The Merry Misogynist

to Phat, who was buried in his work.
    “Do you have proof that it was actually Dr Siri your man saw at the noodle shop?” Haeng asked.
    “Yes, Judge. We have a photograph of him sneaking in at night. Our camera has a gadget that records the date and time.”
    “Which is adjustable?”
    “Yes, Judge.”
    “Meaning you can change the time and date at will.”
    Siri leaned forward to make sure the judge hadn’t been replaced while nobody was looking.
    “Well, technically.” Koomki was getting flustered. “But of course we wouldn’t falsify evidence.”
    “Of course not. Show me the picture.”
    Koomki handed him a large coloured zoom shot. In it, a short brown-faced man in goggles and a backward-facing baseball cap was being allowed entrance to the shop by Madame Daeng. Not even Siri could recognize himself.
    “And who is this man?” Haeng asked.
    “Why, it’s Dr Siri.”
    “All I see is a dark-skinned person with glasses.”
    “They’re goggles, Judge. He’d just arrived on his motorcycle.”
    “Which doesn’t appear in the photograph. Nor does the street address of the shop.” Haeng was at his most belligerent, and Siri had a sudden urge to lean over the desk and kiss him on the nose.
    “The fact remains – ” Koomki attempted.
    “The fact remains,” Haeng interrupted, “that you haven’t a shred of evidence that would stand up in any court in the land. I’m offended that you even brought this matter before me. Where was your man stationed at unit 22B…whatever?”
    “The tree opposite,” called the man in question.
    “Then, Dr Siri, can you give me a good reason why this man might not have seen you leave or arrive at your house?”
    Siri took the judge’s lead.
    “Certainly.” He thought for a moment. Haeng tapped his half pencil on the desk: “I park my motorcycle in the unfinished project behind my house and leave and enter through the hole in the back fence. That way I don’t wake up the children when I arrive late.”
    “There you have it,” said Haeng.
    “That doesn’t make any sense,” said Koomki.
    Judge Haeng stood and put one knuckle on the desk. “What doesn’t make any sense,” he said, “is you petty bureaucrats with your silly rules wasting the time of hardworking forty-year members of the Communist Party. I’ve humoured you, looked at your evidence, and it is ridiculous. I’d like you to go back to your department and re-evaluate your roles in our society. Remember…”
    “Motto time,” thought Siri.
    “…the washerwoman takes her laundry to the line and shakes out the creases before hanging out the clothes. Does she look around for those shaken-out creases when she’s finished? No. A good Party member understands that not everything has an explanation and knows when to give up. I would like you to deliberate on that thought on your way out, Comrades. Good afternoon.”
 
    The laughter was raucous enough for the nurse to come in from the next ward and tell them not to get Comrade Rajid too excited. He was still weak, she told them, but she couldn’t help noticing a broad smile on his face. Two of the three beds in the dingy Mahosot ward were unoccupied. The third was surrounded by people on plastic stools. There was Mr Tickoo, whose sleeping bag was rolled up beneath his son’s bed, then Siri, Dtui, with Malee at her breast; Civilai, Geung, and Phosy. They’d just heard Siri’s rendition of the previous day’s meeting at Justice.
    “See?” said Dtui. “Judge Haeng’s secretly liked you all along.”
    “I was beginning to think so,” Siri agreed. “He let me thank him a few times, accepted my gratitude humbly, then limped out leaning on his cane. But it was soon explained to me what was going on. You’ll recall, I’d enlisted the aid of the Vietnamese adviser to help me overcome Housing. It turned out he had access to information that not many others knew. It transpires, for example, that Judge Haeng as a government employee has housing allocated to him. But recently, the honourable judge completed the building of a very fine two-storey villa on the way to Dong Dok Institute. It was rumoured that a certain young lady chanteuse at the Anou Hotel is currently residing in his official residence in town. Comrade Phat, as an adviser, merely pointed out to Haeng what an unfortunate precedent it would set to allow Housing to successfully evict the lodgers at my bungalow and sully my name. Haeng obviously agreed.”
    They laughed