24

Valhalla: From the Runyonese

Vincent Bennidetti was sitting at an oversized table dealing five-card draw to five other guys and relating the story of the crash landing of the Sky Priestess in hopes that the tale would distract his opponents from his creative shuffling.

"So the squirt says to me, he says, 'I'm Malink, chief of the Shark People,' and he puffs up his little chest like I'm supposed to be impressed and drop down and kiss his ring, except he ain't wearing any ring; in fact, he ain't wearing nothing but a loincloth and a little hat made of palm leaves, so I says, 'Honored and charmed I'm sure, Chief.' And I gives him a grade A Hershey bar as a peace offering to assure that the kid doesn't get any ideas about ventilating me with his spear. Although I have a roscoe handy in my flight suit, in Manhattan it is considered very bad luck indeed to shoot a kid unless he deserves it, so I am trying to take the diplomatic route.

"So the squirt chief takes the sweet and slaps a lip over a morsel and his little mug splits in a grin so big that I'm figuring I know now how his tribe gets named Shark People. And before I know it the kid yells something to his pals and they vamoose to the jungle while I watch the squirt's spear and he keeps a peeper peeled at the Sky Priestess like any minute she's gonna jump off the plane and do the bump and grind across the airstrip.

"Now we are sure that Sky Priestess is not burning or blowing up, Sparky goes back in and sings Mayday on the radio until I am thinking that even Marconi is sorry he ever invented the machine (another distinguished Italian genius, if I may point out, and it would be impolite for anyone, at this juncture, to mention Mussolini, as I will have to delay the game whilst I pop him in the beezer,

thank you), and finally HQ comes back on and requests more than somewhat sternly that we cease broadcasting our position, as they will send someone as soon as they can unless the Japs find us first, in which case it has been an honor serving with us.

"Call and raise a buck.

"So the squirt asks me do I kill Japs? And I tell him that I am killing so many Japs I have to come rest on his island for a few days to give the Japs a chance to send in reinforcements for me to kill, when out of the jungle comes a whole platoon of native guys, mostly real old guys, carrying baskets of fruit and coconuts and dried fish which they are laying at my feet after doing enough bowing and chanting to fill a year of encores on Broadway.

"And the kid says, 'You more powerful than Father Rodriquez. Japs kill him.' From which I figure where the kid learns to speak English and why I am seeing no young guys, because it is well known that the Japs have killed any missionaries they find and have taken most of the able-bodied native guys which they do not kill off to build airstrips and boat landing ramps and other Jap military stuff.

"'Yeah,' I tells the kid, 'too bad about Father Rodriquez, and all the other guys that don't make it, but Vincent and the Sky Priestess is here now and you got nothing to worry about.' Then I inquire as to if there are any available dolls on the island and the kid jabbers something to one of the old guys, who wobbles off and comes back about ten minutes later with a line of young native dolls who are wearing skirts on their bottom but are nothing but bounce and bosoms on the top, except for the odd garnish of flowers here and there for fragrance and color.

"I swear on my mother's grave (should she pass away before I get home) that I am looking at more brown curves than I have seen since I fly over the Mississippi at ten Gs, and they are by no means an unpleasant sight, but as soon as I pick out one of the young dolls and give her my best Tyrone Power wink, she starts bawling like I have broken her heart and runs into the jungle followed, posthaste, by the other lovelies until the airstrip is, once again, strictly stag.

"'What goes?' I ask the kid. And he explains that because I am a god the dames are most frightened that I will destroy them. Then the squirt starts bawling himself, and I am beginning to feel very low indeed, as I can see that the little guy has taken my god action and it is six to five that he thinks he is on the destruction express along with the dames, and some explanation and consolation are

then needed to caulk the kid's waterworks and generally ease his mind.

"So I sits down with the kid under the wing of the Sky Priestess and by and by along comes an old native guy with a jug of the local hooch, of which I am somewhat dubious and which tastes like matchheads mixed with dishwater but smooths out considerably after the first four or five belts, and soon the mood becomes most festive and a good time is had by all (except for Sparky, who is bending over the runway looking at everything he drinks for the second time).

"Now all of this time I am thinking that the kid is running a game on me about being chief until he explains that the Japs killed his father and his older brother as examples and he is next in line, so he is chief whether he likes it or not. And now he is worried that his people will not have enough to eat, as the Japs have taken most of the fruit and coconuts and destroyed all the canoes and cargo, like rice, which the late Father Rodriquez brings in, and my heart is breaking for the kid, who should be playing stickball and stealing candy and other assorted kid activities instead of worrying about a whole population of citizens. So I look at my guys eating all the food the kid gives us, and my heart is feeling very heavy indeed, so I tell him not to worry, as Vincent and the Sky Priestess will see that his people get everything they need and I gives the kid a pack of Luckys and my Zippo to seal the promise. Then, as soon as Sparky finishes doing the rainbow yawn, I tells him to get on the radio to a friend of mine who is in the quartermaster corps, and I gives him a list of things to place on the PT boat which is coming to get us.

"So as the evening wears on, the kid is telling me stories of how the island was made by a dame from Yap who rides on a turtle with a basketful of dirt which she dumps in the ocean, making the island, which must have been quite some basket, and she tells all the children she is having on the island (although the kid says nothing about her having an old man) that she isn't going to give them a good reef for fishing, so they are going to be eating sharks. And although the people of all the other islands are afraid of sharks, here the sharks are afraid of the people. 'They will be called the Shark People,' the dame with the dirt says.

"And I says, 'Yeah, I know that dame.' That, in fact, I take her to the races one day and she is such good luck that I win the trifecta for five Gs. And I can see the kid is most impressed, even though he wouldn't know a G from a G-string. So I begins to lay it on a bit

thick and by the time we have consumed all of the local bug juice and most of the fruit and fish, the kid is convinced that if I am not the Second Coming, I am at least pinch-hitting that day.

"By now I am feeling I am in serious need of female company and I mention this to the kid, who says maybe there is something he can do, as there is one doll in the village whose job it is to change the oil of the unmar-ried native guys (I am at once reminded of a costume optional dancer named Chintzy Bilouski, who performs a similar service for myself and many other unmarried male citizens in the Broadway district) and it seems that this native doll has been short of work of late, as all of the young un-married guys are either killed or taken away. And the kid says he will ap-proach this doll on my behalf if I promise that she will not burst into flames or be otherwise harmed and as long as I keep it quiet. As these are similar terms I agree to with Chintzy Bilouski (and a sawbuck cheaper, in fact), I tell the kid to lead the way, which he does. And soon we are in a big grass house by the beach, which he calls the bachelors' house, and which is clearly intended to house many citizens, but is currently only the home of one doll, who is by no means hard on the peepers and who proceeds immedi-ately to catch up on any work she has been missing in a most enthusiastic and friendly manner, if you know what I mean.

"So, to make a long story short, the guys and I spend three more days telling stories to the kid and drinking bug juice and creeping to the bachel-ors' house until the PT boat shows with some mechanics and welders and all the supplies I have requested from my pal the quartermaster. And the islanders all line up while I pass out many machetes and knives and chocolate bars and various other luxuries from Uncle Sam. And that night they throw a big party in my honor with much drinking and dancing and a swell time is had by one and all. But as we are ready to leave, the kid chief comes up all leaky-eyed, asking why am I leaving and will I come back and what will his people do without me. So I promise him I will be back soon with many wonderful things and to save me a spot in the bach-elors' house, but until then, every time he sees a plane, he and his people will know that me and the Sky Priestess are looking out for them.

"Then when we are back at base I am working something with the colonel to run a recon mission to inspect the airstrip for emergency use. No bombs. I am thinking we will fill the Sky Priestess up with medicine and supplies for the Shark kid and his people as soon as permission comes through. And I'm fully intending to come

through, as I gives the kid my word and he believes it, but how am I to know that on our very next bombing run a squadron of Zeros will surprise us and fill the Sky Priestess with all manner of cannon and machine gun slugs, sending us down in a ball of flames and killing me and everyone aboard quite dead."

The guy with the beard cleared his throat and said, "That was a swell story the first dozen times we heard it, Vinnie, but are you going to talk or play cards?"

"Bite me, Jewboy, it ain't like we haven't had to fight the yawns through your loaves and fishes epic a hundred fuckin' times." Then Vincent flashed him a feral grin. "And since it is now your bet, I will advise you to fold, as I am now holding a hand that is so hot it is about to burst into flames like the proverbial bush."

The guy with the beard held up a punctured palm to silence Vincent. "You're holding a pair of eights, Vinnie."

"I hate fuckin' playing with you," Vincent said.

25

We Ask the Gods for Answers and They Give us Questions

Tucker Case heard the beating of wings above his head and suddenly there was a familiar little face in front of him. Roberto was hanging upside down from the harness ropes around Tuck's chest. He never thought he'd be glad to see the little vermin.

"Roberto! Buddy!" Tuck smiled at the bat.

Roberto squeaked and bent forward to lick Tucker's face.

Tucker sputtered. He could smell papaya on the bat's breath.

"How about climbing up there and gnawing through these ropes, little guy?"

Roberto looked at him quizzically, then laid a big lick on him, right across the lips.

"Ack! Bat spit!"

Tuck heard a weak voice from above. "He no gnaw rope. His teeth too little," Kimi said.

Roberto took flight and landed on Kimi's head and began licking and clawing him ecstatically.

Kimi was suspended about two feet above Tucker and about five feet away. It hurt his neck, but he could see the navigator dangling if he stretched. "You're alive!" Tucker said. "I thought you were dead."

"I am bery thirsty. Why you put us in tree?"

"I didn't. It was an old island guy. I think he's going to eat us."

"No, no, no. No cannibal in these islands for many years."

"Good. You tell him that when he comes back."

Kimi struggled against his bonds and set himself spinning. "These ropes hurt on my arms. Someone put us in crab harness."

"I figured that out," Tuck said. He craned his neck and eyed Kimi's harness. "Maybe I can swing to you and catch on to your harness.

If I can get hold of it, I might be able to untie you."

"Good plan," Kimi said.

"Yankee know-how, kid."

As Tuck started to swing his arms and legs, he felt the harness tighten around his chest. Soon he was swinging in a wide elliptical pattern that brought him within a foot of Kimi, but the harness was so tight he could barely breathe. Weakened from lack of food and water, he gave up. "I can't breathe," he gasped.

"That good plan, though," Kimi said. "Now I have Roberto bring that knife over by door of house and I cut the ropes. Okay?"

"Roberto can fetch?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"I want to see Yankee know-how."

Sarapul tried to run back to his hut, but the pain in his ancient knees wouldn't allow him to move faster than a slow amble. If only he could ab-sorb the power of an enemy or two, perhaps the pain would subside and his strength would return along with his courage. It was courage he needed now. Instead, he had questions.

Why, if Malink dreamed a message from Vincent, did the white bitch say that he did not? And if Vincent had sent a pilot, why did the Sky Priestess not know about him? And if Vincent had not sent a pilot, who is hanging in the breadfruit tree?

In the old days Sarapul would have asked the turtle, his clan animal, for an answer to his questions. Then he would have watched the waves and listened to the wind for an answer, perhaps he would have gone to a sor-cerer for an interpretation. But he was too deaf and blind to see a sign now. And the only sorcerer left was the white man who lived behind the big fence and gave medicine to the Shark People: Vincent's Sorcerer. Sarapul didn't believe in Vincent any more than he believed in the god Father Rodriquez had worn around his neck on a chain.

Father Rodriquez had said that the old ways - the taboos and the totem animals - were lies and that the skinny white god on the cross was the only real god. Sarapul was prepared to believe him, especially when he offered everyone a piece of the body of Christ. But Christ tasted like dried pounded taro and Father Rodriquez lost

the old cannibal as a convert when he said that you would be thrown into fire forever if you ate anyone besides the stale starchy god on the cross.

Then the Japanese came and cut off Father Rodriquez's head and threw his god on a chain into the sea. Sarapul knew for sure then that the Father had been lying all along. The Japanese raped and killed his wife and made his two sons work building the airstrip until they became sick and died. He asked the Turtle why his family had been taken away, and when the sign came in the form of a cloud shaped like an eel, the sorcerer said that it had happened because the Shark People had broken the taboos, had eaten their totem animals and taken fish from the forbidden reef: They were being punished.

The next night Sarapul killed a Japanese soldier and built an oom to bake him in, but none of the Shark People would help him. Some were afraid of the god of Father Rodriquez and the rest were afraid of the Japanese. They took the body and fed it to the sharks who lived at the edge of the reef.

In the morning the Japanese lined up the old sorcerer and a dozen children and machine-gunned them. And Sarapul lost his mind.

Then the American planes came, dropping their bombs and fire from the sky for two days, and when the explosions stopped and the smoke cleared, the Japanese left, taking with them all the coconuts and breadfruit on the island. A week later Vincent arrived in the Sky Priestess.

Sarapul still had the machete that the flyer had given him. It was more than he had ever gotten from Father Rodriquez's god, but the cannibal did not believe that Vincent was a god. Even if Vincent had scared away the Japanese and brought the food that saved the Shark People, Sarapul had angered the old gods before and he would not do it again.

When the white Sorcerer arrived, he too talked of the god on the cross and although the Shark People took the food and medicine he gave them and even attended his services, they would not forsake Vincent, their savior. The god on the cross had let them down before. Eventually, the white Sorcerer turned to Vincent too. But Sarapul clung to the old ways, even when the Sky Priestess returned with her red scarf and explosions. It was all just entertainment: Christ was just a cracker, Vincent was just a flyer, and he, Sarapul, was a cannibal.

Still, he did not blame Malink for banishing him or for clinging to Vincent's promises. Vincent was the god of Malink's childhood, and Malink clung to him in the same way that Sarapul clung to the old ways. Faith grew stronger when planted in a child. Sarapul knew that. He was mad, but he was not stupid.

Until now he had never put an ounce of faith in Vincent, but this dream of Malink's vexed him. He would have to figure things out before he ate the man in his breadfruit tree. He had to talk to Malink now.

The cannibal took the path that led into the village. He crept between the houses where the sweet rasp of snoring children wafted through the woven grass walls like the sizzle of frying pork, through the smoke of dying cook fires, past the bachelors' house, the men's house, and finally to the beach, where the men sat in a circle, drinking and talking softly, the moon spraying their shoulders with a cold blue light.

The men continued to talk as Sarapul joined the circle, politely ignoring the creak and crackle of his old joints as he sat in the sand. Some of the younger men, those who had grown up with the disciplinary specter of the cannibal, subtly changed position so they could reach their knives quickly. Malink greeted Sarapul with a nod, then filled the coconut shell cup from the big glass jug and handed it to him.

"No coffee or sugar for a month," Malink said. "Vincent is angry."

Sarapul drained the cup and handed it back. "How about cigarettes?"

"The Sorcerer says that cigarettes are bad."

"Vincent smoked cigarettes," Sarapul pointed out. "He gave you the lighter."

The young men fidgeted at the firsthand reference to Vincent. It disturbed them when the old men spoke of Vincent as if he was a person. Malink reached inside the long flat basket where he kept the lighter along with his other personal belongings. He touched the Zippo that Vincent had given him.

"Cigarettes aren't good for us," he repeated.

"Then they should give us cigarettes for punishment," Sarapul insisted.

Malink pulled a copy of People magazine from his basket, drawing everyone's attention away from the cannibal. The old chief tore a small square from the masthead page and handed it to Abo, a

muscular young man who tended the tobacco patch for the Shark People.

"Roll one," Malink said. Abo began filling the paper with tobacco from his basket.

Malink opened the magazine on the sand in front of him and squinted at the pages in the moonlight. Everyone in the circle leaned forward to look at the pictures.

"Oprah's skinny again," Malink pronounced.

Sarapul scoffed and the men angrily looked up, the young ones looking away quickly when they saw who had made the noise. Abo finished rolling the cigarette and held it out to Malink. The chief gestured to Sarapul and Abo gave the smoke to the old cannibal. Their hands brushed lightly in the exchange and Sarapul held the young man's gaze as he licked his finger as if tasting a sweet sauce. Abo shuddered and backed to the outside of the circle.

Malink lit the cigarette with the sacred Zippo, then he returned to his magazine. "There will be no more People for a while, not with the Sky Priestess mad at us."

A communal moan rose up from the men and the drinking cup was filled and passed.

"We are cut off," Malink added.

Sarapul shrugged. "All the people in this book, they shit. It does not matter. They die. It does not matter. If we put them all in a big boat and sank it, you would not even know for six months when the Sky Priestess gives you her old copy, and it still would not matter. This is stupid."

"But look!" Malink pointed to a picture of a man with unnaturally large ears, "This man is a king and he wishes to be a tampon. It is quoted."

Sarapul scrunched up his face, his wrinkles folding over each other like venetian blinds, while he tried to figure out what, exactly, a tampon was. Finally he said, "I was a tampon once, back in the old days, before you were born. All warriors became tampons. It was better then."

"You have never been a tampon," Malink stated, although he couldn't be sure. "Only a king may be a tampon. And now, without People, we will never know if this man who would be a tampon succeeded. It has been a dark day."

The cup had come around again to Sarapul and he drained it before answering. "Tell me of this dream you had."

"I should not speak of it." Malink pretended to be engaged in the magazine.

Sarapul pushed on. "The Sky Priestess said that Vincent spoke to you of a pilot. Is that true?"

Malink nodded. "It is true. But it is only a dream or the Sorcerer would have known."

Sarapul was torn now. This was his chance to discredit the Sorcerer and his white bitch, but if he told Malink about the man in the tree, then he would lose his chance to taste the long pig again. Then again, he found them first, and he was willing to share the meat. "What if your dream was true?"

"It was just a dream. Vincent speaks to us only through the Sky Priestess now. She has spoken."

"Vincent smoked and she says smoking is bad. Vincent was an enemy of the Japanese and now she has Japanese guards inside the fence. She lies."

Some of the men moved away from the circle. It was one thing to drink with a cannibal, but it was quite another to tolerate a heretic. (Of the twenty men in the circle, three of the elders were named John, four who had been born during Father Rodriquez's tenure were named Jesus [Hey-zeus], and three of the younger men were named Vincent.) They were a group that honored the gods, whoever the gods might be that week.

"The Sky Priestess does not lie," Malink said calmly. "She speaks for Vincent."

Sarapul pinched the flame of his cigarette with his ashy fingers, then popped the stub into his mouth and began to chew as he grinned. "Your dream was true, Malink. I have seen the pilot. He is on Alualu and he is alive."

"You are old and you drink too much."

"I'll show you." Sarapul leaped to his feet to show that he was not drunk, and in doing so scared the hell out of the younger men. "Come with me," he said.

26

Swing Time

Kimi had freed his hands and feet with the knife, only to find that he could not reach the rope suspending him from the middle of his back. Now he was forced to follow Tuck's plan of swinging like a human pendulum until he could grab the pilot's rope and cut him down. Roberto hung upside down from a nearby branch, wondering why his friends were behaving like fighting spiders.

Tucker found he could only hold his head up for a few seconds at a time before dizziness set in, so he watched the navigator's swinging shadow to gauge his distance. "One more time, Kimi. Then grab the rope." It bothered him some that when he was cut loose he would fall six feet and land face-first in the coral gravel, but he was learning to take things as they came and figured he would deal with that on the way down.

"I hear someone," Kimi said. On the apex of his arc, he grabbed for Tuck's rope, missed, and accidentally raked the knife across the pilot's scalp.

"Ouch! Shit, Kimi. Watch what you're doing." Tuck braced himself for the next attack, which never came. He looked up to see that Kimi's arc had been stopped in mid-swing. A rotund gray-haired native had caught the navigator around the waist and was prying the knife out of his hand.

Tuck felt the hope drain out of him. The leathery old cannibal stood amid a group of twenty men. All of them seemed to be waiting for the fat guy to say something. It was time for a last-ditch effort.

"Look, you motherfuckers, people are expecting me. I'm supposed to be flying medical supplies for a big-time doctor, so if you

fuck with me you're all going to die of the tropical creeping crud and I won't give you so much as a fucking aspirin."

The native released Kimi into the hands of two younger men and regarded Tuck. "You pilot?" He said in English.

"Damn right I am. And I'm sick and infected and stuff, so if you eat me you're going to die like a gut-shot dog - and in addition I would like to add that I don't taste anything like Spam." Tuck was breathless from the diatribe and he was starting to black out from trying to hold his head back.

The native said something in his own language, which Tuck took to be "Cut him down," because a second later he found himself falling into the arms of four strong islanders who lowered him to the ground.

Tucker's arms and legs burned as the blood rushed back into them. Above him he saw a circle of moonlit brown faces. He managed to grab enough breath to squeak, "Soon as I'm on my feet, your asses are mine. You all might as well just go practice falling down for a while so you'll be used to it. Just order the body bags now 'cause when I'm done, you're going to look like piles of chocolate pudding. They'll be cleaning you up with shovels - you..." Tuck's breath caught in his throat and he passed out.

Malink looked at his old friend Favo and smiled. "Excellent threat," he said.

"Most excellent threat," Favo said.

Sarapul pushed his way through the kneeling men. "He's dead. Let's eat him."

"He no like that," Kimi said. "Not even for free."

The Sorcerer heard the lab door open and turned from his microscope just

in time to catch her as she ran into his arms.

"Did you see, 'Bastian? Was I great or what?"

He held her for a second, smelling the perfume in her hair. "You were great," he said. When he released her, there were two pink spots on his lab coat from the rouge she had rubbed on her nipples.

She skipped around the lab like a little girl. "Malink was shaking in his shoes," she said. Well, not in his shoes, but you know what I mean." She stopped and looked into the microscope. "What's this?"

He watched a delicate line of muscle run down the back of her thigh and postulated what kind of genetics went into preserving a

body like that on Chee-tos and vodka. He thought a lot about genetics lately. "I'm doing the last of the tissue typing. I should be finished in a couple of days."

She said, "Did you like 'String of Pearls' better than 'In the Mood'?"

High Priestess of the nonsequiter, Sebastian thought. "It was perfect. You were perfect."

She moved away from the microscope and paced around the table, frowning now, as if she was working on an equation in her head. "I've been thinking about 'Pennsylvania 6-5000,' putting the ninjas in top hats and tails in kind of a chorus line. You know, they could carry me across the runway and pause and shout the chorus. There's no singing on the re-cording; they would just have to shout. I mean, if we have to have them around, they might as well do something." She stopped pacing and turned to him. "What do you think?"

It took Sebastian a second to realize that she was serious. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea. The Shark People are suspicious of the nin - , the guards. I wish Akiro would have listened to me and found some non-Japanese. This business with Malink's dream is a sign that our credibility is slipping."

"That's what I'm saying. If we show that they're under the control of the Sky Priestess - "

"I don't think it's a good idea, Beth."

She dismissed the thought with a wave. "Fine. We can talk about it later."

Sebastian wanted to stop himself before he ruined her ebullient mood, but he pressed on despite himself. "Don't you think that no coffee or sugar for a month was a little harsh?"

"You really don't get it, do you? I'll give it all back after a week, 'Bastian, and they'll love me for it. Generosity of the gods: The Sky Priestess taketh away and the Sky Priestess giveth back. It's how these things work. You put a few people on a boat, then you drown every living creature on the planet - the people on the boat are pretty goddamn grateful." She flipped the end of her red scarf over her shoulder.

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

"You make the rules and you play the game, 'Bastian. What's wrong with that?"

He turned from her and pretended to go through some notes. "I guess you're right," he said, but he felt acid rising from his stomach. She was calling it a game.

She came up behind him, pushed her breasts into his back, and reached around inside his lab coat. "Poor baby. You still feel like you did the right thing by burning your Beatles records."

"Beth, please."

She unzipped his khakis and snaked her hand in his fly. "Deep down, you feel like John Lennon got what he deserved, don't you, sweetheart? Saying he was more popular than Jesus. That loony-toon Chapman was the instrument of God, wasn't he?"

He whirled on her and grabbed her shoulders. "Yes, dammit." His face had gone hot. He could feel the veins pulse in his forehead, in his crotch. "That's enough, Beth."

"No, it's not." She ripped open the front of his trousers and fell back on the lab table, pulling him on top of her. "Come on, show me the wrath of the Sorcerer."