The Colonel shrugged.
“I kept looking for some evidence of shock or remorse or sadness, and what I got was social arrangements.”
“They said Henry Miller wasn’t sentimental either. But here’s the key,” said Calvino, holding it up. “Maybe it’s her way of showing that she wants to help. To make up for not taking Rob in.”
“There’s something wrong.”
Colonel Pratt had something else to say but stopped himself.
“Don’t go if you think it’s a setup.”
“You’d go on your own?” asked the Colonel.
“Yeah, I would. And I’ll stay at her place. I need to explain to Rob’s father that she offered something important. She asked a foreigner to stay in her shop. That’s a big deal. She was one of the last people to see Rob.”
A rim of orange light broke beyond the lake and the trees. Colonel Pratt muffled a yawn.
“Maybe she’s playing it straight.”
“Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt,” said Calvino.
“You should go back to Bangkok. There’s a morning flight. I’ve done about all I can here. I don’t see that it’s any different for you.”
“I’m starting to see the potential in Rangoon. I need a couple of more days. I could head back now. I could. But the kid was killed in my room,” said Calvino. “When that happens to a man, he has to try to find some reason for it. I need to know, Pratt.”
Calvino shrugged as Colonel Pratt got up from the bench.
“I thought you’d say something like that,” said the Colonel.
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t head back. You have reports to file, people to see. And you have a room with a view. You should catch the sunrise.”
“What if she set up Rob, and now she’s setting you up?”
“She’d have to dream it first,” said Calvino.
“It’s a risk,” said Colonel Pratt. “You can joke about it. But that’s not wise.”
“You’ve been hanging out with Yadanar. Have you closed your deal with him?”
“It’s in the works.”
The yellow dome of the Shwedagon lay outside the Colonel’s hotel window, waiting for him to sit on the balcony and enjoy. But he was in no mood for sunrises or temples as he trundled back to the hotel. Calvino watched him follow the same path out of the park that the Black Cat had taken. He sat alone in front of the lake, remembering the brick wall on the other side of the guesthouse window, with Rob’s hallucinations scribbled on it like psychotic graffiti.
Calvino had never slept inside a bookshop before. This shop came frontloaded with a full buckshot of history and ghosts. There was a small bedroom the size of a large closet in the back. The cot was pushed against the wall. His rooms were shrinking in size and view. This one had no window. It was a cell with a cot, a sink and a hot plate. When he slipped in after dawn, he lay back on the cot, watching a small lizard staring down at him from the ceiling, and the next thing he knew, he was in dreamland, walking among peacocks, lions and chattering monkeys.
He stumbled into a thicket, tearing his trousers, but battled through, coming out into an open field. He had no idea what the place was called, nor could he recognize any of the faces, bright with laughter and singing. It was a birthday party, and women were dancing and clapping their hands. He was the only foreigner present. Mya was dressed in black leather, cat whiskers painted on her cheeks, her eyelashes thick and black. She stalked and circled and pounced on the piano player.
Yadanar picked her up and swung her around as if she were a small child. They both laughed, and everyone applauded and started singing “Happy Birthday.” Rob appeared with a birthday cake with more than thirty candles burning bright. Calvino ran toward him, calling his name. The faster he ran, the farther away Rob was, until all Calvino saw was his arm stretched out and his fist shaped like a gun. A large crowd followed Rob. He fired a shot out of his finger as if it were the barrel of a powerful gun. The echo of the shot shattered the silence. The crowd had surrounded an old male elephant stuck in a muddy field. The old bull bellowed and trumpeted and stomped its enormous feet. Calvino watched the bullet spinning in midair, suspended, and Mya jumped up and tried to pluck it from the sky, but she failed. Instead the bullet disappeared into the skull of the elephant. The animal made one last trumpeting sound and fell over dead.
The crowd applauded. Yadanar launched into “Cry Me a River” on the piano, and Mya began singing into the mike.
When he woke up, the Black Cat stood at the end of the cot, holding a cup of coffee.
“You were calling my name,” she said.
“I had a dream. You were singing. An elephant was shot dead.”
A smile crossed her face.