“I hope you do. If not right now, then later.”
He knew that she meant when he next saw Purcell. When the three of them sat together having a drink, the score was even, even if Purcell did not know that. But Henry Mercado did.
And actually he did feel better already. The anger wasn’t there any longer, or if it was, it was not helpless anger. But what remained was a sense of loss. He wanted to be with her.
He said to her, “At least tell me you enjoyed it.”
“I always did.”
“Encore?”
She glanced at the clock. “I’d better get moving.”
“Rain check?”
“No. This will not happen again.” She sat up and started to swing her legs out of the bed, but he put his hand on the back of her head and gently pulled her toward him.
She hesitated, then let him bring her head and face down on his wet penis, which she took into her mouth.
She knelt between his legs and her long, raven black hair fell across his thighs as her head bobbed up and down.
He came and his body arched up, and she stayed with him until there was nothing left inside him.
Vivian sat back on her haunches, and he looked at her, his semen running down her chin. Their eyes met and she smiled, then pulled off her shamma and stood on the bed. She turned completely around for him, and he watched her but said nothing.
Vivian jumped off the bed, wiped her face with a tissue, slipped on her shamma, and moved toward the door. “Thank you for coffee.”
“Anytime.”
She left, and he stared up at the rotating fan. “I love you.”
Chapter 35
Purcell took a taxi from the airstrip to the hotel and called Mercado in his room to meet him for coffee. The two men sat in the Hilton cocktail lounge, which doubled as the breakfast room.
Mercado had hoped Vivian would be there so he could have that post-coital moment that she suggested would make him feel better. It wasn’t the same, somehow, with only the two cuckolded men having coffee. He asked, “Where is Vivian?”
“I called both rooms, but she’s not answering.”
Mercado wanted to say, “Well, she’s not still in my room.” Instead he said, “Probably napping. She was up early.” He suggested, “Try her again.”
“She’ll be down.”
A waiter came by with breakfast menus and Mercado said, “Every time I eat, I think about the famine.”
“Order light.”
“That’s very insensitive, Frank.” He added, “You wouldn’t say that if Vivian was here.”
Purcell looked up from his menu, but didn’t respond.
Purcell ordered a full breakfast, saying, “Flying makes me hungry.”
Mercado ordered orange juice and a cornetto with his coffee. He asked Purcell, “How did it fly?”
“Not very agile. But it seems safe enough.” He asked, “How did it look to you?”
“Well, I can’t tell, of course, but you seem to know what you’re doing.”
“What did Vivian think?”
“She was excited when you did your flyby.” He added, “You saw her.”
“I did.”
“Yes. And we could see you in the cockpit.”
“And how did I look, Henry?”
“Sorry?”
“Did I look happily surprised to see Vivian on your bedroom balcony?”
Mercado did not answer the question, but said, “Hold on, old man. We had coffee, waiting to see you. I hope you don’t take that as anything other than what it was.”
Purcell stared at him, but didn’t reply.
Mercado was not enjoying this moment as much as he’d thought he would. It would have been much better if Vivian and Purcell had already had a tiff about this, followed by Purcell being sulky at cocktails or dinner.
Mercado didn’t want to protest too much, but he said, “We’re all civilized, old man.” He reminded Purcell, “We’re going to be in close quarters when we get into the bush.” He immediately regretted his choice of words. Get into the bush. Freudian slip? He suppressed a smile.
“All right.” Purcell let him know, “It’s nothing.”
Nothing? Mercado wanted to tell him, “I fucked her, actually,” but that would wreck the whole deal. So instead, he said, “She’s very attached to you, Frank.”
“End of discussion.”
“In fact, you should have this discussion with her.”
Purcell didn’t respond, but he was getting annoyed with Mercado. The subject of Vivian was not a happy one between them, and Mercado’s familiarity would have earned him at least a punch in the gut, as he’d told him in Rome. But Purcell didn’t want to upset the mission. Also, he liked Henry.
Mercado said to him, “I’m not sure, but I think you were flying too slow as you passed by.”
“Let me pilot the aircraft, Henry.”
“I’m thinking about me, old man. Your passenger. And Vivian.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Purcell informed him, “If it makes you feel better, Signore Bocaccio was impressed with my flying skills.”
“Good. But will he let you fly it again?”
“He’s thinking about it.”
“We need that plane.” Mercado asked, “And how is Signore Bocaccio? Is he trying to pretend that the Marxists haven’t taken charge and that his privileged life will continue as usual?”
“No, I think he gets that it’s over.”
“He sounds more realistic than many of my colonial compatriots around the world.”
“Right.”
“The old world order is finished.”
“Indeed it is.” Purcell informed Mercado, “Signore Bocaccio wants to know if our newspaper wants to buy Mia.”
“Who?”
“The airplane. Mia.”
“Oh… I don’t think so.”
“Please ask.” He explained, “Signore Bocaccio wants to get out.”
“He should. And you should tell him we’re considering buying his aircraft so he will let us continue renting it.”
“I may have led him to believe that.”
“You are devious, Frank.”
“Me? You just told me to con him.”
Their breakfast came and Purcell said, “On the taxi ride to the airstrip, I saw children with distended stomachs.”
Mercado stayed quiet a moment, then said, “Sometimes I weep for this land.”
“If you’d seen what I saw in Cambo, you’d weep for that land, too.” He looked at Mercado. “We could weep for the whole world, Henry, but that won’t change the world.”
Mercado nodded. “When you get to be my age, Frank, you start to wonder… what the hell has gone wrong?”
“It’s all gone wrong.”
“It has. But then you see… well, Father Armano. And these UN relief people. And all the aid volunteers and missionaries who come to places like this to do good. To help their fellow human beings.”
“That is a hopeful thing.”
“For every Getachu, there is a decent human being trying to soften the world’s suffering.”
“I hope so.” Purcell asked, “When will the good guys win?”
“When the last battle is fought between the forces of good and evil. When Christ and the Antichrist meet at Armageddon.”
“Sounds like a hell of a story. I hope I get to cover it.”
“We cover it every day, Frank.”
Purcell nodded.
Purcell wasn’t as hungry as he’d thought, and he drank his coffee and lit a cigarette.
Mercado was looking up at the stained glass and said, “It doesn’t actually show Solomon and Sheba in the act.”
“You have to use your imagination.”
“I think that scene would bring in the customers.”
“Or the police.” Purcell asked, “Have you heard anything about Mr. Selassie, as he is now called?”
“I have heard a rumor that they are gently grilling him about his assets here and a
broad, and that he’s giving them a little at a time in exchange for the lives of some of his family.”
“And what happens when he’s given them everything?”
He informed Purcell, “They’ve smothered a few old royals with pillows and announced a natural death. That will be his fate. Or something similar.”
Purcell nodded. He asked, “Do you think the emperor knows the location of the black monastery?”
“That is a good question. The royal court used to travel throughout the kingdom to dispense justice, give pardons, give money to churches, and so forth. They would always visit the Ark of the Covenant at Axum. So it is possible that the emperor has visited the black monastery, but my instincts say he has not. And even if he had, he could not give his captors the grid coordinates.”
“Right. I’m sure he wasn’t driving the tour bus.”
“More likely the Grail was brought to him at some location away from the monastery.”
“Like the village of Shoan.”
“Possible.” Mercado informed him, “The royal court has been shrouded in secrecy for three thousand years. They make the emperor of Japan’s court seem like an open house party.”
“And the Vatican makes every other closed institution look like a public information office.”
“Your anti-papist views are annoying, Frank.” He reminded him, “You work for the Vatican newspaper.”
“God help me.”
“In any case, the imperial court of Ethiopia is no more.”
“Unless Gann gets his way.”
“That will not happen. There is no going back.”
“I think you’re right, Henry. And on that subject, where is Sir Edmund?”
“I’m beginning to wonder myself.”
“He said he’d arrive on the twenty-fourth, which was yesterday. But we were to wait four days before we gave up on him.”
“Then we will wait. But if he doesn’t show, we will press on. Without him.”
“We need those maps.”
“We have an aircraft.”
“Aerial recon is not a substitute for terrain maps. One complements the other. Also, Colonel Gann has skills we don’t have.”
“I believe we can do this without him. But I can’t do this without you and Vivian.”
Purcell looked at Mercado and asked, “Why are we actually doing this? Tell me again.”
“My reasons, like yours, Frank, change every day. There are days I think of my immortal soul, and other days I think how nice it would be to become rich and famous on a world Grail tour. The only thing I’m sure of is that we—all three of us—were chosen to do this, and I believe we will not know why until we are in the presence of the Holy Grail and the Holy Spirit.”
Purcell nodded. “All right. If Gann doesn’t show up, I’m still in. I’ll ask Vivian.”
“You don’t have to ask.” Mercado looked toward the lobby. “But if you’d like to, here she is.”
Vivian came into the room carrying a tote bag and wearing khaki trousers, a shapeless pullover, and walking shoes. She spotted them and came toward the table, smiling.
Mercado rose, smiled at her, and pulled out a chair.
Vivian gave them both a peck on the cheek, then sat and said, “I thought I might find you both in the bar as usual.”
Mercado replied, “It is now the breakfast room. But I can get you a Bloody Mary.”
“No thank you.” She asked, “What have you two been talking about?”
Purcell replied, “Aerial recon.”
She took his hand. “Frank, you were absolutely magnificent. What other skills do you have that you haven’t told us about?”
“I can tie a bow tie.”
She laughed, then took Purcell’s toast. “I’m famished.”
Mercado said to her, “I was telling Frank that we were impressed with his flyby.”
Vivian glanced at Purcell, who was trying to get a waiter’s attention, then she looked at Mercado and their eyes met. He smiled. She gave him a look of mock annoyance.
The waiter came and Vivian ordered tea and fruit, then ate one of Purcell’s sausages. Mercado told her, “We were feeling guilty about the famine.”
“Did you cause it, Henry?”
“I’m having only a cornetto.”
“Well, you should keep up your strength. You’re going to need it.”
“Excellent point.” Mercado was not getting the full satisfaction from this moment, so he suggested, “Perhaps we should clear the air about this morning.”
Vivian responded a second too late. “What do you mean?”
“Frank was wondering why we were having coffee together on my balcony.”
She looked at Purcell. “What were you wondering about?”
“I think Henry misconstrued my question.”
She looked back at Mercado, who said to Purcell, “Sorry, old man. I thought you were showing a bit of jealousy.”
Purcell looked at him and said, “I was actually wondering how you got your old ass out of bed so early.”
“I set my alarm to see you, Frank. And then I thought, What if Vivian oversleeps? So I rang her up and asked her to join me for coffee while you buzzed by.” He joked, “If you hadn’t seen either of us, then perhaps you should have wondered where we were.”
Purcell was not amused, and Vivian kicked Mercado under the table and said, “Can we change the subject?” She asked, “Have we heard from Sir Edmund?”
Mercado replied, “We have not.”
“Should we be worried?”
“Frank thinks not.”
“Can we do this without him?”
“Again, Frank thinks not.” Mercado added, “The maps.”
Vivian reached into her bag, withdrew a thick manila envelope, and put it on the table. “This was at the front desk.”
Purcell saw that it had been hand-delivered, addressed to “Mercado, Purcell, Smith, L’Osservatore Romano, Hilton Hotel.” There was no sender information.
Vivian asked, “Shall I open it?”
Purcell glanced around the room. “Okay.”
Vivian used a knife to cut through the heavily taped flap, then peeked inside. “M-A-P-S.”
Purcell said, “See if there’s a note.”
She slid her hand in the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. She read, “I am in Addis. Will contact you. Good flying, Mr. Purcell.” Vivian told them, “It is unsigned.”
Mercado said, “Thank God he’s here and safe.”
Purcell pointed out, “Being here is not being safe.”
“Well, in any case, we have the maps, and if he does not contact us, we three can continue on.”
Vivian asked Purcell, “How did he know you were flying?”
“I suppose we’re being watched by the Royalist underground.”
Vivian said, “This is exciting.”
Purcell assured her, “It gets more exciting when the security police knock on your door.”
They finished their breakfast and Purcell said he’d call Signore Bocaccio to see if they could get the airplane for seven the next morning. He advised Mercado, “We don’t need you on board, but another set of eyes would be good.”
Mercado hesitated, then replied, “I wouldn’t miss the experience, Frank.”
“Good.”
Mercado said he was going to the Imperial to check telexes and catch up on rumors and gossip. He added, “I will also write a story on the famine.” He told Purcell, “I saw that story you filed about the Catholic refugees, saying that the Provisional government was not helping them.”
“Hope you enjoyed it.”
“Was any of it based on fact?”
“I’m taking a page from your notebook, Henry, and being creative.”
Mercado did not reply to that, but said, “It is true that newspapers are a rough draft of history. But not a rough draft of historical fiction.”
Purcell was getting annoyed. “Looking forward to your factual coverage of the famine.”
“That is not what is happening. They are buying guns.”
“My point, Frank, has nothing to do with truth or fiction—it has to do with not writing anything that will get us expelled from the country. Or arrested.”
“I think I know that, Henry.”
“Good. We can tell the truth when we get out of here.”
“When you’re in Ethiopia, it’s if, not when.”
“Meanwhile, I’ve told the paper to hold your story.”
Vivian, who had stayed quiet during this exchange, said, “When we get out of here, we will have a much bigger story to tell.” She said to Mercado, “We have agreed to work together, Henry, and to be friends and colleagues, and to forget the past.” She looked at him. “Didn’t we?”
He smiled. “We did.” He wished them a good day and left.
Vivian stayed quiet a moment, then said to Purcell, “I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“You know.”
“Look, Vivian, I know you’re still fond of him, and that’s all right.” He recalled what Mercado said and reminded her, “We’re going to be in close quarters when we get out of Addis, so we all need to put aside the… jealousies.”
She smiled and asked, “So can we all bathe together in the nude?”
“No.”
“See? You are jealous.”
“What do you want to do today?”
“I want to take pictures of everything I lost when I was in jail and those bastards ransacked my room.”
“Sounds good.”
“I need to get my camera.” She stood and said, “Will you come upstairs with me, Mr. Purcell? I want to show you my new F-1.”
He smiled and stood. “Remember that we work for the Vatican, Miss Smith.”
“I will shout, ‘Oh, God!’ at the appropriate moment.”
He picked up the envelope and they went to her room.
As he was getting undressed, he noticed the white shamma she had been wearing, draped over a chair. He also noticed the hotel bathrobe lying on her bed. It was a very cool morning and he thought she should have worn that on Henry’s balcony.
Chapter 36
The small Fiat taxi climbed the fog-shrouded hills with Purcell and Vivian in the rear and Mercado in front with the driver.
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