conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about Paiboun, Dtui, Reed with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Disco for the Departed'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for the book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Disco for the Departed
  Dr. Siri lay beneath the grimy mesh of the mosquito net, watching the lizard's third attempt. Twice, the small gray creature had scurried up the wall and ventured out across the ceiling. On both occasions, the unthinkable had happened. The animal had lost its grip and come plummeting down with a splat onto the bare concrete of the guesthouse floor. For a house lizard this was the equivalent of a man coming unstuck from the ground and falling up with a crash onto the ceiling. Siri could see the stunned confusion on its little puckered face. It looked around to get its bearings, then headed once more for the wall.
  For over a month, Dr. Siri Paiboun, the national coroner, had been wondering whether his new incarnation might be disruptive to the natural laws of animal behavior. The peculiarities could have started before, but it wasn't until the mongrel from the ice works began to build a nest in his front yard that he took any notice. She somehow managed to drag old car seats and cement sacks through his front gate and mold them into a very uncomfortable-looking roost. And there she sat patiently, day after day, as if waiting for an unlikely egg. A week later, the paddy mice at the back of the compound formed what could only be described as a gang and started terrorizing his neighbor's cat. This morning, as he was leaving his house in Vientiane for the trip up-country, he'd looked back to see a hen on his roof. As there was no sign of a ladder, he had to assume the thing had flown up there. And now the lizard. Even if these were all coincidences, it was still very odd. Ever since Siri had discovered his shaman ancestry, a lot of strange things had happened in his life.
  He worked the nail of his pinky finger around the inside of his mouth, counting his teeth once again. It was a habit he'd fallen into a few months earlier when he'd found out he was different. All there—all thirty-three of them. The same number of teeth as old Prince Phetsarat, the magician; the same number as some of the most respected shamans in the region; the same number as the Lord Buddha himself. Siri was in hallowed company. But even though he had the right number of teeth, he hadn't yet taken control of his abilities.
  Very little could really shock the old surgeon anymore, but he never ceased to be amused by the mysterious events happening around him. His own life seemed to grow more fascinating every day. While others his age had begun to wind down like clocks as they tottered into a frail twilight, Siri had been reborn into a period in which fantasy and reality were interchangeable. Every day was a kick. He felt more alive than ever. If this were truly some kind of senile insanity, it was one he was secretly enjoying: one he was in no hurry to recover from.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me two more paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'She stroked Panoy's hair from her forehead and turned from the bed'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She stroked Panoy's hair from her forehead and turned from the bed. To her surprise, Comrade Lit was standing in the doorway. With the sun at his back, he looked positively godlike. The new epaulets on the shoulders of his uniform glinted like wings. For a second she almost forgot she didn't like him.
  It was at this point he began his speech. It had obviously been written beforehand and memorized. But there was no doubt in Dtui's mind that Comrade Lit had spent many hours composing, decomposing, rewriting, and practicing this recitation. Even with occasional lapses into engineering analogy, it was unquestionably the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Rajhid had put the brain on his head and was now modeling it as if it were a hat. One of the generals looked at him in disgust, then turned to Siri. "Can we talk to this retard— see for ourselves?"
  The crowd turned back as if expecting to see the body still there on the concrete. Siri took the opportunity to look up at Haeng, whose teeth were so tightly clenched they could easily have been welded together. The delegation turned back to see the young nurse with tears rolling down her round cheeks.
  Soon the morgue was awash with enthusiasm and hope for this slightly defective but nonetheless courageous soldier of the revolution. Someone suggested they visit the brave warrior to show their support. They trooped out of the morgue and across the hospital grounds to the intensive care unit. Crazy Rajhid joined the pilgrimage, so the only ones left in the cutting room were Dtui, Siri, and his old friend Dr. Nguyen.
  From the shadows of the vestibule came another figure. Haeng's chief clerk, Mrs. Manivone, walked out into the fluorescent lighting, slowly shaking her head. She'd watched the whole thing from the wings and knew her boss only too well.
  Siri squeezed her hand, blushed a little, and walked out of the cutting room. Manivone put her arm around Dtui.