Chapter 34

Samay cried.

The man named William O’Neil placed a hand on his wet shoulder and squeezed. Samay’s head was wrapped in cellophane, covered with moving beads of water that felt like silver insects travelling hungry paths. Plastic bunched around his eyes and a ragged hole split the cellophane over his mouth. From the mask, O’Neil’s face appeared as distorted as a reflection in a fun house mirror.

He lifted a running hose from the bottom of the tub with his left hand and poured water in Samay’s mouth-hole. The sounds of his own spits, gargles and groans bounced off the motel's bathroom tiles.

The water stopped.

“Your choice,” O’Neil said. “Say all you know, shout it loud and clear. Or suffer.”

Samay screamed against the plastic. His breath pumped the mask like a bellows before he spoke.

“His name is Pon. Pon is the one you’re looking for.”

For some reason his mouth was being filled again. He spoke faster and louder.

“Pon killed them. Victor Rodriguez. The men who came for Channary.”

O’Neil’s right hand returned to Samay’s shoulder and massaged.

“Pon will kill me,” he said at the end of his confession. He thought the comforting hand meant it was over.

More water, a third time.

Finally, when it was done and Samay’s hurried breaths prevented him from speaking, O’Neil cut the tape that held him to the inverted board, helped him up, and freed his face.

“I’ve betrayed the devil,” Samay gasped.

O’Neil squatted in front of him and held his face with a strong hand.

“No. You’ve helped make him a real ghost.”

****

Sour breath woke Samay on Wednesday night. Vithu’s hateful face loomed just inches away. His tormentor collected Samay’s shirt at the collar and yanked him out of bed.

Not again. How had Vithu found out?

For three nights Vithu had punished Samay for his betrayal of Pon. For three nights Samay had endured beatings in the basement with whips and fists until his back and buttocks were raw. He didn’t think he’d survive another round.

Vithu lifted him and hurled him through the bedroom door, into the hallway. Samay knew his pleas for forgiveness would draw even more punishment, but begged anyway. Maybe the right words would soften Vithu’s stone heart.

“I can’t. Not again. Please, Vithu. No.”

Vithu dragged him to the top of the stairs and hurled him down. Every inch of his body hurt, and the tenderness became agony with each new punch and kick. The curve in the staircase saved him from tumbling far, but his body hit the plaster so hard it cracked. Samay struggled to his feet and continued ahead of his devil. He braced himself with a hand on the curved wall, and saw when he took it away he’d left handprints of blood. For the first time in his life, he decided to pray, even though he didn’t know how.

Oh Great Spirit, take Vithu out of my life. Kill him, or just make him vanish. Your choice. I’ll promise you anything. I beg you sincerely.

Vithu knocked him down the remaining steps and he tumbled onto the faded rug in the dark basement, into the dank, cold cellar.

Oh Great One, rip this gang’s tattoo from my arm. I hate this life. I will deny my vows, even to eyewitnesses. I hate them all dearly.

The light flicked on. Pon stood in the middle of the rug, in front of the bound body of William O’Neil. His arms were tied by rope that ran over the rafters, and his legs were lashed to a metal support pole. His face was swollen and his chin rested on his chest. Bruises and welts covered his shirtless torso. Maybe tonight wasn’t about fists and whips. Samay felt elated, but wary.

Vithu poised to strike Samay again, but Pon waved him off.

“My brother Samay,” Pon said. “Is this the man who tormented you?”

“Yes. He’s the monster.”

Pon pulled a knife from a sheath on the table next to him. The knife had ornate carvings on the handle and serrations on the blade, and curved like a scimitar. He laid the flat of the blade against O’Neil’s cheek.

“Here’s your chance for revenge, for justice.” He turned the knife and presented it to Samay.

Overhead, the floor creaked under the sound of slow footsteps. A siren wailed far away. Samay stared at the knife. Vithu paced behind them.

Kill or be killed?

“Make a choice,” Pon said. He touched the taut rope. “You may show mercy. The knife can also be freedom.”

Water dripped in a dark corner. The sharp sound of each drop echoed and blended into the next.

“But if I let him go, he’ll kill you,” Samay said. “He told me so.”

Pon lifted O’Neil’s head by the hair. The captive’s still eyes looked brittle. “Look at him, Samay. He’s defeated. The life is gone, can you see it? The resignation on his face? He doubts himself. He might welcome death. Another choice for you to consider. It’s difficult, isn’t it? All the choices. Don’t kill him for me. I don’t fear this man.”

Pon’s voice was hypnotic, soothing. “So what will it be, Samay? Choose wisely.”

Choose wisely? What choice will save me?

Samay raised the knife to O’Neil’s throat. What choice would please them? Did he have to kill to make Pon happy? And if he did, would the ghost of William O’Neil haunt him for the rest of his life?

Samay touched the rope with the knife. Pon smiled. Samay sawed with vigor and fibers popped free from the rope. Soon he was halfway through.

This is the right choice. Pon’s smile says so.

Suddenly Vithu stepped forward, wrested the knife from Samay’s hand, and dragged the scimitar blade across O’Neil’s throat. Blood poured and darkened his pale chest and belly. Samay gasped and backed away.

Vithu balled his fist and cocked his arm. The HATE tattoo seemed to grow.

“This is strength,” Vithu screamed. He reared back and punched Samay so hard he fell to the carpet. Vithu stood over him and held the knife inches from Samay’s face. Blood covered the blade and guard.

“And this is justice.”

****

An hour later Samay dragged the dory across ragweed and tall grass. Its bottom whispered along the growth until it clattered over small rocks imbedded in the muddy bank. It slipped into the black river silently and spun in a slow, wide arc. He secured the bow line as Pon and Vithu lifted the body of William O’Neil, wrapped with canvas and bound with rope, into the boat’s flat bottom.

The moon was a sliver, stars barely visible. Vithu climbed over the transom, balancing himself with a hand on the gunwale. The sucking mud tried to keep him on land. He sat on the wood seat near the stern, inches from O’Neil’s head.

Pon pushed away from shore and stepped in, feet steady in the rounded bottom. He sat in the front seat and Samay fit the oars into the half-rings. He twisted the oar handles until the paddles ran perpendicular to the water, and pulled a steady stroke that swept them into the middle of the river. The oars created tiny whirlpools and the ripples glistened in the moonlight. The wake grew into a giant fan.

The Saugus River coiled. Samay rowed around a bank and pulled hard, the metal oar locks creaking. His arms burned from the pain of Vithu’s beatings, and the night air stung his raw, beaten face. His neck screamed in agony when he occasionally looked back and corrected course when he drifted too far from the middle.

Two curves later, lonely railroad tracks stretched on the berm to their right, along with dark houses shrouded in fog. Grassy banks stood on their left, jutting chins with green beards, too muddy to hold houses. Samay pulled the oars in and helped Vithu heft the body onto the gunwale. Pon lifted the cinderblock and they dropped both into the black water together. The river cratered, rippled, and smoothed.

“Food for you, fish,” Vithu said.

Bubbles rose to the surface and broke in a frothy circle.

“Ocean Park is hungry since Tommy Lopez died,” Vithu said. “It’s our job to feed them.”

The boat seesawed back and forth. Samay sat and listened. Pon answered.

“Buddha says a warrior becomes the devil he vanquishes.”

“You quote Buddha?” Vithu replied. “After desecrating a church with Rodriguez’s murder, after slaughtering an army in our very home?”

“You talk to fish. You should also talk to Buddha.”

“I have, Pon. Our brothers are restless. They worry about money. They ask about their future, how Pon will help them. I say Pon does nothing for others, only for himself.”

“Will you help them to their graves, Vithu?”

“They say I’m their savior. They say I killed Victor Rodriguez and those who came for the girl. I don’t correct them. I took your sins from you, Pon. Now I’ll be feared and respected like Tommy Lopez.”

“Those I kill asked to die. They whispered it like the fish, Vithu, for those who chose to listen.”

“Did you ask to die, Pon?” Vithu held his hand over the spot where they’d dropped the body. “What about this demon? If not for me, he would have killed you. You’re a great warrior, my friend, but your work here is done. We no longer need you.”

Pon stood, perfectly balanced, and drew his knife. The river hardly rippled.

“I won’t leave snakes behind, Vithu.”

Samay shrank to the side of the boat. Vithu stood and the boat yawed. He reached and steadied himself on the starboard edge.

Vithu and Pon faced each other. Water gently slapped the hull. Moonlight flashed on the knife suddenly in Vithu’s hand.

Pon held his own dagger in front of his face like a knight presenting his sword, and whispered, “I’m listening, Vithu. When you’re ready, I’m listening.”

After a long time, Vithu sat down and turned his face toward the banks. Samay turned the boat and pulled a long stroke, while Pon stood still on the bow, spread-eagled and as unmoving as a figurehead.