Chant

by George C. Chesbro

  Chant laughed easily. “I should have taken at least twice as much as I did. Notwithstanding the fact that he sent you along to me, Master Bai can be a real pain in the ass.”

  Soussan was silent for some time. Finally, she said, “Grandfather came to Mordan County because you were here, Chant. The only reason he agreed to work for a silly man like Baldauf was because it gave him an opportunity to duel with you. Why do you do it, Chant, if not for money or power?”

  “I told you: satisfaction.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Chant shrugged, leaned over Soussan, and kissed both her stiff nipples. “Nasty people piss me off. I feel better when I take their money and undo some of the nasty things they’ve done; if I’m forced to kill them in the process, that’s all right too.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Am I? Perhaps you don’t recognize the truth when you hear it.”

  “What happened to you in the war?”

  “I got shot at a lot.”

  “Why did you desert?”

  “I won’t tell you.”

  “Grandfather had something to do with it, didn’t he, Chant?”

  “Did he? Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Why won’t you tell me? What difference does it make?”

  “It doesn’t make any difference.”

  “A lot of important people would be hurt—still—if the truth ever came out, wouldn’t they?”

  “To say the least.”

  “Would it hurt the United States?”

  “Probably.”

  “That’s why you won’t tell me—because it might damage your country?”

  “No.”

  “I think that’s the reason.”

  “Think what you like.”

  “There really is a ‘Colonel Fox’, or somebody like him, after you, isn’t there?”

  “More than one, I assure you.”

  Soussan gently blew the hairs on his chest, traced her fingernail up and down his belly. “Whom are you protecting?”

  “Nobody,” Chant replied evenly. “I couldn’t care less if the New York Times devoted an entire issue—and they probably would—to the story tomorrow.”

  “If you’re not protecting anybody, and you don’t care if it hurts the United States, why won’t you tell me?”

  “Simply because I choose not to.”

  Chant, disguised, left the hotel. He returned a short time later with a puppy, a carton of milk, and dog biscuits. For more than two hours, he and Soussan played with the puppy, which seemed delighted with its newfound friends.

  “Kill it,” Chant said suddenly, his tone absolutely flat.

  Soussan, who held the squirming, yipping ball of fur in her lap, looked up. “What?” she asked, obviously startled.

  “I’d like you to kill it,” Chant said casually, nodding toward the animal she held.

  “Why, Chant?”

  “Because, if you can do it, it will impress the shit out of me. Evil, as I’m sure your grandfather has instructed you on many occasions, arises from betrayal of trust and the harm or destruction of innocents—and real evil is most assuredly what Black Flame is all about. I know you’re a real badass; show me a burst of Black Flame.”

  Soussan started to say something, then turned her head away from him sharply.

  Chant waited almost a minute, then walked across the room and took the puppy from the woman’s lap. He killed the animal instantly, then casually tossed the carcass across the room into a wastebasket.

  “Why did you do that?” Soussan asked in a trembling voice. “Was it some kind of test to see how evil I am? Even if your suspicions about me being a total servant to Black Flame were correct, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to show you, would I?”

  “It wasn’t a test.”

  “Then why did you kill the puppy?” Soussan asked again, still refusing to look at him.

  “Whatever you’re doing, or think you’re doing, I’ve decided to take our conversations seriously.”

  “How? By showing me how evil you can be?”

  “The death of that animal is a door, and you must decide if you want to open it.”

  “What are you trying to say to me, Chant?” Soussan said, her voice still trembling.

  “It’s already been said.”

  Now she turned to him, and her large eyes glistened with tears “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s too bad It means I snapped that dog’s spine for nothing, and that troubles me a great deal.”

  “Whatever you’re doing isn’t fair, Chant. It’s not fair to me, and it certainly wasn’t fair to that poor animal.”

  “Master Bai would find what you just said hilarious.”

  Soussan swallowed hard, gazed wide-eyed at the man standing in front of her “Chant,” she said in a breathy voice, “I am afraid of you.”

  “Now, perhaps you are It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “You do care about me.”

  “It was your grandfather who sent you to me, offered you as another challenge.”

  Soussan blinked slowly, frowned. “He sent me to you so that I could learn.”

  “I don’t believe that, but it doesn’t make any difference I didn’t so much accept the challenge as find myself too weak to reject it. You asked me to fight for you, so I am. If everything about you is Black Flame, a lie, then nothing I do or say can make any difference. If not, you can only be free of what you’ve learned in the past by seeing beyond and passing through certain doors of consciousness. I’m a doorman.”

  “You’re a teacher.”

  “You will teach yourself, or not, as the case may be.”

  “Thank you, Chant.”

  “That means nothing. You still don’t understand the dead puppy.”

  “I thank you for caring about me,” Soussan whispered. “And I thank you for falling in love with me.”

  Chant said nothing.

  They ate a lunch of bread, wine, and cheese, then walked in the forest just outside of town. Later they went back to Chant’s hotel room and made love through the afternoon, until they were blanketed with shadows.

  “What else would I do?” Soussan murmured into Chant’s ear.

  “You said you were studying law.”

  “Boring.”

  “Not necessarily. Law makes quite a weapon. Haven’t you noticed?”

  “I may be the best female martial arts expert in the world.”

  “I believe you are.”

  “I want to remain that.”

  “One doesn’t preclude the other. Be a warrior.”

  “I am a warrior.”

  “No, Soussan. You may be the finest female martial arts expert in the world, but you’re not a warrior. A warrior must be free.”

  “Would you say I was free if I’d killed the puppy?”

  “Quite the contrary. If you had killed the puppy, I’d have known for certain that you were lost, and could never be free of Black Flame.”

  “Then it was a test?”

  “Yes—as well as a door. If you’d killed the puppy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, or any other. Then, I might have been free of you.”

  Soussan was silent for a long time. “My feelings are on the other side of the door,” she said at last. “By killing the puppy, you forced me to touch the good there is in me.”

  “I said that you would teach yourself.”

  “I would have great power if I worked with you.”

  “I work alone, Soussan.”

  “You always have worked alone. If you’re free—”

  “I never said I was free The point is that one must constantly struggle to be free; it is the straggle which is freeing, and in the struggle feelings are both essential allies and enemies.”

  “Would you ever work with anyone?”

  “I might.”

  “With me?”

  “Not if you were still so concerned with power.”

  Soussan smiled wryly. “Interes
ting that you use the word ‘still’. What if, finally, I were to walk away from Black Flame, as you did?”

  “You came here with your grandfather to help kill me—a stranger whose heart, if not his personal history, was closed to you at the time. You came to help Wilbur Baldauf keep the Hmong enslaved. You may still be nothing more than one of your grandfather’s most elegant traps, a woman who was lost to Black Flame many years ago.”

  “No I couldn’t kill the puppy.”

  “You didn’t kill the puppy. As you pointed out, you’re no fool. Master Bai didn’t send you to me to kill puppies. You’re after human prey—me.”

  “What would you say if I told you that those words hurt me more than anything else you’ve ever said to me?”

  Chant listened to the woman’s short, labored breathing. It was so hard, he thought, to keep attacking her, to keep struggling to defend himself against her—even as he knew he must. “I’d say that, in this struggle, my feelings are most definitely my enemies.”

  Soussan propped herself up on one elbow, smiled into his face and tapped Chant playfully on the chest. “Just for the sake of argument, Mr. Sinclair, let’s assume that I really had rejected Black Flame, and that you’d finally come to trust me. Let’s assume I was working with you in this situation, against Baldauf, which meant that I had decided to betray Grandfather. What would you have me do?”

  “That’s easy,” Chant said, lightly tapping Soussan’s forehead. “I’d have you snooker Master Bai into forcing that fat pig to transfer Baldauf Industries—including your grandfather’s shares, incidentally—to the Hmong.”

  “Hmm,” Soussan said. “Interesting.”

  Chant whispered, “Soussan?”

  Half-asleep, Soussan stirred and wrapped her arms more tightly around the man lying beside her. “Mmm?”

  “I just want you to know that you’re full of shit,” Chant said as he gently stroked the woman’s hair.

  Soussan raised her head from Chant’s chest, turned slightly and looked at him. Her eyes were vulnerable, dull from exhaustion. “What did you say, darling?”

  “I said that you’re full of shit,” Chant replied in a flat tone as he met her gaze. He paused, smiled thinly. “It’s interesting shit, and it’s sexy shit—but it’s still shit. If you don’t want to be a lawyer, be an actress; you improvise beautifully.”

  Now fully awake, Soussan pushed off Chant’s chest and sat up. “Chant? Are you serious?”

  “Do I look or sound like I’m joking? Your grandfather’s had your entire lifetime to train and shape you. Do you really think I believe you can be unbent in a few days, with a few rolls in bed? I just thought it might make all this business even more interesting if you realized I knew it was all an act. I may still lose my life to Kiyama—but if I don’t, you’re the serpent who’ll try to finally sink her fangs into me.”

  “Fuck you!” Soussan snapped, her eyes brimming with tears and flashing with anger. “Fuck you, you bastard!” She abruptly reached under the covers and grasped Chant’s stiff, throbbing penis. “You cold bastard! This isn’t a lie, is it?!”

  “Indeed not,” Chant replied evenly, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

  “We fuck pretty good together, don’t we?!”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “Then let’s fuck, damn you!”

  Chant shrugged. “Why not? Unless I’m wrong about you, I’m probably already a dead man.”

  “What happens next?”

  “I don’t know, Chant.”

  Chant sighed wearily. “Come on, Soussan. Don’t repeat your material.”

  “But it’s the truth I would have waited for you on the ice last night, but I left with Yabu and my grandfather because my grandfather told me to. He had to evaluate Yabu’s condition before he could decide what to do next.”

  “Why? I thought I was finished with Yabu.”

  “You know you’re not supposed to win, Chant—and I think even my grandfather was a bit taken aback by the ease with which you went through Ko and Yabu. I don’t know what he’s planning, but there is one thing I’m certain of now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I told you once that I suspected it, but you didn’t believe me. What Grandfather really wants is you and me together, spiritually as well as physically. I’m not your death, Chant; I may be your only chance for life. But you must wrest me from Grandfather and Black Flame. You must win me; to win me, to live, you must trust me.”

  “How is Yabu?”

  Soussan sighed. “Actually, he’s not feeling too chipper. What was left of his hand had to be amputated, and he has a slight case of the sniffles—like double pneumonia.”

  “What explanation was given to the doctors at the hospital where they cut his hand off?”

  “There were no doctors. Grandfather cut off the hand, and he is treating the pneumonia.”

  “It sounds like a good time for me to make a house call.”

  “There’s still Kiyama.”

  “Kiyama dodges bullets?”

  Soussan slowly shook her head. “You won’t find them, Chant. If you even make the attempt, Hmong will die—sooner or later. Your cage still holds, and I’m the only key.”

  “I think it may be better for me to try rattling the bars.”

  “Not unless you want to see a lot of the people you love die. There’s nothing you can do until Grandfather decides what he wants to do next, and he hasn’t told me when that will be.”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to rush Master Bai.”

  “Chant, will you open more doors for me?”

  Chant’s smile vanished. “Nothing is changed, Soussan. I still think you’re full of shit For some reason my will won’t work against you, and I believe that unless I can find some other way to defeat this insanity in me, I’ll surely die.”

  Soussan closed her eyes, choked back a sob. “Oh, Chant … Chant.”

  “Your grandfather plays a ninja game. I penetrated the enemy camp disguised as ‘Colonel Fox.’ Master Bai was amused, and so he sent you, a flicker of Black Flame, to penetrate the enemy camp disguised as … many things. His point, aside from ultimately destroying me in one way or another, is simple: Whatever I can do, he can do better. So far, he’s certainly been proven right. The power you have over me, whatever its source, is incredible.”

  “What if you’re wrong, Chant?” Soussan asked in a trembling voice. Tears sprang to her eyes, rolled down her cheeks. “What if you’ve become too hard, too cruel, too cold to see the truth?”

  “I love it, sweetie. You think your grandfather would want to teach me that lesson?”

  Soussan, crying freely now, shook her head sadly. “No. It would be a lesson of love, of life. Maybe now I know more about love than you do. What if I’m free to choose? What if you throw me away because you won’t trust me, and then die because you won’t trust me?”

  “In that case, Master Bai will certainly have outthought and outfought me, and he’ll deserve the belly laugh he’ll get.”

  “Damn you,” Soussan said softly.

  Chant’s smile was grim. “That may already have happened, Soussan. I knew that was the risk when I started playing with you, and there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it.”

  “But—”

  “Mordan County is a door, as are the things that have happened in it. Everything is a door—or nothing, if Black Flame has burned away the eyes you need to see.”

  “Chant, can there ever be a time when you’ll trust me?”

  “No, Soussan,” Chant said in a flat voice.

  “Then I must leave now,” the woman said evenly.

  Chant waited and watched in silence, his heart pounding and words trapped in his throat, as Soussan quickly dressed. She walked swiftly from the room, closing the door behind her without a backward glance.

  Chant sat very still and erect in a chair for almost an hour, thinking, trying to find his center. Finally he rose and went to the wastebaske
t. He gently lifted up the dead puppy, then cradled it with both hands against his heart as he took it out into the night to be buried.

  SIXTEEN

  Chant had not seen or heard from Soussan in three days. Each of the days had seemed like a week. Soussan’s voice and laughter echoed in his hotel room, and he imagined that he could still taste her body and feel the exquisite sensation of their bodies joined together.

  He was very lonely, Chant thought. And he was also probably lost.

  When he heard the knock on the door, he sprang out of his chair and was across the room in four quick strides. His heart beat faster and he sucked in a deep breath as he flung open the door.…

  Chant slowly let out his breath. “Hello, Kim Chi.”

  “Hello, Chant.”

  “It’s good to see you.”

  “May I come in, please?”

  “Of course,” Chant said, quickly stepping out of the doorway and motioning for Kim Chi to enter. He hoped his distraction and disappointment did not show on his face.

  The Hmong woman entered the room and bowed demurely. She was dressed in an earth-brown silk blouse, matching wool skirt, flesh-colored stockings, and low heels. Her hair had recently been cut, and was shorter than usual. It was the wrong style for her, Chant thought; it only accented the scar on her forehead, and made her seem very plain.

  “Are you all right, Chant?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I said I was all right, Kim Chi,” Chant said with a hint of impatience which he immediately regretted. He was not all right, and he knew it.

  Where was Soussan?

  “You don’t look well.”

  “I’m sorry, Kim Chi,” Chant said, closing the door and motioning for her to sit down “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my manners. Please sit down. Would you like some tea, or something to eat?”

  “No, thank you,” Kim Chi replied, but she did sit down. She crossed her legs, folded her hands in her lap, then looked up at Chant and sighed. “I’ve been worried about you, Chant Many of us have been worried about you.”

  “There was, and is, no need to be.”

  “Chant? Do you need help?”

  “No.”