The Merry Misogynist

the paperwork to prove it. The fact that she was dead didn’t terminate that contract. He could still have the honeymoon he’d imagined in his dreams .
    It took him most of the day to put together the equipment and supplies he needed. When he found her again he was dismayed to discover her body so ravaged by nature in such a short time. But it didn’t matter. He wined and dined her, told her his secret, and at last, he gave her the pleasure she’d so obviously craved. He tied her to a tree with ribbon and, as he sat naked admiring his new bride, he became aware of a powerful joy that had welled up inside him. He had never experienced such elation. The feeling was deep in his groin, exactly as he’d always imagined it to be. He had experienced some kind of sexual pleasure. He was complete .
    That seemed far in the past to him now. There had been so many disruptions since then. Political changes were being made all around him. After the ceasefire in ‘72 he moved to Vientiane and adopted an identity nobody could question. A lot of new people were arriving and leaving each day. The Royalists could see the inevitable Red sun dawning on their empire and, one by one, they slipped across the river, unannounced, under cover of darkness. Than had merely stepped into the shadow one of them left behind. He found work, did well, and as good men were hard to find in the empty city, he was offered a position with the Census Department. It was ideal: travel, anonymity, a veritable factory of documentation. Everything was set for him to prove his masculinity again and again without fear of discovery .
 
    He had wrested possession of the truck from the imbecile and left him doing some inane, unnecessary task. Than would spend this night here in the bridal suite remembering each detail of the honeymoons he’d enjoyed with his five wives and the pleasure he’d given them. He’d dream of tomorrow’s wedding and the seduction of the bright and beautiful teacher, Wei, and he’d sleep the sleep of a man – a real man .
 
    Phosy drove into Natan at nine a.m. He stopped once or twice to ask directions to the house of the resident government cadre, but it wasn’t really that difficult to spot: the largest wooden building on the main street. They parked opposite and stepped down from the jeep to stretch like waking cats. It had been a bone-jarring ride, and they were exhausted. For Phosy it had been a day of particularly slow hours. The administrator came out of his house before they could knock or shout hello. He was a young man relying on one or two chin hairs to lend him an air of authority.
    “Can I help you, Comrades?” he asked. Phosy and the policemen showed him their identification papers.
    “We are here on a very serious police investigation,” Phosy told him. “We need to contact the team collating the census data immediately.”
    “You mean immediately now?” the cadre asked.
    “Unless you know of any other type of immediately.”
    “Well, that might be a problem.”
    “Why?” asked Phosy.
    “The census people did pass by earlier, and they presented their credentials. But after they left here they were due to split up. They said they’ve got data to collect from twenty districts in two days. The only way they can do that is to set up three bases to make it more convenient for the collectors to get to.”
    “Presumably they told you where they’d be based?”
    “My deputy, Comrade Sounthon, organized it for them. But he’s off on a night hunt with the locals. You know? Headlamps, shooting lorises and other nocturnal game.”
    “Animals too drowsy to run away,” Daeng remarked.
    “Does anyone else have any idea where we can find the census collators?” Phosy asked.
    “One or two people, Comrade Inspector, but they’re all out on the hunt.”
    “Damn.”
    “Have you had an old fellow on a motorcycle here this evening asking the same question?” Daeng asked.
    “Not that I’ve heard, Auntie, and I hear most things.”
    Daeng involuntarily squeezed Phosy’s arm.
    “What time are you expecting your deputy back?” the policeman asked.
    “Sun-up usually.”
    Phosy looked at his weary passengers.
    “All right. Then we could use a few hours’ sleep. Can I trouble you for accommodation?”
    “Guesthouse is just around the corner, Comrade. Turn left at the tyre repairers.”
    What the cadre had described to be the cheapest rooms in the province had every right to be. The kapok mattresses