What Lot's Wife Saw

by Ioanna Bourazopoulou

  “And to whom exactly do you expect to be submitting your deposition?” asked the Lady sarcastically.

  “The New Governor, of course!”

  “Ah, the New Governor, the one expected in a month and a half at the earliest?”

  “The Box will be sent to Paris tonight, as normal, so what are you worried about?” growled Secretary Siccouane.

  I couldn’t understand what they were getting at, so Montenegro explained gently, “We mean, Drake, that we aren’t so stupid as to leave traces. Nobody will ever know we’ve violated the Box. We’ll leave it just as we found it and deliver it untouched to the Captain.”

  “Untouched means untouched! Can’t you realise that the Seventy-Five would know immediately that their box has been broken into? What if it has hidden springs or levers, if it’s booby-trapped, if it records fingerprints or faces that peer into it? Do you honestly believe that the Seventy-Five would ever leave the Box defenceless against safe-crackers?”

  “Are you talking about the same people who’ve left their Colony unprotected against the consequences of a dead Governor?” demanded Lady Regina. “I’m beginning to have grave doubts about the genius of the Seventy-Five. Not even a child would make such an elementary mistake, to make the fate of the Colony dependent on Bera’s good health, as if they only employed immortal Governors. I’m utterly amazed no one has thought of it in all these years.”

  Fabrizio raised his hand for silence. He suggested that there was an important matter that we must consider before moving on. How were we going to approach Captain Cortez? Were we going to reveal the Governor’s death to him?

  “Naturally,” answered Montenegro, “how else will the Seventy-Five learn of it?”

  “You mean we’re going to show him this body, which has been soaking in ice since morning, with us sitting around, admiring it?”

  Bateau admitted that it would be a gross mistake. It’s a clear violation of regulations to allow a body to remain uncremated for so many hours. For this alone he would forfeit his position as Judge.

  Even worse, however, was the fact that the key was missing from the Governor’s neck. This implicated us enormously. What was Cortez to think when we informed him after such a delay? When we presented him with a corpse without its key while, all this time, we’d been shut in the Palace with the Green Box at our disposal and no servants?

  Montenegro proposed that we announce the death after the Box was no longer in the Colony so that the two issues would not be connected.

  “We’ll burn the body at once, because the longer we delay, the greater risks we run. Then we’ll open the Green Box, seal it again and then deliver it to the Captain. The ship will depart at midnight, as always. Tomorrow or the day after, Desert will announce that she’s found the Governor dead, Dr Fabrizio will certify his death from natural causes and the Judge will order the immediate cremation, as he must. Then I’ll escort the empty coffin to the Metropolis Cathedral to be cremated in the incinerator. The important thing is that the death of the Governor and the presence of the Green Box in the Colony do not coincide. The absence of that cursed key would convict us all!”

  Everyone agreed to his plan, even me, and the argument stopped, perhaps because there seemed to be no alternative way out of ourunbelievable impasse, which declared us guilty when we were innocent, and under suspicion when our consciences were clear. In any case, we hoped to find Bera’s last report in the Box, which might shed light on the reasons for his death.

  14

  Letter of Xavier Turia Hermenegildo

  (page 17)

  JUDGE BATEAU

  … We lifted Bera’s naked body from the bed. We sponged it down thoroughly and dragged it to the door. We’d decided against putting the ceremonial uniform back on since it was in shocking condition. Looking for the key, we had ripped the pockets and the lining off, but it had been in vain.

  It was obviously out of the question to use the incinerator of the Metropolis since that would have caused quite a commotion amongst the colonists. So, having had Lady Regina’s assurances that it was large enough, we decided to use the oven in the Palace kitchens.

  Just as Montenegro was about to quietly unlock the door so that the corpse could be removed from the room, we heard knocks from the other side and froze in terror. Thankfully it was just my daughter holding the tray of coffees Captain Drake had ordered earlier. Montenegro had opened the door just a crack so that all Bianca could have seen was his eye. We were clustered behind him, anxious that Bianca wouldn’t see the state we were in. The Priest ordered her to place the tray on the floor and leave. Bianca didn’t budge. She informed him that the foreman of the loading gang had just arrived at the main entrance seeking Bera’s signature on some documents to release the salt for loading.

  Lady Regina then looked round the door and told her, most emphatically, to allow no one, that’s no one to enter the Palace, for whatever reason and in whatever way. Whoever approached the entrance was to be told that the Governor wasn’t receiving any visitors. I stuck my head out as soon as the Lady had withdrawn hers and explained as gently as I could that that night we six trusted aides of the deceased Governor had been forced to exceed our jurisdictions and to act in the way we hoped the Seventy-Five would have expected of us, to save the Colony from anarchic chaos. Still looking frightened, Bianca nodded that she understood. She was then sent off to get rid of the foreman, lock the doors, shut the shutters and to keep an eye on the entranceway. Bianca left swiftly.

  We got hold of the body once more and dragged it to the top of the staircase. Then with Siccouane and Fabrizio lifting the legs and Drake and I at each shoulder we began to descend. Thankfully, Montenegro still had the Bible with him since he’d performed an impromptu service for another death at the mines the previous night. Not to waste time, he immediately began the funeral service, holding his Bible in one hand and cradling Bera’s head with the other to stop it from banging on the steps. Holding two fish-oil lamps aloft, the Lady walked in front, doing her best to illuminate our path. The light, however, was so weak that we nearly lost our footing on several occasions. It was nearly as much as we could do to stagger to the kitchens.

  Lady Regina emptied the oven of the trays and pans and after having filled the tank to the brim with fish oil to work up a fierce fire, she turned it on. To our great dismay, however, we could tell from the opening behind the oven door that it wouldn’t live up to the Lady’s expectations. There was no way Bera’s entire body could fit in there.

  We tried to fold him in the middle, pushing his back so that his chest would be crushed against his knees, but the onset of rigor mortis, not to mention the bulge of his stomach, caused his body to spring straight again. We thought of enlarging the opening of the oven by removing the door and increasing the width by bending the surrounding metal inwards. We went at it with hammers, axes and crowbars until the sweat poured off of us. Montenegro interrupted his liturgy several times to complain about the noise, which, he said, could probably be heard all the way to the salt flats.

  When the Priest had finished, we once more put our backs into trying to fold the body through the widened opening, but to no avail. We thought of trying the other way round. It would probably fit feet first but that would have meant that we’d have had to burn it in stages. We would’ve had to wait till he was consumed up to his knees, then pushed him in further to burn up to the top of his thighs, then to his middle and so on. The Lady made it quite clear that she was not up to the torment of such a ghastly procedure. She couldn’t watch for hours while they pushed her husband into the fire inch by inch as if he were a pencil being jammed into a sharpener. A way must be found to incinerate him in one go. The only way that could be done was to cut him into pieces.

  We brought saws from the storerooms and tried to sever the arms, the legs and the head. Blood oozed out, nearly black in colour. Siccouane started to weep, the Lady’s teeth chattered and I retched in the corner. Montenegro, still trying to saw through the neck,
suddenly threw his saw aside, shouting, “I can’t do this! I won’t, I can’t stand it!”

  There we stood, looking disgustedly at each other’s blood-smeared bodies, hands trembling and our breaths rasping in our throats with each pant. Incredibly, Bera’s icy smile remained eerily in place. At least it gave us an added impetus to find the strength to finish the foul work we’d begun – to save the salt, save the Colony and satisfy the Seventy-Five.

  I brought down four bottles of whisky and two of brandy off the shelf and passed them around. We drank greedily and felt our resolve return. Even Siccouane, who never drinks alcohol, nearly drained his bottle. We wiped the sweat from our brow, the tears from our cheeks, gritted our teeth and lifted our saws.

  We managed to saw the body into seven pieces. The trunk was by far the most difficult, since it’d had to be cut length-wise as the shoulders were too wide for the opening. We tossed the pieces in and jammed the door back on as best we could. The fire intensified and the whole place filled with the stench of burning flesh.

  Exhausted, we collapsed on the floor, eyes shut, listening to the spitting and crackle of the fire. Siccouane suddenly leapt to his feet, horrified. “The key! The Green Box key that the Governor swallowed! It’s in his stomach! We’re burning it!”

  He made a lunge for the oven and it was all we could do to hold him back from the flames. We pinned his arms and legs to the ground as he’d started to thrash about and shout like a madman. Fabrizio tried to explain to him that as we’d sawed his trunk in half we must surely have gone through the stomach. If there’d been a key then it would have fallen out somewhere. All of us fell on our knees, searching through the wet and bloody remnants on the floor, but found no key. Siccouane was hitting his head on the floor and shouting that we hadn’t sliced the stomach open and he should know, as he’d been the one to saw the trunk. How could he have been so stupid not to have made sure to cut the stomach and retrieve the key? Why couldn’t he do anything right, he wondered out loud, why did everything go wrong, how could he be so unlucky?

  Lady Regina knelt in front of the oven and poked around the flames with iron tongs to see if there was a metallic object in there. The fire was so fierce that her stirring caused a spark to leap from the oven and start smoldering in her hair. Thankfully Montenegro grabbed her and dunked her head in the bowl where they wash vegetables and doused it. She emerged, singed, half-drowned and with mounting hysteria.

  We were using the remnants of our clothes to try and wipe some of the gruesome filth off our bodies when Fabrizio begged for calm, pointing out that it was already eight o’clock and we had to have the Green Box rifled, resealed and delivered properly to the ship’s captain by midnight. Lady Regina had recovered enough to hiss between clenched teeth that the rest of us had better get on with it as she couldn’t stand the sight of us any longer. She marshalled her strength and led the way to the Governor’s office.

  Secretary Siccouane unlocked the door. The Lady lit all the wall lamps and Drake brought some extra transportable ones from the ground-floor reception rooms to get the best illumination. The Green Box nestled in its special stand, slotted into the indentations.

  Fabrizio asked Siccouane if the indentations would cause trouble or whether the Box could be withdrawn without consequences. Siccouane did not appear at all sure. He did say, however, that he had run his finger along them on several occasions with the Box missing and nothing had happened, so he hazarded that they were just guides and nothing more. The truth was that from the moment the Green Box was placed in the room only the Governor himself would ever enter it, so we couldn’t know his movements.

  Drake maintained that we should break into it without moving it, to minimise the chance that we would touch something we shouldn’t. Montenegro disagreed, suggesting that if we didn’t remove it and study it from all angles we would not manage to open it. He seemed to be right in my mind, as I couldn’t see how to force it while it remained slotted tight.

  “Why don’t those that disengage it every time for the procession do the honours?” Fabrizio suggested, so that it wouldn’t be wrenched roughly from its slots. So it was decided that Siccouane and I should remove it, in the same way that we, as members of the procession, have been putting it in and taking it out for so many years. In a panic, I realised that my mind came up blank, although I’d mechanically removed the Box a thousand times before. A glance at Siccouane showed me that he was in no better state. He said nervously that it was probably due to the fact that there were always four present, not just two. In addition to that, we were often tied together when we did it.

  Lady Regina wasted no time, and using a curtain cord, she tied me to Siccouane, Montenegro and Drake around the Box. Siccouane set himself loose and walked to the end of the quartet, his proper position, before retying himself. We practised several times on a case of similar dimensions. When Siccouane and I had loosened up, and our bodies began to act instinctively, we took positions around the Green Box. Siccouane shut his eyes to let his instincts dictate his movements and I imagined myself enjoying a peaceful sunset over the desert. In no time at all, the Box was free, safely in our hands.

  We bit our lips, expecting something dreadful to happen. The Lady squeezed below the Box and fingered the indentations while Fabrizio glued his ear to the Box in case a threatening noise emanated from it. Nothing suspicious reached our eyes or ears, everything appeared normal. We exhaled in relief and carefully set the Box down on a table. Montenegro wiped the sweat from his brow and barked at the Doctor, “You’ll be the death of us, you and your hysterics, Fabrizio. What did you expect would happen, anyway?”

  It was obvious Fabrizio hadn’t felt the same tension, remarking that it would be great if the only thing to remind us of this night was the memory of how illogical our fears had been.

  We examined the Box from all angles to find a way to open it without leaving traces. The Green Box had no screws and no visible joins, it was made from seamless, solid, heavy duty metal. The only way we could possibly open it would be to pick the lock.

  Drake, as usual, immediately opposed the idea. “Not the lock! The lock will sense that we lack the right key and will trigger an alarm. The Box might self-destruct!”

  We drew back, despite thinking that there was no other way to open the Box, but more than willing to let someone else make the decision. Drake, encouraged, begged us not to tamper with the lock, adding the possibility of poisonous gases as well as the vicious launch of deadly stilettos to impale us. “The Box will protect itself! I’m certain!” he shouted.

  We decided to take comprehensive protective measures. We brought the curtains down, cut them into strips and wound them around our mouths and noses, to keep out noxious gases. We broke the legs off the chairs and removed their stuffed seats. These we deployed around the table, forming a little fortress in front of the lock so that most of us could crouch behind it when the lock was picked.

  We agreed that Dr Fabrizio should undertake the picking. His surgeon’s hands and their familiarity with his versatile medical instruments would be our best hope of success. More strips of cloth were wrapped around his wrists and forearms to protect against the stilettos. To armour him we attached cushions and saucepan lids around his middle, shoulders and head. We tried not to add to his apprehensions and kept ourselves quiet until he felt ready for his undertaking.

  For a few seconds Fabrizio did some stretching and limbering exercises with his fingers. He crossed himself and declared himself ready. We collectively held our breaths.

  Holding narrow forceps in his right hand and a scalpel in his left, he approached the dark little hole with care. He shoved the scalpel into it and tested the inner protrusions and indentations with the flat side of the blade. We strained our ears but all that reached them was the faint sound of metal against metal. At that very moment, Bianca entered the room, her first footfall causing the floorboards to creak. Fabrizio nearly fainted from fright.

  “For God’s sake, Bianca, I tol
d you we’re not to be disturbed for any reason!” screamed Lady Regina.

  Bianca’s colourless eyes goggled as they swept around the devastated office, the broken chairs, the ripped curtains. A shocked squeal escaped her lips as she took in the occupants as well. There we were, stark naked, streaked with blood and ashes, curtain material wrapped around our sweating faces, while Fabrizio lay in a half-faint across the Green Box, swaddled in cushions and saucepan lids as if dressed up for carnival.

  “Excuse me, your Ladyship, there’s someone outside asking for you,” she managed to stutter.

  “Tell him to get lost, whoever he is!” shouted Regina.

  Bianca swallowed and said with a voice that could barely be heard, “He claims to be the New Governor.”

  15

  “You’re underestimating us, but we’re used to being underrated and it has stopped bothering us. In fact, sometimes, we actively seek it,” the bald man said, smiling.

  Phileas Book protested that he had been misunderstood, as he hadn’t meant that the Seventy-Five were naïve – actually, he had wanted to say the opposite or, rather, he was damned if he did know what he had intended. So far the man had managed to twist everything he’d said, and Book felt as if he was continually guiltily explaining himself. All he’d wanted to do was to inform this arrogant character that he’d read in the papers about the inhuman system of government in the Colony and he couldn’t hide his indignation. “The Seventy-Five blatantly suck the colonists dry and keep them orderly and obedient using the basest of psychological trickery.”

  “Mr Book, Mr Book, permit me to correct you. They’re employees, not colonists. The term ‘colonist’ has been adopted purely on the grounds of marketing the product, but let’s not deceive ourselves; anyone on the company’s property in the Dead Sea area is a salaried employee of the Consortium. There’s no private initiative or even private possessions of any kind on the Colony and no one is allowed to visit if they don’t have a defined professional relationship with the Consortium, so kindly stop regarding it as a political entity – it’s a business. The personnel were hired, they signed contracts, accepted the explicit terms and undertook certain responsibilities. So what can you be thinking when you claim that we use ‘psychological trickery’ on them? We simply manage our human resources in a way that ensures the smooth running of our remote investment. Our simplistic methods pale before those adopted by other cutting-edge companies, the dictatorship of performance indices, the burden of ill-defined responsibilities, the regime of cut-throat internal competition, and you’re getting excited because we employ some free association or apply gentle pressure here and there? Obviously this is because it’s set in your mind that they’re citizens. No, Mr Book, they’re employees, at the disposal of the Consortium on a twenty-four hour basis, for which they are generously remunerated.”