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The thing about Klink was that he was smarter than everyone gave him credit for. He knew—fully and thoroughly—that he was, in fact, an idiot. Bona fide. You could not find a bigger idiot this side of the continental divide— except, that is, for someone who did not know they were an idiot.
That was the difference between Klink and other idiots. He knew he was one. He knew he was not smart. He knew he was not handsome. He knew he was untalented. And he knew others knew this as well. So he played into this. If he could not be good at anything, he would be good at being the biggest fool he could be.
There was an old cliché, one disguised as advice, that one should “write what you know.” (how mystery writers have been exempt from suspicion is one of the biggest mysteries.) Klink decided that if one was good at being stupid, then one should be stupid. At least he should.
So he played the fool. Day in and day out. He was gullible, he was naive, he lacked the sense God gave a child. And he stayed alive.
They say that God protects children and fools. It had been years since he was a child, and he realized the best way to gain protection was by falling into at least one of the categories. It was funny, really, because he had discovered that playing the fool would be his salvation right around the same time he was no longer a child. He really was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Himself included. The thing about Klink was that he sometimes believed his own publicity—even when he was the one making it up.
Klink lived in an odd state. He knew he was a pawn. He knew he was being used. He knew he was nothing more than a puppet. Except he grew aghast when he began to realize the intentions of the ones who pulled his strings. A young boy turned puppet will only take so much before he tries to become a real boy again. This is not easy when it is your parents who first control the strings. Then it becomes your teachers. And then when your father pulls the strings yet again and you find yourself now being controlled by commanding officers in uniforms…
It is not easy for a puppet to cut its strings. It is impossible for a fish to remove a hook. When cast to the bottom of a well, one cannot escape unless a kind soul tosses down a lifeline. There are situations where one realizes they will never escape. Not alone.
Klink knew he would never be more than a puppet. He had accepted this fate long ago. The day Hogan walked into his life, he gladly gave control to the American. If he was going to be used, he wanted to at least choose who would pull the strings.
Hogan was human. Both in the sense of being real (Hogan was controlled only by himself) and because he was humane. For the first time in his life, Klink was gladly a puppet. He was being manipulated, he was being used, he was being lied to. But when he saw the results, he was glad to be a pawn in Hogan’s chess game.
When a boy is turned into a puppet, at least in the young Wilhelm’s case, sometimes the boy is not fully transformed. A part remains buried within, deep inside. It hides in the shadows and clings to hope through the decades.
Hope may be smothered. Love may be doused. Nevertheless, sometimes a glimmer, a spark, or perhaps a simple smirk is all that is needed to reignite these.
Hogan brought these into Klink’s life and did just that.
Klink yearned to be real. A puppet was not allowed to love. A puppet was not allowed to care. A puppet did what it was told: nothing more.
If only it was like the old fairytale of a kiss turning a frog into a beautiful prince. Of true love’s kiss resurrecting one from the brink of death.
Klink didn’t care so much about true love’s kiss. He would have settled for being betrayed by a kiss, if only it meant Hogan would hold him for a moment. Just a moment to pretend. Just a moment. He knew his life would end broken. He was never meant for happiness—or for love. He had to cling to the small moments to survive.
The day Hogan kissed him, Klink felt his world stop. He knew it was simply another move in their chess game. He knew he would be cast aside when it was most beneficial to do so. He knew love never factored into the kiss. Klink didn’t care.
Lie to me, was the only thought running through his head as Hogan pinned him against the wall and kissed him till he felt he was struggling for air.
It was a distraction. Perhaps it was a trap. Or maybe Hogan was bored and knew his puppet well enough that he knew it would not object.
Lie to me, he thought as Hogan pressed against him.
Lie to me, he thought as he sank to his knees and Hogan looked down at him with satisfaction that his puppet knew its purpose.
Lie to me, he thought as Hogan cursed and made pleasing noises.
He would never be more than a puppet. But at least he finally enjoyed who pulled the strings.
Lie to me, he pleaded. For Hogan told such sweet beautiful lies.