by Weston Ochse
The search for Spike.
The battle with the Boxers and the death of Donnie Wu.
Then his capture.
His pairing with the monkey.
Monkey-backing.
Gree.
He remained silent for awhile as visions of tree-filled skies and monkeys hanging from the moon captivated him, filling him with the idea of what he’d had, what he could have been, what they could have been had they just been left alone. The ennui was debilitating. A heaviness settled on his chest and stayed there for a long while.
But like the way his muscles sometimes tingled with numbness after sleeping awkwardly, the heaviness and the longing faded, until the monkey was nothing more than a memory of what he once had—like the memory of a string of islands where his people once roamed, or the memory of his father, someone who still managed to touch him from the darkest corners of his mind when he least expected it.
Kavika tried to get up to a sitting position, but the effort defeated him. He tried again and again, until exhaustion finally took over, and he fell back and turned to his left. And there, on the table next to him, lay his gree, his monkey. Kavika smiled and stared at his dream, eventually falling into a deep, deep sleep.
“PUTITA! WHAT HAVE you been doing?”
Lopez-Larou skidded to a stop. Now back in the Los Tiburones section of the city, she’d been free and easy with herself. They had guards posted surreptitiously watching for Boxers, Pali Boys and any other citizen who might interlope. It was the one place she could let her guard down.
“Paco.” She used to call the fat old Mexican sir. Not just because he’d been a lieutenant of her father’s back in Sonora, but because he was someone she used to respect.
“Putita, Putita... why?”
Used to respect. Calling her Little Whore did little to endear her. In fact, each time he said it was like loading a bullet into a gun. When the clip was full, she knew she was going to turn it back on him.
She gritted her teeth. “Tio, I’ve done nothing. Just a girl trying to be like her padre.”
“What you want to be like him for? Old and fat and...”
He let the last word drift, but she knew what he’d left off. They both did. Dead. It was a veiled threat. Check that. It was a bald threat.
“Tio, my father wasn’t fat. He couldn’t have been. I remember him being so much smaller than you.”
She watched the knuckles of his left fist whiten around the end of his armrest. Paco Braun sat on a cargo container, in the shade of an immense red and white umbrella. Like always, he wore a flower-patterned mumu. His bare feet were sunburned, and his naked torso bore what used to be a series of tattoos telling the story of a matador, his lust for love, and his demise on the horns of a bull, but now the images were nothing but blue blotches, stretched beyond recognition. She was reminded of the fat Mga Tao dancing on the stage. Paco’s face was lost in the shadow of the umbrella, but she didn’t need to look at it to know that he was puckered and frowning.
She reminded herself to dial it down. After all, even if they hated each other, he commanded and deserved respect.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around, Tio. I know you must have been worried. I should have told you where I was.” She bowed her head and kept her face neutral.
After a moment he said, “Your friends caused quite a stir with the monkey lovers. The Corps and Boxers have no love for them either. What are you trying to do, alienate everyone so that you’ll only have the fish for customers?”
“It was unfortunate what happened with the monkey lovers. I heard they were distraught.”
“Distraught!” Braun snorted. “They were insane about it. Like if someone stole Jesus from the Pope.”
“If there was a Pope,” she said.
“Yeah, that. But you weren’t involved in any of this, were you?”
“Was I seen?”
“Not that I hear, but some of the other Tiburones think you were there.”
“Tell you what, Tio. They can think in one hand and shit in the other, then ask them to tell you which one is holding something.”
Braun chuckled. “Your father used to say that. Maybe you are a little like him.”
“Maybe I am.” She looked around for his concubines, but didn’t see any. “Where are the Marys? Have they left you?”
“No. Mary See decided to taste too much of my wares. She’s on the outs. The other three Marys are helping her pack.”
Braun named all of his consorts Mary, after a girl he’d known before the plague, when he’d been young and had dreams of being an architect of the big buildings in Los Angeles.
“Can I get you something, Tio? I mean until they come back.”
She felt his eyes raking her skin, but took it without blinking.
Finally, “No. I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if I can help.” Before he could answer, she’d broken into a jog. Her place was two cargo ships over, far enough that he couldn’t get to her without making a big ruckus. Which suited her just fine. She opened the lock on her container, passed all the chems and equipment, then tossed herself onto her bed. She hadn’t slept much in the last few days. Kavika’s life-and-death struggles had kept her awake. Now that he showed every chance of surviving, she had to take a moment for herself. Plus, she needed more chits, which meant she needed more product. That Braun hadn’t asked her for what she owed was a godsend, and one that she didn’t imagine would happen again.
WHEN KAVIKA NEXT awoke, the monkey was gone from his thoughts. It had been there for so long, the loss of it was stark. Even so, it was only a monkey. The importance of it not being there was lost on him, but that was the first thing he’d thought about. Strange, for him to think about a monkey when there was so much else to worry about.
Then the totality of what had happened to him took over. He began to shake. It started first in his hands, and as he held them out, he watched it move to his arms.
He’d been blood raped. At the time, that had been the worst thing that he could think of. The very act was an assault on his liberty, his expression as a free citizen of the city, and a Pali Boy. To be blood raped was a reminder of how weak he was, how dispensable he was, and how capricious life had become.
But blood rape, for all of its evil, was nothing compared to monkey-backing. The forced pairing had been an assault on his very humanity, an affront to his ancestors. Forced pairing had made him into something completely different from whom he’d been. He’d tried to stop it, to chase after his sense of self. But try as he might, he’d been completely unable to find a way to retain it.
The monkey’s mind had taken control. A flash of him picking the fleas from the back of another monkey surged through him like an electric jolt. And the worst of it... the very worst of it was that he’d loved it.
Kavika bit his lip.
The new combined creation he’d become was something stronger, better. Not human and not monkey, but something other. Something—he bit his lip until it bled—better. And it was in that epiphany that his rage was born.
He tried to banish the memories, but the more he tried, the more the memories of the world of trees returned. Soon he found himself speaking the names of his friends; “Pali Boy,” he said, and “Live Large.” At first he spoke slowly, softly. But his voice grew in strength and confidence. With each repetition, his true self returned a little more.
He slid from his bed. His legs could barely hold him. They buckled twice, but each time he was able to catch himself against the side of the bed. Concentrating on keeping his legs under him, Kavika staggered, one foot in front of the other, towards the opposite bed, where the dead monkey lay. By the time he reached it, he was screaming his mantra.
Its eyes had turned milky. Its hair lay flat and smelled like sweet rotting death. Before he might have felt sorry for it, but not now—not fucking now. Now he only felt hatred and rage. Rage, all day long. Fucking, fucking rage, all fucking day long.
He raised his fists, then brought them down.
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Thump—smacking into the dead monkey’s flesh.
He screamed the name of Donnie Wu.
Thump!
He screamed the name of Spike.
Thump!
He screamed the name of his father. He screamed the name of every Pali Boy he knew, and then he screamed his own name. And having finally remembered his own name, he latched onto it and screamed it over the over, all the while hammering his fists into the monkey’s corpse.
And that’s how he was found.
Kaja and Mano didn’t stop him, and it was only when he finally slumped to the floor, exhausted and human, that Kaja approached him, lifted him from the floor and held him like a long lost friend who’d finally found his way home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THREE DAYS LATER, Ivanov let him out. Kavika had been ready after the first day, but the old Russian wanted to make sure he was fit enough to go, to protect himself should he desire to continue antagonizing the Boxers. Kavika had little desire to do so; all he wanted was to make sure his family was okay and find out what had happened to Spike.
Kaja had come by earlier in the morning. He’d brought clean shorts and had returned the hand and feet grips that marked him as a Pali Boy.
“You’re Pali,” he said. “You’ve more than proven yourself. I’m proud of you. Your father would have been proud of you.”
“But I let them take me.”
“You fought them and were overpowered. Look at Akamu. He was older and stronger than you and they got him. What’s important is that you survived it.”
Kavika then asked about Donnie Wu and discovered that his Uncle’s body had been recovered. The Water Dogs had counted more than a hundred and thirty injuries before they’d recycled him.
“They’re cannibals, you know,” he said grimly.
Kavika stared. “What—who?”
“The People of the Sun. Mr. Pak, the Korean we were talking with and who gave us the false lead, he chewed a piece of Spike away.” Even as Kavika said it, he felt bile creep into this throat.
It had taken some convincing, but finally Kaja left to send some of the Pali Boys to check and see. Although the People of the Sun forbade transit, they could still get close.
Kavika changed into clean shorts and went to the hold. His mother and sister weren’t there. For a moment he felt a tinge of worry, until Ms. Kwan, his mother’s neighbor in the hold, mentioned that they’d moved her up top.
Kaja had indeed moved her. His mother cried when she saw him. He told her that he’d been hurt, but didn’t tell her about the monkey-backing. After all, she still held out hope that his sister could be healed; Kavika didn’t have the heart to break it to her that the blood rapes and monkey-backing were nothing more than bullshit designed to keep white men alive who should be dead.
He stayed with them for an hour before he felt the pull to leave. Spike had been lurking in the back of his mind since he’d come to his senses. What had happened to her after they’d been attacked by the Boxers on bungees? The Water Dogs hadn’t heard from her, and neither had Kaja or the Pali Boys. Which left Lopez-Larou. He was told that she’d been instrumental in helping him escape, but she hadn’t hung around once he’d been safely delivered to the Russian. He needed to find her, to talk to her.
When he left, he headed towards the far side of the city. He tested his arms and legs, but didn’t trust them to carry him through the sky, so he walked. He didn’t particularly like it, but he had no choice. For the first few boat lengths, Pali Boys descended to greet him, welcoming him back to the fold, asking him how he was. He returned the camaraderie, offering embarrassed smiles when they asked why he was walking. They understood; they were just giving him a hard time. It felt good to be teased by them. They were like brothers, and that sort of abuse was always backed by love.
Then he was left alone, walking across the decks of the mad city. It began to drizzle, covering everything in a slick sheen. He stared into the glittering drops, opened his mouth and laughed.
Pele, it was good to be alive.
By the time he reached the ships belonging to Los Tiburones, there was a spring in his step. He felt better than he had in an age. A fat Mexican wearing a wife beater and clutching a machete stopped him and asked Kavika his business, and he told him. The guard disappeared for a few moments, then came back and let Kavika pass, with directions on where to find Lopez-Larou.
She saw him first. By the time he registered that it was her, she was running at him. She launched herself the last few feet, her arms entangled his neck and they almost went down. They stayed upright more through her strength than his.
“I was wondering if you were going to come by and see me!” She beamed at him.
Kavika grinned. “They told me what you did. They said you punched one of the women watching over me in the face.”
She let go of him. “I did much worse than that. Did you see the ship?”
He shook his head.
She looked positively excited as she said, “The bombs the Vitamin Vs planted went off and damaged the ship worse than anyone could have anticipated. It’s threatening to sink. They got Corpers with special hoses and foam trying to keep it afloat. Something about the structural integrity of the city, or some such bullshit.”
His mouth dropped open.
“We should get us a bottle of rice wine and go watch it.”
He shook his head. “We should, but I need to find Spike. You haven’t seen her, have you?”
She stopped smiling and got serious. “Not at all. You weren’t hoping I had, were you?” His face fell. “Oh, hell.”
Kavika turned around and stared out at the sea of masts and antennae.
“I saw her nailed to the wall. They’d beaten her, hurt her, bit her. I was hoping that maybe someone had found her.” A tear leaked from the corner of his eye.
“I want to find her, too. I was hoping you knew something. That maybe we could go together. Kavika, do you think she’s still alive? Where’d you see her last?”
“She was hurt—bad. The People of the Sun used her to set a trap.”
“The Koreans? Don’t you know that they’re... Oh, crap. You didn’t know.”
“I know. They’re fucking cannibals.”
“You don’t think that they’d...” She trailed off.
“I don’t know. But Pele help them if they did.” He punched his palm. “I can’t just assume she’s dead.”
“You have to see for yourself.”
“Yeah.” He paused. “We need reinforcements if we’re going there,” Kavika said as he rubbed his arm muscles. “I’m not as strong as I should be. I don’t want to hold you back.”
“Nonsense. Let me send out people to check and see if they can determine where she is. I have sources that can go anywhere on the city. If she’s still here, they’ll find her.”
“And if they don’t?”
She looked away. “Then she’s probably dead.”
“And it might be a good thing,” he said, looking pained.
“It just might.”
She took him to her place. He sat and stared at all the odd equipment while she pressed pills into hands and spoke to various runners in rapid-fire Spanish. Sometime during these exchanges, he leaned back and fell asleep.
He didn’t wake until it was dark. At first he didn’t know where he was; he sat up and looked around, but nothing looked familiar. There were lots of pillows across the floor, and the walls were covered with shelves, each filled with an assortment of containers.
A sound drew him. He saw a dim orange glow, then a curl of smoke. As his eyes adjusted, the room came more into focus. Behind the glow were a set of eyes, regarding him in a cool manner.
“You sleep deeply, Pali Boy.”
At the sound of Lopez-Larou’s voice, it all came back to him. He was in what the Pali Boys referred to as the Shark Tank, the home of Los Tiburones. More specifically, he was in Lopez-Larou’s container.
He wiped his eyes and stretched. �
��I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“You’ve been through a lot.” The orange glow flared with a sizzle and a pop, and then faded again. “Want some?”
“What is it?”
“A little something to calm you.”
Kavika shook his head. “I’m calm enough.”
“Suit yourself.” They sat for awhile, and then she said, “You talk to your father a lot when you sleep.”
Kavika didn’t know how to answer that. He polled his mind and remembered scraps of a dream where he and his father were sailing across the sea in a small dingy. “What’d I say?”
“It’s not so much what you said, it’s how you said it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You sounded... well, you sounded like a child.”
Kavika smiled with embarrassment. “That’s funny, because in my dreams I’m always a child.”
The orange glow, a sizzle, a pop. “What happened to him?”
“Died. He was diving the line and didn’t make it.”
“You mean the anchor line? That line?”
Kavika nodded.
“You guys are crazy,” she said, drawing the last word out. “Is there anything you won’t do?
“Lots.” And after a moment, “But I can’t think of anything right now.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine.”
“Ahh. My dad died when I was young, too.”
“Was he important?” Realizing how stupid that sounded, he hastened to add, “I mean, did a lot of people count on him?”
“I knew what you meant.”
Somehow he could tell she was smiling.
“He ran the drugs from Sonora all the way south to Mexico City and east to the Sea of Cortez.”
“Is that a big area?” he asked.
He watched her regard him for a moment, then she laughed softly. “Big enough to hold more than a million people.”
Kavika thought about that number. It seemed astronomical, but he had no frame of reference. “Is that a lot?”
“More than a thousand times the amount of people in the city.”
