The Book of Levi (11 page)

*

Later that afternoon Leslie knocked on Elizabeth’s door.

‘Come in!’ she shouted back.

‘I thought you’d let me know when you got back,’ asked Leslie as he entered.

‘Do I have to tell you every time I get back?’

‘Well, no,’ replied Leslie with a stifled and embarrassed laugh.

‘What can I do for you, consul?’

‘I just wanted to make sure that you were alright and to find out what’s happening with the transference unit.’

‘Well, as you can see I’m fine and as for the unit, as I told you, it’s off-limits to everyone for a while, until I decide what to do with it.’

‘I’ve been thinking, perhaps we could test it on animals? We don’t have to try it on higher order animals. What about rats? They’re smart already. Let’s catch some and . . .’

‘Consul, I’m very busy. So, unless you have something else to discuss, I’ll see you at tomorrow night’s dinner.’

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘Good day,’ she said abruptly and she cast her eyes back down towards her paperwork.

Leslie was speechless. What had happened? Why was Elizabeth being so curt with him?

Later that evening, over dinner in a restaurant, he asked Damien the same question.

‘Don’t ask me, mate,’ Damien replied after downing a rough glass of ale. ‘All I know is that she hasn’t noticed me for yonks. I thought I had a show there for a while but I think I’m out of the running. Business only.’ And he downed some more ale.

‘She’s never been like that to me before,’ Leslie mused. ‘I don’t like this Levi bloke.’

‘Never trust a librarian,’ replied Damien. ‘He’s been cooped up in there for years. What do you expect? He’s a weirdo.’

‘Yeah, well he’s a weirdo who’s getting into the ear of the president. That’s what worries me.’

‘Touch of the Rasputins,’ replied Damien with a rugged smile.

‘I’m not joking. And where’s the rest of the book he promised me?’

‘You’ll get it. Don’t panic,’ said Damien, patting Leslie hard on the back as if he meant to burp him or dislodge some object in his throat. He smiled broadly, ‘On a brighter note, mini-scooter production is underway. How are our friends overseas?’

‘That’s another thing,’ replied Leslie pensively. ‘What about that? Elizabeth’s taken over that too. I went back to my radio room after I talked with her today and the locks have been changed. I called her and asked her about it and she told me that it was all under control, but she didn’t give me any specifics. Damien, I think she’s cutting us out of the loop.’

‘Don’t get paranoid. She is the president.’

‘Am I? Am I being paranoid? Perhaps. But as far as I can see, we keep settin’ ‘em up and she keeps carrying ‘em off. What’s she up to?’

Damien sat forward and placed his hand kindly on Leslie’s shoulder, he repeated emphatically, ‘You’re being paranoid. Everything’ll be okay.’

Leslie appeared far from convinced.

‘It’ll be fine,’ iterated Damien. ‘This is how things are done in Corporate City. Trust me. I’ve been dealing with these people for a long time. Elizabeth’s part of a family that’s been running this town, one way or another, for almost a hundred years. These politicians are a weird mob. She’ll come good. Just don’t worry about it.’

‘But I thought she liked me,’ replied Leslie with a forlorn moue and in a tone that was either endearing or pathetic, depending upon your bias.

Damien found it endearing. He laughed. ‘She does, mate. She does. Look what you’ve already done for this city.’

‘No. I mean liked me. You know as in . . .’

‘Oh. I see,’ nodded Damien in recognition. ‘Well, we both thought that, I suppose.’ He sat back into his chair. ‘But it’s probably best to separate business from pleasure. Although, she is an absolute spunk.’

Leslie, who was drinking at the time, gagged on his drink in a small gust of laughter, spilling some in the process. ‘Where the hell did you hear that expression?’ he asked as he mopped some beer from his chin.

‘My old man used to say it,’ Damien replied with a friendly wink. He sat forward in earnest. ‘Listen, don’t worry yourself. Just do your job, just like you are now and we’ll let the president steer the ship. I don’t know why you’re worried. She’s doing all the tough day-to-day stuff.’

‘Whatever happened to you and I being visionaries?’

‘We are, mate, we are. Listen, you and me are already revolutionising the transport industry. And that’s just the beginning. Solar energy; wind energy – all your good ideas’ll come to fruition. Give it time.’

‘Yeah, but that book?’

‘Mate, with the amount of stuff you’ve got in that grey matter of yours,’ he rapped his knuckles lightly on Leslie’s cranium, ‘what the hell do you need a book for? Now come on. I’ll buy you another beer.’

But as Damien called the waiter, Leslie was deeply concerned. He had set up a console that would be the realisation of Colin Dunnett’s dream. If he had been successful in following the instructions given, and he believed he had, then transference of intelligence from individual to individual would be a reality. But he couldn’t follow up. He couldn’t test the machine. Elizabeth had temporarily banished him. Why was she so changed? And so suddenly? Why was there still no sign of the elusive book? And what was that bloody Sebastian Levi up to?

*

There were more riots in the southern part of the city later that month. Twenty people were detained by police.

Leslie and Damien worked together on various projects over the next month. It had been nearly a fortnight since Leslie had seen Elizabeth and several weeks since he had seen Nicholas. So he decided to pay his fellow consul a visit.

‘Hello, sir,’ said Edgar politely as he opened the door. ‘Please come in?’

‘Thanks,’ replied Leslie.

He handed his raincoat to the young man. He was struck by his height but also by his gauntness.

‘Lost some weight?’ he asked as he watched the spindly frame of the teenager hang up his raincoat, wet yet again by the late July rain.

‘I’ve hardly eaten for the last couple of weeks,’ he replied.

‘That’s no good,’ said Leslie, like a father. ‘You can’t go on like that.’

‘It’s okay. I’m still eating some food, just not much. I’m on a special diet I buy separately.’

‘I see,’ Leslie replied with a small nod.

‘Neither of us have been very well – ‘specially Dad,’ Edgar replied, ‘but I think I actually feel a little better.’

Edgar led Leslie to the bedroom. The aroma of sickness hung strongly in the air even before he reached it. It was a musty, airless pall; an old sodden trench coat thrown upon the room.

‘Les,’ croaked Nicholas, trying without success to raise himself upon his elbows.

Leslie stopped him, ‘Don’t get up,’ he said and Nicholas willingly obliged.

‘Thanks,’ he replied, dropping back comfortably into his fluffy pillow. ‘I don’t seem to have any strength these days.’

‘It’s been over a month,’ stated Leslie, as if this had somehow escaped Nicholas.

‘Don’t I know it,’ he replied, coughing and reaching for his bedside water as he said so. Edgar helped him.

‘What do you think it is?’

‘No idea. And neither have the doctors. God knows I’ve seen enough of the bastards. How are things at the office?’

‘What do they say it is?’ Leslie pursued, not put off by Nicholas’ bravado. The man looked awful. He had shed multiple kilos to the point where his face, once affably creased with small rivulets in the fat, had now become haggard and worn, like the bountiful banks of a river after a prolonged period of drought. He looked dry. He looked unwell and frail. And he smelled sick.

‘Oh, they don’t know. They don’t know. Hopefully it’s not cancer or something terminal. He laughed weakly, as if to make a joke of it all, but Leslie was anything but amused.

‘Who’s your doctor?’

‘Mate,’ replied Nicholas, ‘you’re making too much of this. It’s a bloody virus, that’s all. Now tell me – what’s going on back at the factory?’

So Leslie told Nicholas of all that had transpired, including his misgivings about Elizabeth’s behaviour. Nicholas nodded thoughtfully throughout and he sighed deeply when at last the information was imparted.

‘I’d heard about the radio contact. Fantastic. Well done,’ he said clasping Leslie’s forearm weakly. ‘And as for Elizabeth, well, I’m not surprised. She’s a fickle one. I told you not to mix pleasure with business.’ He coughed riotously for some time, arching his body upward from the bed in convulsion, before finally slumping back into his pillow. ‘But I hadn’t heard about the transference thing.’

‘Perhaps I should let you sleep,’ offered Leslie who had become aware of Edgar’s eye contact across the bed.

‘Yeah, come on, Dad. You should get some rest,’ Edgar recommended.

Nicholas was too weak to even protest. He looked like he was half asleep already.

Edgar led Leslie out of the room and towards the door.

‘Has he been like this the whole time?’ asked Leslie, forlorn furrows lining his high brow.

Edgar nodded, ‘He’s falling away. He’s not getting better. Can you speak to someone?’

‘I’ll see what I can do, son,’ he replied warmly. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll come good.’

But as Leslie stepped from the scraper apartment and looked out sadly upon the rain pelting down upon the window at the end of the corridor, he was a long way from actually believing that.

He approached the window and stood for a few minutes, staring as the wind drove the relentless rain in gusts upon it. He listened to the machine gun bursts upon the glass and he watched as his own reflection was refracted by the smears and chaotic flows. He saw his high forehead refracted unevenly in the glass and he watched as the mini-tsunamis swept across the landscape of his large brown eyes. And he thought of Eliot’s ‘Prufrock’, which his father had read to him when he was a child. And he made a resolution.

Several minutes later, in his saturated raincoat, he was sweeping past Stefan and advancing upon the president’s office.

‘Hey. You can’t go in. The president’s in a meeting!’ bleated Stefan.

Leslie thrust open the door.

He found Elizabeth in the full embrace of Sebastian Levi. They broke their kiss abruptly as he entered.

‘What in God’s name . . .’ he stammered.

‘Haven’t you heard of knocking, boy,’ snapped Sebastian.

Elizabeth adjusted her dishevelled hair and grabbed for a tissue to clean up her lipstick. ‘You shouldn’t come barging in like that,’ she chided Leslie. Then she turned towards him, adjusting her dress.

‘You and him?’ He pointed an accusatory finger at Sebastian.

‘Why not me?’ Sebastian fired back. ‘Or perhaps you think she should prefer you, you balding little egg-head. Look at you. You’re all wet.’

Leslie’s eyes widened with anger. But even as his senses went into overdrive, he noticed something strange about Sebastian. He was standing taller, he was clean shaven and he was dressed in a suit. Gone was the defeated ambience of his former self. He appeared to be strong, confident and self-possessed.

‘What happened to you?’ asked Leslie, his rage suddenly subdued.

‘Nothing happened to him,’ replied Elizabeth. ‘Now please, go.’

Leslie turned his eyes back to her. ‘Is this the face of gratitude?’ he asked her. ‘Is this my repayment for all the work I’ve done for you?’

‘You’ve provided the groundwork, yes,’ she replied, ‘but for the moment I don’t need your services.’

‘That’s all very well,’ countered Leslie, ‘now that you’re underway you’ve cut me adrift. I want to be a part of it, Elizabeth. I want to talk with other cities and be able to help this city. I want to be part of the solution. I want to help restore order and equality to the people of Corporate City.’

‘You want to fuck Elizabeth,’ replied Sebastian with a sneer.

‘Ssh,’ said Elizabeth, quietly into his ear. ‘Don’t, Sebastian.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ replied Leslie with his mouth hanging pendulously open.

‘You heard me, boy. Don’t give me your clap-trap. I know what you do your thinking with. Now go back to your little motor-scooters or whatever they are and let us get about the business of controlling this city.’

‘Us? Controlling?’ echoed Leslie. ‘Elizabeth, what is he talking about?’

But Elizabeth had turned her face towards the rain pelting onto the window and would say no more.

‘Elizabeth?’

She would not answer.

‘Go away,’ muttered Sebastian, also turning his back upon Leslie and wrapping his arm around Elizabeth, as if Leslie had been the offending party.

Leslie couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He wanted to speak, but no words would come. He had been used. He stared at the floor as if the answer was somehow there but all he found was a carpet wet with the water issuing from his raincoat. He looked again towards the backs of Sebastian and Elizabeth and beyond them to the cascading waterfalls pouring down the window of the scraper. It was nothing compared to the tears that he felt welling within him. He turned, pushed past Stefan in the doorway, and left.

Stefan watched him pass and then returned his amazed gaze towards the portrait of love framed by the large window. There was his boss, the president, her head resting upon the shoulder of the librarian. He had his arm around her shoulder, gently stroking her hair. He was obviously comforting her and, just as obviously, she was soliciting that comfort. Stefan went to speak, then thought better of it. Quietly, he closed the door.

On the far side of it he stood for long time, unravelling threads and unwrapping parcels of the past few weeks within his mind. Suddenly, he stepped away from the door, grabbed for his umbrella and followed the water trail Leslie had left behind.

Soon he found himself outside of Leslie’s office, hanging his brolly on a hook.

‘Oh, hello,’ said Mark with a smile. Then seeing Stefan’s expression he added, ‘Is everything alright?’

Leslie came out of his office.

‘I wonder if I could have a word with you, consul?’ asked Stefan.

Leslie nodded and motioned that Stefan should enter. Mark looked up hopefully and was rewarded by another nod. He grabbed his Dictaphone and followed.