This enormous rising cloud of thoughts was the result of the four academies of Siam trying to solve a very peculiar puzzle: Why are there feminine men and masculine women? And it was the nature of their young king that led them to ask this question. Kalaphangko was virtually a lady. Everything about him breathed the most exquisite femininity: he had velvety eyes, a silvery voice, gentle, amenable manners, and an abiding horror of war. The Siamese warlords grumbled, but the nation lived very happily; everywhere there were dances, plays, and songs, following the example of the king, who cared for little else, which rather explains the stars’ misinterpretation of those sighs.

Then, suddenly, one of the academies came up with a solution to the problem:

“Some souls are masculine, others are feminine. The anomaly we have before us is a case of mistaken bodies.”

“I disagree,” shouted the other three. “The soul is neuter; it has nothing to do with external differences.”

Nothing more was needed for the alleys and waterways of Bangkok to turn red with academic blood. First came controversy, then insults, and finally fistfights. It wasn’t so bad when the insults began; no one hurled abuse that was not scrupulously derived from Sanskrit, which was the academic language, the Latin of Siam. From then on, though, they lost all shame. The rivalry turned very nasty indeed, rolled up its sleeves, and descended into mudslinging, stone-throwing, punches, and vile gestures, until, in exasperation, the sexual academy (i.e., that which espoused the sexuality of souls) decided to put an end to the other three academies, and prepared a sinister plan . . . O winds that blow, scatter forth these leaves of paper, that I may not recount the tragedy of Siam! For—woe is me!—I can scarcely bear to write of such a dastardly revenge. They secretly armed themselves and went to find the members of the other academies, just as the latter, sitting hunched in thought over the famous puzzle, were dispatching a cloud of fireflies up to heaven. They gave no warning and showed no pity, but fell upon them, foaming with rage. Those who fled did not flee for long; pursued and attacked, they died on the riverbank, aboard barges, or in dark alleyways. Altogether there were thirty-eight corpses. An ear was cut off from each of the leaders, and these were made into necklaces and bracelets for their own victorious president, the sublime U-Tong. Drunk on victory, they celebrated the deed with a great feast, at which they sang this magnificent hymn: “Glory be to us, for we are the rice of science and the lamp of the universe.”

The city awoke to this horrifying news. Terror gripped the masses. No one could forgive such a cruel and despicable act; some even doubted their own eyes. Only one person approved of it all: the beautiful Kinnara, the flower of the royal concubines.

II