"But Ming Zi had spent two hours looking for him."
"Tough! It epitomised the futility of false hope."
Siri sat up on his elbows and was starting to wish he hadn't chosen this time to have Daeng tell him the story of the movie he'd missed, The Train from the Xiang Wu Irrigation Plant. He couldn't hide his devastation.
"But what's the message?" he asked. "Struggle, struggle, struggle and you'll end up with a dead boyfriend?"
"All right. I'm not quite at the end of the film yet. Wei Loo had died constructing a dam. We get this in flashback through sepia lenses. There'd been a freak flash flood and he'd rushed to the site, rescued all his colleagues, and sacrificed his own life to prevent the dam being washed away. Once she'd recovered from the shock, Ming Zi understood there was more to life than personal relationships. She realised that love for a mega-project and the development of the country was more satisfying than mere love for another human being."
"Rot."
"She found solace. As, coincidentally, she was also a qualified hydroelectric engineer, she applied for the position of project coordinator on her fiance's dam. Of course she didn't play the sympathy card. She didn't tell anyone who she was. She was appointed purely on her qualifications and experience. She was a conscientious worker, very popular with the men and women under her. But on the eve of the grand opening of the new dam…"
"Oh, don't tell me."
"…there's another storm and another unprecedented flash flood."
"Which had been precedented."
"Exactly."
"And Ming Zi saves the planet."
"Just the dam and twenty comrades."
"Of course she dies?"
"Penultimate scene."
"Holding a red flag?"
"She was underwater but she held on to it."
"And the closing scene?"
"The grand opening of the Xiang Wu Irrigation Plant with the lovers' photographs displayed on easels on either side of the starter button."
"Reunited in death. Oh, I wish I'd seen it."
"Everyone was in tears."
"I bet."
"Even the Chinese ambassador and he'd seen it twice."
Siri sighed and rolled off the bed.
"If only life were a film," he said. "Birth, life, love, adventure and death in under two hours. Nothing superfluous. Succinct, simple dialogue. Nothing boring. No roles for characters outside the main plot."
The window was open and rain dribbled down from the top awning in strings of pearl droplets. Through them he could see Rajid sitting on a stool under the umbrella on the river bank.
"He still there?" Daeng asked.
"At least he's under the umbrella now."
"Did he eat his supper?"
"I can't see the plate. Do you think he ever sleeps?"
"What's he doing?"
"It's dark but if he's doing what I think he's doing, I don't think you'd want to know."
"Virile young man, isn't he?"
"Very."
He was about to make a comment like, "Perhaps we should find him a girlfriend," but it occurred to him he was slowly sliding into the role of auntie to the masses since he'd married Daeng. He wanted to help everyone; Mr Geung, Phosy and Dtui, the Hmong, the starving people in Bangladesh, whales, and now here he was fretting over a street Indian. How would he ever find a mate for a non-speaking, self-abusing flasher from Delhi? Not even beautiful Ming Zi with her perfect skin could find true love. Siri started to wonder whether he was the only lucky romantic on the planet. No, he couldn't find romance for Rajid but he could attempt to replace the blown fuse in the relationship with his father. A young man shouldn't go through life hating someone who loves him. Siri had attempted to talk to Rajid before but not with any great belief in his own ability. Now, after several evenings with Sartre he was beginning to believe anything was possible, or at least, that if he didn't solve problems himself, nobody else was going to solve them for him.
"Won't be a minute," he said, heading for the door.
"Take an umbrella."
Daeng was always one step ahead of her husband.
Siri joined Rajid under the beach umbrella. They were sharing a small rainless cylinder of space and the little man was unpredictable. Sometimes he'd sit with you. Others he'd run and hide like a street cat. This was a sitting night.
"OK, Rajid," said Siri, sinking down to squat on the back of his heels. "Let's assume you understand everything I'm saying because I think you do. I know you can write because your father translated your poems for me. And if you can write, you can think, ergo, you can understand."
Rajid's concentration was already flagging. He seemed to be looking around for some other place to be.
"And, let's assume," Siri continued, "that you're here watching over me because you're grateful that I saved your life. By the way, I'm glad I did save your life because I think it's a life worth saving. We'd all be sorry not to have you around. But you're right. You owe me. A life is a big debt to owe so I'm asking you to repay that debt. I want you to talk to — "
Rajid sprang from his seat as suddenly as a cricket, but Siri had been expecting it and his reflexes were still sharp. He caught hold of the Indian's wrist and held it tightly. Rajid squirmed and growled like a trapped animal but Siri wasn't about to let him go until he was finished with his speech. He anchored his free arm around the umbrella stem and focused on his breathing until the wild man calmed down. It took some while.
At last, Siri continued, "I want you to talk to your father. I know you can speak. I've heard you. Your father didn't kill your family, Rajid."
The man shook violently but couldn't break the doctor's grip.
"The ocean killed them," said Siri. "The unsafe, unregistered boat killed them. Fate killed them. Hate all of those if you like, but not your father. He suffered even more than you when it happened. But every day he sees you like this he has to relive your family tragedy. I know you see it too. I know you have that same nightmare. I know what you saw disconnected some mechanism in your head and I'd bet you're as confused as anyone can be. But your father loves you and you're breaking his heart by punish — "
Rajid wrenched his arm from Siri's grasp and twisted his lithe body. He crashed into the umbrella and sent it tumbling into the damp undergrowth. His body fell sprawling onto the mud but he recovered before the doctor could get his bearings and scurried down the river bank and vanished in the darkness. Siri sighed, righted the umbrella and collected the plate of half-eaten dinner. He trudged back towards the shop and looked up to see Daeng enjoying the show from the upstairs window.
"Nicely done," she called.
4
The rain had let up briefly sometime on the Monday morning and the toads and frogs were yelling their delight like an orchestra of bedsprings and didgeridoos. All along the river bank young children in their school shirts were scooping the happy beasts into cardboard boxes and cement sacks and escorting them home to the larder. With so little to be had at the fresh market, families grew whatever they could around their homes, raised chickens and improvised. A lot of the stomach-turning but nutritious fare once considered the mainstay of the ignorant country folks had made a comeback on the kitchen tables of the city.
Toads, if one remembered to remove the poisonous skin and eggs, tasted vaguely of duck. Pa dtaek, fermented fish sauce, was so pungent it had to be stored in earthenware jars as far from the house as possible. Snakes made an interesting stew. Then there were the little creepy critters; fat white grubs that smelt bad but tasted fabulous, scorpion claws, fried termites, beetles, grasshoppers, and the absolutely delicious — Michelin five star — red-ants eggs: squishy heaven in every bite.
As Siri walked along that oh-so-noisy river bank on his way to work, he saw a pelican gliding above the surface of the water. It was a marvellous bird, proud and resourceful, and he imagined how it would taste with a little chilli paste and fresh yams. Hungry people made poor environmentalists.