He awoke too late. Once more he was soiled and soaking wet. Not even the soldier on duty, fast asleep by the brazier, could help him. Time, which had congealed in these depths during the Cold War, turning to a grey sludge between the concrete walls, had now also ceased to flow for the sick man. Had he imagined it or had he really been given a glass of tea by the consul and promised that he would be as good as new in twenty-four hours, as happened with cows, horses, sheep, and goats? And had the weasel, coming to discuss his dissertation in the middle of the night, actually spoken of the daimon, whose love was more than any woman would want to endure?
Once their journey resumed, he would perhaps find out who had sat by his bed and who had been an hallucination. One way or another, when the sleeping pill wore off and he woke again, weak and drenched in sweat, the ghostly light in the windowless, timeless room heralding no known hour of the day, he knew he was over it. He was purged not only of the poisonous stew from the market but also of many older, forgotten toxins too, going back to his school years and the army.
He undid the last nappy and tossed it into the bag by his bed. Then he cleaned himself one last time and added his track suit to the bag. All out of fresh clothes, he opened a package brought by the sergeant. In it was an assortment of army trousers, shirts, and underwear, bequeathed by unknown soldiers discharged long ago. Picking items that looked his size, he slipped snugly into them. When the soldier sleeping by the bed opened his eyes, he was astonished to see the sick tourist transformed into a private in the Maintenance Corps.
The emissary, who had a normal human talent for displaying pain and misery, now deliberated how best to convey his return to health. In the end, he raised both arms high with a triumphant grin. The soldier understood at once. Since he was forbidden to free the patient without permission, however, he had to go and ask the sergeant.
Thoroughly clean and totally void, the human resources manager asked to go on a tour of the shelter before leaving it. With his satellite phone in the deep pocket of his fatigue pants he strolled through the huge rooms of the hospital. In the spectral light he saw unused blankets lying folded on virgin mattresses piled on rusting iron beds. He entered an operating theatre in which no operation had ever been performed and opened and closed drawers of medicines until, in one of them, he found an astonished little mouse staring at him.
If such a tiny creature going about its business could penetrate the hidden fastness of a nuclear shelter, he thought, could not an ethereal sound wave do the same? Taking the phone from his pocket, he decided to put it to the test.
He had no idea whether it was day or night in this place, much less in Jerusalem. Who could he call there? Certainly not the old owner. Nor the office manager. Nor his own secretary. Not even his mother, whom the story of his illness would only frighten. That left his daughter. Surely he had the right to wake her if her young voice was what the doctor ordered.
The call went through amazingly quickly. The voice at the other end was as clear beneath the ground as it would have been from a mountaintop. It was not his daughter’s, however, but his ex-wife’s. Wide awake and relaxed, she spoke softly. To his surprise, she did not hang up on him.
“It’s me …”
“Yes, I can hear that. What’s wrong? You don’t sound so well.”
“I’m not.” He was touched by how intimately she still knew him. “Not entirely …”
“What’s the matter?”
“I had food poisoning. But I’m better now.”
“Who poisoned you?”
He laughed. “No one. I poisoned myself. I’m better.”
“You always thought you had a cast-iron stomach. It’s time you learned you have your limits.”
“You’re right. It is time.”
“You’re better?”
“Yes. I’m getting over it. I had a rough day. I was a wreck. But I’m better.”
“It takes time. Watch what you eat. It’s best just to drink. A lot.”
“I’m drinking. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For worrying about me.”
“I’m not worrying about you. I’m feeling sorry for you.”
“That’s something, too. Thank you for feeling sorry, then.”
“I don’t feel as sorry as all that. You don’t deserve it.”
“Thank you anyway. It’s nice to hear you being patient. Could I ask you to do me a favour and wake our daughter? I need to hear her voice.”
“You’ve forgotten that it’s Monday. She starts school early today. She’s already left.”
“She has? What time is it?”
“Seven. What happened to you? I’ve known you to lose track of many things before, but never of time.”
“You’re right. The soldiers who took care of me after I collapsed took my watch and haven’t returned it yet. And there’s not a ray of sunlight where I am.”
“Where are you?”
“Buried underground. I’m in a nuclear shelter that’s also a tourist site.”
“You’re buried underground? I thought you went to bury a woman.”
“Yulia Ragayev? She’s still above ground. We’re taking her to her mother.”
“While doing some sightseeing. I thought you were in a big rush …”
“Because of the … corpse? We have time. There’s no need to worry. There are medical procedures nowadays. It’s not what you imagine.”
“I’m not worrying or imagining anything. I couldn’t care less. I simply don’t understand why you had to travel so far because of some dumb newspaper article. You could have buried her in Jerusalem. It’s probably what she would have wanted.”
“So now you know what she would have wanted. Perhaps you do care after all …”
“I do not! Let’s drop it. I’ve had enough of your wisecracks. I’m sorry I ever mentioned her … Wake up! Who is she to me? Who are you? What do you want? Poisoned or not, go away. Do what you want. Go touring with corpses. Just leave me in peace.”
9
Without waiting for their lunch, the seven travellers boarded the armoured vehicle, which coughed and shook vigorously before emitting a puff of blue exhaust and lurching from its place with a happy growl. The coffin, its ropes reinforced by a metal cable, bumped along behind it. It was the human resources manager himself who had given the order to depart. Although he’d emerged pale and weak from the depths, a long look at his folded mattress in the empty barracks room from which his two disturbing dreams had vanished — leaving him fancy-free — had convinced him to continue his mission. The consul moved the boy to the front seat, cleared a space amid the luggage for the emissary to lie in, and even coaxed him to wear his wife’s red woollen cap as a head-warmer and general restorative.
Since the army base had no laundry service, the emissary had to go on wearing the second-hand army uniform in place of his own clothes. It was added to the moderate bill he received for their lodging, meals, and tour, which he augmented with a tip for all the nappies, hot tea, and sympathy. As before, the sergeant did not want to take the money. His military pride, he told the consul, would not allow it. But when his troops assailed him for his stubbornness, he flushed, gave the emissary a military salute, shut his eyes tight, and let the money be placed in his hand. The photographer, his lens restored, could not resist popping a flashbulb.