The Tavernier Stones (37 page)

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Authors: Stephen Parrish

BOOK: The Tavernier Stones
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“There was no risk. We knew what we were doing. And all’s well that ends well.” David turned his back on John and unlocked his door; as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.
Sarah glanced quickly from one to the other, then followed David into their room.
“Don’t blow me off like that,” John said. “Your behavior is—”
“No!” David exploded. He spun around and returned to the doorway. “
Your
behavior is what we should all be concerned about. Look at yourself! We’re not searching for the Holy Grail, for Christ’s sake. We’re searching for some missing rocks. And until you get a grip on yourself, it’s
you
who are risking this operation, not me.”
John looked past David at Sarah, who avoided eye contact. “By all means,” he said, “don’t hold anything back.”
David stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him, leaving Sarah alone in the room.
“You wanna talk to me, farm boy? Talk.”
“You treat her like property,” John said.
“The question is not how I treat her, but rather whose property she is.”
John laughed. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“That’s not all: until she becomes
your
property, I suggest you treat her as though she were someone else’s.”
They glared at each other for a few seconds. John finally broke it off; the expression on David’s face was not at all yielding.
“What Sarah does with her body,” John said, “and with her life, is up to her. I will neither encourage nor discourage her.”
“So be it. But just keep in mind, Amishman, where you come from—and where she comes from. She would do no better in your world that you would in hers—than you
are
doing in hers. If
you
feel like a fish out of water, imagine putting a bonnet on
her
head and putting her to work in one of your barns or fields.”
“You speak as though I’ll be returning to the farm—”
“Well, won’t you?”
“—and that I intend to take her with me.”
“Well, don’t you?”
John leaned heavily against the wall. “I don’t know.”
“Until you know, be careful what you do. You think I mistreat her, but actually I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to her. If I hadn’t taken her under my wing, she’d be turning tricks in Lower Kensington right now. So be careful not only what you do, but also what advice you give—to me or to her.”
 
Afterwards, alone in his room, John looked at himself in the mirror again.
Had he changed
that
much? Enough to alarm the people around him? At North Star, some of his fellow cartographers had nicknamed him Clark Kent, and he had accepted the gesture good-naturedly because he was, after all, compared to most of
them
, rather mild-mannered. Now he was driven by a need to avenge and exonerate an obscure seventeenth-century mapmaker, a need that hardly characterized mild-mannered men.
Avenge? Exonerate? Where had
those
words come from?
He sat down at his small writing table and pulled the telephone closer. His instincts told him it was time to make a call, but he didn’t know which of two numbers to dial first. One was the restaurant where his sister Rebecca worked as a waitress. The other was the airline—to ask for a seat assignment.
The lost Tavernier stones still belonged to Cellarius. They would continue to belong to Cellarius until found by someone else. It occurred to him that if he abandoned the project now, David and Sarah might yet find the stones, but at least he, John, wouldn’t be party to the effort.
Sarah. If he left Germany, he left Sarah. David was right: they each came from worlds the other could never enter. But last night had been transcendental; if two people who shared such an experience didn’t belong together, no two people did. And yet, to what extent was he confusing genuine affection with mere sexual desire? And did either of them have to go so far as to enter another world just to enjoy each other’s company?
He was not aware how much time had passed when he heard the soft knock at his door. He suddenly realized he was sitting in darkness.
Without waiting for an answer, Sarah opened the door and entered the room. John watched her figure cross the dusky space, peel off clothes, and climb into bed. He undressed as well, got under the covers, and felt her long, bare legs press warmly against his own.
“Does David know?” he asked.
“Yes.” She gave him a slow, wet kiss on the ear.
“What does he think about it?”
“Whatever he wants to think about it.”
“Why do you stay with him?”
She pressed her lips against his neck. “He’s a genius. He could be anything he wants, even a professor. All he needs is a little nudging. I intend to marry him, you know.”
“You … you do?”
“Yes.”
“What does he think about that?”
“He’s getting used to the idea. As we speak.”
She kissed his chest and worked her way down. “I want to make you happy, John. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
THIRTY-ONE
 
IT HAD TO BE the clearest day of the year. It couldn’t get any clearer, for there wasn’t so much as a wisp of cloud in the sky, only a vast hemispherical vault of blue. The sun climbed steadily and authoritatively across the vault like a judge entering an arena.
Summer solstice.
All rise.
John marched wordlessly alongside David and Sarah down the Hauptstrasse toward the Felsenkirche. Other visitors and townspeople, dressed in their Sunday best and keeping just as silent, filed alongside. As the gathering crowd neared the Marktplatz, it was joined by streams of devout Catholics and treasure hunters trickling in from hotels and residential districts elsewhere in the city.
Many of the rock and jewelry shops were open, a Sunday tradition in Idar-Oberstein. But John saw few visitors patronizing them. Shopkeepers stood in the entrances, wringing their hands, gazing wistfully at the brilliant white church high above them.
People streamed in from both directions on the Hauptstrasse. They choked the Burggasse where it entered the Marktplatz from the west. They broke formation and hurried across the open market square.
A bottleneck formed at the bottom of the Kirchweg. David waited for a gap in the flow of people, then began trudging up, with Sarah and John close behind. Climbers in poor shape stopped on some of the path’s nineteen landings to catch their breath, rest on benches provided for them, and smile sheepishly at the able-bodied passing them by. Employees of rock shops lining the way peered out through display windows to marvel and shake their heads at the swelling train of people.
On the platform at the top of the Kirchweg, the train bunched up in the amphitheater-shaped space and pressed forward to wedge its way into the tunnel. No bells were ringing, and John knew why: bells hadn’t rung in Oberstein since the seventeenth century. Eye contact was rare and brief; everyone seemed suspicious of everyone else, and neighbors did not appear to know each other this day.
The three had arrived early enough to find places on the outside of a third-row pew, beneath the stained glass windows on the south wall. John dipped his fingers in the basin of holy water and made the sign of the cross. David and Sarah hesitantly did the same. But when John bowed to the altar and genuflected to the tabernacle, David and Sarah merely took their seats.
The church continued to fill amid the sound of shuffling feet and an occasional cough until no seats remained. John surveyed the nave; the space between the back pew and the entrance was becoming crowded with standing figures, their hands clasped in front of them. Some fidgeted, perhaps because they were in a church for the first time in years. Some no doubt wondered whether they would be able to stand elbow-to-elbow like that for the entire hour of the service.
Some, their eyes darting from the stained glass windows to the altar, from the tiled stone floor to the balcony, were clearly present for reasons other than holy mass.
John could tell the balcony was full; he heard murmuring and the flapping of leaflets that served better as fans than guides. The atmosphere was heavy with the rustle of clothing, the muffled grate of clearing throats, and the sibilant hush of whispered conversations. The people were as self-conscious of the noises they made as the appearances they gave. Most studiously avoided eye contact, as though they were in a whorehouse rather than a church. They seemed uncomfortably reflective and introspective.
What unconfessed sins caused such behavior? John wondered. Something from their distant pasts? Time spent absent from the church?
He looked at his watch. It was exactly eleven o’clock.
The organ suddenly piped up, and a choir in the balcony began a hymn. The seated congregation rose to its feet.
Zu dir, o Gott, er-he-ben wir
die Seele mit Ver-trau-en.
Dein Volk er-freu-et sich in dir,
wollst gnä-dig nie-der-schau-en.
 
The priest made his entrance behind a pair of altar boys. The three marched solemnly toward the altar, the boys each carrying a lighted candle, the priest holding a Bible above his head like a shield.
Laß leuch-ten, Herr, dein An-ge-sicht,
er-füll mit dei-ner Gna-de Licht
die Die-ner dei-nes Thro-nes!
 
The procession stopped at the foot of the altar while the congregation continued singing. John took an interest in the priest’s garments. He wore a Gothic-style chasuble made of bright green fabric and decorated with ornate crosses. Around his neck hung a white silk stole embroidered in gold.
Mach un-ser Herz von Sün-den rein,
da-mit wir wür-dig tre-ten ein
zum Op-fer dei-nes Soh-nes!
 
As the hymn ended, the priest and his two altar boys bowed to the altar and assumed their places. The boys each placed their candles on the marble-topped table, then stood off to one side in front of wooden chairs. The priest went behind the table and bent over to kiss it. He said, “
Brüder und Schwestern, damit wir die heiligen Geheimnisse feiern können, wollen wir bekennen, daß wir gesündigt haben …
”
While the congregation reflected on the sins it had committed during the previous week, John studied the altar. The marble-topped table was pulled farther away from the wall for the service, and he wondered whether the priest would notice that the floor beneath him had been disturbed.
He glanced over at David and Sarah. Sarah was looking around, obviously reveling in a novel experience. He found her childlike curiosity appealing. David was staring down at the floor. He seemed troubled by the words being spoken, although John was sure he did not literally understand them.
The priest said, “
Lasset uns beten.
”
John prayed also, silently to himself: Dear God, we both know the reason I’m in your house today. I’m on a mission I don’t believe I can quit. Please understand my mission, and give me the strength not only to see it through, but also to comport myself according to your wishes the moment I do.
“
Amen.
”
Now everyone took his seat, and there were hushed sighs of relief throughout the room. An elderly woman went to the front of the altar and read from the Bible. John recognized the text from Isaiah, chapter fifty-five. He turned and inventoried the people seated around him. One pew back was a barrel-shaped man who was glaring suspiciously at everyone in his vicinity. If John’s instincts were correct, this man was present for purely secular reasons.
He looked across his own pew, past David and Sarah, at a middle-aged woman with long gray hair and a pointed nose. She could have served as a stand-in for the Wicked Witch of the West. As he watched her, she turned suddenly and regarded him blandly with pale blue eyes.

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