What Lot's Wife Saw (23 page)

The Priest and the Doctor retold all the details they’d managed to get out of Siccouane when they’d lain in wait for him after delivering the Green Box – Siccouane’s not allowed to enter the Opera restaurant since he doesn’t live in Hesperides, one of the many grievances he holds against us so we had to be wary of the little weasel. They had waylaid him on a street corner and interrogated him at length. They’d heard for the first time proof that Regina had been anything but a “Lady” and that the new Governor had obviously been aware of this, which was why he’d insisted on calling her “Mrs Regina” and not by her title. She was wanted in Liverpool for the murder of her lover, whom she’d killed with a long-bladed razor when she’d been a kid, and that’s why she didn’t dare set foot in Britain. I arched my eyebrows with the impact of this news and found, to my surprise, that the widow had gone up in my estimation. The New Governor had allowed her to stay in the Colony two more weeks as a servant at the Palace. The strange thing was that she’d accepted – she might be suffering from a nervous breakdown.

When the procession members had reached the Palace to collect the Green Box, Siccouane and Bateau had searched high and low to locate her before finding her kneeling outside the Governor’s bedroom peering at him through the keyhole as he slept. Occasionally she’d bring her lips to the keyhole and whisper erotically to him. Siccouane had tried to prise her from that position but she’d fought him and torn at her hair. Bianca, meanwhile, had been wearing Regina’s nightgown and been sleeping in the Governor’s wife’s room. The pirate had shown great interest in Bateau’s daughter and she was panic-stricken. As soon as she’d seen her father, she’d rushed downstairs and fallen at his feet. She’d begged him to help her escape since if she stayed in there one more minute, she’d die. Bateau, however, had been flattered by the pirate’s interest in his daughter and couldn’t turn his back on this stroke of luck, so he’d told her to get herself right back into her room and on no account disobey the Governor.

I had listened in silence as they used expansive gestures to transmit Siccouane’s tales about the behaviour of the pretender who signs as Bera, humiliates the widow of the real Governor and lusts after Bateau’s daughter. I suddenly felt soiled in my dinner jacket, even more so than I’d felt when being tainted by Bera’s blood. Were we willing to sit back and allow this depraved youth to do anything he fancied only because he wore the key to the Green Box around his neck? Would we remain idle when he tortured women? Would we applaud his every word? Could we bear being repeatedly humiliated by him? I hadn’t come to the Colony to be sent back to the prison I’d escaped from. Twenty years ago I’d filed through the bars of my window and plunged into the Bosphorus. Twenty years ago I could clearly see the bars I had to file. Now I can’t tell the window from the wall, nor find the door. I’m so confused.

Montenegro agreed that to sit around doing nothing would be the worst approach, not only would we get mired but would appear to accept our guilt as well. So
what
exactly were we guilty of? We’d panicked when the Governor died and perhaps we’d reacted without thought, but so would most people finding themselves in our shoes. Innocent people prefer to attack rather than defend so we should start acting while we were still warm, as we might soon begin to forget that we’re innocent. What we needed was a good plan and some coordinated action.

Fabrizio spat out some skin and gristle and glared at him. “No more plans, Montenegro, please. These last few hours we’ve been hatching plan after plan and all we’ve achieved is a series of blunders, one after another. Can’t you see it’s futile? The Seventy-Five are continuously one step ahead, as if they’re reading our minds.”

He angrily dunked a wing in the gravy, stuffed it in his mouth, and proceeded to tell us in a low voice that we’d best keep a low profile. When this crazy fortnight passes, we could come out better than we thought. The New Governor said that a lot depended on our performance over this period. His words launched a drop of saliva which flew into my moustache. I gave him his napkin and told him not to speak with his mouth full.

Montenegro observed that this was typical of our glaring weakness: we’re absolutely predictable. The Seventy-Five knew our every thought because they’d been studying us for the past twenty years like lab rats in a cage. They knew how we react to stimuli, what we think and what we fear. They foresaw that we’d gather around Bera’s body in a panic, would try to get rid of it and that, given the opportunity, we would try to open the Green Box because we stood to lose more from the change of leadership than any other colonist, not only because we wore the Star but also because we all couldn’t afford going back to civilisation. It wasn’t a question of chance that the young pirate staged his entrance when our hands were red with blood and we were in the middle of the grossly illegal act of attempting to break open the Green Box; in other words, when we were at our guiltiest and most vulnerable. It was child’s play to dominate and blackmail us. The problem we faced was identical to that faced by any guinea pig: it cannot probe and study those that are studying it. We don’t know anything about our employers and for that reason we can’t deal with them. He suggested that we began to react in an innovative way, totally different from what the Seventy-Five would expect and so surprise them and force them to reveal themselves.

Fabrizio’s belly started shaking with laughter. He ordered a second plate of game and wiped his greasy lips. He wanted to know what exactly Montenegro meant when he suggested surprising the Seventy-Five. “Shall we wander about, dressed like Napoleon and whisper sweet nothings to the lamp posts? I don’t intend to squander the last shreds of dignity I possess in aid of your stupid theories.”

“If you were to stop eating everything that you get your hands on, the Seventy-Five would be shocked to the core,” Montenegro sneered.

Fabrizio angrily flicked a bone from his plate, which caught the Priest in the eye and infuriated him. He turned and punched him on the nose. I intervened to avoid an escalation. I told them I was sick and tired of their infernal feud over Regina’s underwear; did they intend to fight over the Seventy-Five as well?

Montenegro smacked his hand on the table. “That’s just what I’ve been saying, we’re so predictable! We scrap like hounds, we hate each other, we’re greedy, frightened and weak. Think of the symbol of the Consortium: the united arms! Old Bera’s absolute power relied a lot on the fact that we were divided, don’t you think? That’s why he chose to decorate six reprobates like us and why we were his coterie of aides. He knew that he’d sleep soundly while his lieutenants were busily digging each other’s graves.”

Montenegro took a deep breath and declared himself ready to reverse the situation. He extended his hand, palm outstretched towards the Doctor in conciliation, but Fabrizio, daubing the red drops that issued from his bruised nose, declined the invitation. Montenegro told him to stop being difficult and to act like an intelligent adult. The Doctor retorted vindictively that he hoped the pirate would screw Regina and leave her so satisfied that the Priest would be left holding his “incense stick” in his hand. Montenegro became apoplectic and, snarling, shoved the Doctor’s head into his greasy plate. I held him back but received a kick on my shin for my pains, so I dragged him back by his ponytail, which upended him onto the floor. He rolled into the next table whose female occupants screamed in alarm. Fabrizio tried to immobilise him but the Priest wriggled free, tried to get up but ran into my fist and slumped back down. The maître discretely hurried over and asked us courteously to restrain ourselves. The piano had fallen silent and the clients had risen from their seats to watch us fight.

I half-pulled, half-pushed the pair and reached the exit. As I held them apart by the nape of their necks they aimed ineffective blows at each other. The murmurs arose from the crowd and followed us out like a curse. “Purple Stars give them no right to behave like animals.”

JUDGE BATEAU

… I asked the witness to hurry up and looked at the large clock on the courtroom wall. It was approaching one-thirty and the Governor expected us for the meal at two. I should’ve postponed this trial, it was impossible that I’d reach the Palace on time.

I interrupted the witness and told him to only tell us what the accused had done during his break and without elaboration. The witness testified that the accused, Roman Montano, had downed two bottles of beer during his break and delayed his return to his post at the cylinder. Okay. Had the witness actually seen with his own eyes Montano remove the safety cover from the cylinder? Yes, the witness had seen with his own eyes that it’d been the accused. Very good. Since it’d been established that the defendant had contravened the regulations which forbade the consumption of alcoholic beverages during a cylinder operator’s break and additionally contravened another rule through being late and finally, as he’d removed the safety cover to increase its power, how could he have the effrontery to demand compensation from the Consortium for the industrial accident?

Roman Montano, whose arm had been cut off below the elbow by the jaws of the cylinder, countered that the foreman had told him to increase the power because there’d been a miscalculation of the ship’s angle of approach. The winch men that had been pulling it had been in danger of crushing the ship against the pier. The only way to increase the power of the cylinder so that it’d be able to counter the momentum of the winches was to remove the protective cover which increased power by a third. But that exposed the wickedly sharp jaws, which was very dangerous.

I asked to see the transcripts and found the foreman’s statement. He’d asked to increase the power but hadn’t said, “Remove the protective covers to increase power,” so Roman Montano had removed them on his own initiative. The defendant maintained that everyone removed the covers to increase power because there was no other way to achieve the requested result. So, if that was true, everyone removed the covers from their cylinders but only Montano had lost his forearm. I could see no case for his compensation. Conversely, Roman Montano had contravened three articles of the regulations so he’d forfeit his wages during his hospitalisation and pay six wages as a fine for the aforementioned transgressions. I rang the courtroom bell to signal the case closed.

The accused let out a howl of desperation, shouting that if he hadn’t removed the cover to increase power and put his arms at risk, then he would’ve refused a direct order from the foreman for which he’d be fined as well. I ruled that his fine had just tripled for contempt of court.

I ran off and got to my villa out of breath. Eliza, my housekeeper, couldn’t hear me as she was arguing with the cleaner. I rushed to my room and ripped off my gown while looking for a clean shirt. Eliza finally appeared but flung herself around my neck asking whether the dress she’d ordered to wear for the Colony’s anniversary open reception had been approved. I assured her that I was on top of the situation and that we’d get the Governor’s signature but that now she must help me find my gold cufflinks.

I shined my shoes and put my tie on while desperately chasing Eliza, who wouldn’t hand me the cufflinks unless I promised to speak to the Governor. I shot out of the villa and tore to the Palace, making it with two minutes to spare. I leaned on the fence to catch my breath and it struck me that I’d neglected to wear my Purple Star and the Governor had explicitly demanded that we do so. I couldn’t return to the villa because I’d be late and he’d be offended but if I joined them without it, he’d be angry that I’d disobeyed his orders. What should I do? Should I enter the Palace or dash back for the Star? Instead of an answer, my mind was invaded by the annoying thought that ever since Bera’s death I’d found myself continually facing dilemmas. My straightforward and simple existence had been filled with critical and agonising questions.

I caught sight of Ali, Montenegro’s manservant, sitting cross-legged on the pavement with his back against the fence. He’d obviously come there with his master and was waiting to escort him back when he’d finished. Ali was more the Priest’s bodyguard and less his manservant. Montenegro didn’t budge an inch without him nor had he accepted additional personnel for his villa, although the Consortium acknowledged the right of the Star Bearers to employ three. The Priest fears darkness, fears people, fears even his own shadow.

I approached Ali and begged him to run to my villa to fetch my Purple Star for me. He turned his large eyes towards me and squinted contemptuously. I quickly filled in a cheque, shoved it in his palm and told him that I’d inform his master that he’d briefly left his post at my bidding. Ali pointed to the tightly closed shutters as if to say that he wouldn’t set off until he’d heard or sensed that his master was seated for his meal.

“It’s a deal but make sure, as soon as you ‘sense’ that the meal has begun, you hare off to get my medal!”

He nodded his assent, returned my cheque and spat at my feet. I pretended not to have seen that gesture of contempt but before going in, I’d wipe the saliva off the toe of my patent leather shoe. The world was still spinning. One day I’d have the pleasure of hosting that cur in my courtroom and then I’d like to see any fancy lover of Regina try to get him off my hook. There wasn’t a single colonist to date that’d failed to fall foul of at least one article of our strangulating regulations. In my courtroom Montenegro’s cassock carried as much clout as a feather.

I spread my lips into a broad smile. “Thanks, Ali. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me today,” I said and meant every word of it. I turned heel and withdrew quickly in case a second gob followed the first.

I ascended the marble steps and knocked on the door. A dishevelled Regina opened it. I barely recognised her, not just because of her ridiculously shabby clothing, but because of her shrunken appearance, which was more like a wet cat than the proud gazelle that we all knew and disliked. Despite this heat, she was wearing silk stockings and a linen suit that seemed ancient and several sizes too large. The Purple Star on her breast must’ve felt insulted by her other accessories like the cook’s apron around her waist, the smeared sauces on her sleeves and the parsley in her hair. She panted that I was to wait in the antechamber with the others and then ran off to tend to her cooking. Regina’s advancing metamorphosis was terrifying to behold. The more humiliation was heaped upon her the more content she seemed. Her personality was changing at such a breakneck pace that I feared that mine might well be altering and yet I might remain unaware of it.