Gene Wolfe - The Land Across

I ate and thought. Pretty soon my sandwich was gone, and I had hardly tasted it. Finally I said, “You’re after something Papa Zenon knows. Or anyway, something you think he might know. Something you want to find out.”

Naala laughed. “To you I am glass. Two things.”

“Will you tell me?”

“If you wish. First I desire to know what it is Papa Iason tells by which Papa Zenon know the woman who brings the hand is your Martya.”

I said, “I see what you mean. Yeah, we’d sure like to have that.”

“Also does Papa Iason know where is Rathaus? He will not tell Papa Zenon this, I think. But Papa Zenon is more clever than him. He may know Papa Iason knows, or know he does not. This will be most useful for us.”

“You ought to have somebody follow Papa Iason. That’s how they would do it back in America.”

“Amerika have more operatives than we, perhaps. We cannot waste three on this priest. If he knows, it is not waste and so is good. But we must know he knows this.”

“You could assign one.”

“To which hours? Shall he begin at nine and go home at five? If Papa Iason go, night is most probable, but night is most hard, too. Two operatives by night, then. Or three. Five should be enough, perhaps. Now this. A man come to see Papa. Our operative do not see his face. He go away. Should two operatives follow? Or it is better they stay to watch the house?”

So more thinking for me. Finally I said, “Could you put a bug on his bike?”

“I have ask for this already. Tomorrow it is done, perhaps. We will find out.”

“Got it.”

“Let us go back. What is the name of the shop you find that have the dolls?”

“I couldn’t read it. I’ve been trying to catch onto the sounds of your letters, but I’m not very good at them yet. You get fancy, like English.”

“Then is easy for you.”

“I wish it was.” I was fishing in my shirt pocket. “I didn’t steal anything from that shop, but I took a business card. There was a little stack of those on the counter.” I handed the card to her.

“This is good.” She pointed to a corner. “Here is name of owner.”

“That’s what I figured it was.”

“It is a name I already hear. Do you know this?”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t read it. I told you.”

“Then I read for you. ‘Abderos Narkatsos.’”

It sounded familiar. I scratched my head.

“You say Ferenc Narkatsos.”

“That’s what Yelena said. That was the guy who always hung around her.”

“It is the same family? That would be good to know. Tomorrow I will find out.”

I said, “I don’t see where that’s a clue at all.” I had finished my sandwich by then and was sipping wine.

“Nor I. But when you investigate and here is the same thing twice, you look more. This I will do.”

That was the gist of what we said that evening, and pretty soon we got up to go. There were cops at Horváth’s, one talking to some man I had never seen before, and one eating some kind of sweet roll. The girl who had been sweeping, the girl with the red pen, was out of sight if she was still around. Naala did not stop, so neither did I. I stuck my right hand in the side pocket of my jacket, I guess because I was trying to look cool.

Only there was a hand in there already. It took hold of mine and gave it a little squeeze, like it wanted to be friends.

We were both tired. I had drunk a couple of glasses of zip-code wine at the café, and more wine back in Naala’s apartment. Not a whole lot—it might have been three glasses. About like that, and Naala had killed the bottle, so we were fuzzy when we got into bed. One of us would go to sleep and the other one would wake that one up doing stuff. It went on for quite a while.

Of course we both went to sleep eventually. When I woke up the first time and looked at the clock, it was five a.m. Or that is the way I remember it. I had a headache, but I found some aspirin and took two before I went back to bed. I knew it was aspirin from the smell, and the taste when I bit one.

You will probably think I was worrying about the hand the whole time. Well, you are right, but you are wrong, too. I had jerked my own hand out of that pocket as quick as I could get it loose. Boy, did I! After that I kept trying to believe it had not really happened. Most of the time I did, but sometimes I knew it had been real.

When we finally got up that morning it was almost time to meet Papa Zenon. We got dressed as fast as we could, no shaving or anything, and off we went. I had on the wool sports jacket. I never put my hands in the pockets, but I could tell from the way the jacket hung that pocket was empty. About the time we got to the café, I patted the outside and it was empty all right.

Papa Zenon was there already, with coffee and a plate of Eggs Minsk in front of him. He put down the one he had been eating, stood up, wiped his hand with his napkin, and shook hands with us, Naala first. A real gentleman.

We sat down and he offered us his eggs. Naala shook her head but I took one.

Papa Zenon sat, too. “The anchovies, I suppose. Many people object to those.”

“I like them,” Naala told him, “but I have not been up long. For me, coffee first. After it, pastries.”

I bit into mine. They are sort of like eating a deviled egg, only hot from the oven.

“You have just left your beds? If so, it was I who made you leave them. I apologize.”

“I set the time,” Naala said. “You did not reply to my letter.”

Papa Zenon smiled. “It seemed unnecessary. I am here.”

“So are we. Now we fence, you and I. The foils clash. They separate to clash again. Tell me, for what prize do we contend?”

“For command, perhaps, if we join forces.” He was still smiling.

“That cannot be. I cannot put myself under your orders, nor could you, a priest, put yourself under mine.”

The waitress was at Naala’s elbow. She and I ordered, and the waitress left.

“I watched His Excellency this morning.” Papa Zenon sounded like he was talking to himself.

“You rise early, in this case. Grafton and I were up late, and so slept late also.”

“May I inquire what kept you up?”

“You may, and later I may tell you.”

Papa Zenon chuckled. “Let me guess. A young woman died at the Harktay yesterday. You spoke to members of her family.”

“We did not, but I wish very much to know why you think it might be so. I find this interesting.”

Papa Zenon spread his hands. “From you, I withhold nothing. Can you say the same?”

“I will say this. If we join forces as I proposed, I will withhold nothing.”

“Then I am the more generous. Yesterday evening, I spoke with His Excellency. Another priest was present. His Excellency mentioned the hand, which the other priest wished to see. His Excellency explained that he had given it to an operator of the agency we know, and happened to say also that you had turned it over to a young foreigner who was assisting you. At this the other priest looked a trifle surprised.”

“Yes?”

“When we were alone I asked why, and he told me he had been asked to say the funeral mass of a prisoner. When he inquired as to the circumstances of her demise…” Papa Zenon paused. “It is always prudent to do this. There is a danger of unseemly speech in the homily. One seeks to minimize it.”

Naala’s coffee had arrived. She spooned sugar into it, but her eyes never left Papa Zenon’s face.

“He learned that the unfortunate woman had not died unattended. A foreigner associated with the agency we have had reason to speak of had been at her bedside, or so he was told. A young man.”