The Third Antichrist (63 page)

‘I’ve just killed a dead man,’ he declared. Then he threw up behind a nearby bush.

‘This is good,’ Amoy said. ‘The police will think this cunt puked his guts up before shooting himself.’

Joris Calque had faked a letter for them back at the camp, exactly mimicking Abi’s writing from the note left in the Mercedes. In the letter Abi admitted culpability for the murder of Mihael Catalin, and exonerated Catalin’s sister, Antanasia, of all responsibility in the matter of her brother’s death. In Calque’s forgery, the fictional Abiger de Bale also admitted to the murder of the two men in the lodge, and confessed that it was he who had burned the place down in order to cover up the evidence of his crimes. He now bitterly regretted his actions, and found that he could not live with the guilt of what he had done. He had been out of his head with grief over his siblings’ death in a car accident, and blamed Catalin and his men for the ensuing tragedy. This is why he had returned to the scene of his crime to do away with himself.

‘Isn’t that going a bit far?’ said Sabir.

‘You can never go too far when bullshitting the police,’ said Calque. ‘Take it from me. I’m an expert.’

The forged letter was then placed in Abi’s original passport, which Amoy tucked inside the cadaver’s top pocket so that there could be no possibility of an identification error, however inept or unwilling the investigating authorities proved to be.

Calque summed up the matter by opining that such a plan would not have held up in France, or Britain, or Germany, or indeed most of the other 188 Interpol countries. But in Romania – a country which had no real interest in either Abi or any of his victims, all of whom happened to be Moldovan – Calque suspected that obvious answers to obvious questions would be welcomed, and that the resources of Interpol might not, in the final resort, be called upon. Why waste valuable police time on a murderous bunch of foreigners who only killed amongst themselves? He trusted that Abi’s suicide would complete the vicious circle in the minds of the authorities, and end the matter once and for all.

Whilst this was happening, Sabir drove with Antanasia to Lugano to arrange for pensions to be paid to the families of all those killed or wounded by de Bale during his attack on the camp. The pensions were to be drawn from the money held in her brother’s account, to which she had joint access. The process proved to be a simple one. The money was legally Antanasia’s already, as, due to the way the thing had been set up, one account holder automatically inherited on the death of the other. This time around, though, Antanasia changed the number and identity of the account, and ensured that the new joint account was in her and Sabir’s names only.

In the months that followed, Sabir used his power of attorney to set up a charitable foundation, just as de Bale had cynically suggested, with Calque as the managing trustee and drafter of the document of establishment, alongside Yola, Radu, Alexi, and the mandatory French state representatives, whose grasping fingers never missed their slice of pie. Calque took to the necessary bureaucracy like a duck to water, glorying in every irritating detail of how to ensure that the bulk of the funds available be allocated for what the document of establishment stipulated – namely for the benefit of Romani people of whatever background, whatever doctrine, and whatever origin, so long as at least one parent qualified as Gypsy or Rom.

Without Calque’s presence the foundation would have reverted to bedlam in very short order indeed. With him at the helm it steered the equivalent of a shaky path along a lee shore. But children were educated (when their parents wanted them to be), women were protected (to the extent that they chose to be), and traditional Romani culture was honoured (even in its absence).

Calque had learned enough from his time spent with Yola, Alexi, Radu, Lemma and the others to know that Gypsies did not relish
gadje
ways or
gadje
patronage or
gadje
interference in their affairs. So he limited himself to running the accounts and managing the basic structure, and he allowed Yola and the others to do the rest. And when they didn’t feel like it, or went AWOL, or refused to turn up because of a wedding or a funeral or the celebration of a baptism, he smiled broadly at anyone within range and told his secretary to close the office and take a holiday. He would do the same.

As godfather to Alexandreina Sabir, Calque had numerous other duties to perform anyway, most of which involved long lunches that stretched on into the early evening at Son Reus, or walking trips across the Mallorcan Serras in which he took turn and turnabout with Sabir in carrying Sanda piggyback or in her baby sling.

It pleased Sabir that Calque had come into his own in the past two years. Calque’s relationship with his own daughter had long ago foundered on the rocks of his non-relationship with the girl’s mother, so Sanda became a surrogate granddaughter whom Calque could spoil, and dandle, and not feel threatened by, except when she bit him, which was often. Sanda even contrived to sink her teeth into him when he was walking her in her sling. Calque construed these unannounced attacks as signs of affection, refusing to believe that Sanda was frustrated that he did not possess milk-bearing breasts like her mother. Sabir watched the pair of them jockeying for domination with the weary air of one who has already seen it all, and expects to see it again very soon.

When Sabir reached the top of Silbury Hill, he turned at the sound of the horn. Ixtab and her party of women were approaching the Halach Uinic through the churning mud on the hillside. The first echoes of pre-dawn were in the sky. He watched as Ixtab motioned to Antanasia and Alexandreina to precede her across the cordon sanitaire and approach the place of the skulls.

Sabir felt as if he were seeing his wife for the very first time. He felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity with her, as if she was linked to him in some visceral, relational way that he couldn’t quite fathom. It was the same feeling he had sometimes experienced when watching his mother, at a distance and unaware of him – an almost quizzical feeling, as of some secret connection, some mystery, that he was unable to access.

As he watched her, Antanasia glanced up at him, and he recognized in her eyes the same sudden shock of recognition that he had experienced.

From the moment their eyes met, the two of them were linked. Sabir, for his part, felt unable to concentrate on anything else. He could hear Calque prattling on beside him, but he could not make out his words. The feelings he was receiving inside his head, however, were clear and to the point. He needed to place himself beside this woman – this both familiar and unfamiliar woman, who was at the same time recognizably his wife, but also more than his wife. He needed to feel her aura – to link her aura to his. He noticed, too, that Antanasia was graduating towards him, as if she felt a similar compulsion towards unity.

Ixtab was watching them both. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Never in her life had she encountered such an immediate conjunction of souls. She could almost hear the sound of it in front of her. As she watched, Sabir reached down and swung his daughter onto his shoulders. It was an instinctual move, but to her it seemed in some way shocking – almost a
lèse-majesté
– whilst being, paradoxically, liberating also.

At the same moment, each parent took the other’s hand, as if the action were in some way preordained. Neither said a word. Ixtab could feel the energy emanating from the two figures cresting, like a wave, in front of her. She glanced at the Halach Uinic. His eyes were wide open as if in shock. She nodded at him. He nodded back. Both felt an ineffable sadness, as though at the loss of a loved one.

Antanasia and Sabir took their places naturally at the centre of the tump, each still holding the other’s hand. Around them, the Chilans swiftly set up the crystal skulls on their plinths. The thirteenth crystal skull, which had been kept scrupulously apart from the others, was only brought up when all else was in order.

The two camera crews took their prearranged positions on the periphery of the tump, facing to the south-east and to the north-east respectively, so that their sight lines would not overlap. Then Yola and Alexi Dufontaine appeared at the head of the track with their son, Valah. Ixtab, without knowing why she was doing it, coaxed Valah from his father’s arms. When Yola made as if to stop her, Ixtab shook her head, and made a calming motion with her hand. She stopped outside the cordon sanitaire and swung Valah across it. She had no idea why she was doing what she was doing, but the impetus was overwhelming.

Valah, nine months older than Alexandreina, instantly recognized his regular playmate and ran towards her, shouting.

Ixtab moved to stand beside Yola and Alexi.

‘Why did you put him in there? He is not the Parousia.’

‘There is something. I don’t know what it is. But I had to. It was as if someone was calling for him. Alexandreina herself, perhaps. Please be patient.’

The thirteenth skull had been placed on its plinth in the centre of the Windrose. The moment Alexandreina saw Valah running towards her, she took a few hesitant steps towards him, a broad smile on her face, as if she had been expecting him. Antanasia made as if to move towards her daughter, but Sabir stayed her hand. The two of them took a step backwards.

Valah, still running, snatched Alexandreina’s hand in his and swung her round him in a circle, just as they would do at Son Reus when playing together in the garden. Alexandreina lost her footing and the pair of them tumbled to the ground, giggling. They seemed oblivious to everything else that was happening on the hilltop. The Chilans, who had just finished arranging the skulls, hurried back across the cordon sanitaire, casting nervous glances over their shoulders, and leaving only Antanasia, Sabir and the two children inside the circle.

The children, now covered in mud, approached the circle of the skulls, hand in hand and laughing. Valah pointed to the central skull. He appeared to recognize it. Alexandreina broke away from him, a mischievous grin on her face. She toddled up behind the skull and encircled it protectively with her arms. Valah, squealing with delight, ran towards her. He grabbed both her and the skull in his arms. Momentarily – subliminally – the skull seemed to throb in response to the children’s touch.

Then there was silence.

Antanasia squeezed Sabir’s hand. They stood together a little way back from the children, at the periphery of the circle of skulls. Antanasia snatched a glance towards Yola, who was standing next to Alexi near the rope barrier, looking anxious. Antanasia raised her hand and beckoned Yola and Alexi towards her with a smile.

Yola hesitated. Antanasia redoubled her invitation.

Yola stepped across the cordon sanitaire, leading Alexi by the hand. He needed little encouragement. His eyes were alight with joy at the sight of the two children playing.

Linking hands, the four parents approached their children. There was no thought involved anymore – no contrivance. Their faces seemed younger. Bereft of knowledge. Cleansed.

Each knelt down, encircling Valah and Alexandreina, who were still clutching the crystal skull and laughing riotously, in a protective net.

As they cemented the circle of their hands, the dawn broke through the clouds and lit up the surface of the hill.

Sabir could feel the energy flowing through him and into Valah and Alexandreina – then strengthening, and flowing through Antanasia, Yola and Alexi, and back into him again. It produced a feeling of such ecstasy, such supreme wellbeing, that it seemed to Sabir as if everything was right with the world. Everything harmonious. That no more questions needed to be asked.

He found himself falling to the ground in submission, his hands still gripping those of his companions. He wondered if the others were doing the same, because he could no longer see with his eyes – all his energies were concentrated internally, on the overwhelming feelings surging through his mind and body.

He could feel a force above him now. He felt part of the force – connected with it. He felt part of the hill beneath him. Part of the air about him. Part of the sky above him. He could no longer differentiate sound and sensation. No longer differentiate his body from the child’s body or the woman’s body or the man’s body beside him. He was the hill. The air. The sky. He was the sun beating on his back. The rain kissing his skin. He was the children in front of him, and the people beside him. He could feel himself surging into the air, carrying his own child and the mother of his child with him, each holding one of his hands.

Slowly he began to see again. Dead children. Dead women. Dead men. Thousands of them. Millions of them. Moving beside him, ever upwards.

He opened his arms and the woman and child moved into him, as if he was both contained and containing. One and many.

From everywhere around him, people were moving towards the skull. Some hesitantly, some at a run. Ixtab, the Halach Uinic, and the Maya Chilans all joined the burgeoning circle. No one jostled, no one pushed. The circle simply extended itself, ever outwards, until it spanned the entire acreage of the hillside and beyond like a lilting sea of corn.

All lay down. All clasped hands. The cameras were abandoned where they had fallen.

Sabir’s voice rose high above the silence.

He was the Guide. He knew this now. Knew this for certain.

Slowly, but in a notably steady tone, and from somewhere far back in his memory, he began declaiming Rumi’s
Ode
.