Anarchy and Old Dogs (Dr. Siri Paiboun) by Colin Cotterill

The look of shock on her face could have drained the river for ten miles in each direction. She'd tossed the noodle sieve into the boiling water, hobbled over to her famous doctor on legs stiff with rheumatism, and thrown her arms around him. Ignoring the stares of the mystified diners, Siri and Daeng could feel the strong beating of each other's hearts as they stood locked together like hands clasped in prayer. From his stool beside the noodle cart, Civilai had timed the embrace at a minute, but for the old comrades it was an exchange of missed decades, of battles and loves and losses, of friends departed and disasters shared.
    Siri had first met Daeng thirty-seven years earlier at the southern youth camp where he and his wife, Boua, were serving with the Free Lao movement. Daeng had been their cook. At first that was all the remarkable young woman had done, but she soon demonstrated skills and determination far beyond the wok. In 1940, the French had urged the Lao to set up the youth movement in answer to Thailand's posturing about shifting its eastern border into Lao territory. It was intended as a mechanism to engender nationalistic feeling against the Thais. When Siri and Boua returned from their studies in France at the end of '39, the camp in Champasak had been their first posting. They'd spent two years training young medical interns, teaching French, and molding young minds. What the French didn't realize was that the youth camps they were sponsoring around the country had a well-hidden and brilliantly conceived agenda. In them the foundations were being laid for ousting the French oppressors. It was from the youth initiative that the Lao Issara--the Free Lao movement--was born, and Siri and Boua had been instrumental in its creation in the south.
    When the youth camps were finally closed down by the French for becoming too radical, the Free Lao began its subversive acts of rebellion. Madame Daeng, then a miss, had tagged along with the rebels, cooking, tossing the odd grenade, joining in the campfire plots. She was an inspiration to the young Lao who had grown strong from her noodles, and she was a valuable ally to Siri and Boua. But in the confusion that accompanies a guerrilla war, they'd lost touch. Siri and Boua had gone to Vietnam and Daeng remained in the south. And now, on Siri's first day back in Champasak, they had been reunited.
    Siri introduced her to his cousin, "Pop," and she looked at Siri with a wry smile on her sun-rusted face. She'd always been able to tell when he was lying. She greeted the "cousin" and told Siri their reunion proper could wait. For the time being, she promised them the best lunch they'd ever tasted in their lives and went to fish the sunken sieve from its tank. Siri knew from experience that this wasn't an idle promise. When the huge bowls arrived in front of them, the aroma was poetry enough to make them lose the threads of their morning adventures. The piquant spices caressed their palates and reminded them how many years it had been since they'd really tasted food. Even Siri in his nullified state could pick out every herb, root, and legume. He forgot Civilai, just as Civilai had no further interest in him, until the last spoonfuls of broth had made the trip north.
    It was Civilai who spoke first. "That ... that was ..."
    "I know."
    "Let's take her back to Vientiane," Civilai said, only partly in jest.
    "She could have a real restaurant there, not sweat out her days for ferry passengers under a grimy tarpaulin for fifty kip a plate. She should be rolling in money."
    "Believe me, brother," Siri said, "Madame Daeng is the type of woman who could roll in whatever she pleases. If this is what she's chosen it's because it makes her happy."
    "Even so ..."
    "All right. You've heard enough of men in baths and silly wives. It's your turn. Tell me about the post office."
    "I wish I had a long funny story with a happy ending."
    "No luck?"
    "The fellow there looked at the envelope and the