by Ruby Spinell
The larger warp was of no consequence, outside his realm of concern. Anyway, he had no proof. Suppositions against a formidable enemy—he laughed thinking what an illusion that would be.
The Chinese have a saying that calls upon a man to walk on both legs. Was he thinking of retirement? No. Then he had a few years. Who knows what a vigilant man can do in a few years. He had a lot to learn about using two or more faculties instead of one. He had a lot to learn about walking on two legs.
Standing, he kicked the towel away and dropped his body into ‘beginning stance.’ Yin was the fleeting stillness of ‘grasp birds tail.’ Where the yang energy took over was impossible to tell. Flowing into the concluding harmony of ‘ward off left’ subtly indivisible from form. Tai Chi Chuan, activity—quiescence.
There was a world of difference in his inner being when he finished. Before he showered, he picked up the phone and told Walt Bath to get a search warrant for St. Hilary’s rectory.
“I know it’s Friday, Walt,” he said calmly, “but try Debittle, he won’t mind. You and John wait ’til morning. Around six or six-thirty Father Elias starts for the Annunciation to say Mass. Find me those instruments. I’ll be in the monastery church; bring them to me.” He listened for a few minutes. “I’ve no doubt you’ll find them.”
When he came from the shower, the clock on the shelf over the yarrow stalks read 9:10. A look out the window told him what his ears had told him, there had been a steady accumulation of snow. This time when he asked information for Mirari’s number, he got a listing.
He held the phone while it rang. On the sixth ring, she caught up the receiver, her voice groggy. “Mir, it’s Eli.” There was a silence that did not bode well. Then he realized she was making an effort to wake completely.
“Eli? Oh, how are you?”
“I woke you, I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I hadn’t actually gone to bed, I fell asleep in front of the fire.”
“One of the kids told me you were back in the house … I tried to call …”
“I just got around to having the phone connected … but of course you already know that if you tried to call.”
He felt suddenly shy. “How are you?” He wanted to see her very much … too much.
“Eli, this is ridiculous, this phone business, why don’t you come up? Bring some Tom and Jerry’s? Vanilla. I’ll put another log on the fire.”
The Friday night traffic was fierce, despite—or maybe because of—the snow. By the time he got the ice cream and drove the Nissan up the unplowed driveway, it was 10:15.
“You’re probably getting up early,” he said wanting to kick himself as soon as it was out. He was always apologizing for breathing with Mir. It made him furious and her also. At least it had at one time. She didn’t seem to notice now, but was busy digging into the tub of vanilla with a big stainless steel spoon.
“You’re having some, right?”
“Right.”
He followed her through the house to the fire. Neither spoke. Eli settled himself in the lazy-boy, Mir flopped among her pillows on the hearth. They ate the ice cream in companionable silence.
Mir spoke first, “I want to ask how you are, but I don’t want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God.”
He smiled at her across the room, “I know.”
Apologetically then, “I like the space, Eli; I can breathe.” The tone begged him to understand. He lay the empty bowl on the rug and relaxed his lanky frame back in the chair so that his feet shot up.
“Marriage is just too much enforced intimacy, isn’t it?” He searched her face. She nodded. “We’ll keep it light then. We could talk about the kids.”
She grinned devilishly down at her empty bowl. “I’d rather hear what you’re doing.”
“Wrapping up a case.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Are you glad to be finished?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Yes and no. I guess I found out more than I wanted to know.”
“Yes!” Mir drew a deep breath remembering the other night and let it out with the exclamation.
He looked at her in surprise. “You know what I mean?” She nodded.
Though the grey had advanced since she’d seen him last, he looked surprisingly young and vulnerable. She remembered the first time they’d met. How she had loved the look of him!
He was reading the look on her face. She sat with her spoon poised half way to her mouth watching him with wide eyes. The look in her eyes, the way her face flushed with the warmth of the fire, belied what she had just said about intimacy. He never moved on Mir the way he would another woman. After all, she was the mother of his children. He had too much respect for her. But, something was different tonight. She wasn’t his wife. The kids weren’t here. A generous breasted woman with a wild mass of hair and long, very good legs, was giving him a very steady look from across the rug.
Eli Janah thought of the pictures back on his kitchen table. He thought of the next morning. He stared at the fire. Then rising, he crossed to her, knelt down and started undoing the buttons on the white linen caftan. Mir lay back upon the largest of the pillows with a sigh.
“You’ve changed,” she said in a very soft voice. He undid another button, looked at her teasingly, questioningly,
“Yes?”
She nodded. When he drew her to him, the caftan fell down off her shoulders.
Reverend Mother Michaels looked over the community from her choir stall at the rear of the church. No one was leaving. They had finished the recitation of Matins and Lauds, the first hour of the daily Office traditionally sung in the late evening of the previous day and the entire community had remained kneeling.
In recent months at least a dozen sisters genuflected and left before the lights went out for the Friday night discipline. She felt a curious catch in her throat. She’d give them another minute.
Sister Damian’s unprecedented plea for prayers at supper had startled the community. It was unlike Damian to get so emotional. Michaels intuited the investigation was at an end. You would think she’d turned in the insane individual who had carried out the terrible vengeance. After she spoke, she barely touched her food. Michaels looking now around the church could find no other reasonable explanation.
She motioned to Sister Anne to throw the lights. It was perfectly quiet, the calm night and the softly falling snow made their own enclosure. Michaels began the psalm, “Misere mei, Deus …” to the rustling of many skirts.
Such great pain pierced her at the thought of those hands and feet, that she never felt the tiny knots cut into her skin.
Wash me from mine iniquity, cleanse me from my sin. Against Thee only have I sinned and done evil before Thee. Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop and I shall be cleansed. Thou shalt wash me and I shall be made whiter than snow. Turn away thy face from my sins. Create in me a clean heart. Cast me not away from Thy face … the voices of the nuns begged for one of their own.
Restore unto me the joy of Thy salvation … Silence then blanketed the little church. Mother Michaels waited a discreet while before turning on the small choir light by her kneeler and then made the signal for the community to file out to their cells.
If the elderly man wrapped in his muffler thought anything of running into the tall detective at the monastery church at six forty-five a.m., he didn’t indicate this.
“Mornin’.” His eyes rose briefly, then dove as he hurried past. Eli followed him in.
Sitting in a pew by the door, he watched a very short altar boy wave a very long pole with a little flame on the end at the high altar candles. The tiny fire spun around and around like an undecided bee. Eli grinned. You couldn’t see the boy’s face, but every muscle in his body showed the tension and determination as his hands gripped and tried to steady the pole. Finally, the flame kissed the wick lightly in passing. It caught.
His shoulders straightened, he marched to the center, genuflected, stu
mbled on his robe getting up, and lurched crazily to the other side to begin all over again.
Lights went off and another set came on behind the curtained window of the cloister. A pipe struck a key and the voices of the nuns began the Ave Maria Stella.
As the parishioners returned from communion, John Fay eased along the pew from the other end and sat down beside Eli. “It’s a beautiful set.” He passed a heavy leather case across to Eli. Mrs. Berens had hidden it away among her things … her flannel nightgowns to be exact.”
Eli’s eyebrows arched. “She knows a lot more than she’ll say.”
“Walt’s in the car. What do you want us to do?”
“Wait. In the car.”
“I’ve been expecting you, Detective Janah.” Eli moved along the bench to give Father Elias room. The priest had thrown all the light switches about the altar except the one glancing on the angel of the Annunciation. He had been studying it during the service, but until the church was thrown in semi-darkness, the relief wasn’t enough to be sure.
Now he knew, and he felt a curious elation at seeing it again. It was a good imitation of the four foot high Venetian marble he’d seen in the Cloisters some years back. “Istrian. Very beautiful, isn’t it?” Elias watched him.
“15th centurion loan for the celebration of the founding of the Congregation.”
“It’s the real thing?”
“Yes.”
“I saw it years ago. Couldn’t get my feet to continue past it for the longest time.” Father Elias nodded. He glanced at his case resting lightly on Eli’s knees. Eli saw the movement of the priest’s eyes. “I didn’t really need them, but I wanted to see them,” he explained. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Father Elias looked across the darkened church to the sanctuary and sighed, “Yes. It’s time.” The lights went out within the cloister. The two men heard a click and a great rustling as the community genuflected and began to leave to go about their daily tasks. The priest waited until all was silent behind the grill.
“The Milanesians call it Mana, Detective. The Sioux, Wakanda. The Iroquois, Orenda. The Algonquin, Manitou. Our evil is a hidden indwelling that can give us great power. Hidden as it is, it’s neutral, it can discharge favorably or unfavorably.” There was a forcefulness in the voice, “I discovered that a hunt can enable a man to acquire a great Mana.”
“Your brother did not die in 1965 or in 1967.”
“No,” Elias said simply. He looked Eli in the eyes, “He didn’t die then. “It was a mess over there,” he sighed. “For a long time the jets were only allowed to fly through the tree tops and scare the hell out of the monkeys. Ground units could not talk directly to the fighter units; their radios didn’t mesh. Ground forces had to radio their coordinates to the helicopters who in turn radioed the planes. Batteries went out on the radios. No one knew if they were going to last one hour or three days.
“Our guys killed each other. They killed the monkeys. They had so many damn rules of engagement up until March 1965 … Politicians called it displaying a presence …
“Tim was flying cover for Marine Advisory Teams, MDTAs and protecting long range re-con patrols. They were told to fly low over the Vietcong, scare them off. Those F-4B Phantoms make awesome noise!
“He was on the first deep probe past the Chu Lai enclave South of Da Nang. It was Vietcong country. From what I’ve gleaned, he was allowed to fire that day.” He looked aside at Eli. “Johnson finally allowed direct combat operations between the United States and communist forces in South Vietnam.”
Father Elias’ voice was low, “Did you know that we dropped two and a half times the tonnage of bombs on Vietnam that we dropped in World war II? Tim crashed south of Da Nang near Tam Ky. He was twenty-eight years old.
“In 1967, I heard he was alive. Official channels said he was dead. But at that time, someone approached me, someone very unofficial, and convinced me he was alive. The Vietcong had taken him back into Laos.”
“You went over and tried to get him out.”
Elias wrung his hands, “I had to try.”
“How long did he live in that cage?”
A sob tore itself from the man’s breast beside him. Eli heard him swallow hard, straighten his shoulders. “Ten years. They made an example of him.
“They kept moving him. No matter how fast we went in, how hard we worked at grabbing him … we were always a day, an hour, forty minutes too late.”
“O’Reilly had connections?”
“Yes.”
“Danley?”
Father Elias’ voice was very firm, “No. O’Reilly was enough, with a score of mercenaries and mystagogues.” He shook his head, remembering. “We caught up with him when they had no more use for him.”
“He was still alive?”
“Yes.”
“You killed him,” Eli’s tone was decisive.
A groan came from the throat of the man sitting beside him. “I couldn’t pull the trigger … as bad as he was, I couldn’t pull the trigger. One of the guys. I held him …” He couldn’t finish.
The priest stared at the small, red sanctuary light flickering on the main altar. “I started hunting with O’Reilly’s help. He had contacts, God, he had contacts. I rode a hundred six-bys those years, if I rode one.” He felt Eli’s look. “Marine Corps trucks.” A smug smile came over his face, “They’ll never know how much their propaganda helped me.”
“You operated over there.”
“Yeah, it was much easier than I figured. I hadn’t forgotten much from my surgery. It was like operating in a glare of light. Within my hands.” The priest held his fingers up before his face wonderingly. “There were no mistakes. A couple of times I had to do it on the floor of the forest. No one died.” Father Elias was silent.
“Did your brother recognize you?”
Elias’ voice was very low, “I don’t know. He was in a very bad way. It was the first and last time I’ve been able to do anything at all for him. He’s been very close to me since.
“I got the six that tortured him the worst.”
“Why bring the hands and feet here to the monastery?”
The cold, superior look the priest turned on him conflicted with the trembling jaw. “They think they’re so damn good! Better than everyone else.” Venom licked around the edges of the words. “They never say it but …” he nodded decisively as if it were an established fact.
The change was abrupt. The anger left his eyes and a little boy look smoothed his features, “I felt at home here, you know, more at home than …” a great sigh eased from him, “I’ve ever felt.” In the dim light of the church Father Elias’ face was washed as by lightning, the mouth curled again at the right. “They’re supposed to know God? Hah! How long would it have taken them to realize what was going on? How long was this God of theirs going to let them live with their blinders?”
“I have a car waiting.”
“Yes.” Elias got up and accompanied him. After locking the great door of the church behind him, he handed Eli the key.
Eliaphus Daniel Janah watched Walt Bath and John Fay drive off with Father Elias, then walked to the front door of the monastery and rang the bell. When the buzzer opened the door, he entered and went up to the turn. He recognized Sister Damian’s Deo gratias.
“Good Morning, Sister.” The key was a lead weight in his hand pulling him to the lake bottom. Overburdened, he shifted his stance searching for something to say.
Suddenly, the unbroken maple of the drum started moving slowly to the right, the grain passing before him. He stared into the maw. A wave of infinite compassion spreading from the shadowy interior hit him full in the breast. He drew in a quick, deep breath almost gasping and pulled himself erect.
They stood thus for long silent moments. The tall nun in the grey and brown habit within the cloister. The equally tall detective on the other side by the lobby wall. A smile played over Eli’s face. He looked down at the key in the palm of his hand; it was ver
y light after all.
Placing it on the shelf, he gently set the barrel in motion. When he heard Damian lift the metal, he turned and left.
Walking in the heart’s wisdom he saw Mir. He was ten paces from the door of the Nissan when the blue Buick came down First and headed toward him up the drive. He stopped abruptly, joy and a sense of foreboding jostling each other within his chest. He stood very still, gravity rooted. The sun rose over the monastery wall and hit him full in the face. A gust of wind whirled a cloud of snow up the slope.
Chapter Seventeen
Merlin must have looked like that before he went down with the Lady of the Lake, his face in the sun, the spirited snow blanketing the lower half of his body. Mir chuckled to herself at her own dreaminess. He had been marvelous.
The car parked, she walked up to him and smiled into his eyes. “Leaving?” He nodded. Hesitant, he seemed to be making internal balancing arrangements. Then she realized she hadn’t told him about the article. Talk had been entirely unnecessary last night.
She put her hand on his arm, “I’m doing a freelance article on the monastery, that’s why I’m here.” His eyes widened imperceptibly.
“You?!”
She was piqued. “Yes, me. I’m good you know.” She stepped back a little.
He grabbed her hand quickly in both of his. “I didn’t mean you weren’t good. I meant,” his thoughts were racing. He cursed himself for not finding out who was doing the article on the Congregation. “We should talk.”
He looked thoughtfully at a snow devil whirling by them and then back to her. “Did you know we arrested Father Elias this morning?”
The news hit her. So near to home the carnage! That might totally change the direction of the article. She sighed, feeling suddenly very pressured.
“I knew someone was doing a piece.” He searched her face.
“Did he confess?”
“Yes. You know the way it is,” he grimaced, “I can’t talk about it yet.”
The long end of her scarf whipped behind him and bound them together. His hands felt good. “I … I better be going in,” she said. “I have an interview with one of the sisters.”