Gene Wolfe - The Land Across

“He met her there, yeah. He caught up with Martya and me in some café, and the three of us talked about a lady we wanted underground. He did it after I was gone.”

I turned to him. “You still say that? The suitcase and everything?”

Papa Zenon nodded. “I told you the truth.”

“I know you must have said some prayers. Maybe you sprinkled holy water on the suitcase or in the grave. Something like that. Martya must have been there, since I wasn’t. Did she have fits or anything?”

“Ah!” Papa Zenon grinned. “You think she may be a vampire. Or you think I think this.”

“Did she?”

He shook his head. “Vampires and certain others are said to react so. Mere witches do not. Do you know how a witch proceeds when she wishes a consecrated host?”

I said, “I guess she steals it.” The hand had slipped into mine.

“Of course. But how?”

“Breaks into a church at night, maybe. Or maybe she could bribe a priest if she had money.”

“It is easier than either. She attends mass, receives communion, and holds the host in her mouth until she can remove it without being observed. If she can hold a host in her mouth and escape unscathed, what is holy water to her? Ask whether I think your Martya a witch.”

Naala said, “Do you?”

Slowly, Papa Zenon swung his head from side to side. “I do not. I have many reasons. Do you wish them?”

I said, “I don’t. I knew her pretty well and lived in the same house. I’d have seen something. Besides, she was scared, really scared, one time when we were in the Willows after dark. A witch wouldn’t have been, or I don’t think so.”

“Nor do I. She sins, as do we all. But witchcraft?” He looked as though he wanted to spit. “Not she.”

Naala said, “The other two photographs. Them you know also, I think.”

“I do not, but I believe you may. Identify them for me, and I will tell you anything you wish to know.”

“For the man, I also can show a photograph. You will find his name on it.”

It was a prison photo, of course. Naala took it out of her purse and handed it to Papa Zenon.

He looked at it, then at me. “This is your friend, you say.”

I nodded. “Right. He is.”

“He does not say the black mass?”

I made it firm. “Hell no!”

“And the other?” Papa Zenon held up the photo.

“That’s Russ’s wife, Rosalee.”

“He has escaped. She also? It must be that they are together.”

I said, “Maybe, but I don’t think so.”

“He will come to her, in that case. Or she will fly to him. You do not know where she is?”

“For sure? No.”

“But you suspect.”

I shrugged.

Naala said, “You tell us that if we identify those in your pictures you will tell us anything. We have done as you wished, and I have the question.”

Papa Zenon nodded. “Ask.”

“I ask a small question first. Where is Rathaus? Do you know this?”

Papa Zenon put down his cup. “I do not. If I did, I would tell you.”

“The big question, in that case. Do you think Papa Iason knows this? I do not ask for proven fact, only for your opinion. Does he know?”

“I have no idea. I ask in return, why should he? Why is it you think he might?”

“Rathaus is his father.”

I have seen some surprised people, but I do not think I have ever seen one who looked any more surprised than Papa Zenon did then. He froze. His mouth opened a little and stayed that way, and it looked like his eyes were going to pop right out of his head.

Naala said, “You must tell him, Grafton.”

“How much?”

“All. We hide nothing.”

“Okay.” I scooted my chair closer to the table and sat up straighter. “Naala figured it out, not me. At first I didn’t believe her, but pretty soon we found out Russ had come here three years ago to see Papa Iason ordained.”

Papa Zenon got out his pictures again and stared at Russ’s while Naala and I ate. After a while he nodded.

“Again I ask,” Naala whispered. “Does he know?”

“This I have answered,” Papa Zenon said. “For you I have a better question, but it is one neither of us can answer. If he knows, will he tell?”

I said, “Maybe you two can’t answer that one, but I can. No. He won’t.”

“This you cannot know,” Naala told me.

Papa Zenon said, “That may be true, but he believe he can.” He spoke to me. “Why do you say this, Grafton?”

I sipped a little coffee while I pulled my thoughts together, glad that it was my left hand that the hand was holding. “Let’s start here. Papa Iason isn’t a good man. I told Naala that already, and it’s true. He’s a bad one trying to be good, like a lot of us. In English, we’ve got an expression, ‘So good he’s good for nothing.’ Papa Iason isn’t like that.”

Papa Zenon said, “I agree.”

“Russ is his father, and he knows it. I’m not going to take the time to explain how we know about them, but we do. If he knows where Russ is, he also knows Russ hasn’t done a damn thing that ought to land him in prison. I’ve talked to Papa Iason enough to get to know him a little. Send his innocent dad off to rot in prison? No. He’s not that kind. He’d die first.”

“That is a big word, ‘die.’”

Papa Zenon had spoken very softly, but we stared just the same. Or anyhow, I did.

Naala said, “Yes,” almost as softly. Then, “How best to do it?”

They had lost me, and I guess my face showed it. Papa Zenon said, “If Papa Iason believes his father dying, he will hurry to him. A priest, a large man, all in black. It would not be difficult to follow him.”

“He would take his bicycle, I think,” Naala said. “We have a way to follow that bicycle.”

I said, “He told us he hitched rides on wagons.”

She nodded. “It may be so, but I do not think. He wishes to keep the bicycle to himself.”

Papa Zenon got out his pictures and laid Martya’s on the table. “Might she lie for us if you asked it?”

I said, “I don’t know, but it doesn’t make any difference. Martya knows where Russ is.”

Naala set down her cup with a little bang. “You cannot know that.”

“Sure I do. Russ sent her to Papa Iason with the hand.”

Under the table, the hand squeezed mine. It meant right on, and I knew it.

“Just look at it. Here’s Martya, a good-looking girl in Puraustays. She’d love to get to the big city, fame, the bright lights, the club scene, all that stuff. She and I went to some clubs in Puraustays. They’re pretty awful, and she knows enough to know that. Here in the capital is where the action is.”

Papa Zenon nodded. “Continue, please. I am most interested.”

“I also,” Naala said.

“All of a sudden, I’m gone and nobody knows where. Bang! and she’s a widow because the cops shoot Kleon—Kleon was her husband when I knew her. Maybe she gets some money from his life insurance. For sure she can sell the house. So whatever, and off she goes. Next thing we know, she’s bringing the hand to Papa Iason. How the heck does she get it?”

“You must ask yourself,” Naala told me. “We do not know.”

“I have and it’s easy. The Unholy Way is trying to kill Russ. I told you that. They send the hand to do the job, give it to him or smuggle it into the place where he’s staying or whatever. That doesn’t work. Russ grabs the shawl from somewhere and wraps it up. He has sealing wax, or somebody there does, and there’s this seal with the crosses he made for some other job, maybe sealing a letter. Whatever. He seals the shawl, stamps it with the cross, and gets Martya to take it to his son and tell him he’s got to burn it. He’s supposed to hold a crucifix while it burns, and pray, and so forth.”