He swayed, bumped into her, sank back against the wall.
Please listen to me, Anna. I like your brother and I know Stern's been like a father to both of you, but what I said isn't unthinkable because nothing is, nothing ever. Look at the Nazis. And I know your brother's too young to take all this in, and you are, and it's not something any sane person should ever have to hear because it's beyond the human kind, God help us. . . .
Joe reached out in desperation and seized her by the arm.
But listen to me for Stern's sake, Anna, because he's going to die, and soon. There are depths to the human soul beyond all imagination, and you think you know Stern and you do know him in your way, but he's also more than that and I know it, I've seen it. And yes, he could barter away his soul and that may be exactly what he's done, God have mercy. . . .
Please try to calm down, she whispered.
I am trying, I am. It's just that I can't see and I can't hear and there's a shrieking in my head and I'm blinded by the darkness and I know what's going to happen and I'm frightened . . . afraid. . . .
He loosened his grip on her arm, but he didn't let go of her. Hunched there against the stones, unable to see, the whole side of his head torn with pain, he didn't dare let go of her.
Anna? Forgive me for saying those things back there. I'm sorry I had to say them but Stern is what he is and there's no way to . . .
Anna? I'm afraid he's coming apart and I want to find out the truth about him. If there were only some little thing, Anna, just something to go on while there's still time. . . .
Joe was sobbing for breath, no longer able to hold himself in, giving way as Cohen had before him. He heard the bolt on the door slide open, felt her hand tighten over his. Her lips were next to his ear.
He's never mentioned anything about a Black Code, she whispered, but there was something he said a few weeks ago. The three of us were having breakfast and Stern was in a good mood. My brother happened to step out of the room and Stern suddenly laughed. I remembered the remark because it seemed so odd. . . .
Yes?
He said Rommel must be enjoying breakfast that morning with his little fellers. At first I thought I'd heard fellahs, meaning fellaheen, but it wasn't that. It was little fellers. He didn't explain it and I don't know what it means, but it might lead you to something. The American military attaché in Cairo is a Colonel Fellers.
Oh?
David didn't even hear the remark. And please try to help Stern, try to help him. Good-bye.
Joe didn't have time to thank her. She squeezed his hand and the door closed behind him and all at once he was alone with the eerie sudden sounds of the city at night, peering up and down the narrow alley, trying to remember which way he had come.
-14-
Bletchley
Bletchley's smirk was monstrous in its contempt. His mouth sagged and his single eye bulged grotesquely.
Bletchley's face of concern, Joe reminded himself. . . . Bletchley's face of sympathy.
Another man would have shown his feelings by softening his expression then, but Bletchley could never do that. Not in his shattered ruin of a face with its severed muscles and missing bones. In Bletchley's half-dead face everything always came out looking wrong. Concern appeared as a grin of contempt, sympathy took on a smirk of disgust.
No wonder little children ran away from him on the street, thought Joe. No wonder strangers turned their eyes away in horror. Bletchley's shattered face couldn't speak the truth and he couldn't go around shouting it out every day of his life. So he smiled at the world, or tried to smile, and his humiliation never ended.
He was gazing at Joe's bandaged ear.
You weren't able to get a look at them?
No, said Joe. Common thieves in the night, I suppose. I don't even know whether there were two or three of them, or only one for that matter.
Bletchley sighed.
Well please don't go taking yourself down deserted alleys again at night. If you have to go out for a walk stay in an area where there's some life, where the patrols come by. There's no sense getting banged up like this.
Bletchley was using a handkerchief to clean the skin around his black eye patch. Sometimes when he did that he reminded Joe of a battered old tomcat trying to clean himself, ripped and torn and scarred from his battles but still trying to keep himself presentable. Of course Bletchley wasn't old. He just gave that impression because of his half-dead face that no one had ever been able to fix.
I would have taken more care, said Joe, but I didn't think I was looking all that prosperous these days.
Bletchley peeked over the top of his handkerchief and saw that Joe was smiling, mocking himself. He laughed, a snorting sound accompanied by an idiotic lopsided grin.
Well you don't look that prosperous, for a European. But prosperity is relative, isn't it? Anyway, you're beginning to look more like the rest of us now. Like the rest of us, that's it.
Bletchley went on snorting noisily. Joe smiled.
I am? How's that?
Your ear, said Bletchley. It looks as if it might be missing under that bandage, as if you'd just lost it at the front. Perhaps you don't remember your interview with Whatley too clearly, but Whatley only has one arm.
Oh. No, I don't remember that too clearly. A one-armed Whatley, you say, once the fastest gun in the west but it's only a memory now? Sounds like one of Liffy's songs.
Bletchley snorted.
It is odd when you think of it, but all the Monks do seem to be missing a part or a limb. Crippled, that's it.
Joe heard a ringing in his ear.
True? Do you suppose that means there's some sort of secret law that you have to be a cripple to be in intelligence?
Bletchley snorted.
To be intelligent, you mean? Well you may be right, I never thought of it that way before.
Bletchley finished dabbing around his eye patch and put away his handkerchief. The look of contempt came back into his face. Concern, Joe reminded himself.
Don't you think we ought to have a doctor look at it?
No need to bother, said Joe. Nothing to it really, and Ahmad seems to have a sure touch with bandages.
Yes, a man of unsuspected talents. He did some volunteer nursing work in the last war, as I recall. Drove an ambulance mostly. Men of a literary bent used to like to do that, apparently.
Sounds more like the Spanish Civil War, said Joe. Were you ever in Spain then?
Bletchley looked uncomfortable.
No. I was having some operations done.
It itches, said Joe, grimacing, pointing to his ear.
As usual, they were sitting in the small cellar room on the far side of the courtyard behind the Hotel Babylon. A single naked light bulb hung from the low ceiling, a cord leading down to the electric ring on the table where the kettle was steaming. There was also the chipped teapot and the two dented metal cups between them. As always, a newspaper lay at Bletchley's elbow and the meeting was being held at night, the customary time for dealings with the Monks, as Liffy had said.
What's new that's not in the papers? asked Joe.
Nothing good, said Bletchley. Nothing but one disaster after another. Bir Hacheim has been wiped out with its Free French and its Jewish Brigade, and now it looks like Rommel's going to be able to isolate Tobruk. We'll have to try to hold the line at El Alamein.
Can Tobruk take a siege?
It did last year for seven months. It's not as strong now, but Rommel shouldn't know that.
Bletchley looked down at the table.
Of course there are other things he shouldn't know, this Desert Fox who has become such a hero to the Egyptians.