dtui was a mother, albeit with a surprisingly small baby. Rajid was alive, and Civilai had won a prize for his pumpkin pie at the kilometre 6 Lao Patriotic Women’s Association cake-making fair.
    There had been answers to basic questions. It appeared that while there was still a crack in the side of the Si Muang stupa, Rajid had used his climbing acumen to sneak inside from time to time and dig up relics buried there. Some nights he might have slept inside. The bump on his head suggested he had fallen and knocked himself out at some stage. This was all conjecture, of course, as Rajid was still unconscious and would probably maintain his vow of silence when he came around. But, for whatever reason, he had been bricked inside the Si Muang stupa for three weeks. How he’d survived would remain a mystery. Some of the smaller cracks in the spire must have allowed air to enter. And Rajid was a creature of the earth, a brother to frogs. If there had been water for him to drink it had to have been deep and unpleasant. The only explanation that made any sense was that he’d found nutrients in the insects that abounded inside the old stupa. The spiders and cockroaches and worms had kept Rajid alive.
∗
    Siri’s overnight stay in the hospital had been just a precaution. His friend Dr Davone informed him that a man with his lung condition probably shouldn’t be knocking down stupas with a sledgehammer. She also suggested Siri might find himself blacking out more often in confined spaces or at high altitudes without sufficient oxygen. She forbade him from engaging in scuba diving or mountain climbing in the Himalayas. Siri promised he would avoid both. But there was certainly nothing wrong with him on the day he was released from Mahosot, as Madame Daeng would gladly have testified.
∗
    Monday rolled around and the feelings of goodwill and happiness were slowly eroded by memories of the evil that still gripped Laos. Perhaps those involved in the strangled woman case had deliberately blocked the thoughts from their minds and been grateful for a distraction. Perhaps they all needed to believe that the earth was still a safe place on which to live. But it soon became apparent that it was not.
    There hadn’t been much news from the police investigation. Sergeant Sihot had interviewed everyone in Ban Xon who’d had dealings with Phan. The village headman still had the original letter of introduction from the highways division. It looked very official and had Phan down as Thongphan Ratsakoun. It said that he was surveying for an upcoming road project in the surrounding area and it would be greatly appreciated if the esteemed official at Ban Xon could assist Comrade Thongphan with accommodation during his stay. He