Mercenary Intent Review

I want to thank Filipina blogger and book reviewer Jen Adams for such a kind review of Mercenary Intent on her blog: http://bookworm.i.ph/.  Besides Bookworm, Jen also authors http://sexynomad.i.ph/,  a wonderful blog that covers a wide variety of slice of life from the Philippines...travel, food, local events, fashion, and the ins-and-outs of daily life in the Philippines.  I'm one of those people that likes to browse through blogs to see what they're about, but seldom find one that catches my interest enough to make me want to come back regularly.  Sexy Nomad is one of those blogs that will absolutely get you hooked, and coming back often to see what she's up to next.  It's like a favorite television show...you don't want to miss each and every episode.  So give Sexy Nomad a look...you'll be glad you did! (http://sexynomad.i.ph/)

'HAIKU', by Andrew Vachss

I've been an ardent fan of Andrew Vachss ever since I picked up my first copy of his 'Burke' books.  I was hooked from the beginning, and remained a devotee of his writing up to and including his final offering in that long running series.  I find that often, after a writer creates such an engaging cast of characters as Vachss did with the 'Burke' series, and then moves on to new literary territory, it's a disappointment.  Many readers feel a sense of abandonment from the voice they were so accustomed to, and miss that familiar feel of place and circumstances that truly gifted writers paint with their craft.  Consequently, I was a little apprehensive when I picked up Vachss' latest book, HAIKU, having been disappointed by favorite authors in the past when they changed horses.  However, within just the first few chapters of HAIKU, it was clear that Vachss has once again captured the truth and grit of life lived by the forgotten, in the dark shadows of a world that many falsely believe is merely a place of fiction.

In HAIKU, Vachss brings readers into the lives of a band of homeless men who have built their family on a foundation of choice; not blood.  Theirs is a brotherhood where devotion to having each other's backs is a matter of honor; not a question ever needed to be asked.  As in Vachss' previous books, the characters are wonderfully complex, and wear the dark diversity of their demons on their sleeves, not hiding behind masks of excuses and blame.  They own their self-inflicted wounds, and band together in a daily struggle for survival on the streets, and their quest for personal redemption.

Initially, the group thinks they've found a perfect opportunity to make some serious money when one of them sees a woman get out of a white Rolls Royce and dump something into the river, which they believe might be the murdered body of her pimp.  They begin planning to put together a blackmail scheme and start their search for the mysterious white Rolls Royce.  However, their white Rolls Royce becomes a quest to save a brother whose life hangs by the threads of his already tortured mind.  Each of the group finds himself having to face the dark reality of their own personal demons even more deeply, and as they fight to save their brother from tragedy, they also wage personal battles to save themselves.  Some find a more secure toehold to salvation in this world, and some realize their reward can only be found beyond this life, and embark on that journey to find peace.

Vachss embraces the dark truth of the reality of life in places many don't want to look, or even admit exists.  He writes of the bare-bones honesty and commitment of men who band together in the world of homelessness and mental illness, and who survive by their own code of justice in a place where conventional justice has abandoned their kind.  It would be tragic to call Vachss' writing merely crime fiction, because it is so much more.

For readers that are already fans of Andrew Vachss, HAIKU is another installment of his wonderful ability of using the fiction genre to shine light into the deep shadows of the life of the often forgotten.  For thsoe who have never read any of Vachss' work before, HAIKU will definitely bring you into the fold of the devoted.

Tickle That Pig Or It Won't Drown...

     One thing about living in a jungle village out in the Amazon basin is that you quickly learn the value of regular meat.  Oh sure, there's the occasional boa or anaconda, or maybe a cute little monkey to toss in the pot, and sometimes, something a little tough and greasy shows up on your plate but you know better to ask what it was before they killed it, or you might change your mind about eating it all together.  But real, lip-smacking, stick-to-your-bones country fare like Grandma used to make is a rare and wonderful treat.

  I can't tell you how many villages I've wandered in to out in the bush where I see the natives treating their livestock better than they treat their children.  When asked about it, they readily say, "Because it's easy to have another kid...do you know how hard it was for me to get that pig?"  So anytime a proud pig owner agrees to part with his four-legged prize for a village feast, you know it's going to be a special occasion.

__________

     One of the kids in our camp came of age to start kindergargen in the village.  For several years, he'd heard his older brother bragging about how much he enjoyed school, so of course, he was terribly excited for that first big day.  We all pitched in to make sure he had all the supplies he needed and encouraged him in every possible way to try and set him off on the right foot toward getting an education, which is rare in a place where the literacy rate hovers around a high of about ten percent.

     Lo and behold, about half way through that very first day, we looked up the trail and saw several of the village elders and the director of the little school leading our little academic-to-be back toward camp, and none of them looked any too happy.  Apparently, Tato had gotten bored about half way through reciting the alphabet and decided to pick up a length of bamboo and take a few spirited whacks at the Chief's prize pig as he strolled it by the schoolyard.  The village elders told us that Tato's punishment was a two-day epulsion.

     Two days later, we all gathered around Tato and told him, in no uncertain terms, "Do not whack that pig , or they'll kick you out of school for good."  In hindsight, that was probably the wrong approach to take.

     About half way through his second day of school, once again, up the trail from the village came a commission of elders leading Tato by the scruff of the neck, and dragging a limping pig.  Apparently, deciding he had little interest in an academic career, Tato rationalized that if beating a pig would get him sent home for two days, then killing a pig would get him kicked out for good.  Even though he didn't actually beat the pig to death, he did inflict enough damage with his bamboo staff so that the Chief declared the animal ruined.

     It took several hours of tense negotiations, but three things were decided.  First, we agreed on a price and I purchsed the brutalized pig.  Second, Tato was assured that if he ever did any more damage to local livestock, he'd have to go to school six days a week instead of five.  And third, we declared the coming weekend to be a special occasion to be highlighted by our new friend Porky, in all his crispy-skinned, mouth-watering, oven-baked glory.

__________

     When I was growing up, my grandparents were farmers and ranchers, so I wasn't a novice at seeing farm animals whittled up into bits and pieces that ultimately ended up baked or fried and put on a plate with corn-on-the-cob and country gravy.  So when the guys came rolling up with Porky in a wheel barrow, I thought I had a pretty good idea what was coming next.  I was wrong.

     First it was explained to me that since I purchased and donated the pig for the feast, I would be the honored guest at the event.  Sure that sounds all fine and dandy, but in the bush, being the honored guest means much more than sitting at the head of the table...there are responsibilities that go along with the title.  Here's how they explained it to me...

     "Since you so bought the pig and are so graciously sharing it with the village, then it is your honor to drown it before it can be butchered."

     "Whoa...hold your horses guys...what do you mean drown it?"  I mean I'd heard some strange thigs since coming to live in the bamboo wonderland, but drowning a pig was definitely a new one to me.

     Even though most of the villages had been evangelized by missionaries over the last century, and practiced some form of Christianity, they also held true to many of the old customs of Pachamama...Mother Earth...and still practiced many of the rituals.  I was told that it would bring very bad juju on the entire village if a pig was butchered to be eaten, unless it was drowned first.  Since I was the benefactor who donated the pig, it was my honor and responsibility to do the deed.

     Now listen, I'm no expert on native customs, but I did know enough to feel pretty certain that stomping on their beliefs in Pachamama was not a smart move to make, or I might find myself buried up to my neck in an anthill for bringing bad juju to the village.  So all I could say was, "Let's dunk that bad boy."  Sorry Porky.  It's you or me, and you're headed to the adobe oven anyway.

__________

     In my usual gringo naivete, I thought I could handle the gruesome task in short order.  So, while several natives held Porky by the hind legs, I grabbed the other end, waded about knee deep into the river, and plunged him under.  Since our crew worked on an underwater gold dredge on regular days, and I spent five or six hours a day as a diver, drowning is one of those things that I always had in the back of my mind as being a bad thing.   So pig or not, I was agonizing over what was happing to poor Porky.

     After a few minutes, Porky ceased his squirming and kicking, and I said, "Okay...it's done."  Wrong again muchacho.

     Immediately one of the young villagers waded in next to me and said, "If you don't tickle that pig, it won't drown."  I didn't even have the words to respond to something like that, so I just stood there and waited to be further educated in the ways of the jungle.

     The young man reached under the water, smiled up at me and said, "Watch."  He then proceeded to reach up under Porky's front legs, and yes, he actually tickled that pig. 

     Sure enough, Porky jerked and squirmed, and then blew out a long stream of bubbles before finally giving up the pig ghost for good.

     "See," my native friend said, "A pig will hold back his breath and try to make you think he's dead, so if you don't tickle him, he won't drown."

     Live and learn.  Live and learn, my friends.