God, he whispered. Our most gracious Lord descending gently from the heavens.
Joe crossed himself. Jaysus, what’s he talking about now and how did he learn his bloody name really?
They moved from house to house making their way toward the harbor. At last they came out in a side street beside it, or rather Joe did. Haj Harun seemed to have fallen behind. He waited and after a while the old man came creeping around the corner carrying a heavy sword.
What’s that?
A Crusader’s sword.
It looked like it might be. Just turn up did it?
It was on a wall in one of those houses we went through.
And what will you be doing with it then?
Haj Harun sighed.
Bloodshed is wrong, I detest it. But I remember how the Babylonians and the Romans were and I’ve been assigned to guard our party, so now as then I’ll do my best to defend the innocent.
The fires didn’t wait for darkness. Long before sunset whole streets were ablaze. When they got back to the house in the Armenian Quarter smoke already hung heavily over the city.
Well? said Stern.
We can get there, general commandant sir, but why we should want to I don’t know. The Black and Tans have half the Irish nation down there beating the shit out of them. A bad lot they are, better not to mix with them unless you’re standing at the right end of a cannon loaded with rusty nails. Now I grew up on the sea but I cast the vote of the Aran Islands this time for going straight overland.
We can’t with him, whispered Stern, nodding at Sivi.
No problem there, said Joe, smiling and patting his revolver. I’ll just find a mule and a cart that happen to be going our way.
But he’s Greek, you fool.
So we’ll cover him with a blanket. Or are you afraid they might take you for an Armenian? They might do that you know and then where’d you be? No place I guess, as bad off as the Irish nation. Ever seen the Black and Tans working themselves up for a session before? No I imagine you haven’t, but I’ll tell you this is just the beginning. Wait until night comes, that brings out the best in armed men working over an unarmed populace. Night, that’s the item, not afraid of it are you? Couldn’t be so could it? Not our very own general in charge of building Middle Eastern empires?
O’Sullivan Beare grinned and Stern took a step forward. Boots slapped in the corridor. The door banged open.
Two Turkish soldiers were pointing rifles at them. Their eyes went to Theresa kneeling beside the couch. One of the soldiers pushed Stern and O’Sullivan Beare against the wall with his bayonet. The other soldier grabbed Theresa by the hair and forced her down over Sivi’s unconscious body.
Don’t move, she said coolly. They’ll leave when they’ve done what they want.
The soldier by the couch planted a knee in her back and pulled open his trousers. Suddenly there was an angry roar. The soldier with the bayonet slumped, his head nearly severed. The soldier by the couch tried to stand but Haj Harun was upon him just as quickly. The sword sliced through his shoulder into his chest.
Something had happened to Haj Harun’s birthmark. In the gloom it had turned a richer and deeper purple, much darker than O’Sullivan Beare had ever seen it. Gone were the fainter patches, the varying shades, the nearly invisible hues. His cloak had fallen to the floor and he stood in the middle of the room naked save for his loincloth, the long bloody sword by his side, his head bowed.
For the Lord Himself, he murmured, shall descend from heaven with the voice of His archangel Gabriel.
Stern and O’Sullivan Beare were still pressed against the wall. Sivi lay unconscious on the couch. Theresa was sprawled across him on her stomach, her skirt ripped up the back to her waist. All at once she shuddered and her eyes widened.
What’s he talking about?
The two men by the wall came to life.
He thinks he’s Gabriel now, whispered Joe. Gabriel revealed the Koran to the Prophet, he added for no reason.
Theresa turned from the Arab to the Irishman and it was as if she were seeing him for the first time, as if she hadn’t seen any of them before or the horror around her until that moment. Somewhere inside her a blow shattered the strange calmness Stern had noticed from the beginning. She stared at the Irishman’s thin face and long hair and dark searching eyes, especially his beard. The beard from the paintings in the convent of her childhood.
She was on her knees shaking, her arms over her head to protect herself. Her body jerked violently.
Who is that? she screamed and pitched forward on the floor, banging her head up and down on the boards. Stern seized her and she caught sight of Joe standing over her.
Who is that? she screamed again, choking from the blood streaming down her face. Stern slapped her and she fell in a heap, tearing at her chest. He pulled away her hands and held them.
Joe backed away until he was in the far corner. He was trembling and soaked with sweat.
Jaysus, he whispered.
Yes, said Stern quietly, and may it be your first and last time. Now you and the Arab take him, I’ll take her. You follow and I’ll do the talking.
Most of the alleys were already blocked by collapsed buildings. O’Sullivan Beare slipped on something soft and crashed into the cobblestones. His elbow cracked. He staggered to his feet, the arm hung slack. He couldn’t move it. Change sides, he said to Haj Harun. They gripped Sivi under the arms and started off once more.
Did Stern know where he was going? They seemed to be walking in circles, all the alleys looked the same. Stern tried the gate to a walled garden and pushed his way inside. He put Theresa down. The three men were exhausted.
Five minutes, said Stern.
The Arab went to stand by the gate. O’Sullivan Beare ripped the sleeve off his shirt to make a sling for his useless arm. From beyond the wall came a high-pitched wail.
For the love of God kill me before I burn.
Joe lurched put into the alley, the smoke so thick he could hardly see. The frail cry came again and now he made out the dull yellow of Haj Harun’s cloak moving away from him. He followed, stumbling as best he could. The wail was closer. A decrepit old Armenian was feeling his way along a wall, unknowingly walking into the flames. His nose had been cut off, his eyes torn out. Strands of bloody tissue hung from the empty sockets.
Tears of blood. Immovable tears. Joe stopped.
Haj Harun’s sword flashed, the old Armenian sank out of sight. Gently Joe took Haj Harun by the arm and led him back to the garden. The Arab was moaning and weeping in despair, his great sword trailing along behind him.
The Romans killed five hundred thousand of us, he whispered, but only the fortunate died right away. There were others, so many others.
Haj Harun wandered around the garden weeping, lost among the ruins. Flames burst overhead, smoke billowed down on them. Joe remembered his numb dangling arm and felt to see if it was still there.
He lay on his back gazing up at the rolling smoke, at nothing. He couldn’t breathe anymore, he was sinking into a nightmare of shadows and hazy fiery timbers. Dimly Haj Harun’s faded cloak floated across the sky as screams drifted through the nightmare, Sivi screaming he was a Greek from Smyrna, Theresa screaming Who is that? Stern was forcing some medicine down her throat and she was vomiting on him, he tried again but he’d already done that before with Sivi and what good did it do, they went on screaming anyway.
It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, it must be night now because the smoke was darker and heavier, a thick blanket to sleep under. Already they must have been there for hours, Sivi and Theresa raving and Haj Harun wandering lost through the flowers, fires all around them and all of them strangling in the smoke, even Stern the great general. Stern could go to hell with his dreams, he was no better than anybody else, losing hold like the rest of them.