Gene Wolfe - The Land Across

“Quite young. Red hair, I think. She was wearing a black scarf over her head. What do women call those?”

Naala waved the question to one side.

“She had on that black scarf. At least, it looked black in our parlor. There was a lock of hair peeping out, and it seemed to be red. By electric light it is always hard to judge.”

“Tall? Short?” Naala was getting irritated.

“The height of most women, I would say. Her face was rather pretty, but not striking.”

Our beer came, and since there were a lot of empty chairs now, I took the one next to Rosalee. She had time for one sip of beer before Naala made her stand up.

“Look at this woman,” Naala said. “Was the woman who brought the hand taller?”

Papa Iason asked, “Do you have it in that box?”

“Answer my question.”

“A little taller, yes. Not much.”

“Did you notice her shoes?”

Papa Iason shook his head.

“Her dress? What was she wearing?”

“A plain black dress.”

“Black? Are you sure?”

Papa Iason shook his head again. “Some dark color. It could have been blue or green.”

“Rings on her fingers?”

“I did not notice any.”

“Was she beautiful?”

That took him by surprise. After a couple of seconds he said, “I am a priest.”

“You are a priest and I am an operator. If you ask me a question while I kneel in the confessional, I will answer you honestly. You must answer me honestly when I do my duty.”

Papa Iason seemed to be trying to find words.

“See this woman.” Naala caught Rosalee’s chin on the point of her finger and turned her head to show Papa Iason her profile. “Was she as good-looking as this?”

He shook his head.

“Do not be gallant. Was she?”

“She was pretty, I think, which I told you before. Perhaps very pretty if she had smiled. This woman you bring is beautiful. Who is she?”

“My prisoner, although I will free her if she assists me. You made the woman who carried something come inside. What did she say?”

“She told me she had a bad thing. I must take it, but I must be careful with it. I told her she ought to take it to the police. She said they would arrest her and it would do no good. She laid it on the hearth to unwrap.” Papa Iason paused. “It was a warm night.”

Naala nodded.

“We had no fire. People bring us wood, but hardly ever in summer.”

“What did she say when she unwrapped it?”

“Nothing—or if she spoke, I paid no attention. I had tried to touch it but found I could not. Begging God for courage I struggled to lay my hand on it, but it only trembled. Soon I heard the door close and looked around. The woman was gone.”

I said, “Didn’t she tell you how to use it?”

Papa Iason shook his head. “She told me only what I have told you, nothing else. Next day I carried it to His Excellency. I told him I thought it should be burned, and I would see that it was if he wished. He thanked me, but told me he wished to examine it first.”

I had been trying to decide whether he was lying and had about decided he was not.

Naala asked, “Did he speak to you about Papa Zenon?”

Papa Iason shook his head again.

“You do not ask me who he is.”

“I know. He came to see me this morning. He told me that His Excellency believes that many in this city are worshipping demons, and he is looking into the abomination at His Excellency’s request.”

“He asked you about the hand?”

“He did, among other matters. I described the young woman to him as I have described her to you.” Papa Iason hesitated. “He seemed to know her.”

“That is most interesting!” Naala put the box on the floor between her feet. “What was it that makes you say so?”

“He asked her hair color, which I had not mentioned. I told him her hair was covered by a black cloth, but that one lock of hair had straggled from under it and that lock appeared red—I do not mean a bright red like fire. When I said this he looked pleased, and it seemed to me he knew who the young woman was.”

“Describe this Papa Zenon to me.”

Papa Iason did, and it was fairly good. Of course I knew that Naala had seen him, but I did not say anything.

“Do you know where he lives?”

“He is from the wrong end of the lake. So he told me. There is a house for visiting priests near His Excellency’s palace. I assume he is staying there, but I did not ask him.”

“He did not tell you to notify him if you saw the young woman again?”

Papa Iason shook his head.

“Or if you learned anything more?”

“No, but I would report it to His Excellency.”

Rosalee had sat down again and was sipping her beer. I wondered how much of this she had understood. One thing for sure was that she was paying close attention, so it was not all going over her head.

“There is an escaped prisoner, an Amerikan. Possibly you have heard.”

“No, nothing.”

Naala reached down and picked up the box. “Does this move of itself?”

Papa Iason made a disrespectful noise. “I would have called that impossible.”

“It seemed to me that it has moved since I set it down. No doubt I struck it with my foot.” Naala opened the lid. “Would you like to see it again?”

“I would prefer not to.”

She held out the box, but he did not look. I told Naala I would like to see it, and she passed it to me.

“I mentioned an escaped prisoner. You said you knew nothing of him.”

“I did not even know that anyone had escaped.”

“You do not ask me for a description?”

“He has my sympathy,” Papa Iason said.

“This is intended to distract me.” Naala smiled. “It is a trick we hear often. As a favor to me, will you stand up, Papa? I desire to see you standing.”

He stood, and she told him he might sit again.

“May I see your identity card? I will show you my own first, if you desire to see it.” She opened her purse.

“You are of the secret police.”

“No, no!” She smiled. “We are not secret. It is only that we do not wear uniforms. We of the JAKA have these badges, and identity cards with our photographs on them. Look at this, Papa.” It was like a wallet, but when she flipped it open I could see a gold badge and a picture inside.

“I am rarely asked to display my card,” Papa Iason said. He was getting his own wallet out of a hip pocket.

“You should thank me,” Naala told him. “You will no longer feel you are made to bear a useless card.”

“Here it is.” He had pulled it out.

Naala glanced at the card. “A new card. When you are ordained?”

“Yes, naturally. My card must show my vocation.”

“I see. You are twenty-six. The Amerikan who has escaped is sixty-three. May I ask your father’s name?”

“It was Zetes Soukis.”

“Thank you. He is not more? You have my sympathy. He died when you were a child?”

“No,” Papa Iason said. “Last year.”

“That is most interesting.” Naala picked up the box again and stood up. “You will have pictures of him and of your mother at the rectory. Let us look at them.”

I got up and so did Rosalee, maybe because I did. Papa Iason did not. “My mother and father did nothing wrong.”

“You need not be concerned,” Naala told him. “I do not accuse them of any crime. We will go to the rectory, but you may remain here if you wish. Your housekeeper will let us in.”

Papa Iason stood. “It will be better if I am with you.”

The four of us went outside, Papa Iason and Naala leading the way and Rosalee and me walking behind. Naala said, “I have not shown you a picture of the man who has escaped. That is stupid of me. Though you may not find it interesting, I hope you will give it study. If you should see him, you will report it?”