Sunil swallowed. And these men, he asked. I can’t imagine what they would do that could be worse.
Watch, Eugene said.
The men had gathered axes and machetes and they were systematically chopping the hooded man into pieces, which they threw onto the grill.
They are not—
Going to eat him? No, they are disposing of him. They don’t care that he be returned; they care only that he not be identifiable. It will take about six hours to finish burning his body; highly inefficient, and what is worse is that there is no honor in this.
And yet you let it happen.
All great generals know that they must allow their men sport. All work and no play is bad for morale. This is their sport.
Sunil watched the policemen drinking as the hooded man burned, white and black together, united in this terror.
Do you know why that man died, Eugene asked.
I cannot imagine, Sunil said.
He wouldn’t give up information about the location of ANC terrorists that he was known to associate with. That’s why you are here. I want you to find ways with psychology and drugs to improve the interrogations. I don’t want to waste bodies. I want you to turn prisoners into informants. Only those who must die will die. I don’t enjoy the slaughter; I am a warrior, not a killer.
I traveled from Pretoria with that man, Sunil said. He begged for his life the entire journey.
He wasn’t a man to them, Sunil. It’s like this: every creation story needs a devil. For the Boer, the blacks are the demons.
The man never confessed, Sunil asked, the fire dancing off his eyes and skin, reflecting in Eugene’s glasses.
Never, Eugene breathed, something like respect in his voice.
Then I am just like that man, Sunil said.
How so?
Can I tell you a story?
Sure, Eugene said. I like stories. They help us bond.
Bertolt Brecht told of a European peasant caught by the Nazi invasion. An SS officer commandeers the man’s house and tells him, From now on, I will live here and you will serve me and attend to my every need, and if you do not, I will kill you. Do you submit to me? The peasant doesn’t answer but spends the next two years serving the SS officer in every way. Then the Russians come and liberate the town. They gather all the Nazis in the square, and just before they are shot, the peasant comes up to the officer and answers the question that he greeted with silence two years before. No, he spits at the officer, I will not submit to you. This is the end that awaits apartheid.
Perhaps, Eugene said, and if I am that officer in your story, I will go happy knowing that all I did was in service of a higher ideal and has already been transformed into God’s work. But for now, we need to end some of this killing. Will you help me?
No, but I will help men and women like him, Sunil said, pointing to the burning man. I don’t expect it to be transformed into God’s work, but only hope that mercy may find me before the end of my life.
Welcome aboard, Eugene said.
Together they stood in silence, for the next six hours, watching the burning man.
MONDAY
Forty-seven
Dawn almost never brings clarity with it, and this morning was no different. It was close to four a.m. when Salazar dropped Sunil off.
One of your guests is still waiting, the doorman said as he let him in.
Guests? There’s more than one?
Yes, Dr. Singh, your girlfriend and another woman. An older one.
My girlfriend?
The young lady who is always here. Asia, I think her name is.
Ah, and the older one?
She signed in as Dr. Jackson. She had the same work ID as you. I thought you might be working late, but she left very soon after she arrived.
Huh, thank you, Sunil said. He was unsettled by the idea that Sheila and Asia had met. He didn’t understand why Sheila had come, but he didn’t like that she knew about Asia.
Oh, also the police were here. Several units were broken into and trashed. We were unable to reach you, so please let us know when you get in if your unit was affected too. I will come up and take pictures and file a report with the police for you. At the moment we think it wasn’t a robbery but the work of vandals.
How did vandals get into a secure building, Sunil asked.
The doorman looked down at his shoes. The police and management are investigating, he said.
Sunil contemplated calling Salazar. Fuck, he thought, this is not what I need now. Thank you, he said to the doorman, and crossed to the elevators. As the doors closed, Sunil reached for his phone. Why hadn’t anyone tried to call him, he wondered, and then remembered that his phone had been off, and that he still hadn’t listened to any of his messages.
Why would vandals break into this building? Fuck, he was too tired for drama. He had barely inserted his key into the lock when the door swung open and Asia stood there, face less swollen than before, but clearly badly bruised. She was wearing his shirt and not much else, and in that moment, Sunil hated himself because he was at once turned on and torn up for her.
Asia, he said.
Sunil.
What happened?
I’ve missed you, she said, and her voice was very quiet.
They stood there for a while, as though stranded, stuck, as if waiting for directions from someone hidden in the wings. He smiled suddenly and touched her face, and she pulled back, wincing.
Can I come in, he asked, as though he needed permission.
She stepped back and he shut the door behind him, then drew her to him, holding her close, yet gently, so as not to hurt her.
Did the vandals do this to you?
No, she said. They were long gone by the time I got here.
Did a client do it?
She nodded against his shoulder.
Have you been checked out, medically?
I’m fine, really.
Was it, you know—
Rape? No.
What then?
Someone tried to kill me.
Oh baby, he said, and his voice was heavy with sorrow and guilt and despair. I’m so sorry, so sorry. What did the police say?
The casino handled it. You know, it would get awkward with the police; I would be arrested for solicitation. Besides, he got away.
I’m so sorry, Sunil repeated, realizing that, like most people, he kept forgetting that although prostitution was legal in most of Nevada, it was actually illegal in Vegas itself.
I’m okay, Asia said, but her voice was slight, a faint tremolo against his skin.
They stood there for a while in silence, Sunil stroking her hair.
Sheila was here looking for you, she said, trying to keep the jealous bite out of her voice.
Did she say what she wanted?
To see you. Like me, she was worried. We’d both been trying to call you all day.
I’m sorry. My phone was switched off.
I needed you today.