Then the pastor seemed to gather himself. He looked at each of them in turn as he spoke. "But so long as I am your pastor, I will make decisions and act as my conscience directs me, and with one clear objective: bringing back to our community what Jesus gave it and seeking the welfare of us all. Above all other things, I will see to our safety. God does not want us dead; He wants us alive. He does not need more martyrs."
"What will you do with them?" Talat asked of the three who awaited their fate.
"For a while I will command them to live in isolation, in prayer and fasting, here, where I can observe them. If and when I think they have been sufficiently chastised, I will send them back to their families. Too much is at stake. We cannot treat failure lightly. They must pay a penance for it. Meanwhile, you, Bakkalbasi, will devote your fine analytical mind to reviewing our operations as a whole."
"To what end, Addaio?"
"I want you to consider carefully-very carefully- whether there is room among us for betrayal, and where it might be, and why."
"Then you believe that Zafarin and his father may be right?"
"We must not resist the evidence. If there is a traitor, we will find him."
Each of the men knew what would follow.
When they returned to the council room, they found the young men and their fathers still on their knees in prayer. The pastor and the elders resumed their seats.
"Stand up," ordered Addaio.
Dermisat was quietly weeping, Rasit's eyes were angry, and Zafarin seemed to have grown serene.
"You will do penance for failing in your mission with retreat from the world and prayer and fasting for forty days and forty nights. You will remain here, with me. You will work in the gardens while you still have strength. When the forty days have passed, I will tell you what more awaits you."
Zafarin gave his father a worried look. The father read his son's eyes and spoke for him.
"Will you allow them to say good-bye to their families?"
"No. The expiation has begun."
Addaio rang a silver bell that was on the table. Seconds later, the little man entered.
"Guner, take them to the rooms that open on the gardens. Find clothes for them and give them water and fruit juices. That is all they will have to eat or drink while they remain with us. I want you to explain the customs of the house and our hours for waking and working and sleeping. Now, you three, leave us."
The men embraced their fathers briefly, not daring to linger. When they had followed Guner but of the room, Addaio spoke again, as he and the members of the council rose from their chairs.
"Go back to your families. You will have word of your sons in forty days."
The fathers filed by Addaio, bowing and kissing his hand and inclining their heads in respect before the elders of the community, who stood as motionless as statues.
When they were alone again, Addaio led the others down a gloomy hallway to a small door, which he unlocked with a key hanging at his belt. It was a chapel, which they would not leave until nightfall.
That night, Addaio did not sleep. Though his knees were raw from long hours of prayer, he felt the need to mortify himself. God knew how much Addaio loved Him, but love alone could not persuade God to forgive Addaio for his anger-the anger he had never been able to cast out of his heart. Satan would be delighted, he knew, if that mortal sin cost him his eternal soul.
By the time Guner quietly entered Addaio's room again, the dawn had given way to morning. The faithful servant had brought coffee and a pitcher of cool water. He helped Addaio to his feet and then over to the only chair in the austere room.
"Thank you, Guner. How are the young ones?"
"They are at work in the garden, eyes red and swollen from their miserable night. Their spirits were broken before they arrived."
"You are not pleased with this punishment, are you, Guner?"
"I obey, sir. I am your servant."
"No! You are not! You are my only friend, and you know that, you help me to-"
"I serve you, Addaio, and I serve you well, as I've done since my tenth birthday, when my mother put me into your service. She considered it an honor that her son be chosen to serve you. Her last wish was that I always take care of you."
"Your mother was a saint."
"She was a simple woman who accepted the teaching of her fathers without question."
"Do you, Guner, doubt our faith?"
'Addaio, I believe in God and our Lord Jesus Christ. But it is hard for me to see the virtue in this fever that has possessed the pastors of our community for centuries, the acts of madness that they have committed or ordered to be committed in God's name. God is worshipped with the heart."
"You dare to question the foundations of our community? You dare to say that the holy pastors that went before me erred? Do you think it is easy to keep the commandments of our forebears?"
Guner lowered his head. He knew that Addaio needed him and loved him like a brother, for he alone had a place in Addaio's private life. After so many years at the pastor's side, Guner knew that only with him was Addaio truly himself, an angry man consumed by the responsibility of leading the community and carrying out its ancient mission, a man who trusted no one and exercised his authority over all. Over all except him, Guner, who washed his clothes, brushed his suits, kept his quarters spodess. The only man who saw him with sleep in his eyes or covered with sweat after a night of fever. The only man who knew his frustrations and depressions and his efforts to appear before bis flock clad in an aura of majesty and infallibility, so that he might calm their souls and lead them on the treacherous path they had chosen.
Guner would never abandon Addaio. He, too, had made a vow of chastity and obedience, and his family- his parents while they lived and now his brothers and sisters and their children-enjoyed the financial comfort that Addaio granted them and the status they enjoyed within the community.
He had served Addaio for forty years, and he had come to know him as well as he knew himself. That was why he feared him, despite the trust that had long been between them.
"Do you think there is a traitor among us?" Addaio asked him now.
"There may be."
"Do you suspect anyone in particular?"
"No."
"And if you did, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"
"No, I would not, not unless I was sure. I would not want someone condemned solely on suspicion."
Addaio looked at Guner fixedly. He envied Guner's goodness, his equanimity, and it struck him not for the first time that his servant would be a better pastor than he was-those who had chosen him had made a mistake; his lineage had weighed too heavily on them. They had chosen him because of the absurd yet age-old habit of showering the descendants of great men with honors and privileges, even when they were unworthy.
Guner's had been a humble family of country people whose forebears, like Addaio's own, had followed their faith in secret.