Nile Shadows jq-3

by Edward Whittemore

  That's neither idle nor speculation, replied Belle. The reason Stern returned to Cairo a few days ago was precisely to do that. Again, this has only become clear to us tonight. Until a few days ago he'd been hoping the British would uncover the truth about the Black Code through other channels, other sources.

  He'd been desperately waiting and praying for that. But when this last mission turned out to be such a disaster, he decided he couldn't wait any longer. His mission was part of a larger scheme, apparently, which was a total failure.

  Yes, I know about it, said Joe. There were special strike forces and the like against the German and Italian bases being used to attack Malta. Bletchley mentioned it. Stern was probably serving as a pathfinder, the contact for one of the commando groups behind enemy lines.

  He was devastated when he returned, continued Belle. Truly wretched. He said he feared the tide might really have turned in favor of the Germans. So he had decided to talk to Bletchley.

  Joe was puzzled.

  Yet I was with Bletchley yesterday evening and there was no hint at all that he even knew Stern was back in Cairo.

  No, Bletchley didn't know Stern was back, or at least he didn't know then. As it turned out, Stern didn't have to go to Bletchley. As soon as Stern reappeared in Cairo he learned that what he'd been so desperately waiting for had finally happened. The British had finally learned about the breaking of the Black Code through other channels.

  That would explain Bletchley's new sense of calm last night, said Joe. But at the same time Bletchley has been implying all along that this was exactly the kind of thing that worried him about Stern. This business that's now cleared up by the fact that Colonel Fellers and the Black Code were the source of all the trouble. So it just seems strange that Bletchley didn't say anything about it, or give me some hint that the situation had changed and Stern was no longer under suspicion.

  Joe nodded to himself, puzzled anew. But Belle said nothing and he noticed that her face was impassive as she stared at her knitting.

  Trouble, thought Joe, for the first time sensing that the Sisters were withholding something from him.

  ***

  What could it be? he wondered. Obviously it had to do with protecting Stern, but why? From what?

  And why had Bletchley said nothing if the revelations about the Black Code cleared Stern of suspicion?

  Didn't it have to mean that Bletchley had some deeper concern about Stern? Some fear that far transcended the Black Code?

  The writing on the wall. The hieroglyphs of Stern's life. Joe still couldn't read them, they were still a mystery. And he was sure now the Sisters were holding something back, guarding some secret because of their love for Stern. Cherishing Stern, as so many people did.

  And then there was Belle's mention of other channels. Bletchley, the British, had learned about the Germans deciphering the Black Code through other channels. Did that mean some low-level informer who was secretly working for the British, or was much more than that involved? Was that why Bletchley had said nothing to Joe? Because these other channels were so very important Bletchley couldn't even hint at their existence?

  ***

  Belle sat rigidly in her chair, her mouth set.

  Perhaps it's the timing that's confusing me, said Joe, the sequence of events. The Black Code was stolen in Rome toward the beginning of the year?

  Belle nodded.

  No earlier?

  Belle shook her head.

  It doesn't fit, he thought. That was when the three men in white linen suits had turned up in Arizona, just about the same time the Germans were getting their hands on the Black Code and putting it to use in North Africa.

  So obviously Bletchley had studied Stern's file and picked out Joe's name and asked that Joe be recruited to come to Cairo for another reason altogether. For something that didn't have anything to do with a serious security leak in Cairo, and the suspicion that Stern might be behind it. The appearance of the Black Code affair was merely a coincidence, something that had turned up in the interim and been cleverly put to use by Bletchley to mask his real concern from Joe. So Bletchley's real concern must have always been elsewhere, his fear of Stern something more profound.

  And as so often the same thought returned to Joe, an inexplicable episode in Stern's life that wouldn't go away—Stern's Polish story. He wondered whether the Sisters would discuss it. He wondered if they even knew anything about it, so mysterious was it becoming in Joe's mind.

  ***

  Belle still sat with her mouth set, waiting.

  I don't mean to pry, said Joe, but it seems you've seen Stern more than once since he's been back.

  That's true enough, said Belle. He's in the habit of coming here quite often, he's always done that. But it has nothing to do with Bletchley or what he does for Bletchley. Stern's visits here go back to a time before he began his revolutionary work. To the days when he was a young student in Cairo.

  I see. I didn't know that. To be frank, as well as I knew Stern in Jerusalem, he never mentioned you.

  Belle smiled.

  He's like that, isn't he. Very private and protective of those he loves. And I imagine there have been other revelations for you concerning Stern since you've been here.

  Yes. Many. And I have a feeling the most important ones are yet to come.

  Belle frowned. She gazed at Joe.

  How long have you been in Cairo? she asked.

  A little over two weeks.

  Such a short time. . . . Tell me, how do you feel about these revelations you've had concerning Stern?

  Joe shrugged.

  Ah well, he said, that's hard to put into words because Stern's life is more complex than most. But all lives are secret tapestries that swirl and sweep through the years with souls and strivings as the colors, the threads. And there may be little knots of tangled meaning everywhere beneath the surface, tying the colors and threads together, but the little knots aren't important finally, only the sweep itself, the tapestry as a whole. So what saddens me about Stern is that I may never even glimpse the sweep to his life. Not even have a glimpse of the tapestry as a whole. . . . That's how I feel.

  Belle nodded, gazing at him, deep in thought.

  She's trying to decide what to do, thought Joe. They know exactly what I need but they're protecting Stern the way everybody does.

  Little Alice stirred, a faraway look in her eyes.

  And oh he was such a handsome boy, she murmured. I remember so well the first time we met him, right here in this very room. Menelik had brought him to meet us. Menelik and Stern's father had been great friends in the old days, and when Stern came to Cairo to study, Menelik was like an uncle to him. He brought Stern here the very day Stern arrived in Cairo from the desert. . . .

  To this very room. And Stern was so young and strong and pure, so determined to be honest and kind in life. And those beautiful ideals of his, and that wonderful enthusiasm. Of course there were other sides to him as well, I suppose there had to be, growing up in the desert the way he did, in a tent on a dusty little hillside in the Yemen where there were no other children to play with, so much alone from the very beginning and accustomed to that, because it was the way it had always been. A kind of solitude you could see in his eyes, a mark of sadness perhaps, a touch of the barren desert deep within him that would always be there, no matter what. A quietude, a stillness, and it did have its lonely side to it. You had to admit that.

  But there was also so much warmth and tenderness in him because people were so precious to him, because of his loneliness as a child, I imagine. And you only had to look at him and listen to him talk for just a moment to be filled with joy. You couldn't help yourself, you were just swept away. This is what life can be, you felt. This joy and this beauty and this freedom, this exquisite music drawn from the silence of the desert.

  Even though life doesn't turn out that way for most of us. Even though things happen and get in the way and we seem to arrive at some little place in life, by c
hance as much as anything else, and just stay there.

  Never having done as much as we would have liked, never doing all the things we dreamed of doing once. Even though it is like that for most of us in the end, when we look back.

  Even so, you felt something different when Stern was with you. You only had to look at him to know there could be so much more, truly beautiful things. It was hope that he gave you. Hope. You felt it. You just knew it.

  And he stood right there that first afternoon, I remember. It was his first day in Cairo and he stood in those open doors by the river, his eyes shining, and he said how wonderful it was to see all that water, to just stand beside the Nile and look at it. And he laughed and he said that might sound foolish to us, but that when you had grown up in the desert the glory of all that water was simply miraculous, simply beyond imagination. Truly a wonder, he said, laughing. Truly a gift of God. A gift of His variety and splendor.

  He had an Arabic name as well then, I don't remember what. Menelik would remember but Menelik's dead now. And he stood there in the open doors with his eyes shining, laughing and gazing at the Nile and just feasting on all of it like a hungry man brought to a great table. And he told us all the beautiful things he was going to do in life. Hope. Hope. . . .

  So very young then, back in the beginning. A thin excited boy with everything ahead of him, filling our hearts to overflowing with joy, his joy, the magic of just being able to look and see and feel and love.

  That's how rich the world was for Stern. So miraculous for him and so unexpected in its gifts, its blessings. . . .

  Yes, we all felt it that first afternoon. Menelik and Belle and myself, we all felt it although not one of us said a word. But we understood the magic of that moment. Watching him, listening to him, we all knew he was precious to this world and it would always be so. Precious. A special human being, a man apart.

  Always to be so. . . .

  Silence then in the room. Silence for a time.

  Finally Belle picked up her knitting. The rhythmic clicking began again.

  There's more you wish to know? she asked.

  A few things perhaps, said Joe.

  ***

  Joe scratched his beard. He picked up his empty whiskey glass and put it down again.

  There's a trip Stern made to Poland, he said. Nearly three years ago, just before the war broke out. I'm convinced it's at the heart of everything because Stern was reckless for once, and that's not his way.

  Joe stopped.

  Are you familiar at all with any of this?

  Alice looked at Belle, whose face was impassive.

  Why would Stern have done that? asked Belle after a moment.

  To save lives, said Joe. To preserve the lives of others. And I understand he felt there was some kind of priceless breakthrough while he was in Poland. Do you know anything about it?

  First, said Belle, there's a question we have to ask. How important is it for you to find out about this?

  Very.

  Very, yes. All kinds of things seem important along the way, but in the end? You might be surprised what's important to Alice and me when we look back on life.

  I don't think so, said Joe.

  Alice sighed.

  Nor do I, she said, and Belle doesn't either. But what she's asking in her delicate way, Joe, is this. What if it meant your life?

  I know that's what she's asking, and the answer has to be the same. I came to Cairo to find out about Stern, that's all.

  But why is that so all-important to you?

  Because he deserves it. Because the end is coming for him and he deserves a witness to the truth of his life.

  But why? Why do you feel that so strongly?

  Because he's explored the human soul more deeply than anyone I've ever known. Because his life looks like nothing but failure, and I can't accept that without knowing it to be true. Because long ago in Smyrna during the massacres, deep in the night that began our age of genocide, I watched him pull back the head of a dying little girl and slit her throat, and that moment has forever haunted me. Because unless there's some meaning in his life, I can't see where there would ever be any meaning anywhere.

  And does there have to be? asked Belle.

  No.

  For you or for anyone?

  No.

  Do you feel it's our right, just because we were born?

  No. But I feel we should seek it.

  And yet you yourself, Joe, find Stern's life to be a chaotic tapestry. And in such a vast network of colors and threads and souls and strivings, what can you expect to find?

  Nothing perhaps.

  But if you did find out . . . about him, what would it tell you?

  It might begin to tell me what life is, and how it should be lived.

  Belle stared at him and then she turned away to gaze through the open French doors at the river. Alice had also turned away and was looking out at the river, and again there was silence in the strange room so crowded with ghostly wicker chairs, the dozens and dozens of pale shadowy shapes drifting with the reflections of the stars off the water, airily floating in the soft yellow glow of the few candles that still burned in memory of other eras, dimly now and low with the late hour.

  And it's decided now, thought Joe. The weaving's done and they know what they're going to say or not say to protect the rare fragile thing they cherish.

  It was Alice whose small voice finally broke the silence. Little Alice gazing at the river and speaking quietly in the stillness.

  How hard we try, she murmured. How hard we try.

  ***

  The two ancient women seemed far away, lost in thought. Abruptly Belle's knitting needles clicked once.

  All right, she said. All right, young Joe, you'll have what you want to know. But whatever we tell you now is for Stern's sake. It doesn't concern the war, not this war or any war, because we have nothing to do with such things. So for Stern's sake, then, because we love him and because he's always been like a son to us, and there's no limit to that kind of love.

  Belle paused, her hands holding her knitting. Alice sat erect, watching her.

  Over the years, said Belle, we've known many people from many lands who have come to tarry here in the course of their restless journeys and be touched by the timelessness of the place. And there's nothing new about that, people have always done that. Alexander the Great stopped here, wondering whether he might recognize something, before setting out to reshape the world. But it was already a tradition by then and long before young Alexander there had been visitors in search of man's past, his nature, come to view the enigmatic pyramids and the enigmatic Sphinx and the great river that gives life in the desert. A Greek word, enigma. A riddle, something obscure. Do you know the origins of the word?

  No, said Joe.

  It means to speak darkly, murmured Little Alice. To speak allusively. And the root of that is the Greek word for a tale.

  Yes, said Belle. Oddly enough, the ancient Greeks had the idea that such was the nature of an account of life. To recite a tale, to speak of life, was to speak darkly because the essentials forever lay just beyond the clear light of the mind, tempting and allusive and beyond. To them, a tale was felt and experienced and its truths were known that way. But a tale could never be reduced through recitation to mere landscapes and seascapes and other topographies of the soul, however mighty, however brilliant the telling of it. Nor could the shadows and the echoes of a tale be removed in the speaking of it.

  Belle studied Joe.

  By chance, we know the name of their first great teller of tales, don't we? Or at least time and tradition have assigned a name to this blind man who would otherwise be anonymous, who must have sat in the dust of some wayside recounting what he had overheard from the din raised by those who passed him by, or what he imagined he had overheard. And curiously enough, since you mention Smyrna, it was that very same ancient Greek city in Asia Minor where this obscure blind man was said to have been born.

  B
lind Homer seeing deeply behind his dead eyes, seeing brilliantly in the dust of the wayside through the perpetual shadows of his mind. Homer's blind eyes at play for all time on the dancing glittering seascapes, on the hard unyielding landscapes of the ancient world where others passed him by on their journeys, passed him by while imagining they sailed and strived in the clear white light of their days. When in fact he was the one who saw the journey, not them, because he was blind and they had only lived it.

  And that ancient Greek image of blind Homer seeing more than the great heroes of whom he spoke, seeing more than those who have eyes, is an enigma in itself. And as an enigma it whispers to us and hints at things and suggests far more than we might want to acknowledge readily, and it remains an enigma untouched by millennia, no less of a truth today and yet no more resolvable than it was then, three thousand years ago. An enigma as dark and allusive and true, still, as it ever was. And with that we are brought to the code you now look for in Cairo.

  Belle paused, gazing at Joe.

  Today? This century? Stern? A sudden unexplained trip to Poland just before the war broke out? A priceless breakthrough?

  Enigma, she said, is the name of the code machine used by the Germans. Just before the war broke out, a Polish intelligence service acquired one of these machines. Stern learned of its existence through contacts and he knew the machine had to be turned over to the British before Poland fell. Consequently, he went to Poland at once and there were hectic clandestine meetings in Warsaw that finally resulted in the most important meeting of all, held in a secret signals-intelligence post buried underground in the Pyry forest, a concrete bunker referred to as the house in the woods. Stern wasn't at that final meeting himself, but he played some part in arranging it. Just what part I can't tell you, because Alice and I don't know that. In addition to the Poles at the meeting there were three men from London, two of them professional experts in cryptology. The third man from London, an observer rather than a participant, was there in the guise of a professor from Oxford.

  Joe was listening intently, deep in thought.

  He knits, said Joe suddenly.