Siri hadn’t seen the lightning bugs and he had to take Civilai’s word for the angel, but he referred to it often. So it was decided that Hay Sok temple was where they’d barbecue old Civilai. And they’d do it at night because fire in the daytime always seemed like a wasted opportunity to watch the spirit take off. There was only one monk minding the temple, and it wasn’t the same ghost monk Siri had once talked to. This was an ex-mathematics teacher whose wife had swum the Mekong to get away from him. He’d decided that becoming a monk in a city that had little respect for monks was preferable to giving chase. And it seemed fitting. They didn’t want some religious fanatic telling them how their sins could be forgiven. Siri and Daeng were fond of their sins and they wanted credit for them.

It was just as well the math teacher didn’t have a lot to say because the guests wanted Civilai on the bonfire and on his way so they could get to the wake. Despite the overwhelming sense of irreverence, there was a healthy crowd there to pay respect. In Bruce’s bag of magic tricks there was a Super 8 home movie camera. He was entrusted with the task of filming everyone in attendance. If Phosy was correct, the killer was somewhere in the crowd. Siri didn’t know everyone there but there were a number of old friends. He was hoping to see Dr. Porn and have her explain the tablets beside Civilai’s bed, but there was no sign of her. Sitting around on the grass with lit candles dancing in the breeze were Madam Nong and Daeng; Crazy Rajhid in a white nightshirt; Phosy and Dtui with Malee on her lap; Mr. Geung and his bride, Tukta; non-Ambassador Seksan; the Swedes (although nobody remembered inviting them; Cindy and two others from the US embassy; the entire household of Siri’s government residence still given over to the homeless; and an assorted collection of people who had felt Civilai’s warmth and kindness over the years. There was nobody from the politburo.

To the math teacher’s dismay, Civilai had written very simple instructions for his trip to the pyre: tell a couple of jokes, pour some accelerant on the body so it doesn’t take all night to burn, and go get drunk.

“How can you celebrate his death with alcohol when it was alcohol that took him from us?” asked the annoying latest girlfriend of Mr. Inthanet, the puppet master.

“If he was run over by a bus, would you force the guests to find their own way to the temple on foot?” asked Daeng.

“If he drowned in the river would you tell everyone they couldn’t bathe for a week?” asked Siri.