Joe? What are you going to do now?
Well I'm going to try to see Stern tonight, one way or another, but in the meantime I need a sanctuary. In another era this little cave would have been fine, but the concept's no longer honored, sadly. Seems holy places have a way of getting lost over time, don't they, so you always have to be seeking new ones. .
Can you think of a place, Liffy?
A refuge, you mean?
Yes.
Liffy was gazing up at the low dome, at the fresco there depicting the austere figure of Christ as Pantokrator, the Paraclete or Intercessor, the stylized face expressionless, the enormous powerful eyes staring down at them.
You could try old Menelik's mausoleum, whispered Liffy. That would probably be as safe as anywhere.
It might be at that, thought Joe.
But Ahmad kept his forgery equipment there, he whispered. Won't Bletchley think of that?
Liffy stirred.
There's no reason for him to bother with it. There's nothing but a small printing press which runs by hand, so old and battered no one but Ahmad could ever work it. I imagine they'd just leave the place locked and forget about it. It doesn't mean anything to any of them.
Seems likely, thought Joe.
But how could I get in then?
I have a key, murmured Liffy.
You do?
Yes. I had a duplicate made of Ahmad's once. He used to let me borrow his and I was always afraid of losing it.
You used to go there by yourself, you mean?
Sometimes, to get away from everything. Ahmad took pity on me and let me use it. I used to go there to read.
Joe looked at him, surprised.
What did you read down there?
Buber, mostly. It was very quiet and I could feel at peace.
Joe nodded. I've been thinking about the Waterboys, he whispered, wondering if they could help in some way.
Liffy moved on his throne, still gazing up at the dome.
Why them?
Because I doubt they know anything about this, security being what it is. And because there'd have to be some sense of rivalry between them and the Monastery, human nature being what it is. And also because Stern's done work for them in the past, which means they'd have a high opinion of him. And because Maud works there. I know she only does translations, but that still means they'd trust her. Is there any officer there you know particularly well?
The Major, murmured Liffy. He'd be the one to contact. We get along and I think he reports directly to the Colonel, Bletchley's equivalent. In fact I think he's the Colonel's personal assistant. I can give you his private phone number and you could pretend you were me, asking for an emergency meeting. I've never had to set one up in the clear over the phone, but you could do it. We have the arrangement.
I couldn't imitate your voice, whispered Joe.
You wouldn't have to. Whenever I call him I use a different voice. It's a kind of game between the two of us.
Joe nodded. Liffy's gaze was still fixed on the fresco overhead.
Joe? What will you do if Menelik's crypt doesn't work out? If you have to find another place to hide?
Where will you go?
I've been thinking about it and I suppose I might have to try the houseboat. The Sisters would take me in all right, the trouble is Bletchley would think of it. I know no harm will come to them, I'm sure they're right about that, Bletchley wouldn't dare. But the houseboat just sits there on the water and if Bletchley's men came looking, well, they'd find me soon enough.
And so?
And so I'll just have to hope old Menelik can keep me hidden down there in his five thousand years of murky history.
Liffy looked at him.
I know, whispered Joe, it's a hope that doesn't make much sense. History doesn't hide you, just the opposite. Gives away your hiding place, if anything. But what other hope is there?
Liffy didn't answer.
And when they question you, added Joe, remember, just tell them the truth. You know I talked a lot with Ahmad, and that I talked with David once, and that I went to see the Sisters last night. But you don't know anyone else I might have seen and you don't know what the Sisters might have told me, and that's the truth. You don't know, Liffy, that's all. It's not your affair. This business is between Stern and me, and Stern and me and Bletchley, and that's the way it's been from the beginning. So just tell them the truth and Bletchley's not going to give you any trouble when he understands how things are. There's nothing wrong with Bletchley, it's just that he's got his own job to do and we're sitting in different places. So just the truth, Liffy, and it'll be all right.
Liffy nodded, distracted. He opened a little leather pouch which was hanging from his neck and placed a key in Joe's hand.
Menelik's crypt?
Yes.
Liffy stared at Joe, then whispered again.
There's one thing I have to know. Is Stern. . did it turn out to be. . is it all right? Did he know in the end, Joe, did he have it right? You have to tell me the truth for Ahmad's sake, for David's. . ours.
Joe smiled.
We never doubted that, Liffy. Deep inside, neither one of us ever doubted that. Stern's on the only side there is, the right side. Life. Hope. The right side. And we knew that, Liffy, we knew it. Do you remember what you told me about Stern the first time you ever mentioned him? How the two of you used to go to poor Arab bars late at night and just sit and talk about nothing, and in particular, never about the war? And you said he liked your imitations, they made him laugh. And you said that meant a great deal to you, bringing laughter to a man like Stern, knowing the life he's had. It made you happy, you said. Do you remember?
Yes.
And then you said something else, Liffy. Do you remember?
Yes. I said it was an unusual kind of laughter. I said it was gentle, and I said his eyes were gentle.
That's right, said Joe, and so they are. And so there's nothing to be afraid about now because it's going to be all right.
Joe smiled. Liffy looked at him. And, of course, there was that last question lingering between the two of them, when would they meet again, and where? But they understood each other too well to bother with that, and instead they made their final arrangements and sat a few minutes in silence, gazing around the tiny church with its little dome and its darkened fresco of the Paraclete, the Intercessor, sharing the coolness and the quiet of the place, a moment of calm for both of them.
Finally, reluctantly, Joe squeezed Liffy's arm and slipped off his throne.
I have to be going now, he whispered.
Liffy drifted along with him toward the door. There was a small stand for prayer candles and Liffy stopped to light two of them, one for Ahmad and one for David, and they stood looking down at the candles before they embraced. And that was where they parted and where Joe left him, a frail man in a tattered cloak with his matted hair streaming around his face, a sorrowing hermit from the wilderness crouched over the flickering candles of memory, of love.
Liffy silently weeping for Ahmad and David in the somber light of that little cave. Liffy once more the haunted prophet of old, a frail man stricken with the terrible knowledge of the names of things. . his ancient dusty face running with tears that glistened like tiny rivers come to water the desert.
— 17-
Mementos
The vast bands of homeless pilgrims roaming the outer circles of the Irrigation Works seemed to keep no regular hours.
They were also all said to be in search of water. Or at least that was what they claimed whenever they were stopped and asked what they were doing, those milling bands of Slavs and Rumanians and Danes and Greeks, Belgians and Armenians and Dutch, some determined and some merely dazed, others wild-eyed or tame by turns as they chaotically croaked their messages and banged their long staves on the floor, pilgrims far from home swaying as stalks of grain in the wind, those confusing groups of Maltese and Czechs and French and Norwegians, Cypriots and Hungarians and Poles, the many stateless wanderers and the occasional homespun Albanian.