Face/Mask (28 page)

“Thanks for finally coming,” Janus said, although Walid was oblivious to his irritation. Janus decided there was no point complaining further about the man’s late arrival; they had business to transact.

“I’m sure you didn’t expect to ever see me again after…the last time,” Janus said.

“
Au contraire, Monsieur
Janus
.
I was confident that our meeting again was just a question of time. That you came to see me in the first place spoke of a certain, may I say, desperation. In such a case I expected that your needs would bring us together eventually.”

“I suppose you’re right about the desperation part. And here we are again.”

Walid looked around them with an expression that bordered on the mischievous. “I’m surprised that you are aware of such a place as this,
Monsieur
Janus. It seems even more out of your way than my humble cafe.”

“We all have something in our past that nobody would expect. You could say that this is another one of my little secrets.”

“There is no need to explain. I am the last person to judge another man’s activities. I only know that Sahar told me that you had certain financial requirements.”

“Yes, although I would rather not get into the details.”

“I never get into the details,
Monsieur
Janus
,”
Walid said with a toothsome smile. “Just as I expect you not to get into mine.”

“Understood,” Janus said, unsure how to bring up the amount that he needed.

The brief pause in the conversation was enough to distract Walid again, his attention drawn by the sound of cheering coming from the nearby ring. Almost drowned out by the crowd’s noise was the distinct sound of a large animal growling, and this sound caused Walid to turn a wide-eyed look to Janus.

“Are these fighting dogs,
Monsieur
Janus?”

“Uh, yes,” Janus answered, embarrassed.

“Why, how positively barbaric! You do have an interesting past
.
Would it be possible to get closer to the ring?”

“What? I, uh, thought we could stay back here, if you don’t mind.”

“I assume you brought me to a place where we could hide in the crowd
.
We would stand out much less if we joined the other gamblers watching the fights than if we stood apart, talking secretively.”

Walid made sense, although Janus doubted that the man’s clothing would allow him to blend in to this or any other crowd. Nevertheless, he took Walid by the arm and began elbowing his way roughly through the crowd, as he had done along with Leblanc dozens of times before.

In a moment they were ringside, being jostled and yelled at by bettors who waved fistfuls of bills at them. The one thing Janus wasn’t willing to do was place a single bet; he well-knew the difficulty he had in stopping once he began. Ignoring the frustrated bettors around him he pulled Walid closer and spoke directly into his ear.

“I need two hundred thousand dollars by next week.”

Walid didn’t react, his eyes locked onto the large brute that was tugging on its chain in anticipation of a rival to tear into. After a few seconds, his head inclining toward Janus, he answered.

“That is a substantial sum. If I may say so, it is a sum that could change a man’s life. A sum that you will be allowed to pay off at a comfortable pace. Perhaps 10 or even 15 years, if the world survives that long, yes?”

He smiled at his own joke but Janus didn’t react, so he went on.

“You understand that we do not charge interest?”

“That’s what I was told.”

“So, of course, we will need some other thing from you. A thing that is as substantial, in our eyes, as the sum you require.”

“Yes, of course.”

“We may have such a need of you on more than one occasion. Considering the sizable amount involved, you understand?”

Janus nodded, aware that he was about to indebt himself to this man for an indefinite period of time. Walid looked at him squarely in the face for several seconds, and his look was tinged with pity. Janus knew that his desperation was obvious, and that Walid would use that against him.

“What do you need from me?” he asked as calmly as he could.

“As I mentioned to you the other day, I work in the field of, shall we say, information services. For some of my businesses I need information on the kind of work certain people do, where money is allocated, how certain decisions can be influenced. You understand, yes?”

Janus had no idea what Walid meant and he shrugged meekly, his cheeks reddening at his own ignorance.

“That’s not that important now,” Walid said. “I do have other informational needs that may be clearer to you. There are certain people in the administration that on occasion require from me names, dates, things of that nature, which may help them in their attempts to keep the civic peace. Of course, I would never give them anything which would harm my friends, among whom I am proud to now count you. I often give them nonsense; it is understood that what I do is not an exact science, and not all my leads are fruitful.

“However, every now and then I must give them something which leads to an arrest, be it for the most minor offence. Ostensibly, the people I report to are interested in security issues, but they have done such an admirable job crushing the spirit of my compatriots that there are mercifully few true attempts at anything resembling terrorism. So, simple but serious criminal activity is often sufficient to please my masters, if I may use the term. I will require more than one name, of course.”

“I don’t know much about criminal activity, I’m afraid. I doubt I could be of much help to you there.”

“As I said earlier,
Monsieur
Janus
,
many people have unexpected secrets in their lives. Things that are totally out of character. Your familiarity with this locale, for instance. Who would believe you ever had any contact with these kinds of people? Yet, you do. And perhaps in a place like this you have spoken to people who may be of interest to the authorities, yes? Or maybe just of interest to me.”

Janus cleared his throat, then shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts from going in a certain direction.

“I understand that you don’t normally associate with thieves and rapists. But the activity I refer to may involve the corruption of someone who is in an official capacity, for example. Perhaps you may have some ideas there.”

He knew he’d hate himself for it but there was no way for Janus to avoid thinking of Normand Leblanc, a man who fit Walid’s criteria on several levels. Wishing that he could come up with the name of anyone other than his friend, Janus turned his flushed face away as if afraid that Walid would read his mind. Perhaps the man had done just that.

“You have thought of something,
Monsieur
Janus,
yes
?
Or perhaps, someone?”

“No, no. You misunderstand.”

“Of course. It is my mistake. And I do realize that it is very hard to do such a thing; to inform on someone, I mean. Perhaps even someone you know well. A friend, maybe?”

“I couldn’t,” Janus cut him off. “I just couldn’t.”

“Unfortunately,
Monsieur
Janus
,
you must. This is the cost of borrowing the money you ask me for. What you must consider are the potential consequences: if you do give me a name and get the money you need, or if you do not give me the name and I do not give you the money. Of course, you may be able to obtain the money elsewhere, yes? If so, I wish you good luck and will call on you no more.”

Walid let the words linger in the air a moment before continuing.

“
Ah,
non. C’est vrai.
You called on me
, Monsieur
Janus
,
did you not? Two times, now. Forgive me if I am so presumptuous to gather from this that you have no other means of obtaining this money. Certainly not within a reasonable time-frame. Am I correct?”

Janus couldn’t answer, nor could he look at Walid. How had he gotten himself into this insane position? He was being asked to inform on a good friend in order to get the money he needed to save Joe, whom he had already betrayed. Was there something written on his face that told Walid that turning on the people around him was something he was willing to do? Was this a basic character trait of his, part of his deepest nature?

There has to be another way
.

“I, I can’t do it. Not him, I mean.”

“Not him. You mean the someone you thought of?”

“Yes, dammit! I know I’m obvious, so let’s not play with words. I thought of someone, but I’m not willing to sell him out to you.”

“Then how will you repay me for my money?”

“Give me a couple of days. You just need someone, or something, to pass on, right? I’ll think of something, just not this guy.”

“It doesn’t matter to me who, or what, you give me,
Monsieur
Janus. I just want it to be clear that your information must be, as I said, as substantial as the sum you are asking for. No welfare cases throwing rocks through windows, you understand? Often one’s first instinct is the best one.”

“But you don’t even know if the person I was thinking of would have met your needs.”

“
Non, Monsieur
Janus. But
you
know. And it was, as you said, very obvious on your face.”

Part III

Conspirators

Chapter eleven

Canadian Illegal Alien Enforcement Act 79-12-1466 (Definitions):
“Verify citizenship status” or “verification of citizenship status” means the determination of a person’s citizenship status by: (a) a law enforcement officer who is authorized by a federal agency to determine an individual’s citizenship status; or (b) the North American Department of Homeland Security, the Inter-border Citizenship Enforcement (ICE) Agency, or any other provincial or federal agency authorized to verify citizenship status as provided by this Act.

October 1, 2039:
   

Janus looked around at the Plexiglas walls of the large room which held the half-dozen cubicles, or
parloirs,
as they were called. The ceiling, above which strode heavily armed guards looking grimly down upon him, was just as transparent. The effect was to leave no doubt that privacy and confidentiality were things of the past at the
Rivière des Prairies
Detention Center
.

On the partition which separated Janus from where Joe would soon be sitting there were several years’ worth of scribbled names, phone numbers and common vulgarities. There was a small metal grill at the bottom of the partition through which they would have to whisper since there wasn’t even the pretense of sound-proofing in the meeting area. Janus glanced at the cameras posted on each corner of the room and wondered if there were lip-readers on the other end.

He hadn’t dared to visit Joe since his arrest over two weeks earlier, hoping that any link with this accused terrorist could be forgotten if he pretended he didn’t know him. But now he was considering doing something that could get him thrown in jail, so there was little point worrying about his reputation.

Beyond discussing Silver’s bribery plan Janus needed to see Joe in person, to see what the few weeks in jail had already done to the kindly old man and to remind himself of why he was about to embark on such a risky venture. It would have been too easy to forget his responsibility for Joe’s predicament, as well as the debt Janus owed him, if he remained out of sight.

A few minutes after Janus sat down Joe entered through the metal door on his side of the partition. Janus was stunned to see the left side of Joe’s face was blue and swollen, and his right hand, which he held close to his chest, was wrapped with a dirty-grey bandage. The small blue eyes that had once twinkled with joy at the sight of Janus and his family were now dull and lifeless, as Joe sat down wordlessly and looked up at the cameras.

“Joe. Joe,” Janus knocked on the window to get his attention. It took a few seconds, but Joe finally looked into Janus’s eyes. His bewildered expression felt like a knife buried in Janus’s heart. Janus cleared his throat and tried to speak without choking up.

“Uncle Joe, what the hell happened to you?”

“They are not very nice in here, Allen.”

“Did you get into a fight? Did the guards beat you?”

“It is not something to speak of,” Joe said, seeming to gather some strength. “There are things that happen in jail.”

“What things? What are you talking about?”

Joe waved his unbandaged hand weakly, as if shooing a pesky fly.

“It is not important, Allen. I have seen worse things in Italy.”

“Joe, were you in jail in Italy?”

“I think in Italy everybody go to jail at least once. Government there very bad, very
afraid
, Allen. Like Canada is becoming. Afraid everybody is terrorist; everybody wants to make revolution.”

“Is that what you were doing with Tony? Planning some sort of coup?”

“Coup is crazy talk, Allen. All I do is meet and speak to people.”

Janus jumped forward as if he’d been shoved from behind.

“What people, Joe? That’s what I want to know. What people?”

“Allen, people are just like you and me. People who want nobody to go to jail because they disagree with government. And nobody to live in prison camp because they speak to God in different language. People who think it is important to have freedom for everybody.”

Janus pulled back from the dirty glass separating them and stared at the suddenly-mysterious little man who had never spoken a word about politics in the two years he’d lived with them. It occurred to Janus that the men in his house tended to lead a double life. The difference was that Joe’s secrets had graver implications than Janus’s personal vices.

His desire to hurt Joe had opened a veritable Pandora’s Box. He’d never suspected that Joe was involved in anything more than buying food on the black market. He’d known nothing about what Joe did when he stepped out of the house. He thought back over the previous two years, trying to see if there were any hints he or Terry might have missed.

“Terry,” Janus exclaimed, interrupting his own wondering thoughts. “Jesus, Joe. Did Terry know what you and that butcher were up to?”

“No, of course not, Allen. I never do anything to bring trouble into your home. I am very sorry that this has happened to you now.”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” Janus replied too lightly, trying to hide his own guilty feelings. “I just never pictured you as that kind of person. You know: a rabble rouser.”

“I am not so old, Allen, and once I was young. I see and hear many things in Italy and when I come here I want that things be better. When I see there are people brought like cattle, put behind fences and walls, it remind me of stories from my Uncle Silvio.”

“I never heard of Silvio. Does Terry know him?”

“No, he die when I am still young like your Richard.” Joe looked around conspiratorially, then leaned forward and whispered through the partition.

“When Silvio was young man, he work in concentration camp, Allen…for
Nazis
.”

“Jesus,” Janus whispered, unable to repress a shudder.

“Is true. He tell me story of how they take the Jew, Allen. He tell me they are not looked at like real people. They are taken out of their houses and put in big camps.”

“But Canada isn’t a Nazi country, Joe.”

“It is all the same. Here, you have secret police. In
Italia
we have
Camacia Nero.
What you call Black Shirts. This is how Nazis begin. And concentration camps is how it ends, Allen. You will see.”

“Christ, you’re really exaggerating things. It’s not like that here, Joe.”

“Is it not?”

“We don’t put the Muslims in ovens here. There is no mass extermination.”

“No. That is true. The Muslims can survive with only a little food, and try to find work even if there is none, yes? But they are in one big jail. So we do not have to go to war to free them. Not yet. For now we raise money to buy medicine. Sometimes we write letters and make signs. We remind everybody, the good Canadians,
you
Allen, that freedom is allowed for even these people. It used to not be illegal for people to write letters and make signs.”

“A lot of things used to not be illegal. That time has passed us by. But it isn’t just the administration, anyway. Since Quebec City, the nuke I mean, well, there isn’t a lot of sympathy for Muslims over-all in the general population. I’m a bit surprised that you’re really that concerned about them, to tell the truth.”

“How come you are surprised, Allen? Are they not the same as my mother?”

“I’m not sure I understand. What does this have to do with your mother?”

“Allen. How do you not know this? Does your wife not tell you this thing?”

“Okay, now I’m really lost. What thing? What didn’t Terry tell me?”

“Allen, you must know.
Mia madre era Musulmana
.”

“What? Your mother?” Janus came close to shouting, then lowered his voice abruptly, more worried than ever about being overheard. “Joe, did you just say your mother was Muslim?”

“Of course,” Joe answered with an exasperated wave of his hand. “How come this is surprise to you? Must this be a secret as well?”

“Well, it sure as hell seems to have been a secret. You’re talking about Terry’s grandmother? She never mentioned that to me. Is it possible that she didn’t know?”

“
Impossibile.
My mama tell us many time how when she marry Papa she came to Italy and found
Gesù Cristo.
She tell story to her grandchildren also. Teresa very close to my mama; love her very much. Learn to cook from her. Of course she know this.”

Janus rubbed his head and looked toward the guard, who had his eyes glued to the timer on the wall. He worried about how this information could be used against him at work if it ever got out. He wondered how many more surprising things there still were to learn about this little man who, until recently, had been nothing more than a thorn in his side. He was afraid to ask any more questions, for fear of getting another answer he didn’t want to hear.

Joe sat quietly while Janus tried to take this all in. He turned his head at a noise from behind him. Janus’s eyes followed the direction of Joe’s look and saw that the guard had gotten up from his seat and begun coming toward them. Their short, but very disturbing, visit was coming to an end and they had never even spoken about the bribes.

“Joe,” Janus said, “we don’t have much time. Silver has an idea that might get you out of here.”

Joe turned back and looked at him with an expression that was devoid of all hope. The guard was preparing to unlock the door on the other side, so Janus spoke in an urgent whisper.

“There are people we can pay to get you out. I can’t tell you more now. But there’s still a chance, Joe.”

The baton-wielding guard opened the door and Joe stood up right away, a look of fear on his face. He headed toward the open door then turned a last time to face Janus.

“Thank you for helping me, Allen.”

The guard led Joe away, and Janus watched the broken-down old man shuffle out of the cubicle with his head hanging.

A few minutes later he was in the jail’s parking lot. He walked toward his car, but then he stopped. He didn’t like the smell of the air. He looked up but noticed no change in the colours of the sky. He put on his air-mask anyway. It was supposed to be a yellow alert day, but he doubted that weathermen had become any more accurate than they’d been when he was a boy.

He got in his car, started the engine and drove out of the lot, joining countless other vehicles in a never-ending stream of traffic.

October 2, 2039:

Janus found Terry’s dinner surprisingly tasty, even if the ingredients were all bought from the administration grocery store. He’d forgotten that she used to be a good cook, back before Uncle Joe had taken over the kitchen. She had learned at her grandmother’s side, after-all.

In the weeks since Joe’s arrest the family had gotten into a routine. Terry spent much of the weekend preparing meals which were then reheated for each evening’s supper. Richard spent more time helping his brothers with their homework, when he wasn’t meeting with his after-school study group. Janus was proud of how his eldest son had stepped up and helped out since Joe’s arrest, and hoped his smile said the things he wasn’t able to say out loud.

Janus wondered how to bring up what Joe had told him the day before, not sure if this was something he should confront Terry with, or just mention casually at the dinner table. As he sat down at the dinner table, he took a calming breath and chose the latter strategy.

“You know I saw Joe yesterday,” he began tentatively.

“You saw Uncle Joe?” Rollie jumped from his seat as if Janus had announced that he’d won the lottery. “How is he? When’s he coming home? Can I see him too?”

“Easy there,” Janus laughed, for once not resenting Joe’s popularity with his family. “Let Mom and Dad talk here, Rollie.”

Terry put down the dishes she’d been carrying and sat down.

“I didn’t know you went to see him.”

“Yeah. I had to let him know how things were going with, you know, his defence.”

“And how was he? Are they feeding him?”

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Janus lied, not wanting to tell her about the mistreatment the old man was being subjected to. “He asked about all of you. We had a very nice conversation.”

“You’re kidding,” Terry replied skeptically.

“No, really. He was telling me about his life in Italy, about your youth there too. Even about how you learned to cook from your grandmother.”

Terry’s expression changed subtly, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Joe’s in jail and you guys talked about my grandmother?”

“I think Joe missed talking to someone about, you know, normal things. Like family history, food. I bet she taught you to make
kibbe
.”

“What’s
kibbe
, mom?” Francis asked.

Terry looked at her husband with an expression of surprise, but he was the one who answered his son’s question.