Read Online Slash and Burn by Colin Cotterill - Free Book Online

complement to Xiang Khouang rice whiskey, especially with a good dollop of mustard. They refilled and re-drank and the conversation meandered around a myriad of subjects and drunkenness arrived with the night mist. Before they staggered off on their separate ways, they vowed not to rest until they found their young airman. Siri reminded them to use the signposted latrines rather than hopping over the back fence. Prostheses, said Civilai, after several stabs at the word, had come a long way since the peg but were still very poor substitutes for actual legs. The only people not to head off in search of their rooms that night were Siri and Daeng. Siri had tried to leave but Daeng reminded him that they had hosted the meeting in their own room. To be honest, she only remembered that at the last moment when she saw her corduroy working trousers hanging from the curtain rod. As the guests had taken one candle each to see their ways home, only two stunted candles remained on the grass mat. The room was a salon of slow dancing shadows.
    “It’s cold up here,” said Daeng.
    “We should huddle together for warmth,” Siri suggested.
    Siri’s attempts at blowing out the candle flames left him coughing and wheezing.
    “That’s not a very promising sign for huddling,” said Daeng.
    “I’ll be fine. It only happens when I exhale violently. I’m rather good at inhaling.”
    He licked his fingers, pinched, and the last flame died. The room could have been draped in black velvet, so rich was the darkness. They skirted the island of bottles and glasses and made their way to the bed. As was his habit, Siri took the window side. The bed was covered with a quilt so thick that he almost needed a tire lever to lift it and insert himself underneath. He reached for his wife.
    “My goodness, you aren’t cold at all,” he said.
    “Patience. I’ll be with you in a few seconds,” she replied.
    To his surprise, her voice had come not from the bed but from several meters away.
    “Oh dear.”
    Siri extricated himself from the quilt as quickly as he was able.
    “What’s wrong?” Daeng asked.
    “Do we have a flashlight in the bags?”
    “Of course.”
    “Then we should turn it on. I think I may have just been unfaithful to you.”
    After a good deal of searching Daeng unearthed the lamp and shone the beam on a lump in the bed covers.
    “Who on earth…?” asked Daeng.
    “Well, I tell you it certainly isn’t one of the men.”
    He heaved off the quilt and there, sleeping like the dead, was Peach Short.
    “Siri?”
    “I didn’t know. Honestly.”
    “Couples have been divorced over less.”
    “I thought she was you.”
    “When exactly did you realize she wasn’t … no, perhaps you shouldn’t answer that. We should take her to her room. She has a big day tomorrow.”
    “She looks so peaceful. Perhaps we should let her….”
    “Siri!”
    “That was a joke, my dearest.”
    Despite all the lugging and manhandling and door opening and laying out, Peach didn’t awaken from her drunken slumber when they sent her home. But by the time they got back to their room, Siri and Daeng were completely tuckered out. The only sound as they held hands under the covers was of their chests rising and falling. A new adventure was about to begin. The only thing certain about tomorrow was that their young American interpreter was going to have a very serious hangover.

7
    THE ICE-BREAKER COMETH
    The knock on the door might as well have been directly on the inside of Siri’s head. Somebody was in his skull with a wrecking ball trying to get out. The groan from Daeng’s side of the bed told him that she wasn’t faring any better. If it was morning, the day was doing its damnedest not to show it. An early mist had oozed in through the open window and was swirling around the bed like dry ice. In the distance could be heard the thump of artillery fire as the joint Vietnamese/Lao forces began their daylight offensive against the last stubborn