Ник Харкуэй: Tigerman

At the far end of this space was a bed, a work desk with a familiar old laptop, and a selection of bookshelves. Some of these were occupied by digital Betacam cassettes. Yes, of course. The video from the cave. You made it, you put it out. These days you could buy a transmitter on eBay, and they weren’t big.

And all across the carpet, some in random piles and others in perfect neat lines and grids, were comic books, and a dozen chairs and cushions and tables to read at.

He even told me. ‘Many floors underground in my secret volcano base. I drink brandy, wear a smoking jacket.’

The Sergeant took off his mask.

‘Hello, Jack,’ he said.

‘Hello, Lester,’ the boy replied.

It’s not a monster at all. It’s just the end of the world.

‘Is she out there?’ the Sergeant asked after they had stared at one another for a while. ‘Sandrine?’

‘No, of course not,’ the boy said. ‘She is back on the hillside. The town makes her crazy. Crazier. Everything is too big. Too loud. I sent the jeep, the woman. They sang to her and she went with them. It works sometimes.’

The Sergeant nodded. Yes. I see.

‘She cannot,’ the boy began, and choked. He tried again. ‘She cannot be anywhere else. Do you understand? For her, this is the whole world. It is all she is. They cannot evacuate the island. She will still be here, even if we take her away. And in a camp, while they make forms and argue, she will die.’ His voice harshened. ‘And it is a lie! It is unnecessary. Worse, it is stupid. They say it will save the world but Inoue says it will not. I read her reports. All of them. It will not help and they will do it anyway because it is some stupid game! To make law and then hide from it and pretend that is good. And for this stupid game of law they will kill my mother. Throw her away like trash. Because they have no better answer than to explode her home.’

‘So what did you need me for?’

A flash of shame. ‘We were friends.’

‘I thought so.’

‘That is real! We were friends. But I needed magic. And you are magic.’

‘I’m just some bloke!’

The boy shook his head. ‘Not any more. Lester Ferris is a real hero.’

‘Bollocks. You did it all. You made it happen.’

The boy shook his head. ‘Some. I laid a path. But you were more, always. You made it real. The riots, the cave. And you saved my life. In Shola’s.’

‘And you finished the job.’

‘Yes.’ Not a hint of doubt. Yes. I killed the men who would have killed me, who killed Shola. ‘I made it so that they would die. I let it be known that they were talking, and something must be done. That is how it is. Something must be done, and it is.’ He sighed.

‘I am Jack. Before, there was another Jack. I worked for that man, carried messages. I know everything because no one pays attention to me. I know how it works. Then he Left with his money and now there is me. I trade. I do business. No one can find Jack. I make silly voices down tubes. I am analogue. I am a shadow. Without Jack, nothing can happen. So they must deal with me. But someone did not want to. And they found me.’

‘Someone?’

The boy shrugged. ‘The Fleet. Someone. The photograph is me, not Shola. I am the target, the bullseye.’

‘Do you know who?’

The boy nodded. ‘Yes. It is the same, you see? Something had to be done, so it was done. I must die, so an attempt was made. That is the Fleet. There are no people. No one breaks the law! It is just what is necessary and very sad. Shola was collateral. Great shame. The island will burn and my mother will die. Very sad. Film at eleven, drinks and dips.

‘But Jack is Jack. In Jack’s world there are orders and people who give orders. It is personal. You want to know who? The Fleet. The Fleet killed Shola. And Jack does not forgive. So I will kill the Fleet. Shola was my friend and there was no reason…’ He blew air through his teeth in a hiss, tried again. ‘There was no reason for that! No reason at all, just stupid! Why would anyone—’ He swallowed. ‘You stopped it. You saved my life and I saw you and I knew. I knew everything then. I had another plan, before, but it was weak. Tigerman is full of win. Tigerman is everything.’

‘Tigerman is a joke. Here today, gone tomorrow. A madman in a funny hat.’

‘Not so. Tigerman is everyone. He fights crime! He walks through fire and saves the innocent. He burns up drugs. He stops riots.’

‘Your riots.’ Dog-killing, because it would upset the English in particular, and the BBC would have to cover it. And because Sandrine hated dogs, he realised, remembering the cobblestone and the mongrel. She was afraid of them, the way some people are afraid of spiders. Everything serves twice. Three times. Nothing is one thing. Everything is the story.

‘Not mine. Mancreu’s. You cannot make riots. Only make the possibility. You cannot control them. Real riots, real fire.’ The boy stretched out his hand for a moment. ‘Real Tigerman.’ He left the hand there for a moment as if he hoped the Sergeant would take it, but it did not come within reach. Then he straightened and drew his hand back. ‘And tonight he will expose the Fleet. He will show the world. Live on TV! We interrupt this programme! It will be known: this is what is done here, under the cloak of law! Made possible by the nice countries, in the name of the good people. This place is a convenience for killers and torturers and tax evaders and drug bankers, for scum of the earth. But Tigerman will not stand for it! He will not back down! Because he knows what is right.’

‘They’d blow my fucking head off!’

The boy nodded. ‘Yes. They would. Lester Ferris, the hero of Beauville many times over, killed by his own side for being a good man. Close-up pictures. Scandal! He gave his life for a cause, for a people who had made him their own. You see? That is a story! And there is continuity. There is shape. First the cave, then the footrace, now this. And then I would say you gave me something for if this happened, and I would read Inoue’s report. “Mancreu need not burn.” Tigerman’s last will and testament. “This mess was made to order. It is a lie from the beginning. The island need not burn, but if it might burn then it is an un-place and all the dirty deeds can be at home here.” Two weeks ago, no one would care. Today, from Tigerman? It is the greatest show on Earth! Now tell me they would carry on! Tell me they would dare, after Tunisia and Egypt and Libya, after Khaled Saeed and Mohamed Bouazizi! No. No. People would march around the world. Tigerman for ever! For Mancreu! They would. It is a great story. Everyone wants to touch that kind of story.’ He punched the air, then slumped. ‘Already there are shirts. Shirts, and a band in Kentucky. By tomorrow there will be dolls. In six months, a movie. And it would have been an Oscar winner, too.

‘I was going to buy my island with your death, you see. But now, not.’

The Sergeant dragged air into his lungs. He felt as if he was carrying the whole island on his chest. ‘Why not?’

The boy threw his hands in the air. ‘Because White Raoul tricked me! And then he tricked you! He is a wicked, deceitful old man who thinks he is wise, and now words have been spoken and it is impossible to unhear them!’ And then his voice caught, with emotion or puberty or a little of both, the Sergeant could not be sure. ‘ Why couldn’t you come before? ’

‘I’m here now.’

‘Too late.’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’

The boy nodded as if this was a perfect statement of despair. ‘I am a leaf on the wind,’ he intoned.

The Sergeant had no idea what this meant. He said so.