Her usual sound and color were beginning to return. The surroundings came back. With them came the African.
She stood waiting politely some distance down the path. Beside her stood a couple of the children. Kasper recognized his partner from Christians Brygge Street, the boy with DAMP syndrome or water on the brain.
He moved back into the wheelchair and rolled himself forward. The African came up behind him.
"Deeply serious students," he said, "have always required particularly intense spiritual guidance."
The children looked at him thoughtfully.
"I think you should tell that to the immigration officers," said the African. "They've been waiting for an hour."
3
There were five people in the room, besides him and Sister Gloria. The Blue Lady, Moerk, the woman from Strand Road who later had bandaged him at police headquarters, the Beet, with his turquoise eyes. And the well-dressed old man from the Church Ministry, Weidebühl. They sat around the rectangular table at which Kasper had met Mother Maria for the first time. A digital recorder had been placed on the table.
"We've spoken with KlaraMaria," said the older man, "by telephone, several times, and we feel reassured. We believe we can have her back at any moment. We know about the agreement you made with the Institute. You've fulfilled your part of it. A patrol car is waiting outside. They will drive you to the main convent in Audebo, where they're preparing a bed for you. You'll stay there until the two children are returned, and while your case is pending."
"Wiedebühl," said the Blue Lady, "is a lawyer, a consultant for the Church Ministry, and on the boards of both the Institute and its philanthropic foundation."
It is hard for men to dress up their appearance. And it becomes no easier with age. The lawyer must have been in his eighties, and time had removed his body structure. But his tailor had accomplished a Christian miracle. The light-blue suit had achieved resurrection of the flesh as far as his torso was concerned. However, tailors can't do anything above the collar. The man looked like a turtle. But one should not underestimate turtles. In the sixties, when entertainers still performed at fairs with trained reptiles, Kasper had seen hundred-year-old Russian turtles mating. They had bellowed like people.
"The Interior Ministry has promised to extend your residence permit," said the lawyer. "And to speak with the tax authorities. The Ministry of Immigration and Integration will get you included in the next draft of naturalization legislation. Parliament confers citizenship twice a year, in June and October. We can have a Danish passport for you on July first. An out-of-court settlement with the tax authorities before September first. Negotiations with the Spanish authorities during the fall. Before the end of this year you'll be back on the major stages."
The atmosphere in the room was pastoral, pale green, in F-major, like Beethoven's Symphony No. 6. Like when the whole family is gathered to tell Great-grandfather he is going to a home for the elderly and he has taken it nicely.
Kasper looked over at the Blue Lady. Her face was expressionless.
"Would we," he said, "by any chance have the conversations with KlaraMaria on tape?"
The woman from the police department leaned forward and started the digital recorder.
There was no buzzing on the tape. No sound of the telephone ringing. Just a slight scratching when the receiver was picked up. A woman answered; it was the Blue Lady. A man's voice spoke.
"KlaraMaria is visiting us. She's fine. She wants to talk with you. She'll be here for a week. Then she'll come back."
It was Kain's voice.
To those with ordinary hearing, the telephone line was quiet. To Kasper--or his fantasy--it sounded like someone moved across a carpet in a large room. The telephone changed hands.
"Maria. It's me."
She didn't say "Mother Maria." Just "Maria."
"I'm fine. I'm coming back in a week. You mustn't worry."
The abbess said something that Kasper could not hear. Her voice was flat. The man's voice returned.
"You'll get a telephone call every third day."
The connection was broken.
Everyone looked at Kasper.
"Let's hear the next call," he said.
"They telephoned again," said the lawyer. "As they had promised."
The woman changed the tape and wound it. This time you could hear the call made. That meant the first recording was from the Institute's answering machine. After that they had installed the recorder. And waited for the next telephone call.
The ring tone was slightly fainter and slower. The call was made from a mobile phone. The Blue Lady answered. There was a very brief pause. Then KlaraMaria's voice was heard.
"I'm fine. You mustn't worry. I'm coming back soon. In a couple of days. Bastian too."
The connection was broken.
Everyone looked at Kasper.
"The second call is a fake," he said. "They're playing a good digital recording, certainly a DAT, into a mobile phone in a car that's driving on a highway. To avoid being traced. It guarantees nothing. Not even that she's alive."
The pale-green sound in the room was gone.
"The children possess some sort of clairvoyance; KlaraMaria predicted the first earthquakes. She drew a map showing the extent of the quakes and sent it to a geodesist. People with a connection to Konon have bought up property in the inner city. There's going to be some sort of auction of the properties."
"You're from the circus," said the lawyer. "You've known busloads of fortune-tellers and astrologists. That's just hot air. Nobody can see into the future."
"These aren't ordinary children," said Kasper. "I've met them. They've had special training."
He looked at the Blue Lady. She did not move.
"You want something from me," said Kasper. "You haven't assembled in such numbers just to be here. Although that's part of the reason, of course. You wanted to hear what I thought of the tapes. And then there's one more little thing."
The lawyer nodded.
"We want to ask you to keep quiet. And ask isn't the right word. We want to make you aware that you don't have any choice. You're going to be taken away now. This case is coming to an end. Tomorrow we'll have the proper attorney for you. In fourteen days we will have you freed, with an apology from the police. And during those fourteen days you will refuse to say anything. The accused has that right. And you will make use of it. You will remain as silent and closed as an oyster. Because if you don't, you will have lost everything. You will not see this place again, you will not see the children again, and you will have forfeited all legal and diplomatic help."
He looked at Kasper and nodded. The gesture had finality. "We thank you for your help," he said. "On behalf of the Institute and the police. And we wish you a speedy recovery."
"I've met those people," said Kasper. "The children won't be returned."
"Thank you for coming," said the lawyer.
The wheelchair delayed Kasper just a little. But not enough for anyone to react before he had leaned over the table and pulled the old man out of his chair.
"They'll disappear," he whispered. "They'll be taken out of the country. They're a limitless gold mine. And when they're gone, I'm going to come after you."
Two pipe wrenches mounted on a jack locked around Kasper's wrists from behind. The African sat him back in the wheelchair.
"You need me," he said. "I can hear her. I can hear both of them. Give me twelve officers. Twenty-four hours."
Everyone stood up.
"You're over forty years old," said the lawyer. "One's hearing decreases exponentially after birth."
"That's right," said Kasper. "I can no longer positively determine whether it's a Grande Complication. Or a thoroughbred from Schaffhausen. Your watch, that is."
Everyone in the room looked at the lawyer. His thin wrists emerged nakedly from his sleeves past the chalk-white cuffs. There was no watch.
"In your vest pocket," said Kasper.
Once again he rose out of the wheelchair before Sister Gloria reached him. In one flowing movement he took the watch out of the man's pocket and laid it on the table.
The watch case was gold. But the timepiece was otherwise unremarkable at first glance. It had a brown leather band.
Kasper turned the watch over. The unremarkable disappeared. Its back was sapphire crystal. Through the crystal one saw the minute diversity in a mechanism of pure gold. With fifteen hundred parts.
"Il Destriero Scafusia," he said. "From the International Watch Company in Schaffhausen, Switzerland, The sound is a little denser than the company's Grande Complication. Because of the gold. It's the most expensive watch in the world. Mow does that fit with Christian humility?"
The turtle started to blush.
"Let's get him out of here," he said.
The Blue Lady raised a hand. That stopped everyone in the room. "He needs a blessing," she said. "That's the final part of the contract. I'll show him the church. It will take less than ten minutes."
4
She closed the gate behind him; they were alone in the yard. Even in this sheltered area he could tell the wind had risen. She helped him out of the wheelchair. Gave him his crutches. From a physical standpoint, he was improving.
"They know everything that's relevant," she said, "about the children. But they can't make it public. They don't expect the children to be returned. They're planning some action."
"They need me," he said. "I was the one who tracked down Kain. I know something they don't know. I have to be there."
They were standing in front of the church. It was diminutive. Like a large community-garden house.
"It's one of the world's smallest cruciform-dome churches," she said. "And one of the most beautiful. Built in 1865, the same time as the Russian church on Bred Street. When the Orthodox Church came to Denmark."
"Let me out of here," he said. "There must be a door in the fence."
"You can't walk without crutches. And even with crutches, you can't walk far."
That was correct. She opened the church door. They went inside.
"The narthex. Those who aren't baptized can't go any farther."
It was cool and quiet.
The church faced south. He considered whether he could break one of the colored-glass mosaics. Reach the edge of the lake. Find a boat. He knew it was hopeless.
She pushed open another door; he drew back a step.
At first it looked as though they were facing a wall of fire. Then he saw that it was icons. A wall of icons. Lit from above by sunlight flooding down from what must be openings in the dome. The light dissolved the pictures into flames of different colors. Flames of gold. Blazing silver. Crimson, a blue glow, green flames, like burning water. And within the fire, the intense motionless figures. The Savior, the child, the women. The holy men. More women, more children. More Saviors.
"We perform here," she said. "Every day. We warm the wine to eighty degrees. Pierce the bread with a spear. Sing. Dance. The cosmic circus. You would love it."
He edged away from her.
"Spanish criminal law specifies the chances of a pardon," she said. "If the accused enters a monastery for life, the chances increase significantly."
She blocked his way. Something forced him over the threshold, toward the wall of icons. Perhaps it was her tone.
"I'm not baptized," he said.
"In special circumstances," she said, "we have to be unconventional."
"I've always tried to avoid offending people," he said. "It's not good for ticket sales."
"You have five minutes," she said. "Perhaps you should forget ticket sales. And concentrate on essential things."
He walked in under the dome. Stood before the wall of light.
"We have two words for confession," she said. "Penthos, to regret. And metanoia, to change one's mind."
He followed her glance. In the diminutive aisle was a tiny Brazilian rosewood hut on wheels.
"We," she said, "and a few other Orthodox congregations, have kept the confessional. Is there any better place for you to spend the last five minutes?"
He walked over and opened the door of the hut. The floor was no more than ten square feet, like a standard lavatory in a trailer. There was a folding chair with plush upholstery; he sat down. Straight ahead of him was a tinted glass window with small perforations at the bottom. He closed the door. A faint light came on, like the safelight in a darkroom. Through wood and glass he heard the woman take her place on the other side. The situation was symbolic of the relationship between the masculine and the feminine. And between God and human beings. Totally ready to make contact, but always separated by a very thin membrane.
"I want to confess," he said.
"You are welcome."
It was not the abbess's voice. He gave up the attempt to identify it. He had not come to make classifications; he had come to give himself unconditionally.
"I have a very deep sorrow," he said.
"Have you tried to pray?"
"As much as possible. But it's not enough. A woman abandoned me."
"What was your part in that?"
The question bewildered him. He tried to collect his thoughts.
"I opened my heart too much," he said.
"What do you want us to do? Canonize you?"
At first he did not believe his ears. Then he opened the door and rose from the chair. Ignoring his crutches, he rounded the hut on all fours and threw open the other door, all in one quick movement.
She was wearing a blue-gray nun's smock, and at first he saw only that. Then she took off her headdress, and he saw her hair and her face. He had known it would be Stina. And yet had not known.
"You're abusing a believer's faith in God," he said.
"You're inside the convent enclosure. That's blasphemy."
He closed his fingers to slap her, but she leaped out of the chair like a cat, without tensing in advance. He hesitated, and then it was too late; violence must be fresh and spontaneous. Premeditated violence is inhuman.