The Merry Misogynist

Tha in the late sixties,” Siri offered. “If there are any old-timers who haven’t managed to swim across the river, they might recall what was going on up there. Wait, isn’t there an office that coordinates all the projects?”
    “The National Coordination Directorate: three men and one woman and so much paperwork you need snowshoes to walk from one side of the office to the other,” Civilai told him. “Forget it. This is going to take legwork, Phosy. Good old-fashioned policing.”

13
A HONEYMOON IN HELL
    T he letter Phan had been waiting for arrived on the Tuesday lunchtime. He took the truck to the Bureau de Poste and found two envelopes in his box. One was pink and scented and from Thaxi. He didn’t even bother to read it. He ripped it in half and threw it into the large plastic waste basket that stood by the door. She’d failed, this smelly perfume girl. In her last letter, wracked with remorse, she’d admitted that she’d lied to him at their last meeting. She confessed to a small sexual encounter when she was fifteen. She hoped he’d appreciate her honesty as she didn’t want there to be any secrets between them. She hoped it wouldn’t interfere with the plans for their marriage .
    “ No, dearie. It didn’t interfere with them. It obliterated them. You are a slut!” The only thing he wanted from her she no longer possessed .
    This second letter, this was what he needed. It had arrived in his box without a stamp through the magic of acquaintanceships. He sat beneath a large Mangifera on the grounds and unfolded the lined school paper. A tiny delicate green caterpillar abseiled down a fine silk thread and landed on the open page. It was an omen. He didn’t need omens. He crushed it with his thumb and wiped his hand on the side of his navy blue trousers .
    He read her neat handwriting .
Dearest Phan,
I can’t tell you how special your letter was for me. I’d prayed at our temple that you would take me to your world. I’ve seen and learned everything I can here in mine. Now it’s time for me to grow and improve myself. We have planned the wedding ceremony for the evening of the 26 th . I hope that’s convenient for you and your work. It means we can leave directly on the morning of the 27 th .
Phan, there are so many thoughts and words in my heart that I am too shy to write. Like you I have never written a love letter. I hope you’ll be able to teach me how to express myself so I don’t embarrass you in front of the Lords and Ladies of Europe.
From Wei to Phan
    Five days away. That was more like it. To the point. No mushy sentiment or scents or last-second confessions. No poetry or bad grammar. She really was perfect, this schoolteacher. He climbed back into his truck and sat behind the wheel. He turned the key and pulled the ignition knob. His beast roared. People on the post office steps turned to stare. “Yes, yes, morons. It’s me. Notice me! You’ll all hear about me soon enough.” He let his foot growl on the accelerator. This was it. This was the feeling. A woman and a truck. What else could a real man want? He pulled out onto Ian Xang Avenue without bothering to look. If anyone on the road was so deaf they couldn’t hear his engine they deserved to be mowed down. He drove twenty metres on the wrong side of the street before crossing to the far lane. It rarely mattered in Vientiane. He allowed himself a gratuitous honk of the horn. He was a very merry misogynist .
 
    Siri had ridden to the Morning Market after lunch and bought some chicken wire. The hornbill wasn’t getting along too well with the ducks and chickens in Madame Daeng’s backyard so he was planning to divide the garden like East and West Berlin. He hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to machine-gun turrets and barbed wire. On his way back, some idiot in a truck almost wiped him out in front of the post office. Siri’s heart was still pounding when he arrived at the morgue. Mr Geung was standing waiting for him on the front step with a note in each hand. He held them up in front of Siri’s face.
    “M…messages,” he said.
    “What do they say?” Siri asked, walking past him and into the office.
    “I…I don’t know. They’re in…in writing.”
    After many hundred hours of earth-staggering patience, Dtui and Siri had succeeded in teaching Geung some of the mechanics of reading. He had what Dtui called a ‘learn-two-forget-three letter system’. He finally recognized words more from their overall