Gene Wolfe - The Land Across

“Right. That drop would kill anybody.”

She stared at me. I think she was seeing if I could look her in the eye. I could and did. Finally she said, “You shoot him and throw his body off the tower.”

I shook my head.

“I must see your gun. Take it out and give it to me.”

I said, “Sure,” and handed it over.

She sniffed the muzzle, then pulled the magazine out. You could see the cartridges through holes in the sides, and it was full. She put it in again and gave the gun back to me. “You throw him off the tower. That will be better for us. There will be no bullet—”

“The hell I did!” I made it as strong as I could. “I swear I never laid a finger on him. Not one single finger! There’s a stone railing up there and he went over it before I could grab him.”

She was quiet after that until our breakfasts came. Then she said, “Who sees you there?”

“Nobody.”

“You are sure of this?”

I said, “Yes. It was about five. Nobody saw me except him.”

“We do not speak. Not now and never it may be. I must find a telephone.”

“Who are you going to tell?”

She grinned. It had hit her hard, but she was over it. “Nobody. Did not I say this? We tell nobody, but when we have eaten I must find a telephone.”

So we did, walking quite a way before we found a police phone on a light pole. She opened it up, pushed buttons, and asked for the man I have been calling Baldy. There was a wait and some hassling back and forth. When she had him she said, “Grafton and I go out for breakfast this morning, sir, and in the café in which we eat there is a rumor concerning the archbishop. You have hear of this?”

…

“This rumor say he has taken his own life. Perhaps it is untrue, but I feel you should know of the rumor, sir.”

…

“That is most well, sir. Grafton and I will go if you wish it.”

…

“Yes, sir. We will continue, as you say.” She hung up, smiling.

I asked what Baldy had said.

“He say he will send operators to see if it is true. Should it be true, they will keep safe the records of the archdiocese. These must be secure. It is what I wish.”

“Will they have a look at them?”

“But of course! Here is a most wonderful chance for us to look at everything when there is no one to object. Tomorrow, I think, the oldest bishop comes. He will say this must stop. They will continue. He will complain to the Leader. The Leader will wait a day, two days, three it might be. Then he will order them to stop and they will stop. By this time we know much and perhaps we know everything.” Naala started walking. She always walked fast.

Almost trotting to keep up, I asked, “Where are we going?”

“You will see!” I got the mean grin. “You will not like, I think.”

I believe she started to tell me then, but maybe not. What is for sure is that I was not paying much attention. Up ahead I had seen somebody. He saw me, too, and when he saw me he ducked into the trees around a building full of shops he was passing.

He got out of sight fast, but not fast enough. I knew I had seen Kleon.

I should have guessed where we were going, but I did not. It was one hell of a long way, but we flagged down a black-and-silver and got a ride to a low gray building on the far side of the river in the oldest part of the city.

He had beaten us there and was already stretched out, face up on a slab. All the other dead people were face up, too, and I felt like I was back at the undertaker’s, only with bright lights and more bodies. I told Naala that in America we covered them up with sheets and put each of them in its own compartment on a metal slab with rollers. She said, “Here we do not,” and she was right. It was really cold in there, but not freezing.

The attendant, I do not know what you call those, was a big ugly guy about fifty who had not shaved that morning. He came over like he wanted to help, and after a minute or so he asked us, “They cannot be buried in holy ground, yes? What will they do?”

“He falls by accident,” Naala said. She was still looking at the archbishop. I think looking for bulletholes or stab wounds. Anything like that.

The big ugly guy was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “I will remember.”

After that we went to Papa Iason’s, which was maybe half a mile from there. He was still eating breakfast and invited us to sit down. We told him we had already eaten, but we got coffee anyway.

“For you we have good news,” Naala began, “also bad. Which is it you desire to hear first, Papa?”

“The bad, of course.”

“As you wish. His Excellency is climb the cathedral tower each morning for exercise. You know of this, I am sure.”

Papa Iason nodded.

“This morning he falls, Papa.” Naala’s tone made what she had not said pretty clear.

Papa Iason crossed himself, bowed his head, and began to pray. It was loud enough for me to catch a few words, but too fast for me to follow what he was saying. Naala and I sat and watched and sipped weak coffee. I wanted to whisper a little prayer for the archbishop, but I could not do it.

Finally Papa Iason looked up and said, “He will be remembered a long, long time.”

We nodded.

“I will dedicate my mass tomorrow to him. I have already said my mass for today, you understand.”

Naala said, “He was a man of many years. A man older than most men will ever be.”

Papa Iason sighed. “He should have had a rail on the steps. It could have been done easily, and many suggested it.”

Naala nodded.

I said, “He certainly should have!” I was remembering whatever it had been that had tripped me on those steps in the dark. I got scared every time I thought about it.

“There will be a mass in the cathedral with every priest in the country in attendance.” Papa Iason smiled. “We will fill all the seats and stand in the aisles. Every priest and every nun. Monks from the monasteries.”

He looked at me. “You come from the West and know nothing of this, I suppose, but our monasteries nearly failed when the communists were in charge. Things are better now, but it is a hard life. A most hard life. Few men will live as they do. I thought long about it, but in the end—well, you see what I chose.”

Naala said, “What of my good news, Papa? Would you not wish to hear also?”

Papa Iason smiled and ate a piece of bacon. “Yes, indeed! And I must eat, otherwise Mrs. Vagaros will think I am ill and make me soak my feet in the water that steams. What is your good news?”

“Your father is no longer a fugitive. He assists the JAKA against the Unholy Way.”

Papa Iason just stared at her. You do not see the color go out of somebody’s face very often, but I saw it then. Finally he said, “You know.”

“I am of the JAKA, Papa. I have not concealed this from you.”

Papa Iason nodded, really slowly. “Surely he was in great danger.”

I said, “He was. Maybe he still is. They took a shot at him last night.”

“God grant they missed.”

“Yeah. They did. He didn’t.”

Naala said, “Three he kill. Three of the evil one’s worshippers. It was brave work, but we prefer prisoners. We got ten. This, too, was the good work of your father. Of Grafton, also.”

I shook my head. “They just about had me.”

Naala said, “First you send the policeman to bring me. If you had not, we would have taken none. This I know.”

Papa Iason said, “Three he killed. It was my father who did this?”

I said, “Right. He had a shotgun.”

“I see.” Papa Iason looked troubled.

“He’s been staying with a friend in the city. Maybe we could take you to see him, if you want to go. It’s up to Naala.”