‘Why?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never been kind to you.’
‘No. You never talked down to me, either. Never treated me like an idiot. Admittedly you were never that polite but you inadvertently showed kindness from time to time. And, to be honest, there’s nobody else I can give this gift to. It wouldn’t fit anybody else.’
‘It’s pyjamas,’ guessed Mr Geung.
‘It’s pyjamas,’ said Tukda.
‘No, my little nincompoops, nothing like that,’ said Bpoo. ‘But, first things first. I have other people to toast. More champagne bubbles to inhale. So, goodbye my friends and good fortune. And here, at last. A poem.’
Siri groaned.
And we are dead
Fed to worms Underground
Then we’re found
And we can speak
Not with groans
Our history revealed In our bones
Initially
Squishily
Doctors Never Appreciate
And, with that, she melted back into the crowd.
‘Did that mean anything?’ Civilai asked.
‘Not to me,’ said Phosy.
‘Her poems never have meant anything,’ said Siri. ‘She just wants us all to go insane trying to work it out. Like this gift idea. She thinks I’ll lose sleep over what it is she’s going to give me. I’m used to her little tortures.’
They drank some more and picked at the food but they couldn’t ignore the purpose of the evening, which had permeated their moods. They tried to have fun but they continually eyed the clock that ticked towards nine p.m.
With two minutes to go, there was a gunshot and everyone fell silent. By the kitchen door, a soldier with his pistol held aloft stood beside the transvestite. Two more soldiers wheeled in an aluminium dolly — not unlike the one from the morgue.
‘If I didn’t know better …’ Siri began.
‘She did ask nicely.’ Dtui blushed. ‘And the morgue is officially shut so it wasn’t being used. And she offered to pay for the rental.’
‘Never mind,’ Siri laughed.
Four soldiers lifted Auntie Bpoo into the air like a singer in a musical and laid her on the trolley. She had nothing more to say. She waved like the Queen of England, north, south, east then west and lay her head back on the bright pink Hello Kitty pillow and sighed. Everyone watched the second hand of the clock.
‘Twenty,’ shouted Siri as the hand reached eight.
‘Nineteen,’ shouted Daeng.
By seventeen, everyone in the Russian Club was shouting down the seconds like the old royalist crowd at the Nam Poo fountain on New Year’s Eve. At nine exactly there was an almighty cheer.
Then silence.
‘Do you think she’s really dead?’ asked Daeng.
But Siri couldn’t hear her. He had static in his ears. Some radio ham seemed to have made contact with his mind and was surfing for a channel. The screech made his teeth tremble. The talisman around his neck burned his skin. His missing earlobe tingled. Then, words filled his head.
‘TESTING.
‘ONE, TWO, ONE TWO.
‘TESTING.’
‘Bpoo? Is that you?’ Siri asked, causing Daeng to look around.
‘Well, that was much easier than I’d expected,’ came Bpoo’s voice as resonant in Siri’s head as his own thoughts.
‘Are you my …?’ he began.
‘It’s dusty in here.’
Unseen by the guests, a length of bamboo floated towards the bank. Its pilot — naked as the day he was born — smiled to be home. Crazy Rajid had returned.