Black heart, p.7
Black Heart, page 7
Tracy stared at him. He could scarcely believe what he wa< hearing. Atherton Gottschalk stood for everything Tracy had once walked away from.
'I'm afraid you've made the trip for nothing.'
'Now, hold on. Don't make any hasty decisions. I know wha you and Holmgren were up to, trying to unseat me at thi coming convention. I also know your plans extended beyottf the convention. Holmgren would not have turned down hf party's nomination, of that I'm quite certain.
'Why don't you think about it? The plans're already formulated. I'll just appropriate them, changing them a little, d course. What d'you say?' He smiled a campaign smile. 'It's th(
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hance of a lifetime, Tracy because I am going to be our party's
minee come August. And you'll be close to me. I place a very
u-gh value on a man such as yourself. You're a superlative
ombination of brains and guts. I like that. It touches something
inside me.'
'You're talking about an impossibility,' Tracy said. 'You and I could never see eye to eye on the issues.'
'Hell, man, who cares about issues? We're not two politicians in the same race who've gotta lock horns. That's not the game here. You're my media advisor. Not the same thing at all.'
Tracy's gaze was unwavering. 'I think it is. I've got to believe in what I'm doing.'
'Then you're in the wrong ballgame, I'll tell you that straight
out.'
Tracy shrugged.
Gottschalk stared at him. 'Since you're still in this I guess you'll be going to work for that squirt Bill Conley since he's going to run for the spot his former boss so untimely vacated.'
'I haven't made up my mind yet.'
'Oh, hell, sure. You're going to piss in the same John with Conley. I just know you are.'
'I just might.'
Gottschalk went very still. 'It's a whole new race now and I'm going be the one putting the first licks in, make no mistake.' A sudden streak of sunlight breaking out from behind a cloud made him squint. 'What I mean to say is, when a steamroller comes down the street, the smart man swings up onto it. Either that or he steps aside.
'The way I see it. Your only real choice is to come on in with me.' He patted Tracy on the shoulder. 'You think about it. You've got a helluva career ahead of you.'
And with that he was gone, crossing the horse path in long confident strides. In a moment, the gleaming black limo had slid away from the kerb, disappearing amid the greenery and the traffic.
In the east, clouds were piling up, their undersides bruised with incipient rain. The air had turned heavy with humidity and young mothers pushing prams now began to head out of the
6?
park towards the sheltering awnings on the east side of Fiftj Avenue.
A figure in an olive trenchcoat came down off the grass; knoll and, as if on cue, walked towards Tracy. His hands wett in his pockets and the gathering wind lifted the open tails of hn coat so that they flapped at his Sears doubleknit suit trousers.
Even after all these years, Tracy thought, he still hasn'i learned how to dress properly.
'A new career in a new town?" Kim said to him. 'And th{ body just cremated.'
'I thought I'd seen the last of you.' But even as he said it, Traq knew that this meeting was perhaps inevitable. He knew whai it was now that Mai had seen on him when he had come in. Ano it was true, they'd never see each other again. Kim had cornt and that meant the foundation. They weren't through with him yet.
'So did I." Kim shrugged. 'Why don't we take a walk. Just a couple of friends out for a stroll.'
'We were never friends.'
Kim ducked his head. 'For old times' sake then.' He was careful not to touch Tracy. 'There was a time when I thought we didn't need you anymore. You see, I had always thought 01 you as a brilliant but highly erratic kid whose neuroses finally outweighed his usefulness.'
'But now you see it all in a different light.' Tracy could not keep the sardonic note out of his voice.
But Kim only nodded seriously. 'Yes, well, we're both oldei now. From this vantage point, we do see things differently.'
Like the muck at the bottom of a lake disturbed by a careles' swimmer's kick, Tracy found unpleasant memories surfacing within tremulous bubbles. 'With maturity conies an ability to assess the past with objective eyes.'
Kim's sweating face beneath harsh lights, working his particular awful magic on a North Vietnamese. Magic was what the* had decided to call it in Ban Me Thuot rather than acknowledge its real name.
Delicate, precise, vicious, Kim's expertise could extract information from even the most recalcitrant minds.
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'I now understand the enormity of your contribution to the ndation,' Kim said turning up the collar of his coat as the rain
me softly- 'Though I admit it shook me a bit when the n' ctor ASked me to come. I mean, why me, right? Know what h said? "I don't want someone in there who'll sweettalk him
into it"-
'Whatever it is,' Tracy said quickly, 'I don't want any part
fit' He stopped, turned towards the other. They were beneath old oak whose scarred trunk was covered in spray-paint graffiti- 'I know you very well, Kim. Your magic ... the massacres in the jungle. I used to think, Jesus, why'd they even bother to send me along with him? When it came to the Khmer you were a killing machine.'
'I was like anyone else at Ban Me Thuot.'
Tracy shook his head. 'Not at all. You went at it with a gusto that was appalling. Your interest was more than skin deep. It was cultural. You hate the Khmer just as you hate the cornmunists. It was the Communists who killed your family, wasn't
it?'
Kim said nothing. He watched Tracy and listened to the soft patter of the rain slanting down all around them. His feet were already wet inside his shoes and socks. There was a quick sound and he turned his head to look in its direction. Tracy saw the white scar that slashed down from behind one ear along the side of his neck. When he turned back, he was smiling. 'That's all ancient history by now. What difference does it make?'
'Now you take me for a fool. It makes all the difference in the world to you. It's what makes you tick.'
'You misunderstand me, Tracy. But what is the point in explaining it. We stand here in the dampness trading insults like a couple of school boys.' All around them the world had turned grey; foliage rustled beneath the onslaught of the rain.
'You're quite correct. My family means everything to me. You who know me so well. Too well. I told that to the Director but he said that, too, was a plus.'
'Neither of us could ever talk him out of anything,' Tracy said by way of cutting the tension. After all, he didn't have to take
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the thing. He was no longer within the foundation; no lot ,>f under orders. He was his own man.
Kim caught the change in mood immediately and he relate somewhat. His tone softened. 'Frankly, I thought he was out c his mind to send anyone. I told him straight out I didn't thm you wanted any part of us anymore.'
'You're right.'
'Then I heard what this was all about and I changed m mind.'
Tracy looked at him while a young boy bicycled through th rain, a yellow slicker pulled up over his head. There was a splasi as the boy went through a puddle then he was lost within th pelting haze.
This is the moment, Tracy thought, when I should say gooc bye and just walk away. Part of him wanted to, he knew tha' But there was another part of him, the part that Mai had see and reacted to. And that part was the stronger one.
'What's happening?'
Kim nodded. 'The call-up's come.' He paused for a momen as if marshalling his thoughts. 'The- Buddhists have a saying Health is the greatest blessing, contentment the best possession a true friend the nearest of kin.' His head swung around. 'D'yoi believe that?'
'What is this?' Tracy said, abruptly fed up. He felt a suddei chill go through him at the idea of what he was contemplating of what Kim had come here for. 'I was dying in the foundation That's why I left. You didn't understand that at the time. Mayh you thought I was a coward. I don't care what you thought the or think now. It took John Holmgren to breathe the breath o life back into me.'
'Well, it's John Holmgren I've come to see you about, Tracy Kim said calmly. 'We think there was something unnaturi about his death.'
There were more than a half dozen important matters awaum his immediate attention when he returned to the office b» Tracy was interested in none of them. After the exploit information Kim had delivered to him nothing else seen*
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poftant. They had agreed to meet later that night at John's bfownstone but Tracy could not put it out of his mind.
^hat if it were true? The decision to cremate the body ^mediately had been his idea and Mary had jumped at it. She had no desire to see old rumours resurrected; she did not want John's last moments in life talked about in salacious terms, the ending of his life the punch line of smutty jokes.
Tracy punched out the number of his house in Bucks County. After three rings Moira answered. Her voice sounded soft and thin but it grew stronger after she heard his voice.
'I'm still shaky,' she said in his ear, 'but how I love this house, Tracy. I can't thank you enough for letting me stay here. I know what this place means to you.'
'Don't even think about it,' Tracy said honestly.
'What about that cop ... the detective. I don't think I'm up to seeing him yet.'
'Thwaite's out of the picture altogether. A call to the attorney-general axed him. No one's going to bother you.'
'I'm still so confused ... about what really happened.' He could hear her voice breaking apart and abruptly she was sobbing, saying brokenly, 'Oh, Tracy ... I miss him ... so much.'
'Moira,' Tracy said softly, 'in the best of all possible worlds John would still be alive and next January he would be sworn in as President. But that's not how it's going to happen now. We ... both of us have to face up to that. I know it's difficult but we have a special kinship to John. We'll miss him in special ways ... for a long time to come.'
'Yes,' came the whisper in his ear. 'I don't...' Her voice was still thick with emotion. 'I don't know what I'd've done without you, Tracy. I want you to know that.'
'I do.'
'You know, at night when I'm inside the house, I curl up on the couch and watch the face of your Buddha. It's so beautiful, Tracy. I stare into those golden eyes and somehow I feel calmer, 'f only for a little while.'
They spoke for a few moments more and then said good-bye. As he hung up the receiver, Tracy swivelled in his chair, reached
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out for a small stone carving on a stand on one of his boolj shelves. It was a five-sided piece, slightly cracked along Q^ edge. It was old, dating back to perhaps the Seventeen)! Century. The back and sides were still roughsurfaced bj the front had a rounded look, smoothed and darkened aW the high ridged carving by the pressure and oils of constat rubbing.
On that face was the stylized bas-relief image of a Cambodi^ Buddha. He had carried this Buddha in his pocket throughou most of his stay in Southeast Asia.
He had not thought about the day he had acquired the pieo in a long time. But now it seemed quite fitting for the memon to come up. He was not a believer in any religion; worship wi simply foreign to him but when Kim had recited that particuli Buddhist saying, he knew just what he was doing. Tracy's sens of honour and loyalty was as deeply-rooted as the Vietnamese1 hatred. There was obviously an element of Buddhism thi touched him deeply.
Early on in his stay in Southeast Asia, he and three others hai been dropped into the middle of the Cambodian jungle. A well disciplined cadre of Khmer Rouge was disrupting a large sectoi of the US intelligence-gathering apparatus, leaving a trail o over a dozen dead agents. His mission had been to eradicate th band as swiftly as possible.
They had spent the first three days of what had been antio pated as a highly dangerous but relatively short mission fouleJ in the dense and unforgiving jungles. It was just after the raim season and the footing was treacherous. Worse, they found IK signs of the Khmer Rouge band where they were supposed K have had their base camp.
Tracy had elected to push on. Although young, he wa nevertheless already the leader of this small unit. None of th three was over nineteen. Tracy was just twenty-three.
By dusk of the fourth day, the boys in the unit were read' to call it quits; Tracy pushed them on. They came to the vergt of dense foliage without warning.
Beyond rose ancient structures built of enormous blocks o stone. Cautiously Tracy motioned them forward.
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Dusk turned the stone structures blue in the shadows as they t along, their rifles at the ready. Tracy went up a wide flight f stairs into a gallery he judged to be at least three hundred feet long On either side of him carvings of amazing intricacy flowered like blossoms. Mythological scenes of gods and men mingled with panoramas of ancient life. The last culture of Kampuchea surrounded him, mute and impenetrable but moving for all that.
For a time devoid of seconds or minutes, he wandered the halls of history, marvelling at what had once been. But outside the gallery, the livid scars of war were everywhere in evidence. The black acid stains of napalm obscured a frieze here, a string of machine gun bullet holes had chipped away stone bodies of a line of Buddhas there.
Tracy wondered whether he had inadvertently stumbled upon fabled Angkor Wat, built by the Khmer King Suryavarman II somewhere between 1113 and 1152 AD. A temple for the god Vishnu, if he remembered correctly. But he could not place Angkor Wat on his internal map of Cambodia.
He heard a crack to his left and turned. Peters, one of the urban nomads from Detroit, had lifted the butt of his rifle, smashing off the face of one of the sculptures on the side of the building.
Tracy ran towards him, grabbed his shirt-front with his left hand, spinning him towards him, slammed the leading edge of his right knuckles into the boy's face.
Peters went down as if he had run into a sack of cement. His rifle clattered out of his hands. He looked up at Tracy and, rubbing his reddened cheek, said, 'I don't know what the hell you're getting so hot about.' He picked himself up. 'It's not like it was made by Michelangelo or something. It's a fucking slant carving, not worth a damn.' He gestured. 'I mean it's not even Christian, for Christ's sake.'
'This's history,' Tracy said. Anger clotted his voice. 'It's not yours to disfigure or destroy.'
He turned away, looked at the damage. The head of the sculpture was shattered on the stone walkway at his feet. He looked up at the newly disfigured wall, saw it was the image
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of Shiva Peters had wrecked. What was it the Khmer believed, The world will be all right or not depending on the rhythm 0, Shiva's eternal dance.
He took them cautiously through the ruined city, feeli is dwarfed and somehow insubstantial among the relics time ! ^ cast up. On the far side of the city they came upon a sn a] building that was not deserted. It was a temple.
Tracy signalled his men to keep themselves hidden. He left his weapons with them and advanced on the structure. Bj comparison to the looming edifices around it, the temple w^ a simple structure of stone. The furry edges of the snaking foliage which its one doorway faced were already creeping bacl over parts of it.
He heard the high palms ruffled by the wind, the echoes o( the monkey's chattering which had followed them for so man) days. He wished he could stay here and explore the ruins wni the delight of a child.
He saw Khmer villagers emerging from the forest greenery They laid food before the doorway of the temple for it was t basic tenet of Buddhism that the priest could not till the soil to grow his own food lest he inadvertently take the life of ar innocent insect or worm.
Tracy needed information badly. He entered the temple Inside it was dark, the atmosphere thick and smoky with incense A gold image of the Amida Buddha dominated the room, set on a rough stone plinth.
Soldiers had come to the village where this particular Buddhi had originally resided, the priest told him. They had thrown 11 over, scratching its face with the points of their bayonets to determine if it was solid gold.
'When they found that it had merely been gold-washed and was but stone underneath, they burned the altar on which it had sat for two centuries.' He spoke in French.
The man was small, garbed in an orange robe that covered his entire body. His scalp was shaved and as shiny as if he had oiled it. Black stubble showed there.
His face was extraordinary. It seemed to Tracy as if h1' features had been forged by another force besides genetics. H«
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peared to be part of the earth, the sky, thejungle around him. He seemed ... in tune with everything.
But it was not until he reached out and touched Tracy that the full extent of his uniqueness became apparent. It was touch of infinite gentleness: the caress a loving mother imparts to her child. Yet it was filled with the most awesome power Tracy had ever encountered. He was convinced that had the priest wanted to he could have bowled Tracy over with a poke of his forefinger. He seemed invincible, unstoppable;
eternal.
Yet there was nothing godlike about him. He was humble, calm, as watchful as a doe at a stream. No fear flowed through him; and no hostility either. It was as if all these powerful emotions had been leached from him. As if his detachment from them had been a source of his energy. You give up a thing to gain another.
'I know why you have come here," the priest said softly. He had switched to Khmer.
Tracy bowed his head. 'I am sorry now that I came,' he said in the same language.
'Do not feel sorry,' the priest said and something in his touch made Tracy look up His eyes were pools that seemed to reflect the world. 'I will tell you what you wish to know.'
Unaccountably, Tracy felt the hot pressure of tears welling up behind his eyes. He wondered at it for a moment and then he understood The calm he felt here was ageless but it was only a small oasis in the midst of a sea of spilt blood and napalm. Death and destruction and the Khmer Rouge's new order sought to stamp it out. And he understood for the first time the nature of Buddhism; that it was more than a religion. It was a way of life.
