The Merry Misogynist

clawed at his flesh but he seemed not to notice. She clamped her lips shut and he threw the champagne in her face. He kept hold of her glass and smashed it against his. It left him with a stem and a jagged point in his fist. He held his new weapon in front of her face and drew his arm back to get full force. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, waiting for the inevitable.
    There came an almighty crack. The grip around her neck loosened and her attacker slumped against her. She opened her eyes in time to see the glass drop to the quilt. Phan was still draped over her but without strength – without life. She fought his body off hers and fell back, panting, onto the quilt. Her shirt was ripped almost off. Her hair had broken free of its bun and hung across her face. Phan lay as if asleep on his side of the bed. His face on the pillow wore an angelic smile, but his hairless skull was cracked like an egg. A puddle of red yolk spread beneath him.
    Wei swept back her hair and looked up. Standing beside the quilt was an old man with green eyes and snowy white hair. He seemed drugged and woozy. She could hear his breaths like saw cuts on teak. In his right hand he held a fifty-centimetre monkey wrench, the largest you could find in a standard Lao toolbox.

18
THE BUDDHA AMUSEMENT PARK
    I t was a rare treat. Mr Inthanet had somehow managed to convince his ex-fiancee, Miss Vong, that he didn’t actually have a wife in Luang Prabang. Or at least that he hadn’t seen her for so long that some sort of statute of limitations was now in place that technically made him single. The engagement was back on, and she’d given him permission to use the teacher training department truck that Sunday. It meant that everyone from Siri’s house at That Luang, plus one or two stragglers, could make the trip out to the Buddha Park. The fantasy park at Xiang Khuan had been built in 1958 by an eccentric mystic called Luang Pa Bunleua. It housed a collection of concrete interpretations of various scenes from the Ramayana and other mythical tales as well as Buddhist and Hindi deities.
    Luang Pa himself had been deported the previous year for antisocial behaviour, which many had taken to mean antisocialist behaviour. The Party was a little overwhelmed by a man so steeped in religious convictions that he would build a theme park to the gods. Luang Pa’s first task upon arriving in Thailand had been to build a brand-new Buddha Park in Nong Kai, even grander and weirder than its predecessor. Rather than bulldoze the Lao site, the government declared it a national park and hoped children would grow up believing the huge stone figures were Thai cartoon characters with no religious connections.
    It was a busy place on weekends. Goodness knows there was little enough entertainment in the country, and locals gravitated to the ex-deities as if the monuments had some drawing power of their own. There were a few army and government vehicles in the car park and some motorcycles, but most people found their way to the Buddha Park by public bus. The department of road transport had laid on extra buses on weekends to cater to the numbers.
    Even though there was a guard on duty specifically to discourage acts of obeisance, Mr Tickoo, Crazy Rajid’s father, had smuggled in a dozen jasmine leis and a whole box of incense to give thanks to the Lord Shiva for his son’s recovery. He had astounded Siri and Daeng earlier when they cornered him at his room above the Happy Dine. Given his knowledge of foreign languages and his obvious intelligence, Siri had decided the man could make better use of his talents. The Lao Huksat newsletter was expanding into English and they needed a writer and editor. Siri knew the publisher and had made a very good presentation on the Indian’s behalf. There was a small but livable wage and a free room behind the office. It meant Mr Tickoo could have money rather than curried potatoes in his bank account.
    “Oh, sir,” he had said, “you are far too kind. But, you see, I have promised to look after the owner of this restaurant. I made a vow to his father that I would not allow him to go bankrupt and destitute. I fear without me he would be on the streets. But I am deeply honoured by your offer.”
    Mr Tickoo laid a discreet prayer that down behind a bush at the Lord’s left hand and told the others to collect him on their way out.
    Mrs Fah’s children, Mee and Nounou, were running excited rings around the inside of a