Gene Wolfe - The Land Across

I nodded. “It would have to be Papa Zenon.”

“Now I am not so wise. I am only a fool who shoots at the water hoping to kill a fish. You have told me of your cousin, who sees a dead woman in a mirror.”

“Martya,” I said. “Her name is Martya.”

“I have tell you Papa Zenon has seen her here. In this I was perhaps mistaken. He has not, I think. But he has heard her described. There was that which Papa Iason said. Papa Zenon hears it and there is light. He knows who is this woman, and knows he knows.”

“What was it Papa Iason told him?” I asked.

“That I cannot say. It may have been anything. A brooch she wears, the shawl in which she wrapped the hand. Must I guess?”

“Not unless you want to.”

“Then I guess for joy. She mentions you. She tells Papa Iason you would help her if you were here. Some such thing as that.” Naala sat back, smiling.

I said, “I’ve been answering questions for you, or trying to. Now I’d like you to answer one for me. Why were you so interested in those old pictures?”

“You saw the priest, but do not understand. Wait. I show you his picture.” She took a photo from her purse.

Looking at it I said, “You boosted one of his photos.”

“Of himself he had a full score, and the state has need of it. Look at it. Does it tell you nothing?”

I felt dumb and did not answer.

“Another picture I have also. Here, I hold them side by side.”

The second one was the prison photo of Russ Rathaus. Rosalee and I leaned forward to see them better. “All right,” I confessed, “I’m dumb. Yeah, they look a lot alike except Russ’s older. Does it mean anything?”

“This I think. The priest had also pictures of his father, and those I did not borrow. No, not even one! You saw them?”

I nodded. “A little guy with a big nose and a big mustache.”

“The mustache we leave to one side. Does Rathaus have the big nose? Is he, too, small?”

“No,” I said. “No to both.”

“Papa Iason is taller than you, though you are tall. He is heavy, likewise. A hundred kilos or more. More, I think. His mother is a woman not tall, not heavy.”

Remembering the pictures, I nodded.

“Let us sum up. Rathaus escapes. Martya, who is now here, brings the hand to a priest. From the wrong side of the blanket this priest comes. Also he resembles Rathaus. What is happening? This I want to know.”

“What you’re saying is that Russ thought his son, Papa Iason, could be trusted with the hand. Nobody was looking for Martya, so he got her to take it to him and tell him to keep it safe. Only he didn’t do that. He brought it to the archbishop the next day.”

Naala shook her head. “I do not say this. You say it. It may be that you are correct. It may be otherwise, also.”

The waiter came back. I had not even peeked at my menu because I knew I would not be able to read it. I listened to what Naala ordered and said I would have the same. Rosalee asked me what I had ordered, and when I told her it was pork tenderloin with noodles she said that would be fine for her.

I was not as hungry as I had been the first time, but I cleaned up the pork and noodles anyway, and sweet cabbage and some other stuff. Naala went out and phoned for a new police car when she had finished. When it came there were two cops, so we sat in back like before, Rosalee in the middle and Naala and I on the ends. Driving in the capital was like walking in Puraustays—you had to turn after just about every block and the blocks were pretty small. It slowed us down a lot and that may have been why Rosalee saw what she did.

She yelped and pointed, and Naala told the driver to stop. I thought maybe Rosalee had seen Russ, but that was not it. She was pointing to a big building that had a row of shops in it.

“That one!” she said. “In the middle. That’s one of our customers!”

“Wait a minute,” I said in English when we stopped. “You can’t hardly speak the language. How come you could read that shop window?”

“I can’t,” Rosalee told me. “It’s the picture, the hand with the white rabbit. It was on their stationery.”

I told Naala what she had said.

“We go there. This is better than the priest, I hope. Ask her the name.”

I did and Rosalee said, “Left-Hand Magic Supplies.”

“Did Russ tell you? I thought you couldn’t read their letters.”

“No! I could! I did! Only I couldn’t remember the name of the company. The letters were in English, and Russ wrote back in English.”

I nodded. “Makes sense.” After I had told Naala all that she told the driver to turn around and go back to the magic shop. He looked at the guy sitting next to him for a minute, and that was when I realized he looked like the guy who had been sitting next to the cop who had stopped his car to talk to me in Puraustays. Also that he looked an awful lot like that guy I had been seeing on posters.

Maybe I should have asked Naala whether she wanted us to get out, too. But I did not. I just assumed she did and got out and helped Rosalee get out.

The shop was bigger than I had expected, narrow but it went a long way back. The old guy behind the counter had white hair. He was pretty bent over.

Naala smiled at him, very friendly. “I hope you can help us, sir. This Amerikan lady has become separated from her husband, and we are trying to bring them together once more. You must know many magicians.”

The old guy nodded. “I know every magician in the city, and many in the provinces. I will be glad to help you if I can, officer.”

So he had seen right away that Naala was some kind of cop. I wondered if he knew what kind.

“He is an Amerikan magician. Do you speak German?”

The old guy straightened up a little. “I do, officer. English likewise. He would not have to speak German with me.”

“That is fortunate. I believe he speaks German, but perhaps not well. Amerikans speak no language well, not even the English. You have had no Amerikan magician come here?”

“Not in many years, officer.”

“This is unfortunate, but perhaps he comes. You will tell him his wife seeks him?”

“Of a certainty, if you wish it.”

“I do, you may be sure. We strive to assist her. Let me leave you my card. You will be able to tell him at once where she is to be found.” Naala pulled a card out of her purse and handed it over.

“I will guard it with care. It may be that he comes.” The old guy took the card and it disappeared before I could blink.

“You yourself do magic.” Naala was still smiling, very friendly. “Show me more.”

“I fear I am out of practice.”

“I will make allowances. What you do with my card is most clever.”

“Do you see many customers in my store?”

Naala made a little show of looking around. “No. None at all.”

“I have not much money.” The old guy looked awfully sad. I had the feeling it came easy to him.

“Nor I. Who does, in these bad times? Do you fear I will take your tricks away? I will not.” Naala raised her hand. “You will tell me if you see the Amerikan magician?”

The old guy nodded hard. “I will, at once!”

“Then I take nothing of yours. You have my word. Show me another trick.”

“This is one of the best. You will not take it? Or ask how it is done?”

Naala promised again, and he took a long yellow pencil from a pocket of his dusty old coat. When he passed his hand over it, it turned into two pencils. I guess I must have looked pretty surprised because he grinned, and there were three pencils. Rosalee clapped, and as soon as she started Naala clapped, too.

He handed a pencil to each of us. “You may keep these if you like,” the old guy told Naala and me. Then he said the same thing to Rosalee in English. He had a pretty thick accent.