Koko

‘You have to tell me the truth about everything,’ Koko said. ‘Don’t go out on a lie, try to remember everything, don’t waste pieces of your own brain. Come on, look at it.’

He saw how Roberto Ortiz was concentrating. The awakening of some little cell way back in his head flared in his eyes.

‘I thought you’d remember,’ Koko said. ‘You showed up with the rest of the hyenas, you must have seen it somewhere. You walked all around, you probably worried about getting your spit-shine boots all dirty – you were there, Roberto. I asked you here because I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to ask you some important questions.’

Roberto Ortiz groaned through the washcloth and tape. He issued a plea with his big soft brown eyes.

‘You won’t have to talk. Just nod your head.’

If you saw a leaf shaking.

If the chicken froze on one foot.

If you saw these things, no part of the animal was wasted.

‘The Elephant stands for the 24th Infantry, right?’

Ortiz nodded.

‘And would you agree that the elephant embodies these traits – nobility, grace, gravity, patience, perseverance, power and reserve in times of peace, power and wrath in times of war?’

Ortiz looked confused, but nodded.

‘And in your opinion, did an atrocity take place in the I Corps village of Ia Thuc?’

Ortiz hesitated, then nodded again.

Koko was not in a darkened room in a pink stucco bungalow on the fringe of a tropical city, but on a frozen tundra under a sky of high hard blue. A constant wind skirled and rippled the thin layer of snow over a layer of ice hundreds of yards deep. Far off to the west sat a range of glaciers like broken teeth. God’s hand hung hugely in the air, pointing at him.

Koko jumped up and rapped the butt of his pistol against the knot on Ortiz’s head. Just like a cartoon, Ortiz’s eyes floated up into his head. His whole body went loose. Koko sat down and waited for him to wake up again.

When Ortiz’s eyelids fluttered, Koko slapped him hard, and Ortiz jerked his head up and stared wildly at him, all attention again.

‘Wrong answer,’ Koko said. ‘Even the court-martials, unfair as they were, couldn’t say there was any atrocity. It was an act of God. A literal act of God. Do you know what that means?’

Ortiz shook his head. The pupils of his eyes looked blurry.

‘It doesn’t matter. I want to see if you remember certain names. Do you remember the name Tina Pumo, Pumo the Puma?’

Ortiz shook his head.

‘Michael Poole?’

Ortiz wearily shook his head again.

‘Conor Linklater?’

Another shake of the head.

‘Harry Beevers?’

Ortiz lifted his head, remembering, and nodded.

‘Yes. He talked to you, didn’t he? And he was pleased with himself. “Children can kill,” he said, didn’t he? “It doesn’t matter what you do to a killer.” And “The Elephant takes care of its own.” He said that, “The Elephant takes care of its own.” Right?’

Ortiz nodded.

‘You sure you don’t remember Tina Pumo?’

Ortiz shook his head.

‘You’re so fucking dumb, Roberto. You remember Harry Beevers, but you forget everybody else. All these people I have to find, have to track down…unless they come to me. Big joke! What do you think I should do after I find them?’

Ortiz cocked his head.

‘I mean, do you think I should talk to them? These people were my brothers. I could step outside of all this shit, I could say, I cleaned up my share of the cesspool, now it’s someone else’s turn, I could say that, I could start all over, let it be someone else’s responsibility. What’s your best opinion on that, Roberto Ortiz?’

Roberto Ortiz communicated by means of mental telepathy that Koko should now let it be someone else’s responsibility to clean up the cesspool.

‘It’s not that easy, Roberto. Poole was married when we were over there, for God’s sake! Don’t you think he told his wife about what happened? Pumo had Dawn Cucchio, don’t you think he has another girlfriend, or a wife, or both, right now? Lieutenant Beevers used to write to a woman named Pat Caldwell! You see how it never stops? That’s what eternity means, Roberto! It means Koko has to go on and on, cleaning up the world…making sure no part is wasted, that what travels from one ear to another ear is rooted out, nothing left over, nothing wasted…’

For a second he actually saw red – a vast sheet of blood washing over everything, carrying everything with it, houses and cows and the engines of trains, washing everything clean.

‘You know why I wanted you to bring copies of your articles?’

Ortiz shook his head.

Koko smiled. He reached out and picked the thick file of articles off the floor and opened it on his lap. ‘Here’s a good headline, Roberto. DID THIRTY CHILDREN DIE? I mean, is that yellow journalism, or what? You can really be proud of yourself Roberto. It’s right up there with BIGFOOT DEVOURS TIBETAN BABY. What’s your answer, anyhow? Did thirty children die?’

Ortiz did not move.

‘It’s cool if you don’t want to say. Satanic beings come in many forms, Roberto, in many, many forms.’ As he spoke, Koko took a pack of matches from his pocket and set the file alight. He fanned it in the air to keep the fire alive.

When the flames neared his fingers, Koko dropped the burning papers and kicked them apart. The small flames left greasy black scorches on the wooden floor.

‘I always liked the smell of fire,’ Koko said. ‘I always liked the smell of gunpowder. I always liked the smell of blood. They’re clean smells, you know?’

I always liked the smell of gunpowder.

I always liked the smell of blood.

He smiled at the little flames guttering out on the floor. ‘I like how you can even smell the dust burning.’ He turned his smile to Ortiz. ‘I wish my work was done. But at least I’ll have two pretty passports to use. And maybe when I’m done in the States, I’ll go to Honduras. That makes a lot of sense, I think. Maybe I’ll go there after I check out all these people I have to check out.’ He closed his eyes and rocked back and forth on the floor. ‘Work never leaves you alone, does it?’ He stopped rocking. ‘Would you like me to untie you now?’

Ortiz looked at him carefully, then nodded very slowly.

‘You’re so stupid,’ Koko said. He shook his head, smiling sadly, took up the automatic pistol, and pointed it at the middle of Roberto Ortiz’s chest. He looked directly into Ortiz’s eyes, then shook his head again, still smiling sadly, braced his wrist with his left hand, and fired.

Then he watched Roberto Ortiz die fighting and twitching and struggling to speak. Blood darkened the pretty blazer, ruined the pretty shirt and the luxurious necktie.