Offer of Revenge

by Jason Kasper

  “I’m serious about quitting Latin. You’re not going to change my mind with a story this time .”

  “And that’s not what I intend to do, son. But this brings up a fond memory of your mother for me, so if you have a minute I’d like to recall it with you .”

  I swallowed, listening to the slow, orderly ticks of the grandfather clock in the corner. “Okay .”

  “This was back in ’83, so you were just a wee lad, though we hadn’t met you yet. Your mother and I went to Beijing—you see, back then it was very hard to adopt an American child, and we’d been on waiting lists for over a year with no luck. So your mother, bless her heart, decided we would go to China and have a look at adopting a daughter .”

  I wrinkled my nose. “You wanted a girl? Why ?”

  “We wanted a child, and your mother’s time was running out. It just so happened that there were many more girls for adoption in China than boys. So a daughter it was, or so we thought .”

  “Well, what happened? Why don’t I have a sister ?”

  His eyebrows leapt as he continued, “An excellent question, that. As I said, your mother and I arrived and neither of us spoke Chinese, did we? So we relied on a translator, this skinny young lad with glasses who looked like he hadn’t had a bite to eat in years. But a cheery lad he was, and so off we went to the orphanage. In fact, he was quite enthusiastic to speak for us. But I soon became convinced he was lying .”

  “Why?”

  “Because when we got to the orphanage—everywhere we went, actually—it seemed like everyone was yelling. And here was this young chap translating the jolliest greetings you’ve ever heard .”

  “But they were really being mean ?”

  “So I thought. I listened to this lady at the orphanage speaking like she was barking orders, and when the translator turned around with a goofy smile and told us, ‘She said welcome to China,’ I thought he was protecting us from something too cruel to hear. You see, the Chinese inflections and tone can sound very stern to a Western ear. But, in fact, the people we met were quite hospitable .”

  “Then why didn’t you get a little girl ?”

  His gaze dropped to the carpet. “Your mother was pretty far along at that point. You could see the cancer in her eyes, and wigs still looked like wigs back then. I believe they sensed that little girl would be growing up with just a daddy .”

  “So what? I’m growing up with just a daddy, and I’m fine .”

  He paused at this, his eyes unfocused. “Now your mother and I returned to America without a child, and we were devastated. A flight that long takes its toll on a healthy person, never mind someone who’s sick, and to return empty-handed…I wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. We got back to the house, walked through that door, and your mother just broke down. I held her all night while she cried right there on the couch you’re sitting on now .”

  “So what happened ?”

  “Well eventually we fell asleep, the both of us. And since we’d been up all night, and our jet lag was quite bad, we slept very late into the next morning. In fact, we didn’t wake up until the phone rang .”

  “Who called ?”

  “The adoption agency. All the way in Roanoke. You see, you had just passed the minimum time in foster care before an unclaimed infant could be put up for adoption .”

  “And you came and got me ?”

  “They tried to make us wait for an appointment, but your mother wouldn’t have it. She marched straight to the car and put up such a fuss at the agency that they let her in to have a look .”

  “And that’s when I smiled ?”

  “That’s right. You stood up in your crib—you were quite strong from an early age, you see—and you looked right at your mother and smiled. The biggest smile you’ve ever seen on a child of any age. And we knew right then and there that you were quite special .”

  “If I were special I’d have A’s in school .”

  “School’s not the measure of a man, son, as you’ll grow to learn. That’s why I have to teach you on the side, isn’t it? The language classes, the target practice, all of it. There are great things ahead for you. I’ve seen the signs, and when you’ve been around as long as I have you become an excellent judge of character. Now getting back to my point, if I’d have known how to speak Chinese, that trip to the other side of the world would have been much easier, right ?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But let’s say we needed to go to Colombia, way down in South America. Well if I went there, the Chinese wouldn’t do a lick of good, would it ?”

  “But Spanish would .”

  “Yes. If I spoke Spanish, I could get by just fine in Colombia. But what if, from there, I had to travel to the Philippines? They speak Tagalog .”

  “That’s what I’m saying. It’s better to know a language that people speak .”

  “And right you are. But you’re an explorer, yes ?”

  “I will be. When I grow up .”

  “No, son, you become a thing by being it first. There’s no room for wanting—the people who want a thing want it for their whole lives, always dreaming of another day. The doers in this world don’t want to be, they are . And they are in every moment, in every decision, every day of their lives. Now, what are you ?”

  “I’m an explorer .”

  “Don’t mumble it, boy. Look me in the eye and tell me what you are .”

  I straightened my back, meeting his stare. “I am an explorer .”

  “That’s the way. You’ll become just that to the outside world, because this very night, as an eight-year-old boy who has never traveled outside Virginia, you became it to yourself. And that’s how things start in this world—by being, not by wanting .”

  “I get it now .”

  He gave a curt nod. “I know you do. Now as an explorer, it would be nice to speak every language in the world. But there are too many. An explorer would much prefer that everyone spoke only one language, but it’s not the way things are, is it ?”

  “If it was, that’s what I’d study .”

  “Now do you know, son, that the source words for half a dozen languages are almost entirely made up of Latin? Why, any language from the warm beaches of Spain, where Christopher Columbus set sail for the New World, all the way to the icy eastern coast of the Soviet Union has its roots in Latin. So it’s the only tongue that can give an explorer a distinct advantage wherever he goes—not by knowing how to speak the local tongue but by knowing how to learn it. In that regard, Latin is not a dead language but one more alive than any other around the world .”

  I listened to the continued clucking of the grandfather clock. “Dad, where is Mom ?”

  He took a sip of his whiskey before setting it back down and looking past me. “Now what do you expect me to say to that ?”

  “I know she’s dead. But where is she now ?”

  “Son, no one knows what happens after we leave our bodies behind. Anyone who claims to have that wisdom is just stating an opinion. That goes for the cults, too .”

  “Like those people who keep trying to get us to go to their church ?”

  “Exactly. Just like those miserable Christians .”

  “Well, what do you think happens when we die ?”

  He considered his words .

  “If I had to guess, I’d say we go to a place of rest .”

  “All of us ?”

  “I think so. But you can come to your own belief, and that’s just as good as mine or anyone else’s .”

  “What about the bad people? Do you think they go there, too ?”

  “Look to nature, son. Is there such a thing as a good or bad animal? Every living thing obeys its instincts and adapts to its environment and circumstances. I don’t think humans are any different, and when these Christians come around trying to tell my boy that he was born in a state of eternal sin, I want to hit them in the face, don’t I ?”

  “I guess so.” I swallowed. “I’m going to stick with Latin .”


  “Oh?”

  “If it will make me a better explorer .”

  “I see .”

  “So I better go back to my room.” I slid off the couch .

  “All right then, son .”

  “I’ll see you at bedtime, Dad .”

  “That you shall.” He pressed play on the remote control, exchanged it for the glass of whiskey, and took a sip, his eyes on the television as the actor with the revolver continued his monologue .

  “—and if you think that will change my mind, you’re going to be sorely disappointed . ”

  “It was worth a shot . ”

  “There’s only one shot that should matter to either of us . ”

  I walked to the hallway, pausing at the corner to glance at the back of the worn recliner. With his eyes glued to the screen, my dad shifted back to his original position in the seat and called out, “Now go finish your fucking Latin homework .”

  * * *

  My return from death was a howling blur of chaos .

  An odd, rhythmic thumping in my chest preceded an explosion of energy, the exhilarating sensation of life immediately crippled by the sheer pain of it all .

  I opened my eyes and found myself staring into the sun .

  It was pure white, a boundless radiance encompassing everything around me. The profound tranquility of allowing the darkness to take me was replaced by the agony of an existence I didn’t want to return to .

  I didn’t fight for my survival, and I didn’t have ethereal sense of meaning; instead, my world was reduced to a moment-by-moment progression of involuntary physiological reactions .

  Pinching my eyes shut against the vast, blinding glare, I coughed a huge expulsion of water, then another, and before I could stop myself from inhaling more, I took a surging breath that made my lungs and stomach feel like they were doused in flames .

  Karma said, “He’s with us now .”

  I was slammed onto my back, and something soft pressed over my mouth and nose. My lungs filled with burning pain, and I was overcome with the impulse to vomit .

  “Here he goes,” she said, her voice inexplicably detached. “Turn him .”

  Hands rolled me roughly onto my side, and the pressure over my mouth vanished. I vomited, feeling the semi-solid, acidic contents of my stomach blanketing my throat .

  Karma said, “There’s still a lot of peripheral vasoconstriction. Let’s get an IV started in the external jugular .”

  Squinting, I saw figures standing all around me, their faces concealed behind the glow of headlamps. I started to recognize my surroundings, realizing I was back on the harbor when my eyes fixed on an object between two of the people beside me .

  It was the steel drum that had entombed me, now resting on its side a few feet away. Then I saw a thin length of cable stretching upward from it, and I followed its length until I could make out a winch connected to one of the metal crane pylons suspended high over the water .

  Before I could trace it any further, I threw up again .

  They rolled me onto my back, and the seal was pressed over my mouth and nose again as I was gripped by claustrophobia and began thrashing. Hands held me down, keeping my head still. Fingers pulled the skin on my neck taut before a needle was pierced through and then withdrawn, leaving a catheter injecting icy fluid into my bloodstream .

  “Core temp ?”

  “Ninety-two, Doc .”

  The white headlights blazed down on me as the mask was placed over my face again and my lungs were filled with air, over and over, as the fear gave way to the sensation of freezing to death once more .

  “You’re safe now. You’re doing great. Stay with us .”

  The voice no longer belonged to Karma but to some unknown woman amid the people around me. My wrists were still handcuffed together, but my legs had been cut loose. I was now stretched flat, restrained against a backboard, taking burning breaths as quickly as I could .

  As my senses returned, I realized I was now in motion. The headlights turned in unison as the people around me wheeled my stretcher toward places unknown. I became incoherently terrified that they were about to roll me into the water and began struggling against my restraints with a rising sense of panic .

  Instead, I passed into one of the metal shipping containers, its interior as red and warm as a sauna. The figures around me materialized as people in coats and jeans, and I searched their number for Cancer, Viggs, or the bouncers. But the only familiar face belonged to a man waiting inside the container by the time I got there. He approached me calmly, threading his way between the people now attaching round electrodes with gummy adhesive backing onto my chest and ribs .

  I began coughing, unable to stifle the impulse. Sergio looked down on me objectively, his dark goatee making his head appear skull-like in the dim red light .

  “Congratulations,” he said. “You made it to the next round .”

  Then he turned and walked out, replaced by a young Asian woman with her hair pulled back into a ponytail .

  “Try to relax,” she said in a clinical tone. “You’re being treated by a highly trained medical team that will be monitoring every aspect of your recovery. We’ll be raising the temperature in here gradually to let your body adjust, so don’t worry if you feel cold. Can you tell me your name ?”

  I coughed three more times against my will, the catheter in my neck jarring with each convulsion. Finally, I cleared my throat before gasping, “David .”

  “Last name ?”

  “Rivers.” I coughed again .

  “Wonderful, David. And how old are you ?”

  “Twenty-five .”

  “Do you know where you are ?”

  “Unfortunately. Newark .”

  A pair of hands on the other side of the stretcher began connecting tiny clips to the electrodes, stringing wires across me .

  She reassuringly placed the fingertips of one hand atop my shoulder. “You’ve just undergone a very traumatic experience, and it’s perfectly normal to feel frightened. What I need you to do is try and relax, and we’re going to make sure your vitals are stabilized before you go into the next round .”

  “I’ll relax as long as the next round doesn’t involve being thrown back into the water .”

  Her lips slid into a smirk. “It doesn’t, but you might prefer that. Once we give you an initial medical clearance, you’ve got an hour to recover before we hand you off to a psychologist. I’m sorry, David, but this is the beginning of a very long night .”

  * * *

  I filled in the final bubble on the stack of papers in front of me, set down the pencil, and leaned back in my chair. Heaving a long sigh, I ran both hands through my short hair that had long since dried in disarray. The medical staff had applied dressings over my cigarette burns, but I could still feel the incredibly tender sores stinging each time I distorted the skin around them by moving in the slightest .

  The desk I was sitting behind was located inside a separate shipping container on the harbor and, in stark contrast to the medical supplies in my previous setting, was outfitted with foldout tables stacked with food and beverages. A mass of pizza boxes rested beside a tray of fruit, bottles of water and soft drinks, and a large thermos of coffee. I had been stripped of my soaking wet pants and shoes, and was now wrapped in a bathrobe .

  Pushing back my chair, I stood and grabbed an apple from the table and bit into it. I had already eaten a few slices of lukewarm sausage pizza and taken a few sips of coffee since I couldn’t stomach the thought of water in any form .

  I rapped a fist three times on the metal siding of the wall and yelled, “Doc !”

  I had almost finished the apple by the time the psychologist arrived, pulling open the rusty metal door to reveal the day’s first sunlight before closing it behind him .

  He was an ancient, frail man wearing a giant parka over untold layers of cold weather clothing. His crinkled eyes didn’t look at me as he approached the desk and collected the papers from my latest round of t
esting .

  I leaned against the table and took another bite of apple .

  “How are you doing?” he asked, still not looking at me .

  I swallowed a chunk of fruit. “After four hours of interviews and multiple choice tests, I’m starting to wish I hadn’t been resuscitated. Can you bring that Asian doctor back in here? I’m having some really intense chest pain .”

  He spoke slowly, as if each word were an exertion. At his age, they probably were. “Nice try, David .”

  I shrugged. “Worth a shot. How did my first tests look ?”

  “So far, there are a couple outliers of concern .”

  “Such as ?”

  “Your results on interpersonal trust are well outside the norm. The scale favors low degrees of trust and forgiveness, but you’re below even those. Another issue is your self-confidence .”

  “Maybe I tested low on trust and confidence because I just got pulled out of the fucking river, Doc .”

  He turned his head to me and removed his eyeglasses with a withered hand that trembled slightly. “To the contrary, David, your confidence level was on the high side. Ninetieth percentile is a good thing. Ninety-ninth percentile, which you are, isn’t. Your test scores basically tell us you think you are better than everyone. Most people you meet will, by extension, regard you as somewhat of a”—he considered his choice of words—“cocky asshole .”

  I shrugged. “Story of my life .”

  “You deployed once to Afghanistan and once to Iraq ?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many people have you killed ?”

  “Probably more than you .”

  “How do you feel affected by that ?”

  “I don’t .”

  “Be honest with me, David. I’ve worked with many vets, and I know for a fact that you have far more difficulty with sleep, relationships, and feeling any form of human connection to others than you’re indicating on your tests. You’re underplaying these things with a dexterity that leads me to believe you’ve been doing so for some time. But such issues have a way of getting worse, not better, the further removed you are from the traumatic experience. Especially when you keep them contained within .”