Rachel Cantor - A Highly Unlikely Scenario, or a Neetsa Pizza Employee's Guide to Saving the World

I think you’ll find, Mr. Leonard, that Asher prefers to stay with me. So you can go now. Goodbye!

He won’t stay with you! Leonard said. He won’t. I’ll find you. I’ll find you and bring him home.

Oh, no! the Abulafia spirit-man said, floating now just inches above Leonard, forcing him to look straight up in the air. The letters were circling his head so fiercely his face could barely be seen. You have to stay away! Why do you think I’ve come to you? People are already watching us because of you. You were seen, by the Inquisition. You’ll bring danger to everyone, Asher included. And get away from this church — there are Orsini everywhere! Okay, it was nice meeting you. Bye!

Before Leonard could ask what an Orsini was, the floating man and his letters had fizzled away.

The sizzling Aleph

But one of them dropped. One of the letters Abulafia had been juggling, it popped out of formation just as the spirit-man dissolved and landed on the marble floor, the coolness of which Leonard could again feel, together with the sweetness of Sally’s head upon his shoulder.

The letter smoked a little about the edges, and vibrated. Leonard, not sure what to do, reached for it and put it in his underarm pocket, where the vibration soothed him, so much that despite his intention to protect Sally from Orsini and men with big boots, he went quite thoroughly to sleep.

You look like a Survivalist

I had something of a vision last night, Leonard explained when Sally woke him. A slight vibration under his arm reminded him that Abulafia’s letter was still in his pocket. I saw Abulafia. He said they saw us, the Inquisition, that man with the boots, he saw us — I guess when we were running away.

Sally put her hand to her cheek.

That’s not possible! What can he have seen? Just the back of us, just the back of two ordinary pilgrims …

She put her hand on Leonard’s afro.

They saw this, she said softly. They think you’re wearing crayon-colored sleeping togs, that’s okay, but they also saw your hair.

My hair? Leonard said, already feeling the loss.

I can take out my headbeads, but you were running behind me, what they saw is you. We’ll have to cut your hair.

The glorious equanimity Leonard had felt the night before, his exaltation over the fecund majesty of the world, was gone; his lower lip trembled.

I can do that, he said.

You’re very brave, Sally said. I don’t suppose we’ll find hair-shears here. You’ll have to borrow a knife from those folks over there, the ones who are carving that enormous, delicious-looking loaf of bread. The one with the intoxicating aroma and the oil dripping all over it.

I’m hungry too, Leonard said.

Try not to be conspicuous, Sally said.

Leonard laughed at the idea that any one person in this vast hall of rushing, ecstatic, limping, crying, snoring, shrieking, feasting, singing citizenry might ever be singly conspicuous.

Leonard introduced himself.

The bread-eating family turned out to be Cumbrian.

Ahreet, marra! the elder exclaimed, holding out his hand. Oust fetal? Werst t’ frae?

Was this the best Isaac could do? Leonard couldn’t understand a word. When he didn’t respond, the elder explained to his family, T’boyo’s an offcomer, and they nodded knowingly.

Leonard offered multiple gestures. The Cumbrian family gladly lent Leonard their knife, though the youngest and strongest accompanied him to the nearest tomb, where, affecting an ague, Leonard twitched and moaned and cut off his curls, depositing them at the foot of the reclining figure, much to the approbation of a pair of black-robed Sicilian sisters.

The youngest and strongest ran his hand approvingly over Leonard’s partially shorn head.

Slape! he said, and Leonard smiled uncertainly.

He gave his thanks to the Cumbrian family. They pointed at their food.

Scran? they asked. Snig? Skemmy? Kets?

Leonard’s gaze lingered possibly rather long on their bread, for they gave him one-quarter of it with their blessings.

As he walked off, he heard the youngest and strongest, his hand in his hair, explain to the others: Biddies! he said.

You look like a Survivalist, Sally said, also running her fingers through Leonard’s unevenly cropped hair. I like it!

Leonard would willingly have hacked off all his hair on meeting Sally had he known it would please her. And yet, he pondered, such a gesture would have been evidence of neither wealth nor position, nor would it have involved pretty compliments. How puzzling! Milione had been wise about many things, but maybe he didn’t know about women.

Or maybe Sally wasn’t like most women. Being a paragon, this was, in fact, likely.

I like your new hairstyle, he said.

Sally had removed her headbeads and given them to a Cumbrian child, who was already arranging them in colored polygons on the ground.

They finished their breakfast and stood to go.

Today would have to be the day.

This is your world

They departed the basilica, Leonard taking just one moment to admire the colored window, flower shaped, high above the door, through which entered the most brilliant blue light, and another moment, in the courtyard, to gaze at the gold-backed mosaics — more men wearing gowns — on the church’s facade. He was about to point Sally’s attention to the tower they’d seen the night before — in daylight he could see that its top was gilded with silver and gold — but Sally sighed. Her expression was downcast, her demeanor despondent.

You feeling any better? Leonard asked.

I’m fine. Why do you ask? Do I seem not fine? I feel fine.

Leonard didn’t want to argue with her, so he said, You didn’t seem fine last night. Last night you seemed kind of blue.

Sally was about to deny it but didn’t. Instead she leaned against one of the fountain’s red columns and looked intently at her leather slippers.

This is your world, she said. Not mine. I like things to be clear; I don’t like signs and wonders. I don’t like being in a world where I don’t know the rules, where you have visions I can’t see, and some invisible guy named Isaac tells us what to do. Back home, I know how things work: give me a task, and I’ll find the best way to do it. Here I do my best and nearly get us killed!

But you’ve forgotten, Leonard said, standing in front of her and draping his arms over her shoulders.

Forgotten what?

Sally wouldn’t look at Leonard: she was still staring at her slippers.

What Isaac said.

What did Isaac say?

That you’ll be the one to convince Abulafia to wait …

For the birthday of the world …

Before visiting the pope!

That’s going to be me, isn’t it? Sally said, looking up. I had forgotten.

Which doesn’t mean you can’t figure out what fish have to do with Felix, he said, playing with her unbeaded hair.

What are we waiting for? she said. Let’s get to the river!

Soon or someday very soon

Are you getting signs and wonders about which way to go? Sally asked when they reached the river. Around them dank, watery smells hung heavy in the thick summer air.

Abulafia said we should stay away from the church. Something about the Orsini, whatever that is.

The pope is an Orsini, that’s his family name. What? she said, smiling. I asked the Brazen Head back in the future. Born Giovanni Gaetano Orsini, pope from 1277 to 1280, died in Soriano, Italy.

He dies?

Sally gave him a look.

It’s 1280 right now! Leonard said. Remember? August 1280. Bobolo told us.