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in the alleys of Jerusalem is all I see.
The Patriarch smiled dreamily through his watery eyes.
Perhaps it's that way for you, my son, but no longer for me. This night, through His mercy, I have been
freed from my vice forever. Divine intervention was at work here. The Almighty's hand was upon me.
Too lofty for me, Father. But this is certainly a blustery March morning on the heights of the Holy City.
Sign of a new season, I suppose.
A new season for the soul, mused the Patriarch. My soul.
Cairo scratched himself. He seemed to have been growing increasingly restless during the conversation.
Curled up on his shoulder, as so often, was a furry white little creature apparently asleep, its head and tail
tucked away out of sight. A loud fart suddenly cracked against Cairo's chair when the Patriarch said my
soul. Cairo looked up and grinned.
You know what I think, Father? I think some people's souls must resemble monkeys. Yours, for
example. Ridiculous.
The startled Patriarch, in his new state of grace, recovered from the insult almost immediately. He smiled
benignly in answer and made the sign of the cross over Cairo's head.
No thanks, Father. And speaking of monkeys, I own one. He helps remind me what people are up to
when they're sounding high-minded. Bongo, say hello to this pious crooked freak who calls himself a
patriarch.
Upon hearing its name the ball of white fluff on Cairo's shoulder erupted. Instantly the little albino monkey
leapt to its feet, its bright aquamarine genitals thrust forward, and began masturbating itself vigorously
with one fist and then the other, alternating hands every few seconds to maintain speed, not missing a
single furious stroke.
The Patriarch reared back in horror. Munk laughed. Joe took the Patriarch by the arm and quickly
steered him toward the door.
May God have mercy on that man, murmured the Patriarch.
Never mind, Father, said Joe, you can never tell what sort of horrid elements are going to turn up at a
poker game. You're best out of it and that's for sure. There are people who've missed the path, that's all,
I mean hopeless cases. A crazed Arab with a white monkey on his back? Obviously he's got troubles,
both of them have, or they wouldn't be carrying on like that. Forget about it, I say, you can't save them
all. Some have to drop by the wayside and that's the truth. Lost cases, hopeless. There are a lot of
wrecks like that around here, especially here, Jerusalem seems to attract wrecks. They're looking for the
cure of course, deathly ill in their heads and in need of a fast miracle in the Holy City. Depraved, that's all,
better to forget it. Back in Aleppo things will be different, better, looking up. Sure.
Joe eased the Patriarch out into the alley and came back and collapsed in a chair. The little albino
monkey had curled up again on Cairo's shoulder.
A disgraceful deception, said Munk, smiling. His merciful hand? As I recall I saw the Almighty's hand
hoisting a glass of illegal Irish spirits only a minute ago.
By God and not a bit of it, where's your heart for grace this morning? Are you of the same opinion,
Cairo?
It took three hours longer than it should have, muttered Cairo. He should have been out of here before
dawn with those other scoundrels.
Well of course, said Joe, I know that and I'm sorry. But that large sneaky article with his watery eyes just
refused to see the light before dawn. Staying on here like he did, still hoping his luck was going to go up
or down while your local bogman was dumping contrary evidence all over the table. Well he came
around in the end, but Christ it's hard maintaining that kind of balancing act.
How much was the difference? asked Munk, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
His money you mean? Twenty hours from arrival to departure and he left two shillings ahead. But that's
what he paid for mineral water, so your man came out exactly on the line. Not a ha'penny above or
below.
Marvelous, Joe.
But was it worth those three extra hours? asked Cairo, also yawning.
My God it seems to me it was. Seems to me that any bloody Church situated in a thieves' den like
Aleppo, and finding itself both Syrian and Greek in the bargain, needs all the honest help it can get, and
especially at the top which is where we started. Seems to me the devious machinations going on in such
an enterprise must be staggering. Syrian tricks and Greek tricks and God as a front for the two of them?
Frightening, I say. Perversity itself and just crying out for reform at the top.
Cairo smiled. Munk laughed. As they slouched in their chairs, too weary to rouse themselves to leave, an
eerie baying sound, soft and distant, suddenly swelled and filled the room.
What was that? asked Munk.
Of course it was the wind outside, said Joe quickly, sitting up and whistling. Hear it? Just the wind
outside but with the twists and turns of the alleys throwing it off-center.
It didn't seem to come from outside, said Munk. I swear it sounded as if it were in here.
From the corner, added Cairo.
Yes I thought so too, said Munk. The corner where the safe is.
The safe? asked Cairo.
I swear it.
Inside the safe, Munk?
It sounded that way to me.
Here here, said Joe. I do believe we're all so exhausted we're hearing noises in our heads. Next thing that
giant stone scarab is going to start talking to us from the other corner. Could it be so? Let's tip an ear in
that direction.
Joe cupped his hand over his mouth and a rasping voice rose from the corner where the huge squat
scarab watched them with a sly smile carved on its face.
Ah ha, doomed mortals. Did you really believe you could learn the scarab's secret? Never, I say.
It's locked here in my black heart for all time, still as stone in the smiling scarab of eternity.
The voice trailed off in cackling laughter. Munk and Cairo groaned. Joe nodded thoughtfully.
Well what do you make of that? Quite plainly we're all in need of some rest after a long thing night at the
gaming table. Now I was the one who kept you here so it's only right I do the cleaning up while you both
go home to the comfy rest you're deserving. No that's fine, no objections, I know my duty when I see it.
Here we go, my Munk. Give us a hand there, Cairo lad. My God but the two of you are dreadfully heavy
when not in motion.
Joe got them both to their feet and pushed them out into the alley. He stood there smiling and waving as
they walked away, but the moment they turned the corner he slipped back inside and closed the door.
He dropped into a chair and put his feet up on the table, muttering to himself.
By Christ, that was too close by far. Another minute and the great skin would have surfaced and we'd
have been for it, the secret of the caverns done and finished and no return.
He sat up. The handle on the tall antique Turkish safe was turning. Hinges creaked. The door opened and
Haj Harun stepped out into the room carrying a pile of neatly folded laundry, his ram's horn under his
arm.
Oh hello, Prester John. I thought you'd be home in bed by now.
Thought so too but I got carried away last night, divinely intervening with a merciful hand and so forth.
Is something the matter? You look upset. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]