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there were the baby twins, temporarily named Athit and Jun, awaiting collection, and that was a story in itself.
    Siri and Daeng walked toward the front door and paused to look at the frozen children.
    “I think they’re dead,” said Daeng.
    “Stuffed probably,” Siri added.
    “You could do anything to them and they wouldn’t feel it.”
    “You mean if I stick my finger up one of their nostrils…?”
    Nounou, beneath the young lumyai tree, burst into laughter, and the others came to life giggling and pointing at their playmate.
    “You lost,” they shouted.
    “That’s not fair,” Nounou pouted. “Grandfather’s not in the game. He’s not allowed.”
    Siri laughed, put his hands together in a polite nop of apology, and escorted Daeng inside. The source of the music was a large cassette recorder in the front room. It was so loud the machine was dancing back and forth on the concrete floor. Siri bent down and turned it off. Halfway down the hall, the handle of the roof umbrella hung down from a hole in the ceiling with a bucket attached to it. Through the open bedroom door to their left, they saw Pao and his granddaughter lying on a mattress. The old man’s eyes stared wide at Siri even though the sound of snoring suggested he was in a deep sleep. Lia smiled and waved.
    It wasn’t until they hit the backyard that they found other signs of life. Comrade Noo was lying in Siri’s old hammock like a Roman emperor. Ten people, some of whom Siri recognized as neighbours, others as the official residents of the house, were seated cross-legged at his feet in some kind of trance. Siri had no qualms about disturbing them.
    “Tell me you aren’t conducting a Buddhist ceremony in the back garden of my house,” he barked.
    The acolytes came out of their reverie as one and greeted Siri with nops and ‘Good healths’. Comrade Noo lifted his head and smiled broadly at his benefactor.
    “It’s merely a meditation session,” said the Thai. “A cleansing. Some of the neighbours asked if they could join us. They miss their religion. I hope you don’t mind.”
    By 1978 the opium of the people had been powdered down to fine mist. Fewer than three thousand monks remained in the entire country, and they were growing their own alms and making a living teaching. An illegal Thai monk performing a service in the garden of a government worker might just be construed as treason. It would very likely warrant a prolonged stay for all of them in the reeducation camps in the north. Siri hadn’t arrived a moment too soon.
    “Mind?” he shouted. “Mind? I want everyone not registered in this house out of here this minute. And take your petrified children with you. Now!”
    This proclamation didn’t exactly lead to a frenzy. Given all they’d suffered in their lives, the Lao no longer panicked, nor did they move very fast. There was an orderly departure during which they exchanged friendly conversation, made obeisance to the monk, and strolled past Siri, who stood with his fists on his waist.
    “Hello, brother Siri,” said Inthanet. “We don’t get to see you nearly enough these days.”
    “Is that so?” Siri replied. “Well, the way things are going, you’ll be able to come to visit me in prison for the next few years.”
    “Why?” asked Mrs Fah with an expression of surprise on her face. “What have you done?”
    “It’s not what I’ve done,” he replied. “It’s you lot. This house is under surveillance, and you’ve broken every ordinance there is.”
    Inthanet smiled and came out with the inevitable, “ Bo ben nyang !”
    If the founding fathers of the great European languages had been at all aware of the efficacy of the Lao expression bo ben nyang , they would certainly have invented their own versions of it. It magically expressed, That’s all right, it’s not important, I don’t care, you’re welcome, no problem, plus several more obscure nuances, but with a Lao slant that suggested there was no matter