The Coroner's Lunch Read Online Free PDF Page B

fair share of frustration.
    He was a bony little man who wouldn’t have looked out of place pedaling a
samlor
bicycle taxi. His head had dispensed with the need for hair long ago, and he wore large rimmed glasses that made him look like a big-eyed cricket. He had been born two days before Siri, and thus was barely deserving of the title
ai,
older brother.
    “Your mouth could be every bit as big as mine, Ai, if you just used it a little more often.”
    “Oh, god. Here he goes again.”
    “I’m ill. I don’t think I’ve got long.” He ripped off the end of his baguette with his teeth and spoke through the bread. “I mean, it’s only common sense. When the old papaya tree stops bearing tasty fruit, you plant new shoots. You don’t wait for it to die first. The party sends off six students to Eastern Europe every three months for medical training. All you need is for one, just one, of those to specialize in post-mortem work.”
    “I’m not the representative for medical services,” Civilai shot back.
    “No, but you’re a big nob. All you have to do is say so, and they’ll do it.” He took a swig of his tea and handed the flask to Civilai. “I don’t want to be cutting up bodies till the day I become one of them. I need this. I need to know when I can expect a replacement. When I can stop. God knows, I could keel over any second. What would you do then?”
    “Eat the rest of your sandwich.”
    “What’s the point of pretending to be friendly with a politburo member if I can’t expect a little help from time to time?”
    “Can’t you just start, you know, making mistakes?”
    “What?”
    “As long as they’re happy with you, they’ll keep you on. If you started to—I don’t know—confuse body parts, they might see a more urgent need to replace you.”
    “Confuse body parts?”
    “Yes. Send your judge friend a photograph of a brain and tell him it’s a liver.”
    “He wouldn’t know. He’s got a liver where his brain should be.” They laughed.
    “I hope you aren’t insulting the judiciary. I could report you for that.”
    “I’ve got nothing against the judiciary.”
    “Good.”
    “Just the arse that’s representing it. How was your weekend?”
    “Sensational. Spent both days up in Van Viang at a political seminar. You?”
    “Dug a ditch.”
    “How was it?”
    “Sensational. My block won first prize in the ‘Uplifting Work Songs’ competition.”
    “Well done. What did you win?”
    “A hoe.”
    “Just the one?”
    “We get it for a week each, alphabetically. What’s the big news of the month up on the roundabout?”
    “Big news? We made it to the top of a world list last week.”
    “Lowest crime?”
    “Highest inflation.”
    “In the world? Wow. We should have a party or something.”
    “Then there’s the ongoing puppet scandal.”
    “Tell me.”
    “The Party ordered the puppets at Xiang Thong temple in Luang Prabang to stop using royal language, and said they had to start calling each other ‘comrade’.”
    “Quite right, too. We have to show those puppets who’s pulling the strings.” Civilai hit him with a lettuce leaf. “What happened?”
    “Puppets refused.”
    “Subversive bastards.”
    “The local party members locked them up in their box, and they aren’t allowed out till they succumb.”
    “That’ll teach ’em.”
     
     
    They stretched out their lunch for as long as possible before walking across to the hospital with their arms locked together like drunks. At the concrete gate posts, Civilai reminded Siri he was off to the south for a week and he should reserve the log for the following Monday. They said their farewells, and Siri turned up the driveway.
    Before he’d gone five meters, he saw Geung loping toward him. The morgue assistant put on his brakes barely two centimeters from Siri’s face. He was excited, and excitement tended to back up his words inside his mouth. He opened it to speak, but nothing came out. He turned blue.
    Siri took a