City of Iron

by Williamson, Chet

  He held a finger to his lips and beckoned her. She walked to him, silently sliding her feet along the worn carpet. Joseph's voice spoke again.

  "I'm coming. . . ." he said. "I'm looking for you . . . are you here? Tell me where to find you. . . ."

  Tony turned the knob and pushed the door inward a few inches, enough for the two of them to see Joseph. He was not in bed. He was standing next to it, facing the far corner of the room. His arms were out, feeling his way toward something, and his body was moving slowly, tentatively, walking ahead as though he were on a stair-stepper, his heels raising, but his feet never leaving the ground.

  But the two things that sent a chill over the back of Laika's neck were that Joseph's eyes were wide open, staring ahead of him blankly, and his body was leaning forward so far that she thought he would topple over at any moment. Yet amazingly enough, he did not.

  She glanced at Tony, and he gave her a look that unmistakably said, "What the hell's going on?" She couldn't answer.

  Now Joseph was walking into darkness, or something that seemed like darkness. The blue-black sky faded, lost in a flat darkness from which no light reflected.

  Then the leaden walls closed in around him and the bridge of rust beneath his feet was gone, replaced by the same heavy, lusterless substance of the walls. He was no longer in danger of falling, but he felt instead the danger of suffocation. The dark walls seemed to leach the oxygen from the air, and Joseph's breath came harder. Soon he found himself panting, trying to get enough air into his lungs to keep from blacking out and falling down, becoming one with the heavy blackness that surrounded him.

  Then he saw the man's face and he could breathe again.

  The sweetest and purest air he had ever tasted flowed into his lungs, and his gaze rested on the man. He was standing against the center of the wall, and Joseph could see manacles around his wrists and ankles, connected to chains that held him to the wall, chains that seemed to enter the blackness rather than be fastened to hardware upon it.

  The man was dressed in a single white garment that was nearly as luminescent as his face, which was framed by long, shining brown hair. A brown beard and moustache, neatly trimmed, adorned his jaw and upper lip, and his nose and mouth were in perfect proportion. He appeared to be in his early thirties.

  But what Joseph focused on most were the man's eyes. They were softer and gentler than any eyes he could remember, and the man's expression was one of infinite kindness and love.

  The man looked at him with pleading in those soft eyes, and although his lips did not move, Joseph heard the words inside his head: Find me. Help me. Save me. And then I may save you.

  Joseph wanted to do what the man said. He wanted to so badly that he began to cry, and at that moment he knew that he would do anything, go anywhere, to help this man, to free him and save him.

  Because Joseph wanted, more than anything, to have this man save him.

  "I'm going to wake him up," Laika said to Tony.

  "He's not sleeping—look, his eyes are open. Is he in a fugue state, or what?"

  "I don't know what the hell he's in." But Laika did know that her colleague was in pain. Joseph was looking into that dark corner of the room, holding out his hands like he was drowning, and sobbing in a totally desperate way that Laika had heard from men only a few times before. They had been men facing certain and unrelenting death.

  She started to move into the room, but Tony put a hand on her shoulder. "You're not supposed to wake sleepwalkers, are you? What about something like this?"

  Laika looked at the hand meaningfully, and Tony took it away. "He's not sleepwalking, and I'm not going to leave him like this." It was her decision. She was the leader, and she would be responsible for the consequences.

  She pushed the door open all the way and walked into the room, going up to Joseph. She didn't know if she stepped into his field of vision whether or not he would see her, and decided not to. Instead, she reached out and touched his trembling left hand, then tightened her hold on it until she held it firmly. "Joseph," she said. "Joseph, it's Laika."

  He continued to sob and pant for a few seconds, but then his breath came more easily, and he took deeper, longer breaths. He swallowed several times, and his eyes seemed to refocus from directly in front of him. He blinked the tears away from his eyes, opened them wider, looked down the wall at the floor, and then, slowly, over at Laika.

  "Where were you?" she said gently.

  He didn't answer right away, but turned his hand over so that his fingers could grip her hand. He clung to it tightly, looking around the room, taking some more deep breaths through his nose as if to clear his head. Finally he gave a ragged, breathy laugh. "Whoa. . . ." he said. "That was weird."

  "What?" Laika asked as Tony walked into the room.

  "A dream, but—" Joseph looked around again. "Was I standing here?"

  "Right here on the floor," Tony said. "With your eyes open."

  "What did you see?" asked Laika, unable to look away from Joseph's awestruck face.

  "I saw. . . ." He laughed again. "I think I saw Jesus!" Then he laughed harder, until tears came to his face. Neither Laika nor Tony joined in.

  "Where?" Laika asked, when Joseph's laughter had subsided and he was sitting on the bed, shaking his head as if at his own absurdity.

  Then he told them about his dream, if it was a dream. He described the rusting bridge of iron, the dark sky, the darker room in which he had found himself, and the face of the man who had spoken to him. "Oh, it was Jesus, all right," Joseph said, grinning. "You know all those pictures you see in churches of Jesus knocking on the door and praying in the garden, and that one of just his head, looking real, real waspish and not at all like a Semite?"

  Laika nodded. They had had them all in her father's church.

  "Well, that was this guy to a T."

  "So it was Jesus," Tony said. The somber tone of his voice made him a perfect target for Joseph.

  "No, it wasn't Jesus, Tony—it was the American Christian concept of Jesus. The perfect savior, beautiful in every way."

  "You must have thought so," Laika said quietly. "You were deeply affected by something."

  "It was a dream," Joseph said defensively. "In case you didn't realize, sometimes you act differently in a dream than you do in real life?"

  "Bullshit," Tony said. "You weren't dreaming, Joseph. You had your eyes wide open, man, and you were walking and talking up a storm. Hell, we heard you."

  "What? What did you hear me say?"

  "You said you were coming and you were going to find somebody," Tony said. "I heard it crystal clear. How about you, Laika?"

  "I heard it, but I couldn't make out the words. But you were talking loudly, Joseph. And when we opened the door your eyes were wide open. You were looking at something that you apparently saw right there," and she pointed into the corner. "If it was a dream, you were up and around during it, and seeing something, too."

  "I saw the shit in my dreams, that was all!"

  "Dreams mean something," Tony said, "not all the time, but sometimes. That bridge you were on—that's the sculpture, the map, see? And it was leading you someplace—"

  Joseph threw up his hands in frustration. "Sure! To Jesus! This dream brought to you by Jews for Jesus Incorporated! Tony! It was a goddamn dream! Now, if you want to psychoanalyze me, go right ahead, but don't make it a spiritual visitation, okay?"

  "Did you ever have anything like this happen before?" asked Laika, still calm.

  "A dream? Sure, lots of times, nearly every night!"

  "You know what I mean. Standing up, pretending to walk, eyes open, not mumbling, but talking out loud."

  "I don't know, Laika, I never watch myself when I'm sleeping, okay?"

  "Joseph, you were not dreaming. Whatever that was, it wasn't a dream. Hallucination, maybe . . . maybe something else. But not a dream."

  "Sleepwalking, then," Joseph said stubbornly. "Just because I never did anything like that before doesn't mea
n it's something paranormal! You think it was a visitation from Jesus, for Chrissake?"

  Tony shook his head. "I don't know how you can blaspheme after what you just—"

  "Jesus Holy Christ driving with Mary in the sidecar!" Joseph shouted. "It all came out of my head! Will you two please face the facts and kindly not impose your childish superstitions on me? It came out of my head, and that's all!"

  "Maybe it did," Tony said. "But what put it there, Joseph? What put it there?"

  Joseph opened his mouth to answer, but seemed to despair of the battle. Finally he just shook his head. "Arguing religion with Christians is like talking to a brick wall. Now I'm tired, and I would like to go back to sleep. Notice I said back to sleep, as in, that's where I was before I was so rudely interrupted. I'm sorry that I bothered you with my little dream. So good night, sweet pains."

  He threw himself back down on the bed and turned his face away from them. Laika beckoned to Tony with her head and walked out of the room. Tony closed the door behind them.

  They didn't talk until they were in the kitchen, the room farthest from the bedroom. "What do you think?" Tony said.

  "I don't know. I really don't know why I should think anything other than that it was a dream, even if his eyes were open. He's probably right. I mean, I've been dreaming about the damn sculpture, too, and after that movie tonight, hell, it'd be enough to give anybody nightmares."

  "I think there's more to it," Tony said, looking at the floor. "I didn't want to say, not in front of him, but I was closer than you. I could hear him talking, and I could hear. . . ." He gave a little snort and shook his head. "Damn it, Laika, it sounded like another voice. Like somebody else was in there with him. I couldn't hear the words, but I could hear the tone of voice, and believe me, it wasn't Joseph."

  It was Laika's turn to shake her head. "That's not possible, Tony. Maybe you heard somebody out in the hall, or next door."

  "Uh-uh. The voice—the voices—came from in there with Joseph. I'm sure of it."

  "Then maybe it was Joseph. Maybe he was talking in different voices. Why couldn't he do that in a dream state?"

  "Because Joseph's voice couldn't have sounded like that. Laika, even though I couldn't make out a single word, it was the most beautiful speaking voice I ever heard in my life. I mean, Charlton Heston, James Earl Jones—it had that kind of depth to it, but it was . . . just beautiful. Like the voice of God."

  Laika raised an eyebrow. "Or like the voice of Jesus?"

  Tony nodded. "Yeah. Maybe. Whoever it was, when Joseph talked about the chains, and about this person asking to be freed? Well, I think that somehow somebody's telling us that the map will lead us to somebody we have to free . . . a prisoner."

  "Would you think this if you weren't a Catholic?"

  "That's got nothing to do with it." He smiled. "I'm just a sucker when it comes to any heavenly visitation."

  "Maybe Skye ought to reassign your ass to Lourdes," Laika said, and they both laughed softly before they started to think and talk again about what had just happened.

  In the bedroom, Joseph's eyes were open, seeing only the dimly lit room in which he lay. But in his mind's eye, he saw the flat black room and the man in it, remembered with the vividness of life, not dream.

  He had argued with Laika and Tony, and he had lied to them. He knew that what he had had was not a dream, but something he had not experienced before. He felt as though he had traveled, that the spirit in which he did not believe had left his body and found the man who had spoken to him, asking for freedom.

  No, he told himself over and over, it must have been a dream. It must have . . .

  Then why did it seem so real? And why could he not put the beauty of that man's face, the ecstatic song of his voice, out of his mind? Why was helping that man the only thing that he could think about, saving him, and being saved, in turn, from his life of unbelief?

  Chapter 34

  The next morning, Laika showed them on a map of the city where their first stop would be. "Down here, in lower Manhattan," she said, pointing to a spot in the middle of a block, "near the Brooklyn Bridge. There's a large area here that isn't intersected by major streets, so the fact that a number of the pipes pass through it would seem to indicate there's something there."

  "Or not," Joseph said.

  "Or not," she repeated, agreeing. This was going to be, as was so much investigative procedure, guesswork. Show up and hope you find something. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred you didn't, but you always hoped for that hundredth.

  Tony got the car, and they drove downtown to the Lower East Side. "Let's park a few blocks away," Laika said. "If we're being followed at all, we can lose them on foot."

  They found a place to park on the edge of Chinatown, and walked several blocks without observing anyone tailing them. Then they cut over to the spot on the map where the pipes conjoined. It was a small block, completely surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence. When Tony saw what was on the property, he grinned at Joseph. "Oh, ye of little faith," he said, and turned his gaze back to the church.

  The sign, rusted and badly in need of paint, read "St. Stephen's Parish Church, Est. 1848," and included the hours of mass. Ivy twined up around it, covering the words painted on the bottom.

  The ivy was only the beginning. The entire block was shrouded by a mass of vegetation. Thick oaks and elms loomed up from the ground, which was nearly devoid of grass. Bushes and shrubs grew wild, trailing runners for yards in every direction. Through the foliage, at the far end of the lot, Laika saw dozens of tombstones and three tombs that still looked impressive in spite of their cracked columns. A stray beam of sunlight that managed to make its way down through the leaves shone on a metal lock on one of the doors. Some things, she thought, were still sacred.

  The trees arched over three buildings that shared the lot with the graveyard. The church itself was the largest, an edifice of dark red stone that years of city soot had darkened even further. It reminded Laika of rust—but then, she thought, nearly everything red or brown did these days. She'd had enough rust for one lifetime. The church had stained-glass windows, but no lights were shining inside, so Laika could make out no images in their dark panes.

  Behind the church was a small outbuilding that looked like a gardener's shed. Laika wondered what was stored in it. It didn't look as though anyone had done any gardening around St. Stephen's for years. It had large double doors with a padlock less shiny than the one on the vault in the graveyard.

  The third building was the rectory, its two stories almost hidden by greenery. It was made of red brick, and Laika guessed that it had been built at the same time as the church. A wide porch coated with chipping gray paint surrounded it, and the steep roof showed a pale surface beneath where slates had fallen out, like patches of missing hair displaying a scrofulous skull. All in all, it was the most unwelcoming place of worship Laika had ever seen.

  "Okay, it's a church," said Joseph. "Now what?"

  "Now we play Hardy Boys," Laika said. "The door to God's house is never locked."

  "How long you lived in New York?" said Tony, and Laika smiled.

  As they approached the church door, she watched Joseph from the corner of her eye. In spite of his religiously symbolic dream, he wasn't holding back. In fact, he seemed anxious to enter the gloomy building, probably to prove to her and Tony that he hadn't been fazed by his vision.

  The double doors were of a dark wood so oily that they appeared almost greasy. A large iron ring was mounted on each, and Laika pulled the one on the right. When it yielded, she was mildly surprised, since she had thought to find it locked in spite of her comment to the contrary. She had also expected it to open with a squeal of rusted hinges, but instead it drifted toward her soundlessly, and the three entered the church.

  The interior was lit only by candles and censers, and a single, dim overhead bulb that hung near the top of the nave. Laika was surprised to find that the church seemed much larger inside than it appeared. There
was one wide center aisle, and aisles on either side that went past the stained-glass windows. Laika went down the left aisle, directing Tony to the center and Joseph to the right.

  Now, with the dim light from outside, she could see the windows as they were meant to be seen. They depicted biblical scenes such as Adam and Eve being cast from the garden, heading through the gates into a broken world; Noah, alone at the front of the ark, looking out toward a landless horizon; and Moses, throwing down the tablets of God. All, Laika noticed, depicted the biblical characters from the back.

  On the other side of the aisle were glass scenes from the life of Christ. She saw that Joseph was not even bothering to look at the works of art as he walked down the aisle. His eyes were on the darkness near the front of the church, or the interior of each pew as he walked by it.

  Laika was looking everywhere, surprised they'd found that the church doors opened. Why had the place not been vandalized long ago, she wondered. Anything not nailed down should have been stolen, since nothing was sacred to junkies. But a gold chalice still sat on the altar, and the candlesticks stood untouched. There was not a mark of graffiti on the walls, and missals and hymnals were tucked in every pew rack. Maybe God watched over the place.

  As she walked slowly down the aisle, looking for whatever she might find, she noticed that the last window on the right side, the one nearest the altar, did not conform to the other windows. The style was different, and the glass was somewhat brighter in color. It was an image of a man in a white robe. His head was bowed, but tilted just enough so that you could see his eyebrows, nose, and chin. It was the only face depicted in any of the church windows.

  As she looked at it, she saw Joseph stop next to it and look across at her. Her gaze must have been intense, for he turned and followed it up toward the window. His back was to her, but from his stance she could see that the image on the stained glass had immobilized him, and she wondered if it was similar to what he had seen in his mind the night before.

  Then he turned back to her. Much of the blood had drained from his face, but he still forced a smile and shrugged and gave a "move ahead" signal, then walked toward the altar, where the three of them met.