Richard Russo - Ship of Fools

“He wants Bishop Soldano as captain,” I broke in.

“Perhaps. It hardly matters now. Captain Costa is now the ship’s hero. He learned of a mutiny, and put an end to it with relatively little bloodshed. His position has been greatly strengthened, while conversely the bishop’s has been weakened. More than that, the captain has managed to apportion a certain amount of indirect responsibility for the mutiny to the bishop.”

The first hint, perhaps, of what the captain had been plotting all that time. “Really? How did he manage that?”

“Do you remember the sermon Bishop Soldano delivered on Holy Thursday? When he announced our approach to the star system and the transmission we were receiving? I believe you were there.”

“Yes, I was there. I had difficulty staying awake, as always, but I remember his sermon. Naming of Antioch. Bringing the word of God to all worlds, all people regardless of station or history. His usual colonization speech.”

“Yes. Your captain has a transcript of the sermon. And he has pointed to one particular passage, the one you were referring to, in which the bishop said that we need to spread the word of God to as many places as possible, that we need to colonize as many worlds as we can, putting permanent settlements in place so that when others come, be they human or alien, there is someone there to present to them God’s word. The captain doesn’t claim the bishop was helping to plan the mutiny, or even that he knew of it, although he suggests that those are certainly possibilities—after all, recolonizing that world is what the downsiders were trying to do. However, Captain Costa says, the bishop’s sermon certainly can be seen as condoning such actions if they were to occur, or, if nothing else, fostering a climate that would encourage them. Very clever, your captain.”

“Why do you keep calling him ‘my’ captain?” I asked her angrily. “He’s imprisoned me, and apparently has no intention of releasing me soon.”

She didn’t reply. What could she say? I waved my hand, and said, “Never mind. Who else has ‘my captain’ imprisoned?” I wanted to know what had happened to Pär, but didn’t want to mention him by name. It was just possible, I thought, that no one knew of his role. He had, after all, managed to get away before I did.

“Sari Mandapat,” she said. “Arturo Morales. Alice Springs. Conrad Martin. And Samuel Eko.” She paused, thinking, and I waited. “Yes,” she said. “That’s all. Everyone else has been released.”

Not Pär, I thought. So they didn’t know about him. But that small bit of pleasure was short-lived.

“Do you know Pär Lundkvist?” she asked.

I was surprised by the question. Surely she knew of my friendship with him. I’d never made a secret of it.

“The dwarf,” I said. “Yes, I know him. Why?”

“He, too, has been identified as one of the leaders. However, although they would like to arrest and imprison him with the rest of you, they cannot find him.”

I thought I detected a touch of a smile from her.

“They can’t find him?”

“No. They have been searching the ship for days. Speculation is divided between two possibilities. Either he is still aboard and well-hidden, or he somehow managed, in all the confusion, to get down to Antioch before we broke orbit.”

“That doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

“No. But there is a shuttle missing from the other transport hold. We don’t know how, nor do we know if Pär was even capable of piloting it. But we can’t find it or him.”

We sat without speaking for a while. It was good just to have her there in my cell with me. I didn’t much mind being imprisoned, but I had missed her.

She said she had to go, then asked me if there was anything she could do or get for me.

“No,” I told her. “I have everything I need, everything I could ever want.” But then I shook my head, and said more seriously, “No.”

She got up from the bed. “I’ll go now, but I’ll visit again.”

“Thanks.”

She went to the door, tapped on it, and was let out. As soon as she was out of sight and the door locked shut again, I began to miss her. Once again, I smelled honey and cinnamon.

Ihoped Pär was alive out there somewhere. I imagined him, as unlikely as it seemed, piloting the shuttle out of the Argonos , perhaps struggling with it even as he guided it out of orbit and into a rough and ragged descent.

Did he try to find one of the deserted settlements to start his new life? Or did he head for unknown territory as mysterious and uncertain as his own future? I didn’t know. But in my mind he landed the shuttle safely, and stepped out onto solid ground, alone and free.

THEdays continued to pass without change. I saw no one, I talked to no one. Father Veronica did not return to see me again. I tried not to speculate on the reasons.

I thought a lot about our betrayal, and what Father Veronica said, thought a lot about “my captain.” I came to believe he knew about the insurrection all along. He may have known about it even before I did. He’d told me he had plans to consolidate his position, to take care of the bishop. I wondered, did he know of my involvement all along? Was I just a price he had to pay? Perhaps he never thought it much of a price.

I passed the time sleeping, meditating, exercising infrequently, and thinking. I did not become bored. I was in a kind of trance, as if I’d shifted out of normal time so that I had no sense of its passage. I existed, and I waited. For a time, that was enough.

FATHERVeronica finally came to see me again. She was distraught, and apologized for not coming sooner. “I was denied access to you,” she explained.

“Why?”

“I still don’t know. Perhaps because of what we talked about when I was here; I was probably unwisely indiscreet. I have been permitted to visit any of the prisoners except you. It’s taken all this time for me to work out permission for one last visit.”

One last visit. I felt something hard and heavy sink into my stomach with those words.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I will try to get visitation rights reinstated. I’ll keep at it, but it may take time before I make any progress. No one has any interest in helping me, and no one has any sympathy for you. The other leaders were all downsiders, but you come from the upper levels. They see your betrayal as greater than the others.’ Everyone of influence is quite adamant about keeping you isolated.”

“Let it go,” I told her.

“What do you mean?”

“Let it go. Drop it. It won’t do me any good, and it certainly won’t do you any good.” I tried to smile. “Maybe when things have settled down, when people are not so angry. But for now… don’t bother. You’re a priest. Save your energy for those you can help.”

She didn’t say anything in reply. She recognized the reality as well as I did, although I was beginning to understand some things that she did not.

She approached me and took my hand in both of hers. “They’ve only given me five minutes.” Then, still holding my hand, she said, “I am very sorry, Bartolomeo. Please take care of yourself in here. It won’t be forever.” She released my hand, and it became immediately cold. “You might even want to try praying.”

“Yes, I might,” I said, smiling.

“Don’t trivialize it, Bartolomeo. There can be great comfort in prayer.”

Then she turned away from me and left, and for the first time since I had been imprisoned here, I felt despair.

Astrange thing happened the next day. The door was opened, a guard put a tray on the floor, then quickly retreated without a word. On the tray was a large thermal pot and a glass cup.