The Evil That Men Do Read online

  “Oh, like me, he was a giant of a newborn. The name that I gave him means great dog. ‘Izu’ is our word for ‘dog’ and ‘pim’ means ‘large’ and the ‘ma’ makes him very large.”

  “I thought ‘wip’ meant large,” said Charles.

  “Oh, we have many words for ‘large’ in Churok,” said Greatoak, “because in our eyes, there are many kinds of largeness.”

  “Well, in any case Izzie’s a great name for a great dog,” replied Charles. He made some clucky smoochie sounds to get the Lab’s attention. Izzie moved within stroking range of the hand Charles proffered. “And if I may, Greatoak’s your Anglo name, is that right?” continued Charles.

  “Yes, and since Anglos require first names, I ended up with Tommy, which isn’t short for Thomas. It’s Churok ‘to-mi’ meaning ‘wise oak.’ ‘Mi’ means wise.”

  “Then is wise dog ‘izumi’?” asked Charles.

  “Yes, indeed,” beamed Tommy. “You and Judy should be friends. She loves to analyze Churok.”

  The linguistic chatter gave me a chance to gather my thoughts. The “little sister” pet name that Tommy used for Judy told me that breaking the news of her death was going to be distressing.

  The two men were silent. I was about to speak when Tommy shifted his gaze to me. “Forgive me, Miss Jamison. I’ve been extraordinarily rude, babbling on, ignoring you like this. I’m afraid the Churok language is one of my weaknesses. Please forgive me.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Greatoak.”

  “Tommy, please.”

  “Uh, Tommy. Please call me Dagny.”

  “And Chaahles” said Charles r-lessly, raising his hand like a schoolboy.

  “Tommy,” I started over. “I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”

  Chapter 10

  Tommy’s smile vanished. We were standing in the living room, into which the front door opened directly: an architectural feature of low-cost housing from the nineteen-forties. On the wall opposite the front door was a fireplace. Over the fireplace was a simply framed print of an oil painting. Its violent brush strokes portrayed fiery yellow stars and comets against a sky-blue background. Next to the fireplace was a floor-to-ceiling picture window looking out on a rear patio. The kitchen was in the front of the house—another feature of the forties’ design—adjacent to the living room, and separated from it by a wall.

  Against this wall stood a sofa, on which Tommy invited Charles and me to sit. Tommy settled into a large easy chair next to the fireplace. Sundry artifacts of Churok culture covered nearly all the available wall space, reminding me of Professor Akrich’s office, though without the academic clutter. The furniture coverings contained patterns I’d have guessed as being southwest Indian—Navaho, Hopi, Zuni—but my knowledge of Native American styles is limited. The only decorative concession to any idiom remotely modern or Anglo was a Tiffany lamp on an end table by the sofa.

  “I was hired to investigate Judy Raskin’s death,” I said. “That’s why I’m here.” I paused to let the news sink in. From talking to the Churok cops, I’d learned that stretches of non-talking were important. Tommy appreciated the silence. He didn’t respond immediately.

  Then he said, “Judy’s dead? How? When?”

  I told him of the events that had culminated in Judy’s death. I related how Lucy had hired me, how we had met Charles, our mad dash in pursuit of Troy, and his tragic end. I concluded with a summary of my visit to Judy’s father and the revelation about the gold mine. I omitted our recent skirmish inside the mine.

  Tommy listened carefully, drawing in his breath sharply when he learned of Troy’s fate. During my narrative, tears spilled from his eyes and trickled slowly down his cheeks.

  “This day compares in woe to a day long ago when she, night-born beneath a thousand points of light, returned to the eternal mother,” he said, when I’d finished.

  We waited through the gloomy silence that followed this cryptic remark. Tommy attempted to compose himself several times, reaching out to stroke Izzie, who placed his huge head on Tommy’s knee.

  “Judy loved Izzie, and Izzie loved Judy. I’m glad he cannot understand, though he senses my grief.” Tommy gently removed the dog’s head and sat up straight in his chair, once again an imposing presence. “I don’t understand Professor Akrich’s actions. I find it hard to believe Judy killed herself. I’d like to help you discover the truth. But those who seek the truth must tell the truth. Why did you lie to the police?”

  I wasn’t buying the truth-seeker, truth-teller business. Tommy had motive enough to be rid of both Judy and Troy if the gold mine was valuable. For all I knew, he was behind the late subterranean unpleasantness.

  “I needed to protect my client’s interests, and our own, for that matter. I don’t think it’s always wise to tell the cops everything. For all we knew, they were going to bust us.”

  “Dagny,” he said, looking me straight in the eye, “you come onto the Churok reservation, trespass, and set off explosives. The cops did their job with restraint, don’t you agree?”

  I nodded.

  Tommy leaned toward us. “These boys, these cops, I’ve known them since they were children. I know their families. I know their extended families. They’re good boys and they’re good cops, but they’re young and inexperienced. They don’t know how ridiculous your dynamite story is. How about telling me what really happened?”

  While Tommy talked, I reasoned. If he was one of the bad guys, he already knew anything I could tell him. He also could reach over and throttle us each in one huge hand, claiming later we attacked him. But if he wasn’t involved, he’d make a good ally. Judy’s death, in one way or another, was linked to her association with the Churoks. Tommy could tell us about that.

  I decided to be candid. I told Tommy what happened from the moment we entered the mine to the arrival on the scene of the two police officers. When I had finished, he leaned back in his chair, rubbed his chin, pursed his lips, and was lost in thought for some moments.

  “You had a close call,” he said at last. “You acted bravely. Do you think your attackers had anything to do with the two deaths?”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “Or perhaps they were protecting the mine. There aren’t any hidden partners, are there?”

  “No. Originally there were the five of us. Now there are three. There are no hidden partners, as you say. The only reason I’m a partner is due to a legality. Churok law requires Churok participation in any land project. When Troy and Judy wanted to lease the mine, they needed a Churok in the partnership. I agreed to help them. I was even willing to put up my one-fifth share of the leasing cost, though I believe the mine to be exhausted. Modern technology may be wonderful, but it isn’t alchemy. It cannot turn dirt into gold.”

  “How did you come to know Judy and Troy?”

  “It’s a long story,” answered Tommy. “Do you want to hear all of it?”

  “I’d like to know everything you can tell me.” I wriggled deeper into the comfortable sofa, crossed my legs, folded my arms, and prepared to listen.

  “First, let me give you a little background. Until recently we Churoks, like most Native Americans, didn’t have a way to write our language. We passed our knowledge on through word of mouth, and taught it to our children so that they’d remember and teach their children. Within our nation, the best rememberers are chosen through contests of memory. They’re like the scholars and professors of your society.”

  I realized I wasn’t going to remember all of this in detail. I reached into my bag and retrieved a pen and a steno pad. Tommy didn’t object.

  “One person becomes the leader of the memorizers. He’s called Huruku in the Churok language. Huruku remembers the stories of the Churok gods, and how the Churoks came to earth—for this is our most precious knowledge. Others, under Huruku’s guidance, remember knowledge of our earthly history, of the law, of plants and animals, of medicine, and so on.”

  I was scribbling as quickly as I could, spelling words phonetically when
I had to. Tommy saw me and slowed his speech down a little.

  “When I was a young man, almost thirty-five years ago, I was apprenticed to one of the greatest Hurukus who ever lived. She was the first female Huruku in our history. In Churok, her name was Himma Lilina Wonna Kara-tae-plu. Word for word, it means night birth thousand light-points-beneath. She was born late at night under a clear, moonless sky. When she learned English, she called herself Starry Night, and by that name was she known to white people.”

  His eyes flicked up toward the mantel, and it dawned on me that the print was of the Van Gogh oil painting of the same name.

  “For ten years Starry Night taught me. She showed me how to expand the vessel that was my memory, and when I had learnt how to do this, she filled it with the knowledge that I’d need to become Huruku one day. She showed me how to expand my soul, and when I had done this, she filled it with the spirituality required of a Churok elder. She was as close to me as my own parents, who considered her one of our family. Those were my happiest days. I shall not look upon their like again in this world.”

  Tommy was a riveting speaker. My cynical side kept running a sincerity check, but if Tommy was faking his earnestness, then I was in the presence of a most accomplished actor, and probably in mortal danger. There was intensity in the man that I both admired and feared.

  “One day, a brash young student from UCLA appeared at Starry Night’s door. He was a charming, compelling, self-possessed youth. He spoke Churok in a rudimentary way, but even that was astonishing—a considerable accomplishment for a foreigner. He said he wanted to learn everything he could about the Churok people and their history. He said he’d spare no effort to reach his goal, but that he needed the help of Starry Night. His name was Julius David Akrich.”

  “Professor Akrich!” I exclaimed.

  “Yes,” nodded Tommy. “Starry Night took a liking to young Akrich. His dedication to learning about all things Churok was deeply appealing to Huruku, whose life’s mission was to foster such learning. The fact that he was an orthodox Jew also attracted Starry Night to this young scholar. Although we Churoks do not believe in one supreme male god figure, we revere all spiritual belief.”

  Charles was nodding in rapt admiration and Tommy paused to let him say something if he felt like it, but Charles leaned forward to listen even more attentively and remained silent.

  “For two years Akrich came to the reservation weekends, school holidays, and summers. He taught us to transcribe Churok using the letters of the English alphabet in special ways, so we were able to write our language if we chose. He perfected his knowledge of both modern Churok and, most impressively, of ancient Churok, the ritual language. He sat with me and other rememberers when Starry Night instructed us. She wouldn’t permit the use of a tape recorder, nor the taking of notes. She told him, ‘If you want to learn about the Churoks, you must learn in the way of the Churoks, which is to remember.’”

  Interesting, I thought, that that which we originally did as a matter of necessity becomes obligatory in the name of tradition, even after the need is gone.

  “The third year I knew Julius he came to live with Starry Night. He no longer needed to take classes at UCLA and could devote all his time to research. He’d accompany her every day as she carried out her duties as Huruku. At night they’d sit in front of her fireplace. She would repeat the myths and rituals until he knew them perfectly. He’d tell her stories from the Jewish bible, which the Christian missionaries didn’t teach us.”

  “Ah, tales from the Old Testament,” interjected Charles. “Some good stories there—ones that are more multicultural than the writings of the Apostles.”

  “Yes,” said Tommy. “We Churoks, too, tell of floods and plagues in our early history. Starry Night was deeply interested in comparing the two theologies. It is one of the obligations of Huruku to know about other religions…but to continue. One morning, about six months after he took up residence with Starry Night, I received a terrible phone call from Julius. He was beside himself. It was Starry Night’s habit to greet the rising sun with the prayers of her ancestors. Julius, too, arose early for the morning rituals of orthodox Jews. On this day, Starry Night hadn’t appeared by the time Julius was done praying. Out of concern, he entered her bedroom. He approached the bedside, fearful of offending her, but dismayed at her stillness. She had died in her sleep.”

  Tommy stood up and walked past the mantel, hands in his pockets, then reversed his direction and stopped and faced the Van Gogh print called Starry Night.

  He said, “I am a big man, a strong man. But that day, I was weaker from grief than a sick child, and fearful of the responsibilities I would have to assume, but wasn’t prepared for.”

  He turned to face us, his expression doleful as he recalled that period of his life. Even as he spoke, the room grew darker, shaded by passing clouds.

  “Starry Night was dressed and buried in the manner our laws prescribe for Huruku. For seven days and nights all Churoks put aside their differences to unite in a single body of woe. With the help of others, I, the new Huruku, and one of the youngest ever, led our people in prayers of mourning. Julius made his own prayers. His mourning would last for one year, as decreed in the Jewish religion.”

  Izzie got up from his place beside Tommy’s chair, walked over and plopped himself down at Tommy’s feet.

  “Though he was grief-stricken, Julius carefully observed the burial rituals reserved for Huruku, which became a part of his research. He was a great comfort to me. He knew so much about Churok traditions—in many ways more than I did—and he was able to help me become Huruku. I’ll always be in his debt.”

  Tommy stepped over Izzie and switched on the Tiffany lamp on the table close to which Charles and I were sitting. The light cut the gloom, and revealed even more clearly the sadness in Tommy’s eyes.

  “Eventually Julius went away. He had his own life and career to think about. He became a professor and wrote books about the Churoks. At first, he visited us once or twice a year to brush up on his knowledge. Later, he sent his students in his place. They were assigned to study aspects of Churok life that he hadn’t had time to delve into.”

  “And one of them was Judy Raskin, is that right?” I interrupted.

  “Yes, I’m coming to that. I would do almost anything for Julius, but I wouldn’t allow him or his students to record our rituals. In this I was faithful to the strictures of Starry Night. Then Judy came. Unlike the students before her, who took their visits like class assignments, to be written up, turned in, graded and forgotten, Judy was more concerned with making friends and helping people. She wanted to learn the Churok language, both ancient and modern, and to make herself more Churok-like. She ate and dressed as a Churok, and wore her hair like a Churok.”

  Tommy paused to gather wisps of his own hair and to retie his ponytail.

  “Of course, I knew Judy was observing us. She had to. She was working for, and being paid by, Professor Akrich. She stayed up late every night compiling notes, studying, practicing. She wasn’t nearly as good a memorizer as Julius had been, but she succeeded through hard work.”

  Tommy returned to his chair, sat down, and immediately rose again, too agitated, I presumed, to remain seated. He was remarkably agile for a man his size—and age, for I deduced he must be nearing sixty. He walked again over to the mantel and gazed at the Starry Night print for a full thirty seconds. Finally, he turned to face us, leaning gently against the mantelshelf and mindful not to disturb the now sleeping Labrador.

  “One day Judy took me aside. ‘Tommy,’ she said, ‘you must let me record the rituals. The transcriptions don’t do them justice. It’s impossible to capture the nuances of ancient Churok by listening, remembering, and transcribing.’ Your professor did, I countered, but she was adamant. ‘Dr. Akrich made a lot of mistakes,’ she said. ‘We students thrive on correcting them. You know that.’”

  He pulled a wry face and shook his huge head. He walked over to the windows that looked
out onto the front yard of his house and stared out them, speaking with his back to us.

  “Judy was right. Professor Akrich’s efforts were prodigious, but in works of such magnitude, errors are bound to occur. I finally told Judy I would discuss it with other tribal elders. I might have anticipated the result. Nobody could say no to Judy, so universally did the Churoks who knew her, love her. Thus she had the honor of making the first electronic recordings of our rituals.”

  He turned away from the windows to face us once again. The wry expression had turned mournful. His eyes shone moist and black as he continued, “I can’t believe she’s dead. She was so young, so vital, so spiritual. Though she was not outwardly religious like Julius, she had the strong spirit of religion in her. And it’s that spirit that makes me believe that she wouldn’t take her own life.”

  During the silence that followed, Tommy resumed his original seat.

  Finally, I asked, “What was the cause of Starry Night’s death? Was she very old?”

  “Not so old,” said Tommy. “Around sixty. She just died in her sleep.”

  “But of what?” I pressed. “Did she have a heart attack, a stroke?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wasn’t there a death certificate?”

  “We Churoks have our own way. She died in her sleep. What does it matter what she died of, in technical terms? We mourned her for seven days. We returned her spirit to the earth mother, who will guide it to the next world. That’s all that’s important.”

  Charles, the medical examiner, was about to quote the gospel according to the laws of the State of California. Before he could speak, I linked his arm in mine to distract him and looked up and caught Tommy’s eye.

  “One last question, if you don’t mind,” I said. “Is there anyone among the Churok people who might bear Judy ill will, or benefit from her death?”

  “As I told you, Dagny, Judy was well loved by everybody. She had no enemies, and nobody profits from her passing.”