Authors: Gene Wolfe
“None, perhaps. That could be.”
“He knew somebody here,” I insisted. “Somebody he’d done business with, somebody who might help him now, when he’s in a bind.”
Naala was quiet for a minute or two. Then she said, “You have thought, so you eat. What is it you like?”
I shrugged and said I would have whatever she was having. She ordered something I had never heard of that turned out to be a thick stew with lots of meat topped with sour cream. When it finally came, we ate it with fresh bread and butter and slices of raw onion. So nothing fancy, but the bowls were big, the stew was wonderful, the butter was soft enough to spread, and the bread was still warm from the oven.
As well as I can remember there had not been even one single time when I had left the table in the prison feeling like I had eaten a good meal, so I tore into this. Maybe I stopped once or twice to wonder whether the meat was beef or lamb. I know that before I was finished I asked the waiter and he said it was both, with some pork, too. Naala grinned and said it was good horse meat and she would never take me to a place where they served mule meat, but she was kidding.
I had about finished when a priest came over to our table. He smiled at us, and I knew right away who he was, but I could not remember his name. He must have known it from my face, because the first thing he said was, “Papa Zenon.”
Whatever it was I said then was meant to be polite. Probably I asked him to sit down, because he sat. “You speak our language now.”
“A little,” I told him. “I know I’m not very good.”
“We are none of us very good, as God knows. You have a new cousin?”
Naala said, “We are friends, that is all. I try to help him. He tries to help me. You will approve of this?”
“Oh, surely—I am sure you do well. You are fine people.” He looked back to me. “The funeral went well. You were concerned, I know. Everything was as you would have wished.”
I knew what he meant and said I would have liked to have been there.
“Another time, perhaps. You help this lady, whose name I do not know.…”
Naala introduced herself.
“While she helps you. I will help you both, if I can. What is it you do?”
Naala said, “He is from Amerika. You must know this.”
Papa Zenon nodded.
“Our police do not like foreigners. Many are spies, and our police fear them. He is not a spy, but they put him in prison, a foolish charge so they are safe from him. I have arranged his release. For this he is grateful, I hope.”
“Very grateful,” I said.
“Now I buy the lunch. He has no money, no passport. He owes to the church for this funeral you speak of? He cannot pay, not now. Soon he will have money again, sent from Amerika where he has much. Then you will be paid.”
Papa Zenon smiled. “We do not charge for funerals. The dead repay us with their prayers. Should the living wish to make an offering in gratitude, their offering is accepted in the spirit in which it was given.”
“I’ll make an offering when I can,” I said. “I’ll be glad to, if I can find you.”
“I will not be difficult to find, my son. My church is that of Saint Barachisios in Puraustays. I travel, indeed, but only rarely and only when I must. A shepherd forced from his flock. One worries. One cannot do otherwise.” He licked his lips. “Tell me, do you know where your cousin is staying? Does she assist you?”
I said I thought she was back in Puraustays. I knew Naala would not want me to talk about what we were doing, and I had no idea what story she might cook up, so I asked what had brought him to the capital.
“Would you like lunch, Papa?” she put in. “I have said I pay for his, as I do. I will pay for yours, also.”
“You are kindness itself, but I have eaten. I came to your table only to say that the funeral went well, and the burial. I did not intend to intrude.”
“You do not intrude, Papa.” Naala looked at me as if to say
what’s going on here?
I said, “Did you know I was here in the capital?”
“Oh, no! No one knows where you are, and certainly I did not.” He paused for a second to let me chew on that. “I came because His Excellency the Archbishop wishes to speak with me.”
I wanted to ask him about Kleon and Martya then, but I did not dare to.
Naala rescued me for the time being. “This is most interesting, and I hope to persuade you to tell us about it. I have seen His Excellency in the cathedral a score of times, it might be. Still I have never spoken to him. My Amerikan friend has never spoken to him either, of that I feel most sure. You must drink more coffee now—and eat something, too, if you wish it—and tell us of this. What is he like in private? What is it he says to you? There is trouble at your church in Puraustays?”
“No, none at all.” Papa Zenon looked deadly serious for a change. “I have written a book. It is a great mistake, I find, to write a book, because everyone looks upon you as an expert.”
Still sweating bullets I said, “I know what you mean.”
“As for His Excellency, it is far beyond my modest skill to capture his personality in mere words. He is a venerable priest, enfeebled in body though not in mind, a man of great kindness and great penetration.” Papa Zenon sighed. “A man who guards his tongue, and has a tongue to be feared. I am happy to say that I have escaped it thus far. But only thus far.”
“I am not one who pries.” Naala held her hand to her chest and did her best to look innocent. “If I pry now, you will tell me, I hope. Yet thousands must know. What is it, this book you have written? I might like to read. Has the library copies?”
Papa Zenon nodded. “I believe it does. I must look. There is a store below the cathedral. You will know it, I am sure. Crucifixes and icons, also religious books. We priests may write books, you understand.”
She nodded. “With the approval of the State, yes.”
“Of course. The archbishop must approve as well. This means he reads all the books we write while he sits on the throne. Mine, for example. May I for a moment boast? He congratulated me upon it.”
Naala signaled to the waiter that he was to bring Papa Zenon something.
“Its title is
A Manual of Exorcism for Those in Holy Orders.
May I explain?”
I said, “Yeah, I wish you would.”
“You must know that although small parishes have only a single priest, the pastor, larger ones have a pastor and an assistant, or several assistants. In your country it is different, perhaps. But in ours every pastor must appoint an exorcist. A pastor who has several assistants, as I do, appoints one of them in most cases. He may hold the office himself, however, if he chooses.”
The waiter brought more coffee, with a clean cup for Papa Zenon and a little plate of
kolacky
.
“I had been appointed exorcist while I was an assistant and had performed exorcisms, some successful, others less so. When I myself became a pastor, I quizzed my assistants on the subject. None knew anything beyond what is taught at the seminary. What seminarians learn concerning exorcism is quite perfunctory, I am sorry to say, and these scarcely knew that.” He sipped.
“In any event, I decided to retain the post myself. Since that time I have gained a certain fame, at least in Puraustays. Other exorcists visit me for advice and so on. As I have indicated, I decided to write a book. It was the labor of four years, but I am vain enough to believe that it contains much of value and some things of value that are not to be found elsewhere.”
“This is a large city,” Naala remarked.
“It is, and there must be many possessions here, fifty or sixty a year, I would imagine. Possibly His Excellency wishes me to treat such a case.” Papa Zenon picked up one of the little cakes, examined it, and returned it to the plate. “That is entirely possible, although he has not said so.”
I asked, “What does he say?”
Papa Zenon shook his head. “You can scarcely expect me to make His Excellency’s confidences a part of my table talk, my son.”
When he had gone, Naala asked, “Why did he come to you, and why did he join us so readily?”
I quoted, “‘I don’t trust that conductor. Why is he so short?’”
“And you mean by that…?”
“Nothing. It’s from a cartoon I watched one time, that’s all. Papa Zenon’s pretty short, and it popped into my head.”
“Those cakes.” Naala pointed to them. “Why did the waiter bring them?”
“Beats me. Maybe he was just being hospitable.”
“No. This priest of yours enters this café and does not look at the menu. He orders. It is not much, because he talks little to the waiter. Soon he sees you, and at once comes to our table. The waiter sees him there when I point to him. He brings more coffee and the little cakes, because the priest has ordered them.”
I said, “Maybe.”
“Not it may be. It is. Those things are so. The priest picks up a little cake, but his stomach is now tight. He does not eat. I, too, know this tightness of the stomach. When I see it in others, I know what it is I see.”
“Maybe he’s worried about me.”
“He is worried by you. Possibly me, also, but mostly by you. So it appeared. He talks to you without result. Then he is more worried. He leaves, fearing we may see his concern. He makes the funeral for you? He blesses the burial? So he said.”
I nodded.
“Who is buried? A relative? A friend?”
“Just a body.” I told her about the Willows. “We didn’t want to put it back behind that mirror, and Martya thought it would be less likely to bother us if a priest buried it.”
Naala looked thoughtful. “You did not see her in the mirror, you say. It is this girl.”
“Yes, it was. I never saw it until I took down the mirror.”
“Then it is this Martya the priest should fear, no? She has the second sight. Is she here, in this city?”
I shook my head. “She’s still back in Puraustays, as far as I know.”
“She is your cousin? Says she is?”
I nodded. “Sometimes.”
“In a bar you met her?”
“No, but we went to some clubs together afterward. We’d wait until Kleon—that’s her husband—was asleep, then go to a club and dance for an hour or so.” I stopped, thinking how weird it must have sounded to Naala. “I was his prisoner, or supposed to be.”
She chuckled. “This they do in the provinces. With what were you charged?”
“I don’t know. They never told me.”
“The charges have been dropped? You have left this Kleon’s house before you are taken?”
I tried to explain.
“If what you say is so, he has been shot. Your Martya is now become a widow lady.” Naala laughed. “She is good for you between the sheets? You liked her?”
I shrugged. “She was okay.”
“You think I do not understand your English word, but I do. It is as I say. Your Martya has come here to look for you. So it seems. The priest has seen her here. This I also believe. Should we let her find you?”
I said, “I don’t know.”
“No more do I. How old do you think me?”
I made the best guess I could, then knocked off ten years. “About twenty-seven.”
She smiled. “Never again, and this you know. There are things I can show, and I will. Martya I cannot show. Not yet. But we will find her.” She waved the waiter over and asked for more coffee.
When he had gone, I said, “Aren’t we about finished here?”
“Where will we go if we leave as you wish?”
I shrugged. “Up to you.”
“So. We leave, then stand in the street discussing where we go. To the art museum, I say. You say to the concert. A passerby stops to say the zoo. I shake my head, fearing the keepers there will never let you leave.” Naala laughed. “Let us discuss here instead. They will not force us to go, I have not paid our bill. Let us rationally consider what it is we do. You knew Rathaus in Puraustays?”
I explained that I had never met any other Americans in Puraustays.
“In Amerika you know him.”
“No. I never so much as saw him until they put him in my cell.”
“The Legion has him, you think?”
“You said it didn’t, that they would have taken me instead.”
“What I think does not matter. What is it you think?”
I said, “I don’t know what has taken him.”
“But not the Legion of the Light?”
I shook my head.
“You think something you fear. That is what I think, because I see it in your eyes. What is it?”
I said, “I don’t know what it is.”
“I ask again, where is it we should go?”
“I’ve already answered that. We ought to find out whether he had business connections here and check them out.”
“This still you think.”
I nodded.
“I have the idea, too. First I make the telephone call. You must excuse me.”
I thought she was going to the rest room, but she waltzed out of the café. I sat there awhile, mostly watching the pretty girl with the big red pen and the man who watched her, until the waiter came over. “You wish something more, sir?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“The lady…?”
“She’ll be back,” I said. I thought of telling him I had no money, which was the truth. But I did not say it.
“Perhaps she will want something more.” The waiter rubbed his chin.
I told him I did not know.
“Some nice fruits, it might be. I will tell the kitchen.”
The girl with the red pen looked up at me and smiled, and I smiled back. When Naala sat down with me again the girl was bent over her paper like before but I was still smiling.
“You are happy. You have think of something new.”
I shook my head. “I was just thinking that now I’m out of that prison and sitting in this nice café drinking good coffee. Where did you find a phone?”
“There are painted boxes on poles. Them you must have seen. They are for the police and I have a key. What is it, this new thing you think of? You must tell me.”
“I wasn’t even thinking about our problem,” I said. “How did your phone call go?”
“Well, of course. I have called the station nearest the palace. The archbishop must be at home for us at three o’clock. They will send a policeman to him. His secretary will protest, our policeman will insist that it must be so. He has a gun, the secretary none. Perhaps he fires at the floor. A better chance there is no need. The archbishop will be at home at three. He waits and more nervous grows. At four we come, I think. A little after four it may be. He tells us why he summons—”