CHAPTER 22 – TWO PHILOSOPHERS, GETTING ACQUAINTED
Leandre Durand checked the time. They couldn't spend much longer here – unlike in the movies, the heroes had other work to do – but so far there had been nothing much to see.
All in all, it was hard work to just stay put and hope for something. A man got tired of wondering if he was putting his time to good use. Durand refused as a matter of principle to indulge that sort of second-guessing, but still, the morning was beginning to wear on him.
Generally when Bertin Nason was called out in the early morning he had something urgent to attend to. This being a duller occasion, Durand had felt he must cast about for topics to talk about, to keep the young man awake enough to be useful. Finally, he had hit upon asking Nason about his missionary work. That, he found, made his young friend animated. From there, they had branched out, and Durand was pleased with himself. Truly, he was learning interesting things about his young partner. But still, it was daybreak, for pity's sake, after a busy night. The light, if anything, made him feel sleepier. According to his friend Richard Hugh, daybreak made you close your eyes a little, and that's what got to you. Durand thought perhaps Richard meant it as a joke. At the moment, it did not feel in the least like a joke. Durand fought a yawn, and lost.
Nason caught the yawn. "Thanks," he kidded. "So, where was I? Oh, I remember. So, you see, it's something of a family tradition with us. Seeing that half our ancestors were Huguenots or something of the like."
"I see," Durand said.
"Not really," Nason said. "Very nearly all the other half were Catholic, you see." He studied the ground in front of his feet. "Do you want to know the scary part? It's not like it comes down in a straight line. It's not like having two grandparents descended all from Catholics, and two grandparents coming down from all Protestants. In all the branches, every few generations they'd switch, sometimes more often than that. For a while, in fact, nearly every ancestor got born one way and was buried another, if you can believe it." He switched his eyes to the horizon, or what would be the horizon if a building wasn't in the way. "Do you want to know the really scary part?"
"If you like."
Nason seemed to consider this remark carefully, before starting in again. "If you set down a timeline of my ancestors, and a timeline of the history of France, almost every ancestor adhered to the religious affiliation that was most out of favor at the time. It's the truth. It makes a man wonder if there isn't some odd genetic defect that, I don't know, makes a person prone to being contrary, and simultaneously draws them toward other people who prefer to defy convention. How else would you explain it? Almost every time there was a clear choice to be made, with one side promising protection and the other persecution, the people who led up to me chose the persecution. If I weren't such a coward, I'd volunteer for a human genome study of defective DNA twists or something." He looked at Durand. What he saw made him flinch slightly. "Oh, sorry," he muttered.
"Eh?" Durand said, distractedly.
"Sorry, I guess I was boring you. And I don't know all that much about science anyway. Let's change the subject, all right?"
"No, that's all right."
"No, it's not. I don't know what I said, but I could see it upset you. Either that or I offended you. In any case, let's change the subject."
"It's all right. It's just that – well, did you ever hear of a scientist named Auberi Bec? He worked with genetic engineering, DNA twists, that sort of thing."
"Sure. He was one of the top men. He got murdered or something. Oh, no… I'm sorry. I'd forgotten about it, but now I think I remember something. You were assigned to protect him or something, I heard. The story I heard is that you were shot in the head, but managed to kill the assassin, but not before he killed Bec."
"Close enough."
"We can change the subject. Really."
"If you like," Durand said again.
Again Nason appeared to take the statement at face value, stopping to consider before he spoke. "Actually, if you don't want to talk about it, of course I won't press you. But I don't like having my information only close if there is a way to clear it up. Of course, I could look it up in the files if you'd rather I did."
"I have a better idea. I will tell you, but not today. Some days are better than others for each bad memory, I have found. Today just seems to be a bad day to remember Auberi, that's all. He was my uncle, by the way."
Nason pulled out a cigarette, and offered Durand one.
"No, thank you. I gave them up years ago. I hate to think how hard it would be to quit them a second time."
"I wish I hadn't started, but there it is," Nason said. He lit up. "If I ask one more question about Bec, will that be all right? It's just that I wonder how it was that you would be assigned to your own uncle. Was that your idea?"
"No. Circumstances got a little crazy, that's all."
"Okay. I'll leave it alone for now."
Nason wondered about the bigger question, of how a man recovers after being shot in the head, even to the point of going back out into harm's way. He decided he would ask about it later, if the occasion arose. It seemed a horribly personal thing to ask about, though. Also, perhaps, on second thought, it was not something an active duty cop should probably be pondering, for his own sanity's sake. Nason tried to think of other things, but one thought kept intruding. He could not imagine the courage it took for Durand to still be in the field. Nason found himself fighting off feelings of being outclassed.
The two men sat quietly for a while. Then Durand chuckled.
"Now what?" Nason asked.
"I was just thinking that, horrible as it sounds, perhaps there is something about what you said earlier."
"Oh, so it's horrible, you say. And you're laughing. That's a real friend," Nason said. "What are we talking about, by the way?"
"My apologies. It's just that when I was a young man, smoking was not considered dangerous. But you are so young. There has been much publicity. I imagine that you knew it was risky to take it up."
"But I did just the same, just like my ancestors always chose the least likely way to survive. Maybe you have something there, at that."
"Probably not. Don't go using it for an excuse, anyway."
"Not in a million years. I make my own mistakes, and that's a fact."
"Besides which, all men are messed up one way or another, you know, and I'm not talking microbiology here. And as for being independent, even contrary, the French have long prided themselves on that, for better and for worse, no?"
Nason smiled. "Certainly you're no herd animal, mine elder, if what I hear is correct," he said, quietly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What I like most about microbiology is that it's giving atheists nightmares. The more that scientists find out, the less it seems possible that everything evolved from amoebas, or that amoebas were generated from goo. Cells are just too complicated, you know – they're nothing like Darwin imagined in the least. And how they go together in multi-celled creatures, how they work together, it's amazing. Try to imagine evolving a respiratory system, for instance. Or the process for making blood clots – more to the point, blood clots that don't run amok. Of course, Darwin knew this sort of thing was a problem. He wrote to a friend and said that eyes and peacock feathers gave him much distress. I like to imagine what he'd do if he could see inside a cell like we can these days. His theory is in big trouble, and that's a fact."
"This from a man who says he doesn't know all that much about science."
Nason shrugged. "I like to know how things work. That's all."
They sat quietly. Nason was first to break the silence. "How did you do it, by the way? Quit, I mean. Smoking, I mean."
"I met my wife."
"And she didn't like it, you mean. And made you quit?"
"Ah, more simple than that. I lost my taste for cigarettes when I found something better. That's all. You'll see. When you aren't so lonely, it makes a big difference in many ways you wouldn't expect."
<
br /> "Who says I'm lonely?"
"No one, as far as I know."
"That's right. Bertin-Ferrand Nason, wonder boy, that's me. Has the world by the tail, he does," Nason said, a trace of mockery in his voice.
"Don't be in such a hurry, Bertin. You'll do all right," Durand said.
"Says who?"
"I do, for one."
"On what grounds?"
"See. You are lonely. It's all right. You're the right age for it."
"I don't remember asking for a lecture."
"No. Quite right. Just don't let it drive you to pick someone out of desperation. Bad matches can burn forever, as the saying goes."
"Never heard it before."
"Perhaps I just made it up. I do that, sometimes. And I will stop the lecture. Forgive me. My own children are at those ages that prompt continual lectures from their worried papa whenever he is home. I have fallen into the habit of it, I guess."
"Tell me about them."
"No, forgive me," Durand said, dropping his voice. "Officially I don't have a family, of course. It is too dangerous. And suddenly I cannot shake the feeling that the world has unseen ears very close to us. Later, when I am more sure of my surroundings, perhaps I will tell you. But, to be sure, I can't think what you would want to know. We are happily dull, I assure you."
Nason dropped his cigarette and ground it out. "The hair is also up on the back of my neck," he said, quietly. "Let's find someplace else, shall we?"
"Yes, well, it is time we went to our regular jobs anyway, no?" Durand said.
"It'll do for an excuse," Nason jibed.
Durand started to protest his innocence, but Nason winked to show that he was in full agreement and only joking. Durand thought it was cheeky, but let it go. You had to expect some cheek in snipers. Otherwise they wouldn't have become snipers. But there was no sense in feeding the tendency, he thought, especially when the sniper was still young and impressionable.
Not Exactly Allies Page 22