“If it wasn’t so difficult to get here I’d say this was a government show village to impress foreign visitors,” said Siri.

They marched on past the square and found the school exactly where the woman had said it would be. It was a large single room with a neat straw roof. They could hear the musical chant of times tables. The walls didn’t go all the way to the roof so they could see the head and shoulders of the teacher, a handsome man of about sixty, tall and lean. Clean white shirt. Crew cut. No glasses. He looked over the screen wall and saw the visitors. He waved and Daeng waved back. The teacher said something to his class, they stood, chorused the words “Thank you, teacher, for your lessons. See you tomorrow.”

And some twenty children of different ages and sizes left the building in an orderly fashion and nodded and said “Sabai dee” as they passed the visitors. The teacher called for them to join him in the schoolroom.

“How are you?” he asked and shook their hands.

“We didn’t mean to disrupt your school day,” said Daeng.

“It was almost time to stop,” said the teacher. “I am Satsai. Can I have your names?”

They handed them over gladly.

“And how can I be of service to you?” said Satsai.

Siri knew that rural villages near the towns received their fair share of public officials from the various departments responsible for education, health, and infrastructure as well as the odd request for donations for nothing in particular. Then there’d be village seminars explaining the intricacies of Marxist-Leninist philosophy. Given the absence of telephones, the village wouldn’t be unused to surprise visits. As he still wasn’t sure why he was there, Siri didn’t know what approach to make.

“We’re not with the government,” said Siri. “I’m a doctor, or at least I used to be. I’m now retired and working harder than ever in my wife’s noodle shop. They are, incidentally, the best noodles in Vientiane. And Comrade Beer here is our guide and cultural attaché.”

There was no nod between the two and Siri wondered whether they may have met before. They all sat at the little desks that were planks of wood on tree stumps. The seats were a smaller version of the desks. The visitors felt like giants.

“So, how can I help?” asked Satsai, sitting on his own, real-size desk.

“Well,” Siri began. “I’m in search of a Japanese major by the name of Hiro Uenobu, although some may have called him Toshi.”

He studied the teacher’s face, hoping for a sign of recognition, but there was none. So he summarized the whole story, the diary, the research, the trip to Thakhek, and finally the reason for their traveling through the Tunnel of Love that day. Teacher Satsai looked on in fascination.