A woman ran past him. She was wearing sharkskin and running shoes. It was the head of Department H, Asta Borello.
"I got out of the locked ward," he said.
Without losing speed, she turned her head. Saw the hospital T-shirt.
He couldn't have kept pace with her very long, but that wasn't necessary either, thank God; she slowed down and began to walk. Staring straight ahead. He empathized with her; he knew the feeling. Of hoping you are standing before a fata morgana. And at the same time knowing that, alas, that's not the case.
"I'd like you to know that I don't hold a grudge," he said. She wanted to start running, but her legs refused to obey.
"I'll not only pay my taxes gladly," he said. "I'll pay them with quivering delight. But I'd like to help you go further. In your personal development. That's the danger, with the Customs and Tax authorities, and with excessive physical training. The danger of losing your natural, flowing, feminine spontaneity. Think about it."
He had to move on. He set out at a trot. By the rose garden, near the Østerbro post office, he turned and waved. She didn't return his greeting. But even at that distance he could hear that the meeting had made a lasting impression.
* * *
He waited in the bushes opposite the steps up to the post office. It didn't take even five minutes before a car stopped; a man got out to mail a letter, leaving the key in the ignition and the motor running.
Kasper got into the driver's seat. On the seat beside him lay a suit jacket in a carrying bag and an active cell phone. How lucky can one be? "For he that has, to him shall be given" (Mark 4:25). He locked the door and rolled the window down slightly.
The man was the blond Prince Valiant, Professor Frank.
Kasper listened into the situation. Into its divine improbability. He knew--knew, but without understanding--that he was on the threshold of the place where his life's storyboard had been mapped out.
"I'm an ethical person," he said through the crack in the window.
"A devout believer. But I need a car. And I don't think it's a coincidence that it will be your car. I think you and I are getting a glimpse of compensatory karma in action. A kind of fateful payback. But still, I want you to know that you can pick up your car tomorrow. On the tent grounds at Bellahøj. The keys will be above the visor."
Then he stepped on the gas.
* * *
He drove across Langelinje Bridge and parked near the tollbooth. His good judgment told him that he ought to be weighed down under great unsolved existential questions: Where is the woman? Where is the child? What will the revenge be? However, good judgment is but one of the many voices in the internal boys' choir. Instead he heard the springtime. He heard the life around him. Even the people busy scraping together money on a walk along the beach, with no other perspective than being able to have an overweight retirement and leave a respectable amount of small change to the children--for whom a large inheritance is downright harmful, even when it sounds wonderful. And it wasn't only the people. Kasper also heard the migration of birds toward Falsterbro, as spring worked its way toward Sweden.
He dialed the number Kain had written on the lottery ticket.
"Yes?"
A person must be careful when answering the telephone-- someday it could be one of the great clowns calling. Kain should have let it ring; as soon as he took the call he was located. Kasper listened for a moment. Then he broke the connection.
He drove back past the English Church. On its grounds the Russian czar had once planned to construct a large Russian Orthodox Church; perhaps with a little more tailwind, Hesychasm could have been more successful with the Danish public.
Kasper parked on the square by Marmor Church. Put on the suit jacket. He bought a pack of playing cards at the kiosk on Dronningens Tvær Street. Outside Nevsky Church he stood for a moment enjoying Bronikov's portrait of Alexander Nevsky, then he took a deep breath, said a prayer, and listened to the Church. To its discipline. Its compassion. Its stubbornness. Its deep understanding of how experiences of the Divine require training. It was like the circus. To Kasper, Luther's idea that everything is preordained had always seemed completely contrary to everyone's daily experience. Shortly before Groucho Marx died, a journalist asked him to sum up existence. The great comedian had stripped the irony off his face like a latex mask; so close to the grave there was no time for anything less than the truth. "Most of us," he said, "must try to compensate for our low intelligence with hard work. It's all a matter of training."
Kasper pressed the doorbell; the deacon opened it.
"I need a bath," said Kasper.
* * *
They walked through the small assembly hall. The deacon opened a door and handed Kasper a large, coarse-woven towel; steam poured out toward them, as thick as smoke.
It was a Russian bathhouse. Kasper walked along a narrow tiled corridor; he counted five open doors leading to small rooms, each with its sunken bathtub. In several of the tubs men lay floating, weightless, breathing softly, like baby walruses. The corridor opened into a communal room with a small circular pool; six men sat on a ledge in the hot water, three of them with long beards.
Kasper took off his clothes and laid them on a chair. Then he walked through a glass door into the steam bath.
The walls of the room were painted with purification motifs from the New Testament: Jesus' baptism, Jesus washing the disciples' feet, Mary Magdalene washing Jesus' feet. The woman was portrayed with her face turned away, so she wouldn't see the nakedness in the bathhouse.
Along the far end of the room were three levels of marble ledges; Kain sat on the bottom ledge. Kasper pulled a chair in front of the other man and sat down.
Kain must have been sitting there for a while; his face was red and moist, the veins on the surface of his skin pulsating.
"It was you who telephoned," he said. "How did you find me?"
Kasper pointed to the surroundings. They heard the quiet hiss of the steam from vents under the marble ledge. The water murmuring in the pipes. From somewhere far off, music could be heard.
"Tchaikovsky's liturgy and vesper service," said Kasper. "I couldn't hear either the themes or the words. But the modal character came through. And the overtones from the bells. They must have bells. I haven't heard them ring. But they swing in rhythm when there's singing."
He opened the pack of cards, cut the deck, and shuffled.
"There are six bells," said Kain. "Constructed as a carillon. The last bell ringer who had mastered the technique died in '62. The Church and its mysteries are in danger of dying out. I'm going to be its salvation."
Kasper dealt the cards.
"How," he said, "did a wealthy man of honor like you, who owns spas and sanatoriums, develop an interest in a little Russian bathhouse with an adjoining chapel on Bred Street?"
"Mother Maria told me about it. It's a meeting place for the religious patriarchs. The priests from St. Ansgar Church come here. The Catholic bishop. The chief rabbi. The royal confessionarius. Mother Maria says when the day comes that they also invite her and the imams, a new perspective will open for religious life in Denmark."
"And how do you know Mother Maria"?"
"KlaraMaria introduced us."
Kasper felt a sudden, inexplicable, and irrational stab of jealousy. Men do not want to share women's attention with other men; it makes no difference whether the women are over seventy or under twelve--we want them entirely for ourselves.
"Pick up your cards," said Kasper. "We're playing Hold'em, two cards in your hand, five on the table, three rounds."
Kain picked up his cards.
"What are we playing for?" he asked.
"For your life," said Kasper.
Kain looked at him. Kasper heard again the physical threat of the other man.
"The stakes are parts of the truth," said Kasper. "Candor. I'll begin: Can you hear the sounds around us? The reflection from the marble walls? Slightly softer than granite. But still hard. Yet toned down by the steam. It creates intimacy. In the midst of the hardness. Can you hear that?"
The steam closed in around them, the walls of the room beginning to disappear.
"You and I," said Kasper, "are sitting within this intimacy. There's a special, almost jovial tone when men are naked together. You're free of your wing collar and bow tie and puttees. Free of your public image; clothing is a mask. You're a little bit closer to yourself. With distant happy memories of playing naked on the beach. With lively acoustic souvenirs from the soccer club's locker room. Can you hear it? Do you follow me? I'm reminded of Eckehart: 'Whom did God make love with in order to give birth to so many sounds?' And amid this tonal Eden is the sound of you. Your greed. Your manipulations and criminal offenses. Enough to merit lifetime imprisonment. And behind everything: maltreatment and murder of a child. Your bid. Your blind is the truth about the child. What have I heard wrong?"
"About the child," said Kain, "That was Ernst. Things got out of control. He's paid for it."
Kaspar dealt three cards face-up on the table: the queen of hearts, king of diamonds, and ace of spades.
"You're responsible," said Kasper.
"I've repented. Mother Maria says no sin is so great that it can't be repented."
"What about justice?" said Kasper.
"You're as furious as a one-man army. What about this bid?"
The fan of cards swam before Rasper's eyes.
"And what's made you gentle as a lamb?" he said.
"Meeting the little girl. And Mother Maria. I'm going to sell everything. I'm going to put it all at the Institute's disposal. I've repented. Am sorry for everything. I'm waiting for your bid."
"Help me with the chronology," said Kasper. "In August of last year all twelve children are gathered in Copenhagen. They contact you. You suggest something. Was it that they should cause the earthquakes? Could they make them happen? Can they manipulate the physical world? Or can they only predict what it will do?"
He cast aside the top card and turned the next; it was the two of diamonds.
Rain shrugged his shoulders.
"I work with options. For me there's almost no difference. Between making things happen and knowing they will happen. They
said the earthquakes would occur."
"So you come up with the scheme of buying worthless property. And creating among potential buyers the idea--the true or false idea--that the earthquakes and the cave-ins are over. For that, you need to use the children. What they get in return is that you'll bring them here--is that correct?"
Kain nodded.
"But there must be more," said Kasper.
"I'll help to manage the publicity. And the media. When the children go public with all this."
Rasper shook his head slowly.
"They want to force the world to do something or other. By threatening that they can cause natural disasters. That's vandalism. That's child terrorism. That's criminal children. Is this true? Can they do that?"
Kain shrugged his shoulders.
"And you planned to cooperate in this?" said Kasper.
"I've been converted. I've seen the light."
"Where did the children live while they were here?"
"At the Institute. That was simple. I got an associate to apply to the Institute."
"The blonde," said Kasper. "Irene Papas'?"
Kain nodded.
"The Institute organized transportation. But we picked them up outside the country. In some cases, the parents wouldn't let them go. That's why the reports. Unfortunately, I gave Ernst one of the tasks."
"Why didn't Mother Maria see through you?"
Kain cast aside another card and turned the final one over. It was the ten of spades.
"Saint Symeon the New Theologian," he said, "writes that it's important not to attribute omniscience to a spiritual teacher. Even the greatest ones are human beings."
Kasper found it painful to breathe. Perhaps it was the steam, perhaps it was the bitterness of no longer having a monopoly on citing the Church fathers.
"So you simulated a kidnapping," he said. "Why only two of the children"?"
"That's all we needed. To convince the buyers."
"KlaraMaria sent a postcard to a hydrologist. A woman from the lay order. The card showed a picture of Copenhagen Harbor after the earthquake. Why was it sent?"
Kain's tone changed. An interplay of tics and tension suddenly came and went across his face.
"Those children, they're monsters. Kidnapping them is a punishment in itself. There's no need for legal prosecution. They wanted to prove that they knew about the earthquakes in advance. But they hadn't informed me.
"But my mistakes," said Kain, "are a fantastic starting point for a process of spiritual growth. I want to make a really significant difference. For the women and the children."
"First," said Kasper, "you're going to spend some time in jail. Showdown."
He laid the jack and seven of clubs on the table. Kain stared at the straight. He put his cards on the table. The king of hearts and the five of hearts.
"There's not much pigment in the red color," said Kasper. "A little lighter, a little faster than the black. On the other hand, the face cards are a little heavier. I could hear your cards."
Kain leaned toward him.
"I have a network like an American president. I'm resurrecting the Church. I support the Institute. I'm a tremendous ally."
"I'm the one who rescued the children," said Kasper.
"I have fantastic spiritual potential," said Kain. "Mother Maria has let me understand that. I've just had to take a roundabout path. Many of the great ones had to do that. Milarepa. The tax collector in the Bible. The rich man Jesus met. Paul. But now I genuflect. I make amends. I'm going to go forward like a galloping horse."
"You're going to go to Horsens state prison. I'm the nuns' star."
"I've found the way to humility," said Kain. "Deep humility. I give everything to the Church. To the Institute. I kneel before my
neighbor."
"My humility is global," said Kasper. "I've sacrificed a global career. I wash everyone's feet. I even wash yours."