“Here it is on the stage. It seems to be none the worse for wear,” he said, handing it to me.
“Thank you.”
Clovis stood on the stage and looked down on the unconscious men and women lying randomly on the floor. “Look at all the fallen soldiers, the heroes of our times.”
“Shut up,” groaned an anonymous, muffled voice, his face buried in a pillow.
Clovis smiled at me. “Let us eat.”
“good evening, gentlemen,” said mr. diltz as we entered the dining room.
“Evening?” I asked looking at both of them.
“Yes, it is night,” said Clovis.
“I guess the next question should be which night,” I said, laughing.
Diltz gave a courteous grin. “Would you gentlemen like something to eat?”
“Baked fish, please,” said Clovis.
“And you, sir?” he asked, looking at me.
“A cheese omelet and a glass of tomato juice.”
“Right away,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.
I sat down across from Clovis and hung my cane on the back of the chair next to me. The dagger he had given me dug into my abdomen as I sat down. I removed it from my waistband and looked at it under normal light for the first time. Red rubies and yellow sapphires punctuated the polished silver scabbard. I studied it for several minutes before I spoke.
“I couldn’t really appreciate this in the poor lighting of the grotto. It’s amazing.”
He smiled humbly.
I ran my fingertips over the raised silver characters around the handle. “This writing is Arabic, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It says Death to the foes of Islam.”
“Are you a Muslim?”
“No,” he chuckled. “I am no Muslim, though if I were not what I am, I believe I would be.”
“Why?”
“It is the most virtuous of the western religions and holds men to the strictest path of righteousness.”
“Do you think there is a divinity that awaits those who adhere to the strict path of righteousness laid out in the Koran?”
Clovis sat back in his chair as though evaluating an answer. “I do not, but I do believe the Koran’s strict path of righteousness leads to divine men, and the world needs as many of those as it can get.”
I nodded and looked back down at the strange weapon. “Last night you said this is from your homeland. Where is that, exactly?”
“Arabia on the Red Sea coast,” he said with pride.
I removed the knife from the scabbard to inspect the blade. I couldn’t imagine ever having a use for it, but marveled at its quality just the same. “I would like to meet the craftsman who could do work like this.”
“I am afraid that is impossible. He died two hundred years ago.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize this was an antique,” I said, sheathing it.
“Neither did I,” Clovis confessed.
Mr. Diltz came back in carrying a basket of rolls along with one glass of tomato juice and one of water. “I have messages for you both.” He turned to Clovis first. “Chance said he is flying to Bali in a few hours and would be happy to drop you along the way, unless you would prefer your usual route.”
Clovis took a drink and set the glass down. “Tell him that I must get back to my garden quickly, so I will not have the time to sail. Tell him I accept his offer and will be ready shortly.”
“Very well,” said Diltz, turning toward me. “Samas had to meet a client in Bern and will return in the morning. He told me to tell you that you are welcome to return to Morocco and stay with him as long as you like. He said he is returning to Rabat tomorrow afternoon, via Tunis.”
“Thank you,” I said in a sigh.
“Is there any message in case he calls?” asked the caretaker.
“No. I suppose I’ll just see him tomorrow,” I said, wishing I had some time to myself.
“Very well. Your food will be right out, gentlemen.” He retreated back through the kitchen door.
The old man grabbed a roll and broke it in two. “You act as if you had just received bad news instead of an invitation. Is his hospitality as bad as that?”
“No, that’s not it at all,” I said quickly.
“Well, what then?”
“It’s just that I have a lot to think about right now.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “There is something I am curious about.”
“What’s that?”
“Samas’s gift to you last night.”
“What about it?”
“Is his generous offer, as he called it, what is burdening you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
He shook his head. “No, but I can tell it has you occupied.” He shifted back in his seat. “When someone first enters the Cognomina, there is a tendency for him to be awed by or enamored of those who welcome him. In such a context it is often difficult for that newcomer to stand up, or say no to someone who he perceives to be his senior. I want to assure you that this need not be the case. We are all equals here.”
I knew that wasn’t true by the deference the others had shown him. “Thank you, Clovis. I appreciate the concern, but that’s not it really. I don’t have a problem with telling him no. I’m leaning toward yes, actually. It’s a matter of timing more than anything else. He is very excited about recovering something very dear to him, and I’m trying to catch my breath from the changes that my life has undergone. I can’t blame him for his enthusiasm, but . . .” I said, ending the sentence with a shrug.
“Perhaps a period of introspection would be in order.”
“Yes, I agree.”
“But you believe such a period would be tainted if you were a guest in his home.”
“Yes,” I said, making a mental note of Clovis’s acumen.
Two staff girls carried in our plates, I recognized one as the water pipe hostess from the night before. She gave me a sly, knowing smile as she set my plate down.
“I think I have a solution to your dilemma,” Clovis said, as soon as we were alone again.
“What’s that?”
“I invite you to leave with me tonight and stay in my home, where you can reflect on this with the unbiased consideration it deserves.”
“That’s very kind of you. Are you sure it’s no trouble?”
“Not at all. It is a rare occasion that I have a visitor. I relish the idea of having you stay with me, Evan.”
I sat and thought about getting away. I thought about freedom. It would be as easy as standing up from this table and joining him. It could be the first choice I made for myself as this new man. “I want to join you,” I said, returning his smile. “I can be ready in half an hour.”
chance filled the seat next to Clovis when I walked back into the dining room. I left my bag by the door and took a seat across from them.
“Clovis tells me you’re coming with us,” said Chance.
“Yes. Do I understand it right, we’re going on your plane?”
“That is correct.”
“Do you fly it yourself?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, puffing even larger with pride. “I got my license last year. You can join me in the cockpit if you like.”
“I’d like that, unless you want to,” I said to Clovis.
The old man chuckled. “No, I will not be riding up front.”
“He’ll be asleep,” said Chance. “He hasn’t gotten used to traveling in airplanes yet.”
“Nor automobiles.”
“Speaking of which, perhaps we should say goodnight before we leave here,” Chance said to him.
Clovis nodded. Chance drank the last of the coffee in his beer-stein-size cup, and I looked on somewhat bewildered as Clovis pulled a plastic syringe and two medical vials out of his small yellow carpet bag.
“I still cannot do this,” he said feebly as he handed the assortment to Chance.
“Yes, I know,” he said sympathetically. Chance manipulated the vials in his thick fingers as a jeweler handles tiny precious stones. “Let’s see here, it’s this one.” He successfully inserted the needle into the vial on the fourth attempt then turned it toward the old man. “That damned Poppy is never around when you need her,” he said as he injected Clovis in the arm. “Count back from one hundred, please.”
Clovis blinked his tired eyes rapidly. “Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, devyanosta shest, devyanosta pyat, jewla . . . jewla khan, jewla . . .” His chin dropped to his chest, and he remained motionless.
“You forgot to say goodnight,” I said, smiling.
“Oh shit, you’re right.” Chance put the syringe away.
“What did you shoot him with?”
“A sedative, he’ll be out for twelve hours or so, or until we wake him with this,” he said, holding up another vial. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll carry him if you’ll grab his bag.”
I took both bags and watched as Chance hefted Clovis’s limp body like a sack of grain. “Does he really dislike flying that much?” I asked.
“Poor chap, it’s not his fault, really—the world has passed him by a long time ago,” he said, ducking through the doorway into the hall. “Now he doesn’t like traveling in anything that doesn’t involve a horse or a sail.”
“Are you gentlemen departing?” asked the tuxedoed caretaker as he unbolted the front door.
“Yes, we are, Mr. Diltz. See you again soon,” said Chance.
“Evan,” Diltz said as we walked out. “Is there any message you want to leave for Samas?”
I stood under the green awning above the front door and looked out at the sleepy skyline. “Tell him I’ll call him when I’m ready.”
“Very well,” said Diltz, closing the door behind us.
the driver passed through the security gate leading to the private planes and stopped the Mercedes next to a small blue-and-white twin-engine jet.
“Is that yours?”
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Chance said, stepping out into the cool night air. I followed him and ran my hand over the wing’s smooth surface as he opened the door.
“How much does one of these babies cost?” I asked, bracing myself for a number that would hint at what my new monetary goals should be.
“I wouldn’t know exactly. I didn’t buy it, I won it.”
“How?”
“Playing baccarat. A gentleman I periodically play with wagered it against my home and lost. That’s why I learned to fly.”
I shook my head in amazement. “Samas told me you were quite the gambler.”
“Did he?” asked Chance, looking at me. “That’s where he is wrong. Gambling doesn’t describe what I am, it describes what I do. What I am is a winner, and that is what makes all the difference,” he said, returning to the car for Clovis.
Chance, his arms filled with strength, carried the old man like a bride over a threshold, like Isaac before the altar. Clovis’s listless head flung back inanimate, his open mouth aghast. Chance climbed the steps into the plane, being careful not to bang Clovis’s head or feet as he entered. I carried the bags in right behind him.
Chance’s massive body filled the fuselage. He gently placed Clovis in a rear seat and buckled the belt around him. I placed the bags in the front seat and stepped back out of the plane when I saw Chance, unable to turn around in the narrow confine, begin to lumber, butt first, back up the aisle. He stopped for a moment in the open doorway above me and waved off the driver. “Are you ready?”
I nodded.
“Let’s go then.” He slid his upper body sideways through the cockpit door. The pilot’s seat had obviously been reset just for him. It was six inches lower and farther back than the other one, as well as being twice as wide.
“What do I do?” I asked as I settled into the smaller seat on the right.
“Here, put these on.” He handed me a set of headphones. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Chance dwarfed everything in the cockpit. He spoke German into a small handheld receiver as he flipped switches on the control panel with his littlest finger. He seemed the perfect picture of modernity as he eased the jet down the runway. His dialogue with the Swiss air controller crackled in my headphones, and the sound of the engines rose to mimic the roar of a raging fire as the plane accelerated across the asphalt. Chance’s bass voice speaking German into the headphones and the drone of the jet lulled me to sleep as we floated up into the night sky.
a nudge from his heavy hand woke me out of a deep sleep. We flew toward the morning sun hanging low on the horizon.
“Hey,” Chance said, making sure I was awake. “There it is.” A narrow strip of land divided the blue sea from the sky.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “There is what?”
He held an accusatory finger out toward the brown strip on the horizon. “Yemen.”
20
Numerous buildings of the small town passed under us quickly as Chance circled the jet for an approach at the lonely strip of asphalt in the sand. Clouds of dirt and sediment boiled up at the edges of the runway as the plane touched down. I waited until the engines went silent before I spoke.
“Where are we?”
He inspected several instruments and switches on the control panel. “Al-Mocha, in the Arab Republic of Yemen.”
“Does he live here?” I asked, pointing to Clovis’s slumped figure in the back seat.
“No, he lives about ten miles down the coast. Don’t worry, it’s a nice place. I need to make some quick notes before I take off, could you go back and wake him?”
“How?” I asked somewhat confused.
“Shoot him with ten CCs of the bottle labeled Tennler. It will be in German.”
“I’ll give it a try,” I said, climbing out of my seat. I went to his yellow bag and fished out the needle and vial. “Where do I shoot him?” I asked back into the cockpit.
“In the arm is fine.”
Needle in hand, I walked to the sleeper in the back of the plane. I rolled up his sleeve and ran my fingers over the flat side of his arm. The spotty skin had lost all its elasticity but the muscle underneath was still surprisingly firm.
“Don’t forget to purge the needle of air bubbles,” Chance shouted back to me.
“Thanks.” Holding the needle up, I pressed on the plunger until a thin stream shot up onto the ceiling. Clovis’s snoring became erratic as soon as I plunged the syringe into his arm.
“How long will it take?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Did you shoot him already?”
“Yeah,” I called back.
“Then he should be coming around any time now.”
I watched his furrowed face for signs of life. His eyes darted in quick movements under their lids, then flickered to life.
I moved my head from side to side trying to catch his wandering eyes. “Good morning.”
The disorientation showed in his face. “Where are we?” he said in a yawn.
I motioned out the window to the small town appearing through the clouds of settling sand. “Look for yourself.”
“Mocha,” he said, resting his head softly against the small oval window. “Help me up, please.”
“How was your nap?” asked Chance as he pulled himself through the cockpit door.
“Good, I think. I had strange dreams.”
“Well, I’d love to hear all about it, but I’ve got to get you off and get out of here. The Yemeni Air Force has closed the national airspace, so I had to land illegally. Is there anyone in town with a telephone?”
“Yes, there are two or three. Why?” asked Clovis.
&
nbsp; “They will have no doubt called the authorities with the low pass we made.” He turned the latch and swung the door open.
“Oh, that heat, it’s horrible. I don’t know how you can stand it,” Chance moaned.
Clovis ignored him and stepped into the sunlit doorway. “We should start walking before the midday sun is upon our backs,” he said to me.
I followed him out onto the runway and turned around just as Chance reached for the door.
“Good luck, Evan. I’ll see you again soon. Good seeing you again, old man.” He slammed the door closed and latched it tight before either of us could respond.
“He is right. We should leave, the authorities will be on the lookout for activity here,” Clovis said.
The jet engine whined and roared into the sky above as we walked along the hard-packed dirt road that led into Mocha.
mule-drawn carts rumbled down the streets of the sleepy town. Giggling children played in the middle of the wide, unpaved boulevard that disappeared into the desert at both ends. Their mothers swept at the endless dirt in front of simple mud construction houses and periodically snuck glances out at them from behind black veils. Everything about this land looked ancient, as if the world somehow turned more slowly under Yemeni skies.31
“This way,” Clovis said, walking toward a larger building at the end of the street. The Arabic script above the barn-size double doors faded unintelligibly into the earthen wall. From the way the reclusive villagers huddled in their numbers in front of doorways, I assumed few visitors ever frequented the town. Snorting horses answered Clovis’s loud raps on the small, wooden side door.
A middle-aged, dark-skinned man opened the door, his close-cropped black hair contrasted against his long beard. A curved dagger like the one Clovis had given me was secured in the waistband of his leather blacksmith’s apron. His long beard parted into a white smile as he embraced Clovis and they exchanged greetings. The Arab then pulled Clovis inside by the hand, who motioned for me to follow.
The livery stable inside could have been an exact copy of the one I’d been in a hundred times in Bulgaria as Vasili. Clovis pulled back on the man’s hand and positioned him in front of me where he introduced me in Arabic.
The Reincarnationist Papers Page 32
