LAURA PRODUCED THE LIST of interreligious organisations based in Paris she had copied from the Irish Cultural Centre's records. O’Connelly was surprised at the number and their diversity; there was also a brief profile of each organisation. Together they proceeded by eliminating Buddhists, Taoists and all those not present in the Holy Land then drew up a short-list of organisations with Jewish and Muslim links since it was their Holy Sites – and in particular the Temple Mount – which lay at the heart of the politico-ideological dispute between the two religions.
Laura pointed to a name on page 4, ‘This one looks interesting. I checked it on the web this afternoon, it seems that their main vocation is peace. They believe peace between the Muslims and the Jews will resolve most of the problems.’
‘Good for them.’
‘They also have also have a publishing activity, nothing exciting, collected interviews, fairly low key books, plus brochures and pamphlets...they have a nice Internet site.’
‘Do you think they’d be interested in the Temple work?’
She shrugged.
‘Do you know these people?’
‘I spoke with their communications and editorial man.’
‘And...’
‘He’s not the decider, the key person is Alfred Mann, the founder.’
‘He’s Jewish?’
‘No, Swiss.’
‘It’s some kind of an association?’
‘To be exact it’s a Swiss trust.’
‘A trust, then they’ve got money?’
Laura laughed: ‘No, it’s not the Rothschild Foundation, even though it is a charitable trust it’s not rich – a long, long, way from it.’
‘They have an office in Paris?’
‘Yes, a small office near Bastille.’
‘How does it work then?’
‘It’s a non-profit making organisation dedicated to public good, they collect donations from the general public, businesses, the state, the European Union and foreign governments, but mainly from other trusts including the Rosenstein Trust.’
‘This Alfred Mann?’
‘He’s a charismatic do gooder.’
‘What’s his exact role?’
‘He’s one of the founders, I think there are two, I’m not sure.’
‘What’s it called?’
‘The Abraham Heritage Trust.’
‘It sounds Jewish.’
‘Silly, the sons of Abraham are the Jews and the Arabs…look here’s their telephone number.’
‘Let’s call them.’
O’Connelly dialled the number on his mobile, waited for a few seconds, then asked for Alfred Mann.
‘I’ll see if he’s here, who wants to speak with him?’
‘I’m Patrick O’Connelly of Independent Press Associates.’
Mann was in Paris, O’Connelly’s press card always did the trick, he had held on to it, it was worth its weight in gold, a real open sesame.
O’Connelly introduced himself to Alfred Mann who at once agreed to a meeting – like any good communicator would have – it paid to have good relations with the press. Mann proposed they meet at the George V, where he was attending a conference, the next day at eleven.
The next morning the concierge at the George V discretely pointed out Alfred Mann who was already waiting for O’Connelly in the lobby. He presented himself to Mann, who at first view seemed a fairly ordinary looking individual, simply dressed, of average height, silver hair and a close cut beard of the same colour. However, once Mann spoke he radiated a silent force that O’Connelly immediately sensed and could not help thinking he had a Christ like aura. When Mann smiled it was evident he inspired his followers, he was in fact far from ordinary, even noble looking with a regular sincere face, white well formed even teeth, he looked like a man who could be believed and followed.
Alfred Mann’s manner was above all sincere; he radiated charisma, though casual detractors could have said he was a bleeding heart. He had commenced his career with the Red Cross and then working with other NGOs, he organized aid for war zones and lands struck by natural disaster, revolution, famine and drought. As often happens one of the successful NGOs he headed got caught in a quagmire of politic wrangling, jealousy and accusations, and he was forced to resign. Wiser he sought another path and after crossing his own wilderness he founded a Trust based in his home town of Wintertur nearby Zurich. Gathering a tight team of loyal followers, he focused the trust’s attentions on the Middle East conflict and more specifically that which had embroiled Palestine and Israel for decades, seeking an alternative route to peace based mutual comprehension and acceptance of the other.
They found a quiet corner in the bar of the luxurious Parisian hotel, there were very few people at that time of the day, it was too early for lunch and too late for breakfast. O’Connelly talked of de Lussac, presenting him to Mann as some kind of discovery, he was convincing, it came as second nature to a successful writer and a former foreign press correspondence. He then hinted to Mann he had signed the foreign publishing rights – for an English language edition – offering him the exclusivity of the French language version, though he not hide the fact the de Lussac’s work needed substantial rewriting in order to reach a non-specialist public. He convinced Mann of his own sincerity and his own readiness to finance the translation
After listening to O’Connelly for just a few minutes, Alfred Mann nodded in tacit agreement; the Trust was definitely interested in publishing the book. He seemed to have seized the historical value of de Lussac’s work, instinctively sensing the impact it could have on the different religious communities present in Jerusalem.
That same evening O’Connelly called de Lussac and invited him to lunch the next day in a small traditional French restaurant at the upper end of rue Montbelliard.
De Lussac was not any better dressed when he met O’Connelly at the street entrance to his apartment building, he wore a faded purple pullover, shapeless trousers and a pair of old loafers. The weather was warm and they opted for a pavement table at the restaurant. O’Connelly proposed an aperitif that was politely refused, de Lussac was obviously an aesthete who by choice lived frugally, it was understandable he had spent his life exploring ancient ruins across the globe where camp life was spartan and evenings spent writing arcane reports under the dim flickering light of acetylene lamps.
‘So Isaac, I have some good news, I think I have found a publisher for your work.’
De Lussac's face broke into a broad smile, mixed between joy and triumph, his eyes shone behind his smudged glasses, the frames of which were badly in need of repair.
‘That’s wonderful news,’ he said suddenly standing up, almost knocking over the table, and holding out his hand.
O’Connelly, a little surprised by the reaction, barely had time to push his chair back and grab the table, before grasping De Lussac’s outstretched hand.
‘There’s a few details we have to agree on,’ O’Connelly said.
De Lussac’s face clouded.
‘There’s no problem, let me explain,’ he said realising that de Lussac would agree to almost anything, his motivations were founded purely on a burning desire to be recognised for his years of labour.
‘As you know I’m in the publishing business...journalism, not to mention my own successful books. What I’m proposing is the following; I will invest in your work, represent you, and finance the translation of your work into English.’
O’Connelly paused to measure de Lussac’s reaction, he saw his eyes glow. It was almost as if he had seen the resurrection of the Christ, he thought before recalling the man was a Jew.
‘I have prepared an agreement,’ he said, taking several sets of paper from an envelope, he handed one to de Lussac. ‘Here, this is a simple agreement. First we shall publish an abbreviated version in French...with a complete version later in a second phase.’
De Lussac nodded and O’Connelly made a sign to the waiter to bring a bottle of rosé, but to hold off a while on the menu.
De Lussac scanned the papers, perhaps he was a good archaeologist, but he was a poor businessman, not realizing his work could not go far as it stood.
‘Listen Pat,’ de Lussac said obviously feeling more at ease. ‘I know very little about publishing, but I have total faith in Laura’s judgement, where do I sign?’
O’Connelly was surprised; he had expected more resistance and the need for more convincing. He pointed to the bottom of the sheet and offered his ballpoint; he then added his own signature and repeated the process for the copies.
The waiter opened the wine and stood by as O’Connelly went through the ritual of tasting it, then turned to fill de Lussac’s glass, who had hesitatingly placed his hand over it, the smilingly accepted.
‘Just this once – to celebrate. Here’s to our cooperation,’ he said beaming with satisfaction.
‘To success,’ O’Connelly said downing his wine and picking up the menu: ‘Let’s order.’
He handed de Lussac his copy of the agreement and slipped his own into the envelope.
‘When do we start?’
‘Now, today.’
‘Wonderful, after lunch I’ll give you the discs with the full manuscript plus the maps and diagrams that go with it.’
O’Connelly left de Lussac's apartment with two CDs containing the entire manuscript of the Temple and a heavy bound paper copy. Before taking the Metro he called Laura to meet him at his apartment as soon as she could get away from the Centre.
Late that afternoon, seated on the terrace under a parasol, O’Connelly flipped through the manuscript whilst Laura checked the disc on her laptop. The terrace, facing directly south ran along three sides of the penthouse apartment, was comfortably wide, three and a half metres, fitted with teak flooring and garden furniture, surrounded by flowering plants and the potted olive trees and palms, it had cost him a small fortune to design and furnish, and it included an automatic sprinkler system to ensure the survival of the plants during his often long absences.
It was worth it, the apartment building had been built in the late twenties and stood on quai des Celestines with an uninterrupted view from the sixth floor penthouse apartment that overlooked the Seine and Saint Louis en Ile, to the left were the towers of Notre Dame and in the distance the Eiffel Tower. With the relative silence it offered it was an ideal place to relax and work. He had bought the apartment from his predecessor at The New York Times was retiring and planned to return to the USA, unluckily for him it was just when the bottom had fallen out of the property market some fifteen years earlier, and desperate to sell he unloaded it to O’Connelly for a bargain price. The apartment had required substantial work and it was not until his books had become best sellers did he have the means to invest in its modernisation.
‘He’s leaving for Cambodia on Saturday,’ he told Laura.
‘Who?’
‘De Lussac.’
‘What!’
‘Yes, he’s taking off.’
‘He didn’t mention that to me,’ he said surprised at the sudden news.
‘That’s funny.’
‘Isn’t that a problem for us?’
‘No,’ she said not too convincingly, ‘not really.’
‘Why Cambodia?’
‘A dig he said, a temple site or something like that.’
‘Another temple! For how long?’
‘Six months he wasn’t sure.’
‘And the book?’
He slid the agreement across the table to her.
‘Fantastic!’
‘Yes, all we’ve got to do is get it published, translated it into English and write a novel.’
Laura laughed: ‘So you’ll be busy.’
‘By the way did you dig up anything on Alfred Mann, where he gets his money from?’
‘They get their money mostly from Jewish foundations, including the Rosenstein Foundation, the Arab Emirates, the European Union and various other sources. They organised a conference earlier this year in Zurich, an interreligious peace congress, Jews and Muslims.’
‘ Jews and Muslims?’
‘A congress for peace between Jews and Muslims.’
‘Good luck to them! At least it will keep them busy for a long time.’
‘Don’t be so cynical.’
‘So can they keep their promise?’
‘For peace?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he said laughing, ‘publishing de Lussac’s book!’
‘Why not.’
‘Okay then, I’d better start working on an outline for Angela.’
‘Great Pat.’
‘By the way thanks, it was you who came up with the idea, de Lussac has a total confidence in you, what did you do to him?’
‘I just promised I’d help him, he seemed sincere.’
‘Yeah, like your stray dogs.’
She frowned.
‘Sorry, let’s go out and eat something.’
‘Fine, the translation, I can look after that if you pay me enough.’
‘I’ll pay you in kind.’
She whacked him with de Lussac’s manuscript, picked up her bag and headed for the door with O’Connelly on her heels. They ordered a beef bulgoki in a small Korean restaurant a few doors along the boulevard, then turned to discussing a story line for the book.
‘Have you been to Israel?’
‘Yes, following up the peace process, when they tried to get Camp David back on the rails, you know new investments, rebuilding Gaza, when things were more optimistic, that was some time before the Second Intifada.’
‘Did you visit Jerusalem.’
‘Yes, you know the usual kind of tourist visits, the Wailing Wall, the Holy Sepulchre’
‘And the Esplanade?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps you should go back, get some inspiration?’
‘Why?’
‘You know, get a feeling for the place, the atmosphere.’
‘You've got itchy feet?’
‘Me!’
‘Why not,’ he said warming to the idea of a few days with Laura away from Paris.
‘I don’t know if I can get off.’
‘Tell Mary Collins your old Jewish grandmother is dying.’
‘You’ll burn in hell O’Connelly.’
‘That’s possible if I don’t come up with a story, de Lussac’s Temple is the stage and backcloth, I have find to find the actors and the plot.’
‘The Holy Land is full of stories, war, religion, history...just use your imagination.’
‘If you like,’ he said ordering another Korean beer.
‘Look you said the de Lussac’s Temple site wouldn’t settle anything, why not start by investigating his theory.’
‘Good idea. By the way I don’t know very much about de Lussac.’
‘To be honest me neither.’
‘He said he was a Jew, Isaac sounds Jewish enough.’
‘De Lussac doesn’t sound very Kosher.’
‘If you ask me he looks like a Jesuit.’
‘He mentioned he lived for many years in Israel and speaks Hebrew.’
‘Perhaps it wouldn’t do any hard to find out a little more about him.’
O’Connelly spent the next three days in front of his portable computer writing and rewriting an outline. Finally he felt satisfied with its fluidity and mailed it to Angela, then made himself a sandwich, took a cold beer and Le Monde and feeling very pleased with himself settled down under a parasol to ponder over the next moves.
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Hertzfeld
The Legacy of Solomon Page 10