Chris Abani - The Secret History of Las Vegas

Turning to Sunil, he said: Any luck with your psycho mumbo-jumbo on this suspect? Did the Lady Jan here speak to you?

Sunil glanced at Jan, caught her eye, and, looking away quickly, shook his head. No, he said.

Jan, Jan, Jan, Eugene said. You really should open up to Dr. Singh here. His methods have proven quite effective in turning people such as you. I hate to use violence, particularly on someone who can be reasoned with. It’s much better to become an askari without the violence.

Jan stared at him intently, with an almost forensic intensity, but she said nothing.

Are you familiar with the Swahili word askari ? Like Lindiwe over there, these are members of a conquered indigenous people helping their conquerors maintain the status quo. That’s not a literal meaning of course, but it’s true to the spirit of things. Do you know who came up with it? The British, those fokkers who tried to turn the Boer into teefs . Now you conspire with that scum over your people, and to help whom? Kaffirs? You can ask Sunil here, I’m not racist, but there is an order to things, a way the universe runs, and men like me, we are the ones who keep things in place, keep things running the way they should. I take no pleasure in the decisions I have to make, but I make them, I must make them. That is my role. Just as this is the role you’ve chosen. Mine is destiny, yours is weak-willed. I am here to offer you the chance to be strong.

Why all this performance, Jan asked. Her voice startled Sunil, the venom of it, the hard edge of strength, like a finely tuned wire holding everything in place. This was not the shy Jan he’d known.

Performance, Eugene asked, eyebrows raised, reaching for another lobe of pear.

Why don’t you just get on with the torture, with the extermination of the resistance to your white power, she spat.

Eugene chewed thoughtfully, and then with an expression of regret on his face said: I abhor torture. I abhor brutality. These methods, exterminating the native, to borrow your words, are not only barbaric, they are not effective in the long term. The real power lies in securing the cooperation, even the alliance, of the native if we are to hold up this system, and it is not, as you put it, about white power. At least, not for me. I feel more Zulu than white, myself. No, no, it’s about law and order. We represent civilization, law, order, and the march of progress, and for better or worse, this must be defended and moved forward at all costs. I more than any am sorry about the cost. And torture makes me sad, it is regrettable when I have to use it.

Jan spat at him, the gob of spittle landing on the last piece of pear.

Eugene regarded it with a strange smile. I am a visionary, he said. That’s why I brought Dr. Singh here on board. His job is to use a mix of persuasive chemicals and conversion to bring enemies into the fold, into an understanding of the way.

Gaan naai jou Ma , Jan said, softly, so softly that Eugene had to lean in to hear her properly.

Sunil was shocked at the language; the Jan he knew would never have told anyone to fuck his mother. More than the shock was his fear for her. But if Eugene was upset, his body didn’t register it. Instead he leaned forward and picked up the piece of pear with the glistening pearl of spittle on it. He studied it for a moment, then put it in his mouth and, never taking his eyes off Jan, he chewed slowly, thoughtfully.

Talk to Sunil, Eugene said, getting up. Don’t make me come back here.

I’ll talk to him as much as you want, but nothing will change, Jan said, her eyes glued to Sunil’s face, the look in them heavy with pity and disgust.

Eugene paused. He returned to the table and picked up the silver ornamented object.

Remember the Victorians, he asked. They loved to collect the strangest things. This is a working reproduction of a medieval torture device. It belonged to my grandfather, who loved the fact that something so beautiful could inflict so much pain. Do you know what they called this? It’s called the Pear because there is this ornamented pearlike extension on the end of this handle, do you see? Do you know how it works? I’ll show you.

And he did. Holding the handle in the middle, he turned the knob at the bottom. As he did so, the metal pear opened up into four perfect quarters, spreading like the metal petals of a flower.

You see, it’s quite ingenious really. You insert the pear into someone’s mouth, and then you twist the bottom here until it begins to open. You keep twisting it and pretty soon it breaks the teeth, dislocates the jaw, even begins to rip the cheeks apart. Of course, the trick is to do it little by little, pausing occasionally to let the victim catch their breath while you wait for the confession you want.

Everyone watched the metal pear as it opened wider and wider.

Of course, Eugene said, if you go at it long enough, you will eventually kill the victim, but only after a very long time and pain that is unimaginable, even for me. Now, the great thing about this, as I found out once, is that it works on any human orifice. Any.

Eugene put the open pear down on the table in front of Jan.

This is a very rare and expensive piece. I don’t use it often, but for you, only the best will do. So please, talk to Sunil. Don’t make me come back here. I didn’t lie when I said I don’t enjoy torture, but as you now know, I really enjoy pears.

The door closed behind him and Constable Mashile gently, almost politely.

Jan, Sunil said.

Sunil, Jan said.

Harvest moon, Salazar said, as they drove through the silent desert.

What?

The moon, Salazar said, pointing. It’s called a harvest moon.

Ever seen a harvest, Sunil asked.

It’s just an expression, Jesus, Salazar said.

Sunil looked out the window. In the dark, the landscape looked like home, like the brush of the grasslands, the heat of the Namibian desert that seemed determined to creep down into South Africa, the hills like those of Cape Town and the gold silts of Jozi.

Why did you become a policeman, Sunil asked.

Always wanted to be a hero, Salazar said.

Everybody does, but was there any one thing that made you want to do that as a policeman?

I don’t follow.

Well, you could have been a surgeon or a fireman, but you chose policeman. And don’t tell me it’s about the gun. In all the time I’ve been with you, you’ve never used it, never even pulled it out, or even acted like you have it.

Maybe I’m old-school, Salazar said. Maybe I like to settle a fight with my fists. Maybe I’ve used my gun too many times already.

Maybe.

All right. My dad was a man who worked hard his whole life in a job he hated. A job that cut him off from his first love, the sea. He gave everything up for me, my sister, Ana, and my mom. He and Ana died in a robbery in a 7-Eleven that went bad. But because he was an immigrant, a Cuban, a brown man, nobody took his death, or Ana’s, seriously. The police, it seems, didn’t care. The case was closed in a week. Insufficient leads, they said. My mom moved us to Vegas, where she could be as far from that memory as possible. But I never forgot, and I decided to join up when I could and make a difference. I wanted to show that every life is valuable, has meaning, must be honored.

Salazar, I’m fucking impressed. You are some kind of hero, Sunil said.

Yeah, well, twenty years on the force changes you. Teaches you that it’s all about compromise, about gray areas, about difficult moral things. Mostly I just want to make it through the day without having to kill anyone. And trust me, I’ve used my gun plenty. I don’t know why the crazies always turn up on my watch.

I know the difficulty of trying to make moral decisions in the face of immoral moments. I know that there is no moral way to take a life, but sometimes life hands you very difficult choices. Still, you always want to do the right thing, he said.