The atmosphere of the Zero Quarter of the Morellan Intercultural Settlement was different from that of other areas. The streets were now crowded with young people in fashionable get-ups, some of them cruising around in automobiles, others perusing the lit-up displays in store windows. Bunnu, looking at the cars now, found himself reminded of Motiwala for some reason. He had had a carriage and driver at his disposal, but always seemed inclined to walk everywhere, even in the bitterest conditions. In his childhood, it had never occurred to Bunnu to ask him why he chose to do this, though he imagined it to be because of Motiwala’s secret desire to do something about his weight problem. Assuming, of course, he considered it to be a problem.
He suddenly found himself missing his friend, though he hadn’t thought about him very much in recent years. For some time, they had lived in different worlds. Associated with different circles. Yet, now here they were again, complicit in matters Bunnu had no knowledge of, though he could imagine what they had to do with. He remembered the letter that he had received during the Republic’s campaign against the Gautama. It was from Motiwala. He hadn’t written in years, but now he was asking for money, though he didn’t explain what it was for. But Bunnu had heard through the grapevine that Motiwala had become a key member of the Kaiiban National Liberation Front, which was funding insurgent operations in Morell and aiding the Gautama in their defenses against the Republic’s overwhelming forces—all in an attempt to return their country of Kaiiba to independent rule.
Bunnu, in fact, had no problem with the Republic. In fact, he was happy with the improvements that they had brought to everyday life and didn’t have any strong sense of national pride that prevented him from being able to appreciate it. But when he’d received the letter, he understood that his friend was in need and sent him the money in goodwill in the hopes that it would somehow help him and not some violent insurgent cause. Yet, he could only trust Motiwala in having enough wisdom to know how best to use the money and didn’t feel comfortable asking him to use it in any specific way. And yet, regardless of what resulted or how Motiwala had actually used the money, in the Republic’s eyes, they were now both complicit in treason and consequently, Bunnu couldn’t help but feel a renewed bond between them.
How he missed his old friend!
“…so I ask the old bag what her type was. And she just looks at me, probably in her dementia, thinking she was still in her youth and says to me, ‘Whatever you got, I’m willing to take, Mister!’”
“Well…must have got around when she was young, then!”
“Must have, right? So I says, ‘In that case, spread ‘em, love. I’ll give your dementia-addled noggin something to remember!’”
“Haha! Good one, that is!”
Ottoman sighed loudly through his mustache. Bunnu looked at him. His eyes looked sad, as though powerless to stop this display of hyper-masculinity from his subordinates. It seemed strange to Bunnu that Ottoman would see his position as powerless to the ogre-like sensibilities of his men, but then he remembered that Ottoman, too, was bound by protocol and was, thus, left with little recourse but to sulk authoritatively at the intolerable behavior of his men. Bunnu marveled at the ability of Ottoman’s mustache to lend its own power to making his sulk conspicuously authoritative. And yet, the men seemed to be ignoring his cues.
“Excuse me,” Bunnu said turning to the men. “I think your behavior is very inappropriate. You are still on-duty and should be paying attention to your responsibilities, not be going on like a couple of overgrown teenagers.”
The men froze, horrified at these words. Bunnu momentarily felt like somehow he had gotten through. That is, until one of the men, pointed at him and addressed Ottoman accusingly, “What’s this bloke on about?”
“Mr. Bunnu…” Ottoman said quietly. “Really. You mustn’t!”
“Oh…” said the other, “I see we’re playing the victim again, ain’t we, Chief! Well the boys will certainly get a kick out of-“
“There’s no need to bring the boys into it,” Ottoman said frantically, “The suspect spoke of his own volition.”
“Well…I beg to differ on that one, Chief.” One of them said.
“Yeah,” nodded the other in assent, “Seemed a little forced didn’t it? Like you put the bloke up to it! Don’t have the bollocks to say it yourself?”
“I beg your pardon,” Bunnu said, “but I said it myself because I thought your behavior was very rude. I don’t take orders from your commander.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, lad,” one said, “I was afraid we might have offended the Chief. He’s a bit of a romantic, after all. The boys say that-“
“Enough about the boys!” Ottoman exclaimed, “I said we don’t need to involve them. Anyway, do you trust every bit of gossip that goes on in that locker room?”
“Who are the boys?” Bunnu asked.
“You’ll have to excuse us,” Ottoman said quietly, “We don’t have any females in our division, so I’m sure you can imagine what happens to the level of conversation.”
“It happens…” Bunnu said with a nod, thinking back to his days in the Football League. “So, I gather you don’t partake in these enlightening discussions?”
“Of course not! Hoo hoo…” grinned one of the men like an ape, “Mr. Monogamy lost his bollocks in the fur years ago, didn’t he!”
“No, she’s got them stored up somewhere. Maybe in a hat box. Your bird fancy hats, Chief?”
“Ignore them,” Ottoman said to Bunnu apologetically. He paused contemplatively before asking, “What’s the last you heard from O.?” He squeezed Bunnu’s arm as he said this, again seeming to accentuate certain sounds.
“Hard to say. Am I being questioned?”
“This is strictly off the record.” He said, giving one long squeeze to accentuate the word ‘off.’
“Well, I don’t know. We went through the legal process for a few years to get him into our family register, but that did no good. Then, we got some kind of patent lawyer involved in the dispute. I don’t really know what came of that. Nothing, I imagine. He was trying to convince my parents that they could file for legal protection for him as intellectual property. Which they did…and then…”
“And then?”
“I don’t remember. I was preoccupied by other things by that time. One day, a group of old bearded men in top hats and tuxedos arrived at our doorstep. They talked to my father for a long time and he gave them permission to take O. with them. Apparently, they sought to incorporate him somehow into their business strategy. Whatever that means…”
“So, you’re father just let them take him?”
“I guess he had his reasons. Maybe he didn't have any choice. Again, I’m not really clear on the situation, though. You’ll have to ask my parents.”
“We plan to. However, at the moment, we’re having trouble finding them. It seems that our beloved town of Bahlia has disappeared from the map. I can’t begin to tell you how much that pains me! To lose another hometown…” Ottoman said with a sigh.
“No, it’s most certainly there. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been back, but from what I hear, the town’s completely underwater now. Don’t let that discourage you though. I reckon you can still seek out my parents with the proper diving equipment.”
“Right…I’ll look into it. So, what happened after the men in top hats took O. away?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him after that. I knew he’d become well-to-do, but I certainly didn’t figure him for a war profiteer. But then again, I don’t suppose he’s the sort to take sides in matters of politics. Anyway, if all of this is off-the-record, why are you bothering to ask me? Won’t this be covered in my deposition?”
“I have interests in this matter, as well. Interests that extend outside of the law.”
“What sort of interests?”
Ottoman looked furtively about the streets and squeezed Bunnu's arm without saying a word, as th
ough this were sufficient as an answer, “And what of your sister?”
“Who?”
“Didi.”
“Oh…” Bunnu took a deep breath and thought for a second, “Well, as the Coach said, her debts to my father’s friend, Anup, were paid off by that same group of men with the top hats and tuxedos. Perhaps their payment on our family’s behalf was some sort of investment in O.’s potential—from the sound of it, they must have gotten quite a return on their initial outlay. At any rate, as far as I knew, the financial obligations of the debt were settled, but it seems that that wasn’t enough. But the last I heard, Didi was running around with that pack of vampires that follow that fool, Sanchez, wherever he goes. That was years ago, though. I don’t know what she’s doing now. She was a bit of a wild girl. ”
Ottoman, then, paused and sighed. He glanced back at his men, who had turned their attention back to their discussion. “Rather free-spirited, yes. So, I gather you weren’t lying to the Coach, then.”
“No. I really don’t know what’s happening with her.”
“What if…” Ottoman started to say and then hesitated. Bunnu nodded as though to indicate he wanted to hear what he had to say. Ottoman paused uncomfortably before starting again, “What if…I told you I knew where she was? Off-the-record, that is.”
“You mean, you know where she is now?”
“Off the record?” Ottoman confirmed. Bunnu nodded.
“Yes, I do. And she knows of your arrest. She’s very worried about you.” He gave a double squeeze as though to indicate the degree to which Didi seemed to have been worried. “You may not realize it, but family is very important to her. From what it seems, much more important to her than it has been to you.” He said this last bit accusingly.
This prompted Bunnu to stop in his tracks and turn directly to face Ottoman. “What are you telling me?” he whispered, “You’ve kidnapped her again?”
“Not quite,” Ottoman said, motioning to the steps of the police station with his free arm.
There was a preacher from Baba City—or, at least, one could only assume that he was a preacher—on the stone steps, emphatically imploring his audience of young, ornamented society darlings and their stiff-collared, gem-buttoned gentleman escorts to change their ways. The men looked to the ladies with a knowing nod, causing some to suppress a giggle. To them, the man was a lark. “Boo-ga the Calamity! Fast the 22 on thither Midnight Snackpark!” the preacher wailed on like an old bitch in the night. He clearly had a bone to pick. “Replicate the Rucksack with a Fanny to thine Lightning Moves! Rub a Doo-dad to Brick Walls and ask Forgiveness! The Manufactured smell of Beef-concepts with Marsupial-Class Spit-bombs of the Stratosphere! Do you Moose Tear your way to Armistice, Lady and Gentle Man? The Phantom Wig-wam: wherefore smacketh thee in the Brainstorm? Lackeys and Tulips make food for the Conscience. Hamster Fist shapes a Rattle in the Punitive Dentist chair for the Cartons of Mayhem unsung in the Battle of Winkie-Doo. Languish pussy cats! Vindicate thine Interstate Bypass with Sour Cream and Dignity!” One of the gentlemen shook his head in disbelief with a smirk. The preacher seemed to take mental note of this before continuing, “Intuit the Colostomy of the Pleasure Hole and the Nannies will sleep well in dire straits-“
“Alright then!” interrupted one of Ottoman’s men, running up the stairs and grabbing the preacher by the collar. “Enough grandstanding for today, mate!”
Ottoman led Bunnu up the steps and opened the door for him. He stood to the side, as though to indicate that he would not be accompanying Bunnu into the station. “Well…Mr. Bunnu, this is it. It’s been a pleasure.”
Bunnu nodded silently. A part of him felt happy to be leaving one friendly acquaintance behind him in the world. At least he had that. It had not been his intention to isolate himself from his friends and family for these many years, but perhaps it was too late to do anything about that now. When he had first left Bahlia, he had merely sought his own path of self-determination, had sought to branch off from the main vine and make his own destiny—much like the ancient Melic migrants had once done. And through his own personal migrations, this is simply the way that things had turned out for him. There was no clear reason for his parting ways with them, for to his mind, they had never truly parted. To separation he had ventured and would continue to venture, but, through it all, thoughts of his loved ones remained with him wherever he went and would remain with him wherever he was to go—or so he hoped. And he now missed them all greatly: Rakesh-7, Yuri, Raju, O., Motiwala, Didi…even Diogenes and the O-bousan! Of course this was to say nothing of all the other people he had met on his travels these past 220 years, though very few among them had meant very much to him. Anyway, he knew that it would be some time before he’d see any of the people he truly cared about again, if at all. And even if he had the chance to do so in the future, it remained possible that, by then, he will have become a different sort of person from who he was now. There was no way around this. To a certain extent, one life was ending and another beginning. He had experienced this feeling once before on that fateful day when he had left Bahlia once and for all. And he knew then just like he knew now that there would be no going back.
Just thinking of all this, he suddenly felt very lonely.
He took a deep breath before walking up to the doorway of the station. Before entering, he turned back to Ottoman once more and asked, “What did you mean, when you said, ‘Not quite?’ Did you kidnap Didi or not?” He realized as he asked this that he had quite suddenly and, for the first time since meeting her, become very concerned for Didi’s safety. He hadn’t been a good quarter-brother to her, all these years, even though she had tried very hard with him. If there was anything to regret now, he regretted that he hadn’t been a better sibling...and for that matter, a better son to his parents. He had had many chances to reconnect with them, but there was always something more immediate preventing him from being there right with them through the good moments and the bad—it was a shame how much time was wasted between them. But he had made his choices—and whether he had chosen to leave Bahlia or not, a sacrifice would have been imminent either way. Yet, he hoped for the moment that there would be a way for him to reestablish that lost connection once his circumstances have been adequately resolved—that is, if they could be resolved. Surely there would be a great deal on which they could all catch up: presumably there had been countless developments in the lives of his family, these many years, about which he had no knowledge. He suddenly wished to know all the details immediately. For the most part, however, his concerns right now were with the welfare of Didi. Had she been abducted again without his knowing?
Ottoman now grinned through his mustache in response to the query, slightly embarrassed. “No, I didn’t kidnap her…” He shrugged his shoulders, as Bunnu, satisfied by this answer, breathed a deep sigh of relief and proceeded to walk alone through the door. Although his back was to him, he now felt Ottoman’s eyes on him. He wondered what the old detective must have been thinking. Perhaps it had seemed silly for Bunnu to show concern so suddenly and after so much time apart from his sister. From anyone else’s point of view, surely it would seem as though too much time had already passed for him to show any hint of genuine concern without it being rooted in his own selfish sense of guilt. It would not be strange for Ottoman to think this and moreover it would be difficult to say that he was completely wrong.
In any case, it might have been too late to change anything either way. It might have been too late, for Bunnu had his own fate and Didi surely had hers. At this point, regrets would only serve to muddle the purity of this moment, for this, too, had an importance all its own that it would have been foolish to miss. Now, Bunnu stood just inside the doorway and peered into the dark corridor which loomed before him.
It was time for him to go now.
The sound of the singing bird reached his ears again. It sang sweetly and questioningly, as it had earl
ier when it was perched upon the construction crane. He wished so much that he could keep the song of that bird in his memory for later, for he was sure that it could bring him hope when he needed it most. Somewhere down the road, he heard the laughter of children playing on the sidewalk. He wished he could capture this sound too, for something about it made him remember his youth with great fondness. But he knew these sounds couldn’t be captured, nor could they be called upon later in his mind with any degree of fidelity to the originals. The mind was too feeble to do anything beyond warping them to suit the context of the moments at which these recollections would be summoned. Thus, there was a purity to them which couldn’t be replicated. It was all so beautiful, so fleeting. He wished, at the very least, that he could freeze this moment, but, of course, this would not be possible either. He took one last deep breath, wondering, as he did, if this spring would be as beautiful as the last had been. Judging by the sounds, it seemed like it would be.
But there were other sounds as well…and not all of them were of the sort that he wished to remember. From behind him came the sound of Ottomen’s men pulling the preacher dramatically and forcefully down the stairs in a fashion only befitting the Performing Arts Division of the police department. Beyond this was the sound of the audience cheering at the climax of this entertaining scene and then commenting to one another raucously before starting to disperse. From somewhere far in the distance came the urgent chirp of a solitary cricket, abruptly screeching out a warning Bunnu was incapable of comprehending. It was a loud and piercing and uneasy chirp which caused him to feel that maybe it were somehow meant to advise him of an imminent danger.
And amidst it all came the voice of Detective Ottoman-13, murderer, kidnapper, untouchable, and actor, calling out three words which would occasionally haunt Bunnu’s thoughts over the course of the next nine years.
“I married her!”
With this, the heavy door suddenly shut behind Bunnu and all the sounds from the outside world immediately went silent.
Detained