“Watch out for the fucker, Noah. He’s imminently dangerous and a wanted man.”
“What are you doing in 1944, Charlie?” he said almost falling over with drunken laughter. The scotch was going straight to his head now and he felt faint again.
“We must never see one another again, Noah. I’m so sorry my friend, but that is the way it must be.”
“Go back to prison and fight for your life in court. You are innocent of course. Stay where you are. Samara is--is lost, but you can still live.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I killed myself a long time ago.”
“What did you do?”
“We stole fire from the gods and now they are very angry with us.”
“I’m too high for this, Charlie. Please, just explain--”
“We started jumping around in the timeline, thinking it was no harm. But we got caught and now we have to stay where we are or risk destroying everything and everybody. The Vestals will catch him soon and if you’re caught with him you’ll be killed too, or worse. He wants to tell you his side of things, to tell his side of the story to the world. Let him. But trust him on nothing else.”
Taro appeared suddenly next to them. “Gentlemen, I think our time for revelry has ended. You must say your goodbyes. With any luck though, all of us should see each other in the near future. Come Noah, there is, I believe, a fire escape in the back. We need to disappear, you and I. This bar is filling up with the wrong kind of people.”
Patterson lurched to grab for Downy, but Taro stepped in grabbing his collar, brandishing a blade to his neck. “Sit down my friend. This is no place for your wretched violence.”
Taro put the blade back inside his jacket. He smiled. “I abhor violence, I really do and always have. Some men will have it no other way though.”
“Turn yourself in, Taro.” Patterson said.
“Oh bloody hell, lighten up, Charles. You know how I crave a quick, noble death. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Let’s do it now and all can be well.”
“I won’t help you.”
“I know that’s why I have chosen him, your star pupil. He can be reasoned with; I’ll bet on it.”
Taro pulled Downy close to him as he nearly stumbled again to the floor. He could hear Billie Holiday still crowing on the jukebox:
What do I care if it may stahhhm?
I got my love to keep me warm.
I’ve got my love to keep me warm.
He had always loved the way she said the word storm, as if it were pronounced with a soft ‘ahh’ sound instead.
“I’m dreaming aren’t I? This is the weirdest dream,” he said tottering in front of the two of them.
Taro pointed to the fire escape and simply led him down the passage like they were two old pals off together again. He tried to turn to see Charlie, but his chair was turned over and empty. He had vanished.
“The good news is we don’t even have to climb down,” and with that he gave him a push through the open window.
Downy opened his mouth to scream, but the wind caught in his throat and he just floated silently into the black.
Chapter XIV
The man in the cell wouldn’t stop repeating the word. Maybe he was trying to remember something important. His pronunciation was off of course, but it seemed everyone in the dungeon was from parts unknown. Priest. Flamen. Was he a priest? The repetition was starting to drive him crazy. He shouted suddenly to the man.
“Shut up!”
The echo carried far off in the chamber, but then there was laughter, a woman’s laughter. It sounded like a taunt. He wondered about the fate of the prisoner they had taken away. Then he heard a movement in the corner. There was someone sitting near him, just outside the bars of his cell. He heard the man’s boots grind against the dirt, but could not see his face.
“I will release you very soon.”
“Will you?”
“Yes, I will. What if I told you you were free? You were just dreaming about running away only a few days ago, no?”
“How do you know that?”
“I know you better than most.”
“And yet your face is always hidden. Perhaps you’re a god then, who reads men’s thoughts?”
“Maybe I am!”
The man suddenly leapt up, becoming furious, clamoring at the bars of his cell. He spat at the cloaked stranger, “What are the terms of my release then? What do you want from me?”
“No terms, you’re just free to go and to do whatever you want.”
“I was fantasizing about starting over, but I’m--I’m too weary--I won’t run either,” he said collapsing against the bars of the cell.
“Weary is but a passing state for a man like you. New fascinations will appear. I have a feeling you’ll soon be in charge of some army wherever I put you.” The cloaked man seemed genuinely amused by the thought.
“Do you not think you have forfeited your own life by taking me in the first place? You must know who I am.”
“Life goes on without you believe it or not. Not everyone was sorry to see you go either.”
“Yes, but I’m being searched for as we speak. There is none to replace me.”
“Gratefully the people will not have to suffer long your absence.”
“Must we talk only in riddles?”
“No. Let’s be clear, when you leave here you will find yourself in a strange land. But it won’t be wholly unrecognizable, and you may start a brand new life, my friend. Live as you see fit. Write perhaps. You know the burdens of power, of war. I’d avoid them this time, if it were me.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Protection. My plans are nearing fruition. We shall not meet again.”
“Who are the others, the prisoners?”
“They’re refugees like you. I am trying to save them as well.”
“The girl in the cell next to me? She was nearly strangled to death. Is that how you save people?”
“Some that I work with are barbarous in their methods, but she is safe now. She spoke to you then?”
“Yes, some.”
“I knew her in another place. She is an amazing girl, in fact--a near cipher for our tongue, which is dead to her.” The man rose, pulling his cloak further over his face.
“You killed my nephew. Why, he was harmless?”
“So you say. I’d love to see what you do in your new life in any case. I really do love you, my friend.” The cloaked man reached through the bars clutching at his hand, squeezing tightly, but ignored his question. “Be safe and live happily. You have earned it.”
He stood frozen with his hands against the bars. The man’s voice was perplexingly familiar. He turned suddenly, disappearing up the stairs into the darkness.
He sat down again to the cold floor thinking of what it all meant. Why would someone kidnap him only to let him go? Why had they killed his nephew? Objectively, it suggested there was a conspiracy of some sort; but why would saving him, but killing the boy make sense unless his nephew was somehow involved? The boy wouldn’t dare. It made no sense whatsoever, especially since he knew his place in the will was secure. He had free access to all of his power anyway, money, influence without any of the burdens. The boy was too smart to take such a foolish risk, or throw away what he already had.
Maybe the goal was to remove him from the city permanently. He thought of the old stories of Romulus, the founder of Rome, a boy who’d become king by slaying his own brother Remus. Romulus himself had been lured outside the city by those closest to him, who feared his kingly powers, and then been assassinated. The myth of course claimed he’d ascended to the heavens and become a god in their presence. Poetic murder. Was this the same? Was he to be lured away then killed like the kings of old? He found the idea of simply being freed unlikely, and yet there had been a great deal of attention to secrecy. He’d seen no one’s face that he could recall. He’d had strange dreams of course, in the darkness--the mirror, being chased by his own reflecti
on. The girl had said they were being drugged. It was probably in the food or the wine. How long had he really been down in the darkness?
He heard the man’s whispering begin again, but this time there was a new word, put with the first and repeated over and over. “Danni Flamen Danni Flamen Danni Flamen.”
XV
Downy could feel a warm breeze against his face as he awakened. There was soft music off in the distance and pillows surrounded him on every side. Someone was playing a lyre maybe a harp? Lying sideways he could see a man talking with two girls at the door. There were beautiful paintings and colored tile all along the wall and he could hear the sound of fountains gently flowing outside. He closed his eyes and listened. It reminded him of summers with Charlie’s family at the beach house in Santa Barbara. He thought of Samara, just a little girl, smiling as she scurried around to get him anything she could, just to be near him. Or maybe he was in heaven, dead. He’d fallen hadn’t he?
“Welcome to my villa, Noah. I hope you have slept well.”
His eyes fluttered open and he could see Taro standing over him. He was wearing a white shirt now, open and loose at the chest and a pair of knee length pants. The distinctive scar across his neckline was much longer than he had noticed before. A belt hung loosely off his waist. The clothing looked distinctly Greek, but like stage clothing.
“Where are we?”
“I call it home, but it’s just a safe place for us to get some rest and for you to adjust. This is Aurelia and Julianna. They would love to wake you up with a bit of a rub if you can just relax.”
The two girls smiled warmly. They were young, beautiful and wore sheer, flesh colored gowns, one blonde and the other dark. He tried not to look down, but he could see clearly what was underneath, just visible between their legs. He couldn’t help but blush. Before he could answer, the girls were on top of him in the mounds of pillows.
“We take it from here” they said with a laugh and he closed his eyes again.
“I want to give you my side of the story before we return, ok Noah?”
The girls laughed gently as their hands ran wildly all over him.
“Remember girls this is a married man, so not too aggressive, ok?” Taro’s voice disappeared into the music and fountains as he left the room.
“Ok,” they said laughing and waving.
He closed his eyes again. The girls began to sing softly as they worked, but in a foreign tongue, something like Italian but somehow more beautiful.
“What is this dialect,” he said turning his head?
The dark one spoke.
“Roma, I think you say. He taught us some Angelish, just enough,” the girl said pinching her fingers together. “Shhh now relax, he will ‘splain everything to you in time, we are here to pleaser you.”
Yes, pleaser me, he thought, Why not? Nothing made any sense anyway and he was tired of fighting against it all. He considered the night before and the possibility that he was either dead or hallucinating still. Charlie. He had seen Charlie, but it might have all been a dream. It was still going on if it was and it was a goddamn long one. He was on acid He had fallen out of a window, or been pushed and yet he felt no pain. Why not take the pleaser then?
Far off he could hear laughter floating in from the courtyard. It sounded like a small party. Taro’s voice was clear above the others. He sounded like he was directing a play of some sort. That explained the clothing then.
“No, like this.” Taro clamored:
I could be well moved if I were as you.
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me.
But I am constant as the Northern Star,
Of whose true fixed and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament.
Another, younger voice repeated the lines hesitantly.
“Better, better--keep at it, ok?” Taro said encouraging him.
He recognized the words. It was Shakespeare, but he wasn’t sure from what. He suddenly thought of Charlie. Charlie believed Taro had killed Samara? But Taro had freed him from jail. Why? Why had Taro blamed Charlie for Samara’s death and how could he possibly hope to convince Downy, knowing that he and Charlie were best friends? His mind spun at the unanswered questions. He almost fell off into sleep again, but awoke with a start and the girls were now both singing.
He had had a massage or two in his life, but this was ridiculous. One of girls leaned into his ear whispering as she sang softly. He could feel her warm breath, which was perfumed, as the second girl reached underneath him, pulling at the muscles of his thighs. The girl singing into his ear was straddling him from behind and he could feel her thighs moving rhythmically against him, the heat from between her legs pressing urgently. He had to focus on something far away not to become aroused. The cold of his jail cell all seemed a bad memory now. How could they ever go back he wondered? Taro’s voice suddenly interrupted.
“Girls, this is a man of both conviction and honor so you may leave now, unless of course?”
He turned to see Taro who looked at him inquisitively.
“Maybe next time then.”
The girls flitted away together without a word and he finally sat up in the bed.
“We can talk on the veranda. Walk slowly my friend; you’ve just taken the longest trip of your life I can assure you. The view here really is second to none. It’s why I chose it. A bit like your place in fact.”
Taro leaned on the edge of the bed like a good doctor, calm relaxed. “There are clothes there for you,” he said pointing. “Comfortable I hope. When you’re dressed please come join me outside.” Taro pointed out across the room.
Through every door was a view almost impossible to imagine. Immaculately detailed frescoes dotted the ceilings and walls. He recognized the goddess Diana, her quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder, wild animals fleeing from her in every direction. The colors seemed to move across the ceiling and with them the goddess of the hunt. He had seen other versions of the same scene, but this was the most spectacular. It ran all the way to the ceiling and wound around the room again in tiny colored tiles. Light flickered from pools beneath. Where the hell were they? Through the veranda doors dramatic mountains loomed on the horizon and a perfect, azure lake ran as far as the eye could see. He remembered Charlie’s warning: “Don’t trust him.”
He rose unsteadily to his feet and started to dress. It looked like costume clothing, but the fabrics were too soft to the touch, clearly not imitations. His mind leapt at the impossible. Was he traveling in time as Charlie had insisted? Charlie had also said he wouldn’t be hung over and he was right. His body felt better than it had in years in fact. There was a tingling in his rib cage, which reminded him of the night before. The music, the impossible meeting, the drugs all mingling into one maddening sense of euphoria.
Through another open door he could see what appeared to be the troupe of young actors practicing their play. On the veranda, alone, sat Taro.
“It is truly a pleasure to have a man of your curiosity and learning in my home,” he said rising to greet him as Downy’s eyes enlarged to take in the whole view. A deep ravine cut between the steep cliffs, leading hundreds of feet to the ground. “Not bad, is what you say in America, yeah? Have a seat, please.”
“Can I ask where we are?”
“Oh yes, the ‘no questions rule’ is officially revoked--by imperial decree. We are near Parnassus, two days’ hike from the nearest village.”
“Greece? How?”
“You already know the answer. It is a matter of some fact you know,” he said leaning in, “here, I am the only person you can all friend in the whole world. That’s hard on a man’s reason, his logic. I shall never forget my own reaction to it.” Taro shook his head then raised a glass of tea for him to take. “Please drink it. It’s really the best, mildly spiced with fig, dry, but the flavor does something so nice in your mouth and then just disappears.”
He stared down to the edge of the Veranda at the forbidding rocks
below.
“We’re very safe here, don’t concern yourself. Though, if I push you this time, you’ll really hit the ground.”
“What is this place?”
“The first Romans are down in that village there” he said pointing off into the far distance at something glowing, “still huddled around fires like savages. The smell alone could kill you, but if it doesn’t, they certainly will.”
He furrowed his brow and lifted his tea to his mouth, his hands shaking again, as they had the whole of the previous night. Is this drugged too?”
“Ever so lightly. You can be weaned down to a very little actually. I once made it three whole days without it at all, a personal best.”
“Why am I here?”
“I’ve thought so long about how to begin this conversation. I had it all memorized; now I can’t think of a single word. You know the general outline of my life, professor. I was a man of promise and ability, I think. I achieved a certain level of success among men, in my part of the world at least, unrivaled perhaps. But I was betrayed, and worst of all I survived it. Not by choice, but rather by accident, by cruel intervention.”
“Who betrayed you?”
“We can talk about them later, but it’s your friend, Mr. Patterson, who I must tell you about. You see Charlie, while he may be your friend and very dear to you, is a thief. That is a fact. He has stolen extensively from me. Beyond the point of reason or forgiveness, I’m afraid.”
“What did he steal?”
Taro turned now to look at the setting sun. Its orange glow reflected like tiny orbs in his dark eyes. A tear suddenly traced down his cheek.
“He took my future from me.”
Downy had to look away. It pained him to watch another man cry.
“How did he do that?”
“He stole my things first, personal things of great value to me, and then he took from me the one thing every mortal man is owed, the very promise of the gods. I had only wished for it in fact, the night before, and all the while the men who would deliver it were in my very midst, toasting to my successes.”
Saboteur: A Novel Page 21
