Gene Wolfe - The Land Across

Of course I said I was.

“I think yes and that is well. What do you think of Papa Iason? Is he, too, to be trusted?”

I said he had not told us everything.

“Not by us. No. By his father.”

“You mean Russ. The other one’s dead.”

“Yes, by Rathaus, his true father. He can trust him, do you think?”

“I’ll have to think that one over,” I said.

Naala gave me the mean grin. “This you must do as we walk, Grafton. When we are seated, you must tell me. Not yes only, or no. Explain.”

There were plenty of cafés as soon as we got into a better part of town. Naala liked the fifth one (I think it was) and we sat down at an outside table with a shiny pink umbrella. I asked if she wanted my answer.

She smiled. “You are sure of it?”

“Stone certain. First, Papa Iason is religious. Not just because he’s a priest but because he never once griped about it. So religious, and the Bible says to honor your father and mother. So I say, yes, if he knows Russ is his real father, Russ could trust him.”

“Does he know? What is it you think?”

“We haven’t got any way to tell.”

“Then we must guess. He looks at the picture of Rathaus and says it is an ordinary face. Possibly you recall this?”

“But it meant something to him. I could see that.”

“Three years ago Rathaus comes here. This the shopman tells. Why?”

I said, “Beats me.”

“You are familiar with our identity cards?”

“No. I’ve never had one.”

“There is on each card the date of issuance. This is for my JAKA and the police. If a woman has held her card twenty years, her face will have changed in certain ways. A man the same. Information is like bread. If it is not eaten it grow stale. So we must know. Papa’s card is of three years.”

“O-o-o-kay.” I was trying to think what it might mean.

“Does his son get a new card because he comes?”

“I don’t see why he would.”

“He does not. He get a new card because he is become a priest. He is ordained. For a priest, this is a great, great thing. His father learn of it, I think. How I do not know, but there may be many ways. Perhaps the mother tell him. Perhaps Papa Iason himself tell, or someone at the seminary. It does not matter. He learns, and comes to see his son ordained. He will shake his hand and give him some money it may be. He does not tell, the mother does not tell, Papa does not tell. He is a friend from the old years, they say. Or the son of the mother’s aunt who is dead. Whatever. But they know. Rathaus knows, the mother knows, and Papa Iason knows. Those three are sure. If you do not agree, I do not care. I too am sure.” Naala sipped her coffee, watching me over the rim of her cup.

I told her, “I’m not as sure as you are, but you’re probably right.”

“This I think. There is a cult, the Unholy Way. They make dark magic. Rumors have reach the JAKA long ago, and yesterday the archbishop tells us.”

I nodded.

“Rathaus makes the magic dolls. They have taken him. You agree?”

I shook my head.

“This the JAKA think. You do not. Tell me why.”

“Russ was a pretty good guy. He didn’t always tell me the truth, but mostly he did. When he didn’t, he didn’t lie outright, generally. He talked like he had never been here until he and Rosalee came. But he didn’t actually say that, he just let me think it. That’s one thing.”

Naala nodded. “Speak more.”

“If the cult could just go in that prison and take people out, they would have taken a lot of them. That’s how it seems to me. There were some really bad guys in there, so why not? Only they haven’t, or it would have been all over in there. Everybody would talk about it, about all the escapes, and how somebody did and what it meant for the rest of us. It wasn’t like that at all. When Russ went missing there was a lot of fuss and I got shopped to the JAKA.”

Naala nodded. “We may be right. I think so. Here for you is another question. They have who that we know? Name this person.”

“That’s easy, and I’ve been thinking a lot about it. Martya. They had her, but she stole their hand and got away. She brought it to a priest because she thought he’d be the right guy to destroy it. By this time the cult may have killed her. I just hope they can’t find her.”

“In what you say now you are entirely wrong, I think. She serve them. What is it the hand try to do last night?”

“It tried to kill you, and it almost did. Only you said it was a whole woman. I know it wasn’t, that it was really the hand, but I didn’t think you knew that. What wised you up?”

“Reason.” Naala chuckled. “Two great teachers we have, of which reason is one. We are both right. I see the long hair, the little face, you see only her hand. You would lie to me, I think, but not about such a thing as this. Also when we search, we find no woman. She cannot have slip away.”

I nodded. “The door and all the windows were locked from inside.”

“Just so. I am of the JAKA and am known to be so. You understand? This I hope. Also my apartment is on the lowest floor. This for me is nice, I do not have to climb the steps. Everyone want the lowest floor. But perhaps someone wish to slide the blade into my throat, so I have good locks. Alarms also. The locks are locked, the alarms silent….” Naala fell silent herself.

“So you knew it was really just the hand.”

She shook her head. “It is both. The hand is a hand. It is solid. I have pick it up. You also. The woman is a soul by God condemned, a bad ghost.”

“I can’t see that,” I said.

“You have the eyes.”

That one stopped me dead. I sipped my coffee, which was thick with honey, hot, and black. Finally I said, “The hand doesn’t. That’s what you mean. Only it seems like it sees.”

“Also thinks, without a brain. It hide so well we do not find it. Could this young woman I see hide from us in my apartment? No, this is absurd to think. The hand is wise. It find a place we do not think of, we the so clever ones. Yesterday we see the old man work his magic. His hands are oh, so clever because his brain think for them. Who think for that hand?”

“I’m an American,” I told her. “We don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You are not there.” She gave me the mean grin. “You do not ask me big questions. This you promised.”

I looked away, seeing the empty, dusty street and the shabby buildings, each in its cheerful rectangle of trees. I wanted it to be America, and all these wine bottles and bright umbrellas wanted it to be Paris. But it was about as far from America and Paris as you could get. I said, “Russ had that dummy that looked like him. Where’d he get it?”

“That is not a big question. He is helped in his escape. My friends at the JAKA think by the cult. You think by those who buy his dolls, and this may be correct. If we find him, we may learn. Ask another question.”

“All right, here’s a big one. Why is it important that Russ could trust Papa Iason?”

“If Rathaus can trust him, he have no reason to wish him no more. The hand snatch away life. It has try to snatch mine. A priest it would hate, I think, but your Martya bring it to a priest and leave it with him. Now you see?”

I shook my head.

“Does she wish him dead? This I do not credit. She is of Puraustays. It is not to be believed that she knows him. You have kiss her and share her bed. Does she have such a hand?”

“Absolutely not,” I said.

“She serves, I think. It is her master who wish the priest dead. Ah, you say, Rathaus. But the priest is his son. Even a bad man loves his son. So it often is, even if not always. Also this son is to be trusted. Why kill him? Why in such a fashion? There is no reason.”