The Arm of the Starfish (O'Keefe Family)

by L'Engle, Madeleine;

  “Nice to have met you, sir,” Adam said, and strode purposefully down the street as though he knew exactly where he was going.

  He did not.

  He had no idea.

  Dr. O’Keefe had given him a street map of Lisbon, and Adam had studied it. But Lisbon is not the simple chequer board that makes up most of Manhattan; Lisbon is unexpected hills, open squares, closed alleys, a city of twisting, turning, revealing, hiding, light, dark, a city of mystery and beauty and fascination.

  And Adam realized that he did not know where anything was in Lisbon. If he could find the Ritz then he thought he could find, in one direction, the Avenida Palace hotel, and, in the other, Joshua’s apartment. If he could find the Ritz he could go in and look at the map again, phone Canon Tallis, and figure out how to get to the rectory.

  No. He shouldn’t go into the Ritz because of Arcangelo. But if he could find the Ritz then he would be able to find someplace else to look at his map and make his phone call. He stopped a man, saying, “Ritz, por favor?”

  The man went into a torrent of Portuguese, and Adam simply shook his head. The man spoke slowly and at full volume, but this did not help, and Adam grinned foolishly and shook his head again.

  Then a voice came from behind him. “I show you where go.”

  Adam turned and faced the huge body and coarse face of Molèc.

  19

  “This way,” Molèc said, and Adam followed helplessly.

  “Nâo, nâo,” the man who had been trying to direct him called, and pointed in the opposite direction.

  Molèc scowled, speaking rapidly and angrily. The man responded shrilly, flung up his hands in exasperation, and strode off.

  “Where are you taking me?” Adam demanded.

  “Padre Ball.”

  There was nothing to do but go with him. Molèc led Adam back to where the limousine was just pulling away to return to the airport. Parked nearby was Mr. Cutter’s car. Adam would not easily forget this car, and he had no desire to get into it again, but he clenched his teeth and climbed in as Molèc opened the door to the back seat.

  —If Mr. Cutter was going to have him meet me why didn’t he tell me? Adam thought.—Or is this some kind of test or trick?

  He looked out the window, trying to see something he recognized, trying to remember the route, to see street signs, but he realized that as far as finding his way around Lisbon was concerned he was completely helpless. Squares with fountains, sidewalks in mosaic patterns, laundry hanging, fountains splashing, all seemed to flash by him in an unassimilated jumble as Molèc drove.

  “Igreja,” Molèc said, pulling up abruptly in front of a grey stone cross-topped building on a broad, tree-lined street somewhere on the outskirts of Lisbon, though at which point of the compass Adam did not know. His sense of direction had completely forsaken him. Once he could study the map he would feel a little more secure.

  A narrow, cobblestoned street led to a modern villa behind the church, and to this the chauffeur pointed. “Padre Ball.”

  “Obrigado,” Adam said, quitted the Cutters’ car and Molèc with a sense of relief, and walked quickly over the cobblestones.

  The villa was a handsome one, large, faced with patterned tiles in Venetian red. He rang the bell and the door was opened almost immediately by Dr. Ball himself who grasped Adam’s hand in his usual overhearty grip.

  “Dear lad, I’m so grateful that you’re here safely. So Molèc found you.”

  Adam retrieved his hand.

  Dr. Ball led him along a narrow corridor into a large study. It was a light and cheerful room, filled with books and leather-covered furniture. Although it did not seem to Adam to reflect Dr. Ball’s personality at all, it was no doubt the kind of study that the rector thought he ought to have. He sat down at his large, leather-topped desk, indicated a comfortable chair near him, and showed his teeth in a smile. “We should have thought of having Molèc meet you when we talked with you last week, but alas, we did not, and both Mr. Cutter and I felt that a phone call to you would be most unwise under the circumstances, and that we’d just have to trust Molèc to find you. He’s a most reliable fellow. Though I’m sure you’d have managed to get to me anyhow, wouldn’t you?”

  “Well, I think so, sir. As a matter of fact, I didn’t see Molèc right away, so I planned to look up your address in the phone book and then figure out how to get to you from the map.” —I’ll tell the truth whenever possible, he thought,—and when I can’t I’ll try not to say anything at all.

  “Clever boy,” Dr. Ball told him. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat? What can I get you?”

  “Nothing, thank you. I had a good breakfast and I’ve arranged to meet Kali for lunch.”

  “Where are you meeting Kali? Perhaps it will simplify things if I show you on the map and tell you how to get there.”

  “That would be fine. It’s a seafood restaurant called the Salâo da Chá.”

  He gave Dr. Ball the map, and the rector spread it out on the desk. “Ah. Ah, yes. Here we are.” He indicated a central point. “Here is the Salâo da Chá. Here is the rectory. If you will walk three blocks east from here—thus—you will be able to get a number 198 bus which will take you to the Saláo da Chá in about ten minutes. Or perhaps it would be simpler just to take a taxi. Yes. Yes, of course. That would be better.”

  “Well, no, thank you, sir, I think I’d rather take the bus.”

  “Why, boy? Do you not have enough money?”

  Dr. O’Keefe had given Adam a sizable roll. He answered promptly, “Oh, yes, sir, I have the money for Mrs. O’Keefe’s shopping, and I have my first week’s salary, so I’m fine.”

  Dr. Ball sniffed. “O’Keefe is not known for overpaying his assistants.” He took a wad of bills from his wallet and handed it to Adam. “We took that into consideration, of course, so let it be no problem to you.”

  “I really don’t want the money, sir. I don’t care about taxis.”

  “Kali is not accustomed to ordering inexpensive lunches.”

  “I can manage.”

  “My dear lad, I think you should feel free to accept a little payment for what you are doing for us.”

  “I’d really rather not take any money.”

  “I appreciate your sentiments, dear boy, but accept it as a loan. If you don’t need it you can return it. But you may run into expenses you haven’t anticipated.”

  Further arguing would be suspicious, so Adam took the money, putting it gingerly into his pocket. “About the taxi. I’d really rather take the bus so that I can learn my way around Lisbon a bit; it’ll help give me the lay of the land.”

  “All very well and good if there’s time. We shall see. Now for instructions. You have something for us?”

  “Yes. Some papers I managed to get from the file when it was unlocked. Shall I give them to you?”

  “Oh, no, sonny, no, no, no. It wouldn’t do at all for me to have the papers, nor would it be right for me to act as courier. You must understand that. I do what I can to help, of course, but my position naturally limits what it is fitting for me to do.”

  “Well, then—” Adam let his voice trail off. He had a feeling that Dr. Ball was leading him around in circles with his questions, his bus numbers. The rector was like a well-fed cat who nevertheless enjoys playing with a mouse.

  Now Dr. Ball looked at his watch. “Ten forty-five. What time are you meeting Kali?”

  “One.”

  “Very well.” An edge came into the voice that made Adam feel that now they were getting down to business; they were through playing games. “Professor Embuste of Coimbra is upstairs. I will take you to him.” He rose, looked at his watch, checked it against a clock on the mantlepiece, then led Adam through the quiet house and up a flight of back stairs. “Professor Embuste does not speak English but his French is fluent. Yours?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “Splendid, splendid. Cutter and I were betting on it, though we have an interpreter in readines
s. We prefer not to use an intermediary if we can avoid it.” He paused on the landing. “If Dr. Embuste is satisfied with what you have for us, you will be free to meet Kali at the Salâo da Chá, where you will receive further instructions.”

  “Further instructions?” Adam asked blankly.

  “Surely you didn’t think your job would be over when you had delivered the papers? You are not that naive nor that young.”

  —And it will give this Professor Embuste more time to go over the papers, Adam thought. Aloud he said, “I really don’t think it’s a question of naïveté, Dr. Ball. It seems to me that once I’ve delivered the papers my use is over.”

  “You may be wanted for questioning.” Dr. Ball started up a second, narrower flight of stairs. “Remember that you work closely with O’Keefe. We may need to know more than his progress in the regeneration experiments.”

  “But what—there’s nothing I know—”

  “You know his habits. What time he gets up. When he is out of the laboratory. Where he goes. When the files are unlocked.”

  “I see,” Adam said slowly. “It seems to me Joshua would be lots more use to you than I, sir, since he’s such a good friend of yours and he’s known Dr. O’Keefe so much longer.” Perhaps this was a dangerous gambit, but it seemed to go along with the rôle Adam was trying to play.

  Dr. Ball cleared his throat, went up two more stairs, paused. “Although our young friend Joshua is not a churchgoer, alas, I consider that he is still within my parish and therefore my responsibility spiritually. He is lost now, and so, despite my disapproval of his way of life—he is really no fit companion for you—I must never abandon him. I would really prefer it if you did not see him.” He hurried up the last few steps, walked down a short hall, knocked briskly at a door and opened it to reveal a small, almost bare room. At a desk sat a man with a sallow, intelligent face. An unshaded light bulb hung over the desk. It reminded Adam of the room in the airport in Madrid.

  Without making any introductions Dr. Ball closed the door on Adam and disappeared. Adam could hear his footsteps descending.

  The sallow man looked up. “Embuste.”

  “Adam Eddington,” Adam said, looking at the professor.

  Professor Embuste glared back, the corners of his mouth turned down in a bitter and unwelcoming expression. Adam was becoming accustomed to being examined, so he stood his ground.

  Professor Embuste did not ask him to sit down. Without moving in his chair he said, “The papers, please.”

  Adam handed them across the desk.

  “You will wait,” the professor said sourly, “while I look at them.”

  Adam stood, watching the professor go through the papers, eyes flicking quickly over the formulas. Those eyes, small, close-set, dark in themselves and darkly shadowed, seemed to Adam to be sharp, cruel, and frighteningly intelligent. Minutes moved and Adam did not dare check his watch. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. But Dr. O’Keefe had prepared the papers well, for Professor Embuste put them down on the desk, looked at Adam, and said, “Very well. You may go. You will receive further instructions at the Salâo da Chá.”

  Adam felt that he could not get out of this small trap of a room quickly enough. He opened the door and came face to face with Dr. Ball. If the rector had descended audibly, he had come back up the stairs in his stocking feet. Putting a finger to lips that were curved in a peculiar smile he led Adam to the front door, then took his hand in the too-strong grip. “My dear good lad, I am immeasurably relieved that all is well. You still wish to take the bus?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You remember the number?”

  “198.”

  “Bright boy. We will be in touch.” Adam’s hand was pumped, blessings were rained upon his unwilling head, and he fled down the street.

  At the bus stop a lonely young man waited. He wore heavy, horn-rimmed spectacles and carried a pile of books under his arm. He beamed at Adam and said in studied English, “A million pardons, but are you an American?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am a student at the University of Lisbon and am taking courses in the English language and the literature of England and America. It is always my deepest pleasure to talk to students from either of these great countries.” The light glinted against his spectacles so that Adam could not see his eyes.

  “I’d like to talk to you,” Adam said, trying to sound courteous, “but I’m in a terrible hurry. I’m off to meet a girl and the last time we met—well, we had a misunderstanding—so you see—” his voice trailed off.

  The bespectacled student waved his books gleefully. “A lover’s quarrel! How delightful! So of course I understand that you are not interested in my idle chatter.”

  Adam was spared a reply by the arrival of a bus, 198,—what luck, he thought gratefully. He smiled, waved courteously, jumped on and ran up the stairs to sit in one of the front seats on the upper deck, then looked down the street. The student was no longer at the bus stop, so presumably had boarded the bus, too, but he did not come upstairs. Adam alternately checked his watch and the map. It was already eleven-thirty, but with luck he would be able to manage a phone call to the Saô Juan Chrysostom Monastery. He felt a terrible need to be in touch with Canon Tallis. Something about Professor Embuste had frightened him, and although the false papers had for the moment been accepted, the boy knew that the Professor must now be going over them more carefully.

  He left the bus, the Temis papers seeming to burn in María’s pocket, bumped by several young people who pushed out ahead of him and stood clustered on the sidewalk. He knew the papers had not been touched but he still felt panic. The young people stood talking together animatedly and he was not sure whether or not he was imagining sidelong glances. Some of the glances came from girls, and to this he was moderately accustomed, but was the boy with his back turned the young man with glasses? Was Adam being watched as he walked quickly down the street?

  It was not yet twelve. He knew, from the map, where the restaurant was, but to walk there before calling would be cutting the time too close for comfort. He went into a small hotel and found a phone. It was not in a closed booth, but no one, as far as he could tell, had followed him in. He struggled with the phone book and managed with considerable difficulty to find the number for the Saô Juan Chrysostom Monastery. With the help of the phrase book he was able to give the operator the number, and after a good deal of clicking and clacking he heard a distant ring. Then came a rough voice, and Adam said, “Senhor Paroco, Padre Henriques, por favor.”

  There was a long pause, during which Adam felt that everyone in the hotel lobby was staring at him. This, he knew, was not likely, and he would not be alert to the people who might really be following him if he was suspicious of everybody else. A gentle voice, an old voice, sounded in his ear: “Padre Henriques.”

  “Adam Eddington,” Adam said. “Canon Tallis, por favor.”

  “Momento.”

  A shorter pause. Then the familiar, brusque voice. “Adam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Lobby of the Hotel Sâo Mamede.”

  “How much time do you have?”

  “Until one.”

  “Lunch with Kali then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you being followed?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I’m being too suspicious.”

  “I doubt it. Leave the hotel and turn right down Rua Sâo Mamede. Go into the coffee shop at number 28, over the oculist. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

  A wave of relief broke over Adam as he hung up. He found the coffee shop without trouble, climbing a steep flight of stairs to a long, narrow room filled with small tables. The table by the window was empty and he sat there, looking out over the enormous gold spectacles that signified the oculist’s office and shop below. Across the narrow street were more shops, a tobacconist, a music store, a shoe store. Down the street, which seemed purely commercial, he saw the u
biquitous laundry hanging out.

  He ordered coffee and tried to appear relaxed and casual, but he could not keep from looking out on the street. He did not know from which direction Canon Tallis would approach, so he would take a sip of coffee and look up the street, another sip and look down the street. He was looking down the street, leaning forward, thinking he saw the canon in the distance, when somebody sat down opposite him, and he turned, thinking he must have been mistaken, to be met by the beaming face of the student from the bus stop.

  “But what good fortune to come across you here!” the student cried. “Perhaps I can be of assistance to you. It would be my unutterable delight. Where is your—what do you call it—girl friend?”

  “I’m meeting her in a few minutes.” Words came quickly, almost without thought, to Adam’s lips. “The bus was faster than I’d expected and I don’t want to be too early. Bad for them to think you’re too eager, if you know what I mean.”

  The student giggled convulsively. “You Americans! You steal our girls right out from under our envious noses. We are all so poor that it is difficult for us on the surface to compete with you.”

  “And below the surface?”

  The student shrugged apologetically. “America is a rich country and life is easy for you. But the ability to love a woman and to please her to the ultimate fullest comes only through centuries of experience and suffering. I think that in the inner matters of the heart you have much to learn.” He beamed at Adam as though he had paid him a great compliment.

  A dark figure moved deliberately by Adam, and the Canon seated himself at the next table, so that Adam faced him and the student had his back to him. Adam felt a moment of frantic frustration. He had a wild impulse simply to take the Temis papers from María’s pocket and give them to the canon then and there. Canon Tallis looked at him, raising what, if he had had hair, would have been eyebrows.

  Adam stood up, saying rather loudly to the student, “Well, it was very pleasant meeting you. It’s time for me to go to my girl, now.” He could not resist adding, “And I assure you that I, too, have more charm than money.”