The Merry Misogynist

can operate quite competently at the same time.”
 
    The Minorities Census of ‘77-‘78 was one that the government officially knew nothing about. Despite all the recent posturing on the rights of the non-lowland Lao, it was apparent that nobody actually had a clue as to how many different ethnic groups there were. The prime minister in his annual address put the number at over a hundred, but the Ministry of Culture quoted a figure of sixty-eight. And within those groups, nobody knew how many had survived the war and how many had fled. Before anyone in power was prepared to put his name to a bill to protect the rights and culture of minorities, the Central Committee needed to know just how many people were involved and what slice of the budget it might eat up. Some sceptics, Siri included, suggested that this might just be a subtle plot to seek out and remove groups still opposed to the PL, but nobody was prepared to admit to such subterfuge.
    The collection of data had commenced in early ‘77. The logistics were daunting, especially considering the fact that most ethnic groups lived in remote locations specifically so they wouldn’t be bothered by the government. The census was organized by the Ministry of Interior but operated independently out of a two-storey building on Koovieng Road. There was a director, Comrade Kummai, a clerical staff of six who collated data, three drivers, three mobile teams of survey collectors, and a woman who cleaned and made tea. Of the mobile teams, two flew to remote sites, hired a four-wheel-drive vehicle at the location, and headed off into the hills. The other team operated within convenient driving distance of Vientiane and paid local lowland Lao officials to conduct the surveys among isolated communities in their districts.
    When Siri arrived that morning, the cleaning lady showed him directly upstairs to Comrade Kummai’s office without asking who he was. The director’s door was open, and Kummai was facing an enormous wall chart, making ‘Pshh, pshh’ sounds, and scratching his head. He seemed to be searching for something in the tangle of lines and figures. The maid left Siri there without saying a word to the director, so he had no choice but to introduce himself.
    “Excuse me, Comrade.”
    Kummai turned. He was a portly man not much taller than Siri. He wore a white shirt tucked into his belt only where it was in the mood to be. He wore no socks and his trousers were rolled up his shins.
    “You’re Dr Siri,” he said.
    “I am.”
    Siri tried to place the director but he was nowhere to be found in Siri’s memory.
    “Kummai, northern zone 3 regiment,” said the man. “It’s me, Captain Kummai. You were attached to us for a few months. Hot season – ’65, I think it was.”
    “You’ve got a good memory, Comrade.”
    “Names and dates stick. That’s why I ended up here, I suppose. Not surprised you don’t remember me, though. I was a slim fellow back then.”
    Siri couldn’t place him at all but he’d seen so many soldiers. Now if he’d died, that would be a different matter entirely. To Siri’s surprise, the head of the Census Department began to unbutton his shirt. Siri took a step back towards the door.
    “Remember this?” asked Kummai. He lifted a roll of fat to reveal an appendix scar. Not surprisingly, to Siri it looked like any other appendix scar.
    “It’s very neat,” Siri decided.
    “Of course it is. This is your handiwork. I’d wager half the men in our section have scars courtesy of Dr Siri. Wouldn’t be surprised if they boasted to their loved ones about having Siri originals.”
    “I should have signed them.”
    Kummai laughed uproariously. He crossed to Siri and shook his hand and patted his back.
    “Well, well,” he said. “Dr Siri still alive. What are you now? Eighty? Ninety?”
    Siri laughed. “It feels that way sometimes.”
    “I bet it does. I bet it does. Well now, Dr Siri. Let me show you around my domain.”
    “I don’t want to be a nuisance,” Siri said.
    “Nonsense.” Kummai took the doctor’s arm and led him out of the office. Siri and Daeng had put together an elaborate ruse to get a look at the inside of the building but the director didn’t even ask what he’d come for. The tour began with the upstairs clerical section.
    “This is old Dr Siri,” Kummai told the girls. “Saved my life in the war. Still alive, both of us. Ha ha.”
    The clerks seemed mentally exhausted by their director’s