Kind of.
And this makes your merchants rich?
I suppose so, Leonard said.
Mill was silent, as if absorbing this astonishing fact.
We are also known for our frocks, Leonard said. And our greatcoats.
I should like to see these marvels, Mill said. Perhaps I could trade them for amber. Or pepper.
Pepper?
And fauna? What manner of beast roams your countryside?
Leonard had to think again. Aside from Medusa, he’d not had much experience with beasts.
Chipmunks, he said. Apparently, we’re overrun.
Chipmunks! Mill said. This beast is unknown to me! Are they cultivated by friars?
Mill laughed his low, wheezy laugh at this piece of inexplicable humor.
They have a stripe, Leonard explained. Down their back.
Excellent! Are they large and suitable for eating? Are they put to pasture? Are they captured through the hunt?
Leonard thought about this for a moment.
The Survivalists make a stew of them in their bunker cafés.
Wonderful! Mill said. Truly, you live in a fascinating land!
I guess so, Leonard said.
Are you a Jew? Marco asked.
I beg your pardon? Leonard asked.
I sense in your voice a trace of Mainz.
I have no religion, Leonard said.
Silence.
You are a Saracen, then? You worship Mahomet?
I don’t believe in God, Leonard said.
Again, silence.
You are a Tartar, then? An idolater? A fire worshipper?
I have no religion, Leonard said. I worship nothing.
A silence so long, Leonard thought the line had gone dead.
I have seen many wonders, my friend, but none so strange as this. In Fu-chau, I met persons who were Christian and did not know it! I had to explain this most important fact to them! Papa insists they were Manichean. Whatever the case, at least they held some belief.
My family’s Jewish, if that helps, Leonard said. My grandfather’s grandfather was a rabbi.
Ah! You have been excommunicated. I am very sorry. I am a member of the true faith, of course, a devoted subject of Pope Boniface VIII.
Pope what?
You do not know Boniface? He is no more?
Leonard was astonished to hear Mill weep, and again allowed compassion to well. But then Mill said, It seems only yesterday Gregory named us official legates to the Great Khan — and Leonard didn’t feel so bad.
And so it went: Mill calling several times a night, Leonard eventually communicating the concept of call queuing so he could excuse himself should a real call come through, which it did not. His phone logs continued to fill, he seemed even to be increasing his conversion rate, for which accomplishment NP sent him a semiprecious, metal-plated, equilateral calzone.
Leonard didn’t mind talking with Mill, especially now that his screen was acting so strange, with Sue & Susheela napping most of the time, the Brazen Head too (a note—Out Fishin’—taped to its head). When Mill called, those sites dissolved, crystallizing into diamonds scattered brilliant at the bottom of his screen — touching one, Leonard got an electric shock. Fifteen minutes after Mill’s calls, his sites would crawl back, exhausted and ill formed. Sue & Susheela would be grumpy, the Brazen Head would blink stupidly and belch.
Leonard still hung up on Mill from time to time. When Mill called back, as always he would, he didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he blamed himself.
Forgive me, he’d say. I learned much from the Tibetans, but I am no adept.
Then, invariably, the line would go dead.
Four men walk into an orchard
Six men with justice sticks came to Carol’s house — the sound of their police caravans should have awakened Leonard, but it did not. Carol made Felix answer the door.
My mother is out planting flowers in honor of the Leader, Felix said. Would you like some claggum?
They took their treacle treats with them, and Carol pushed a clutchbag crammed with papers into the fire.
Records from my book group, she explained. Or so Felix said during his Time between Here and There. Which was getting longer every day. There was more and more Felix couldn’t bring home — not just unkind classmates and ungraspable mathematical concepts, but hard-to-put-a-finger-on fears. To get through it all, they often needed to stop at the meeting rock in front of the municipal suggestion box.
Leonard wished he had more to offer.
Destabilizing forces of chaos have breached the walls, Felix said, sitting on the rock.
Impossible, Leonard said. The walls can’t be breached. The Leader said so. He’s an engineer, he should know.
Maybe, Felix said. Where do you think Mom goes when she goes to her book club?
She goes to her book club, Leonard said, though he’d often wondered the same. She’s always been a big reader, he added.
Why aren’t there any books in the house?
She uses the library, Leonard lied. Maybe she also reads at work.
You think Celeste hates me?
Sometimes people mistreat the ones they love.
I had a weird dream.
Oh?
It’s very scary.
Leonard took Felix’s hand.
Four men go into an orchard. Two are named Ben — that’s the funny part — one is named the other one, and one is named Rabbi. Ben One sees something in the orchard that kills him; he’s plucked apart by vultures while he’s still alive.
That’s terrible, Leonard said.
I know! Felix agreed. Ben Two looks around, and what he sees makes him crazy. The other one sees the same thing and turns into a destabilizing force of chaos. The only one who’s not affected is Rabbi. He sees whatever it is and goes home just like he was.
I know that story, Leonard said, stunned.
You do?
I do, Leonard said. But he didn’t have a chance to remember how because Felix was crying.
I’m scared, he said. What do you think they saw?
The clapping song
Carol was making revolutionary stew in her all-around cooker when Leonard finished work the next morning and wandered into the stoveroom for chicory. There was nothing truly revolutionary about Carol’s stew except that (1) the ingredients remind us of our agrarian past, wherein lie the ancient roots of revolution; (2) all flavors have their say in a stew, as they must in any socialist system; and (3) like history, it takes a long time to cook but it’s worth it in the end.
Felix is worried, Leonard said.
About what?
This and that. Men with justice sticks coming to the door.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Carol had finished chopping the vegetables and was hacking at a clump of meat with a cleaver.
You don’t know what I’m talking about?
Felix has a vivid imagination. You shouldn’t encourage him [thwack!].
I just listen, Leonard said.
You don’t just listen — you tell him stories, and you encourage that comic-book opus of his.
Speaking of stories, did Grandpa tell you any? Leonard asked, plucking a revolutionary carrot from the pot.
Of course he didn’t [thwack!]. Stories were for the grandson, remember? You were the all-important grandson, I was the not-at-all-important granddaughter [thwack!].
Maybe a story about an orchard? I sort of remembered it the other day, he said, unwilling to explain that Felix had dreamt it, more or less in its entirety. And bits of others, but they’re all jumbled. He made me promise to tell them to my grandson, but if I don’t remember them, how can I do that?
You’ll never have grandsons if you don’t leave the house [thwack!].