The Land Across

by Gene Wolfe

  Naala nodded.

  “We had no fire. People bring us wood, but hardly ever in summer.”

  “What did she say when she unwrapped it?”

  “Nothing—or if she spoke, I paid no attention. I had tried to touch it but found I could not. Begging God for courage I struggled to lay my hand on it, but it only trembled. Soon I heard the door close and looked around. The woman was gone.”

  I said, “Didn’t she tell you how to use it?”

  Papa Iason shook his head. “She told me only what I have told you, nothing else. Next day I carried it to His Excellency. I told him I thought it should be burned, and I would see that it was if he wished. He thanked me, but told me he wished to examine it first.”

  I had been trying to decide whether he was lying and had about decided he was not.

  Naala asked, “Did he speak to you about Papa Zenon?”

  Papa Iason shook his head again.

  “You do not ask me who he is.”

  “I know. He came to see me this morning. He told me that His Excellency believes that many in this city are worshipping demons, and he is looking into the abomination at His Excellency’s request.”

  “He asked you about the hand?”

  “He did, among other matters. I described the young woman to him as I have described her to you.” Papa Iason hesitated. “He seemed to know her.”

  “That is most interesting!” Naala put the box on the floor between her feet. “What was it that makes you say so?”

  “He asked her hair color, which I had not mentioned. I told him her hair was covered by a black cloth, but that one lock of hair had straggled from under it and that lock appeared red—I do not mean a bright red like fire. When I said this he looked pleased, and it seemed to me he knew who the young woman was.”

  “Describe this Papa Zenon to me.”

  Papa Iason did, and it was fairly good. Of course I knew that Naala had seen him, but I did not say anything.

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “He is from the wrong end of the lake. So he told me. There is a house for visiting priests near His Excellency’s palace. I assume he is staying there, but I did not ask him.”

  “He did not tell you to notify him if you saw the young woman again?”

  Papa Iason shook his head.

  “Or if you learned anything more?”

  “No, but I would report it to His Excellency.”

  Rosalee had sat down again and was sipping her beer. I wondered how much of this she had understood. One thing for sure was that she was paying close attention, so it was not all going over her head.

  “There is an escaped prisoner, an Amerikan. Possibly you have heard.”

  “No, nothing.”

  Naala reached down and picked up the box. “Does this move of itself?”

  Papa Iason made a disrespectful noise. “I would have called that impossible.”

  “It seemed to me that it has moved since I set it down. No doubt I struck it with my foot.” Naala opened the lid. “Would you like to see it again?”

  “I would prefer not to.”

  She held out the box, but he did not look. I told Naala I would like to see it, and she passed it to me.

  “I mentioned an escaped prisoner. You said you knew nothing of him.”

  “I did not even know that anyone had escaped.”

  “You do not ask me for a description?”

  “He has my sympathy,” Papa Iason said.

  “This is intended to distract me.” Naala smiled. “It is a trick we hear often. As a favor to me, will you stand up, Papa? I desire to see you standing.”

  He stood, and she told him he might sit again.

  “May I see your identity card? I will show you my own first, if you desire to see it.” She opened her purse.

  “You are of the secret police.”

  “No, no!” She smiled. “We are not secret. It is only that we do not wear uniforms. We of the JAKA have these badges, and identity cards with our photographs on them. Look at this, Papa.” It was like a wallet, but when she flipped it open I could see a gold badge and a picture inside.

  “I am rarely asked to display my card,” Papa Iason said. He was getting his own wallet out of a hip pocket.

  “You should thank me,” Naala told him. “You will no longer feel you are made to bear a useless card.”

  “Here it is.” He had pulled it out.

  Naala glanced at the card. “A new card. When you are ordained?”

  “Yes, naturally. My card must show my vocation.”

  “I see. You are twenty-six. The Amerikan who has escaped is sixty-three. May I ask your father’s name?”

  “It was Zetes Soukis.”

  “Thank you. He is not more? You have my sympathy. He died when you were a child?”

  “No,” Papa Iason said. “Last year.”

  “That is most interesting.” Naala picked up the box again and stood up. “You will have pictures of him and of your mother at the rectory. Let us look at them.”

  I got up and so did Rosalee, maybe because I did. Papa Iason did not. “My mother and father did nothing wrong.”

  “You need not be concerned,” Naala told him. “I do not accuse them of any crime. We will go to the rectory, but you may remain here if you wish. Your housekeeper will let us in.”

  Papa Iason stood. “It will be better if I am with you.”

  The four of us went outside, Papa Iason and Naala leading the way and Rosalee and me walking behind. Naala said, “I have not shown you a picture of the man who has escaped. That is stupid of me. Though you may not find it interesting, I hope you will give it study. If you should see him, you will report it?”

  Papa Iason said, “Certainly I will do my duty.”

  She gave me the box and got a photo out of her purse. “I have seen more interesting faces, yet his is a face that repays diligence.”

  Papa Iason, who was looking at the picture as he walked, said nothing.

  Naala glanced back at me. “Does he speak German? Do you know?”

  I said I did not think so.

  “I see. Good German? He is fluent?”

  I said, “I don’t think he speaks much German at all. We generally talked English, except out in the yard talking to the other guys.”

  Naala nodded to show that she understood and went back to Papa Iason. “What is your opinion of the picture?”

  He stopped for a minute to look at it again, then he said, “I do not believe I have seen him, though perhaps I have. It seems a very ordinary face.”

  Naala began to walk again. She took long strides, her skirt snapping and flapping around her legs. “Perhaps you have seen someone who resembles him?”

  “I do not believe I have.” Papa Iason returned the picture.

  “That is odd, because I have. You have seen the girl with us, I know. Only a short time ago you were looking at her. She is beautiful. You say this.”

  Papa Iason did not want to nod, but he nodded.

  “She is the wife of the man whose picture you saw. She does not wear the wedding ring because prisoners are not permitted to keep such things.”

  Papa Iason said, “I understand. I wish I understood what you are talking about as well, my daughter.”

  “Ah, you grow impatient. You need not concern yourself. I will soon leave, and these others with me.”

  Pretty soon Naala glanced back. “She has not tried to slip away?”

  I said she had not.

  “You must watch her. If she escapes the JAKA will blame me, but I will blame you.”

  I said, “I don’t think she’ll even try.”

  “That is good. There are questions I wish to ask. Not now, but later. Now we must see more pictures.”

  Back at the house where the priest lived, we looked at pictures. Not just pictures of something special, but all the pictures he had. His father was dead, but his mother was still alive. There were a lot of pictures of them, and some of him, and some with hi
s mother or his father or both of them or an uncle or an aunt.

  “You have no brothers?” Naala asked him. “I would like to see pictures of them, and of your sisters also.”

  He shook his head.

  “You had a lonely childhood, I think. My own was not so lonely. I have two brothers.”

  “I was sometimes unhappy as a child,” Papa Iason told her, “and I do not believe I was ever as happy as I am now. When one answers God’s call, one is rewarded.”

  I said, “I’m an only child, too. A lot of my friends had sisters and brothers, but after I got to know them I decided I didn’t want any.”

  “Your father is kind to you?” Naala smiled at me. “That makes a great difference to a young man, I know.”

  “He was wonderful, only he’s dead. We used to sail together, and fish, and talk about boats and books.”

  Papa Iason said, “My own father was sometimes kind but always remote.” There was a dusty shotgun standing in the corner, and he stopped talking for a minute to look at it. “Sometimes I felt that he was only kind to me because it was his duty. Now there are times when I feel that I, too, am being kind in that fashion. I remind myself that Christ is in us all.”

  “I know He is also,” Naala said, “but frequently I must forget.”

  She turned to me. “You are so kind as to hold the box for me. I must be kind, too. Does it tire you?”

  “Not at all,” I told her. “I could carry it all day.”

  “That I will not ask. Soon we return to my apartment, where you can put it down.”

  I said that was good because Rosalee was tired. She was sitting on the bed, and she certainly looked tired.

  “She will be hungry also,” Naala said. “Prisoners are always hungry. We will feed her, then we take her back.”

  If Rosalee had understood that, she gave no sign of it. It made me wonder just how good she was.

  “I wish I could invite all three of you to have dinner here with me,” Papa Iason told us. “I cannot. We have very little.”

  “Then you may eat with us, if you like,” Naala told him. “You will not inconvenience me. The JAKA pays.”

  “No, no. Mrs. Vagaros will be preparing food for two. She will be terribly upset if I do not eat.”

  “I understand. You are the only child of this lovely couple.” Naala held up a picture. “Do you not have their wedding pictures? I have seen no wedding pictures.”

  “My mother has those,” Papa Iason said. “We look at them sometimes when I visit her.” When Naala said nothing, he said, “I visit her as often as I can, and she lives with her sister. She is not alone.”

  “It is nearby?”

  “In Ogulinos. I ride wagons when I can.”

  Naala laughed. “We will not go there, I think. Thank you, Papa. I have enjoyed looking at your pictures, but I must be about the business of the state.”

  Rosalee and I followed her out. She led us down a couple of really ugly streets, where you saw chickens and sometimes ducks, but no coops for them. When I asked about that, she told me that people took them into their houses at night.

  “They lose some, even so. There are dogs, as the priest informed us. People also.” She laughed. “You someday it might be. Do you like chicken?”

  I said I could take it or leave it.

  “Beef you like, I think. You may order what you wish, provided you eat it afterward.”

  She took us to a place facing a market square. I liked it even more than the café that was up all those stairs because all kinds of people came there, farmers, porters like the ones I had hired in Puraustays, grandmas who had come to buy food and needed a place to sit down, cops who were there to break up fights and keep the people in the stalls from cheating customers—everybody.

  “We do not get white tablecloths and crystal here,” Naala told us, “but the food is good and the portions large. Also it is cheap, so that my superiors will not question me about it.” She gave us her mean grin. “Noisy it is, too. You can hear me?”

  I said I could.

  “That is very good. We speak and are not overheard. What did you think of the priest?”

  I could not see what she was getting at and tried to be careful. “He seemed like a good man.”

  “This he also thinks, so he is not. Did he tell us the truth?”

  That one had me thinking. Finally I said, “I think what he told us was true, but I don’t think he told us everything.”

  “We progress! As you think I also think. The box is in your lap?”

  I nodded and held it up.

  “Put it on the table so I may see. Truly, here is a wonderful question, one I am clever to think of and you are lucky to hear. Upon what topics did Papa not tell us all he knew? Name them.”

  “Well, about the girl bringing the hand.”

  “You are correct, because all answers are correct. On no topic on which he spoke did he tell everything. How was it this girl gets into his house?”

  “He didn’t say. I suppose he went to the door and let her in.”

  “That I do not believe. He was preparing for bed when she arrived. His housekeeper will know this, and know he will not go to the door half-dressed. In this way, the housekeeper sees the woman who brings the hand. He tells as much as the housekeeper will have seen. That much, so she does not give him the lie. Why tell so little?”

  I thought. “I suppose it’s because he doesn’t want us to find her.”

  A waiter brought us menus. Naala did not look at hers. “There is someone else looking for her, perhaps. Let us say this is so. Who is this other searcher Papa Iason favors?”

  I nodded. “It would have to be Papa Zenon.”

  “Now I am not so wise. I am only a fool who shoots at the water hoping to kill a fish. You have told me of your cousin, who sees a dead woman in a mirror.”

  “Martya,” I said. “Her name is Martya.”

  “I have tell you Papa Zenon has seen her here. In this I was perhaps mistaken. He has not, I think. But he has heard her described. There was that which Papa Iason said. Papa Zenon hears it and there is light. He knows who is this woman, and knows he knows.”

  “What was it Papa Iason told him?” I asked.

  “That I cannot say. It may have been anything. A brooch she wears, the shawl in which she wrapped the hand. Must I guess?”

  “Not unless you want to.”

  “Then I guess for joy. She mentions you. She tells Papa Iason you would help her if you were here. Some such thing as that.” Naala sat back, smiling.

  I said, “I’ve been answering questions for you, or trying to. Now I’d like you to answer one for me. Why were you so interested in those old pictures?”

  “You saw the priest, but do not understand. Wait. I show you his picture.” She took a photo from her purse.

  Looking at it I said, “You boosted one of his photos.”

  “Of himself he had a full score, and the state has need of it. Look at it. Does it tell you nothing?”

  I felt dumb and did not answer.

  “Another picture I have also. Here, I hold them side by side.”

  The second one was the prison photo of Russ Rathaus. Rosalee and I leaned forward to see them better. “All right,” I confessed, “I’m dumb. Yeah, they look a lot alike except Russ’s older. Does it mean anything?”

  “This I think. The priest had also pictures of his father, and those I did not borrow. No, not even one! You saw them?”

  I nodded. “A little guy with a big nose and a big mustache.”

  “The mustache we leave to one side. Does Rathaus have the big nose? Is he, too, small?”

  “No,” I said. “No to both.”

  “Papa Iason is taller than you, though you are tall. He is heavy, likewise. A hundred kilos or more. More, I think. His mother is a woman not tall, not heavy.”

  Remembering the pictures, I nodded.

  “Let us sum up. Rathaus escapes. Martya, who is now here, brings the hand to a priest. From the wrong si
de of the blanket this priest comes. Also he resembles Rathaus. What is happening? This I want to know.”

  “What you’re saying is that Russ thought his son, Papa Iason, could be trusted with the hand. Nobody was looking for Martya, so he got her to take it to him and tell him to keep it safe. Only he didn’t do that. He brought it to the archbishop the next day.”

  Naala shook her head. “I do not say this. You say it. It may be that you are correct. It may be otherwise, also.”

  The waiter came back. I had not even peeked at my menu because I knew I would not be able to read it. I listened to what Naala ordered and said I would have the same. Rosalee asked me what I had ordered, and when I told her it was pork tenderloin with noodles she said that would be fine for her.

  I was not as hungry as I had been the first time, but I cleaned up the pork and noodles anyway, and sweet cabbage and some other stuff. Naala went out and phoned for a new police car when she had finished. When it came there were two cops, so we sat in back like before, Rosalee in the middle and Naala and I on the ends. Driving in the capital was like walking in Puraustays—you had to turn after just about every block and the blocks were pretty small. It slowed us down a lot and that may have been why Rosalee saw what she did.

  She yelped and pointed, and Naala told the driver to stop. I thought maybe Rosalee had seen Russ, but that was not it. She was pointing to a big building that had a row of shops in it.

  “That one!” she said. “In the middle. That’s one of our customers!”

  13

  LEFT-HAND MAGIC

  “Wait a minute,” I said in English when we stopped. “You can’t hardly speak the language. How come you could read that shop window?”

  “I can’t,” Rosalee told me. “It’s the picture, the hand with the white rabbit. It was on their stationery.”

  I told Naala what she had said.

  “We go there. This is better than the priest, I hope. Ask her the name.”

  I did and Rosalee said, “Left-Hand Magic Supplies.”

  “Did Russ tell you? I thought you couldn’t read their letters.”

  “No! I could! I did! Only I couldn’t remember the name of the company. The letters were in English, and Russ wrote back in English.”