Curse of the Pogo Stick by Colin Cotterill Read Free Book Online

unwanted hump. The judge himself had opted to ride in the second Land Rover with Siri and a bodyguard. This was not an indication of his growing fondness for the coroner but rather an escape from more unwanted advice. Siri had offered to travel in the jeep with the soldiers but Haeng reminded him of how inappropriate that would be for a man of his standing. Siri pointed out that socialism had removed class barriers but the judge threw an axiom into the ring for which there was no rhyme or reason or riposte: “The yellow-headed cornsucker bird can be starved and beaten and spun around a hundred times and transported a thousand miles but still its innate instinct will lead it home to a familiar land. In the same way, the common man will always know where he belongs.”
    With that bafflingly cruel aphorism still in his head, Siri had cornered Phosy, his favourite policeman and surrogate son-in-law. He’d begged the officer to accompany him on the trek.
    “I need a human being to talk to,” he’d pleaded. But Phosy was assigned to bigger cheeses than Dr Siri and there was nothing he could do about it. Siri was on his own.
    Despite the fact that their mission was supposed to instill confidence in the beleaguered law enforcement officers of Xiang Khouang, the only professional stop they made that first day was at a little police box in Ban Latngon. The officer wasn’t in attendance but they knew he couldn’t be far because his uniform and underwear were drying on a string line beside it. As they sat waiting for his return, Siri could hear the secret language of the geng wafting down from the hills. And some of the sounds were taking on the form of words to him. He was certain he heard the name of his inner shaman, Yeh Ming, and something about a young girl and a demon. But the words were often lost in the notes like a puzzle and when he looked around at the other members of his party, it occurred to him he was the only one paying attention to the music. He wondered whether anyone else could even hear it.
    After half an hour they gave up on the errant policeman and left him a note before resuming their journey. As Siri had feared, Haeng wasn’t the type of passenger who sits staring idly at the passing scenery. He’d had many years of experience of pummelling people into submission with his points of view. Along the way he’d memorized a thousand Party slogans and made up a thousand more. He was the type who never asked a question that warranted more than a yes or no reply, so when they first stopped to shoot rabbits – the polite man’s euphemism for having a wee – Siri had found himself a painful lip bush. The leaves were spongy and surprisingly sound resistant. He’d used them during the war to block out the headache of constant mortar fire. He assumed that if they were able to deaden the percussion of battle they should be more than adequate to erase the inane chatter of Judge Haeng. All Siri needed to do was nod or shake his head from time to time and his superior was satisfied.
    Cloaked in this new peace, Siri took in the spectacular scenery. He’d lived in it, of course, but in war one never had the luxury of appreciating the beauty of nature. Every hill, every mountain had been a threat then. But in the slow-moving convoy that took them through Latngon and further west toward Kasong, he had the time and space to enjoy his splendid country. Every turn in the road revealed a new calendar photograph. The mountains rose from misty valleys like Chinese watercolours. It was the land of birds, of jungle sounds, and of lushly delicious vegetation. He was delighted that the fighting hadn’t destroyed it all. Thankfully, Mother Nature always managed to find a way of repairing man’s abuse of her. And no more than twelve kilometres from Ban Kasong she even began to stamp her authority.
    The rains had long since ceased in the north-east but the road had yet to recover from them. The ruts in the dirt track they