words to thrilled and terrified grunts. Efrem cranes his neck to watch. Then somebody hisses his name and his head snaps back. It’s the brigadier general, moving up on him nose-to-nose, speaking, very strangely, in a whisper.
“Bakkar. I need your rounds, now.”
“Sir?”
“Your rifle. Unload it.”
Efrem hesitates only briefly before doing what he’s told.
“The round in the chamber as well,” Brig Yapha says, not looking him in the face. “And your spare magazine.”
Efrem hands it all over without a word. Yapha stashes the ammunition in his deep vest pockets. “Now, you do whatever he tells you,” he says, taking Efrem by the elbow. “But not a damn word.”
And with that he leads Efrem down the line, right in the direction of Charlie Fuentes, Tough Knocks, Snaggletooth, the hero of his childhood.
THE FIRST TIME Efrem ever saw an Ocampo movie was the first time he left his tiny island home. They had no cinema, of course—no electricity, no roads. The only running water was a sulfur-tasting spring that bubbled below dry cliffs inland. But Efrem had an uncle, and his uncle had a boat. The
Hadji Himatayon
was big enough to sleep three adults, four if they were skinny, and whenever his uncle and cousins got the outboard working they’d disappear down south to Tubigan, around the far shores of Jolo, and due east along the southern coast of Mindanao. Stopping at every island along the way, they did unofficial mail rounds and traded what they could. At Davao City they’d unload pearls, deep-water fish and clamshells big enough to bathe children in. They’d buy plastic in the port market, scrap metal, tinned food, cane syrup and underpriced imported rice. Then it was home again, starving themselves to have some of it left when they got there.
When Efrem turned nine his arthritic mother gave him permission to go along. He still remembers how his older cousins, wise about the city, brought him to that outdoor movie house. The slick feeling ofdropping two long-saved pesos into the palm of the shirtless usher. The wooden benches were full, so he sat cross-legged in the grassy aisle. His cousins explained what a double feature was. They pinned him when the projector sputtered up, alive, and his instinct said run. A man made of light stood before the crowd like a giant. It was Reynato Ocampo, played by a younger Charlie Fuentes, tall and dashing and mean as a motherfucker. For three hours he defended women on the screen and children in the audience from kidnapping kingpins. Efrem shielded his face from splinters as Old Snaggletooth kicked down a brothel door, Truth in hand, and gut-shot the fattest pimp so that his belly exploded into the hair of screaming topless go-go girls. He clapped and cheered at the finale when Reynato tied the kidnapper’s head to rail tracks, extracting a confession just before a freight-and-passenger came roaring through his ear. Tough cop for a tough world.
As the brief credits rolled, as the crowd lingered in the bloody afterglow, the usher made his way up to the stage and reminded everybody to come back next month for the premiere of
Ocampo Justice XIII:
Reynato travels back in time to castrate Jap invaders!
“HELLO,” CHARLIE SAYS , cracking a warm smile. “So, you’re the one I’ve heard about?”
Efrem is unable to speak. But that’s fine—he’s not supposed to.
“This is him,” Brig Yapha says. “He’s our boy.”
“Good to meet you, son,” Charlie says. He offers his hand to shake. Efrem finds it surprisingly soft, and moist, melting pleasantly between his fingers. He tries to say “Hi” but it comes out as just a sigh. There’s an empty canteen in his chest. His heart slows intolerably. His knees actually bounce together.
“Don’t sweat it,” the short, homely man says. “Charlie gets that look all the time. From ladies.”
Everybody laughs at this and Efrem flushes at being so quickly embarrassed in front of his hero, but he doesn’t dare snap
“Bakkar. I need your rounds, now.”
“Sir?”
“Your rifle. Unload it.”
Efrem hesitates only briefly before doing what he’s told.
“The round in the chamber as well,” Brig Yapha says, not looking him in the face. “And your spare magazine.”
Efrem hands it all over without a word. Yapha stashes the ammunition in his deep vest pockets. “Now, you do whatever he tells you,” he says, taking Efrem by the elbow. “But not a damn word.”
And with that he leads Efrem down the line, right in the direction of Charlie Fuentes, Tough Knocks, Snaggletooth, the hero of his childhood.
THE FIRST TIME Efrem ever saw an Ocampo movie was the first time he left his tiny island home. They had no cinema, of course—no electricity, no roads. The only running water was a sulfur-tasting spring that bubbled below dry cliffs inland. But Efrem had an uncle, and his uncle had a boat. The
Hadji Himatayon
was big enough to sleep three adults, four if they were skinny, and whenever his uncle and cousins got the outboard working they’d disappear down south to Tubigan, around the far shores of Jolo, and due east along the southern coast of Mindanao. Stopping at every island along the way, they did unofficial mail rounds and traded what they could. At Davao City they’d unload pearls, deep-water fish and clamshells big enough to bathe children in. They’d buy plastic in the port market, scrap metal, tinned food, cane syrup and underpriced imported rice. Then it was home again, starving themselves to have some of it left when they got there.
When Efrem turned nine his arthritic mother gave him permission to go along. He still remembers how his older cousins, wise about the city, brought him to that outdoor movie house. The slick feeling ofdropping two long-saved pesos into the palm of the shirtless usher. The wooden benches were full, so he sat cross-legged in the grassy aisle. His cousins explained what a double feature was. They pinned him when the projector sputtered up, alive, and his instinct said run. A man made of light stood before the crowd like a giant. It was Reynato Ocampo, played by a younger Charlie Fuentes, tall and dashing and mean as a motherfucker. For three hours he defended women on the screen and children in the audience from kidnapping kingpins. Efrem shielded his face from splinters as Old Snaggletooth kicked down a brothel door, Truth in hand, and gut-shot the fattest pimp so that his belly exploded into the hair of screaming topless go-go girls. He clapped and cheered at the finale when Reynato tied the kidnapper’s head to rail tracks, extracting a confession just before a freight-and-passenger came roaring through his ear. Tough cop for a tough world.
As the brief credits rolled, as the crowd lingered in the bloody afterglow, the usher made his way up to the stage and reminded everybody to come back next month for the premiere of
Ocampo Justice XIII:
Reynato travels back in time to castrate Jap invaders!
“HELLO,” CHARLIE SAYS , cracking a warm smile. “So, you’re the one I’ve heard about?”
Efrem is unable to speak. But that’s fine—he’s not supposed to.
“This is him,” Brig Yapha says. “He’s our boy.”
“Good to meet you, son,” Charlie says. He offers his hand to shake. Efrem finds it surprisingly soft, and moist, melting pleasantly between his fingers. He tries to say “Hi” but it comes out as just a sigh. There’s an empty canteen in his chest. His heart slows intolerably. His knees actually bounce together.
“Don’t sweat it,” the short, homely man says. “Charlie gets that look all the time. From ladies.”
Everybody laughs at this and Efrem flushes at being so quickly embarrassed in front of his hero, but he doesn’t dare snap
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