The Godless One (18 page)

"You want to send an email?" she smiled
with all the brightness she could muster.

He nodded. "If you would be so kind as
to loan me one of your wonderful internet computers."

Ari was not a complete computer
illiterate, but cyberspace seemed to hold him at arm's
length.

"And you want me to set up another
Gmail account under a new name?" she sighed. When he nodded again,
she asked, "What home address do you want me to use, this
time?"

Ari gave the street address of Brown
and Stern.

"And the name?"

"Mustafa Zewail."

She shook her head, then checked the
register for available computers. "Oh dear, I'm afraid you're going
to be stuck next to your friend, again."

"He is most entertaining."

He followed her to the row of computers
near the magazine racks. A young man sitting in the next to last
booth looked up and scowled. As Lynn and Ari approached, they both
noticed him quickly Alt+Tab to a different screen to hide what he
had been looking at. While Lynn sat at the free computer to begin
creating a new email account, Ari hovered behind the young
man.

"Ah, Roger, and what is your name
today?"

"My name's not Roger," the young man
pouted.

"But since you refuse to tell me your
name, I am free to create one for you." Ari leaned closer to
Roger's computer and saw he had pulled up a Wikipedia article. "You
are studying the Iron Age! That is a fascinating topic. Did you
know that the Assyrians were great users of iron?"

"It's really rude of you to be
bothering me," Roger complained. He leaned in Lynn's direction and
repeated, "Really rude."

"I think you should leave the young man
to his studies," Lynn said without looking up from her
screen.

"I'm only marveling at Roger's
advancement," Ari said. "The last time I was here, Roger was
observing female anatomy. From pudenda to the Iron Age is a great
leap and bound."

Lynn rolled her eyes and hissed, "Keep
your voice down!" Then, as an afterthought, added, "And leave
Roger...I mean the young man...to his studies."

"Maybe he'll learn how to make an
Assyrian sword," Ari nodded agreeably. "They wore their swords on
the left side of the body, held by belt loops. Now that would be
something. An Assyrian sword is much more profitable than
ejaculating down one's boot."

"Ugh!" Lynn slapped the computer desk,
then smiled apologetically at nearby patrons. She glared up at Ari.
"Sir, if you don't behave, you'll have to be escorted off the
premises."

"I have never required the services of
an escort," he said airily. "And you, Roger, have you ever
abandoned these sordid images for the real thing?"

"I'm not looking at sordid images,"
Roger grimaced. "I'm looking at...at..." He read the caption in
front of him. "…an Iron Age tumulus."

"Mmm…tumulus." Ari stroked his chin.
"From ‘tumescent’."

Knowing that Ari would refocus his
attention and leave the young man alone once she finished, Lynn
rushed to open his new account, filling in the required fields at
breakneck speed.

"I am so pleased," said Ari, cocking
his brow at Roger. "The female pudendum is all very well and good,
but it's nothing compared to a good tumulus."

"There!" Lynn exclaimed in a low voice
as she hopped up from her seat. "All ready. I've even opened a
window on Google Translator for you, so you can send your message
in Arabic."

"Thank you so much, Ms. Librarian."
When Ari sat, Lynn brushed close to him and gave him a hard pinch
on the shoulder.

"And leave the other patrons alone!"
she whispered harshly.

As usual, within a few minutes the
library computer filters imposed their will on Roger's viewing
pleasure, locking him out of the internet. With a grunt of disgust,
he shot a glare at Ari and departed.

Ari hurried his email to Abu Jasim. As
a consequence, his English language message was riddled with
misspellings and grammatical errors. The Google Translator
struggled mightily and spat out Arabic that was just barely
comprehensible. Abu Jasim could practically read Ari’s thoughts and
would easily avoid any misunderstandings. Ari concluded the letter
by admonishing him to intensify his French studies. Since he was
living in Montreal, he should learn the language of the land. "And
a little bit of English wouldn't hurt, either," he added at the
end.

When he had finished, he swiveled
around his chair, looking for Lynn. She was not at the reference
desk. He swiveled some more and saw her watching him from one of
the Fiction aisles. She summoned him with a flick of her index
finger. When he reached her, she turned.

"Come back this way. I need to talk to
you."

"Lynn—"

"Shhhh!" she hushed in her best
librarian-stentorian. "Just follow me." When they reached the
History section she glanced around and saw no one nearby. "Hardly
anyone comes back here."

"’Those who cannot remember the past…’"
Ari orated.

"Like you," said Lynn. "Just like you,
condemned to repeatedly harass library patrons."

Ari hung his head, smiling. "You are as
offended as I am by the images Roger summons forth."

"I’m pleased whenever the filters kick
him out," Lynn admitted. "But it’s not for us to judge. The system
is automated, totally objective."

"Those who programmed the filters were
totally subjective," Ari observed.

"But at least my opinion is removed
from the process."

"That sounds sad and inefficient," said
Ari. "Good beatings produce good boys."

"That’s your culture speaking, I
believe."

"Common sense speaking," Ari
rejoined.

Lynn placed a hand on his arm. "Ari,
please, this isn’t what I wanted to talk about."

Ari waited in a kind of polite
droop.

"Here." Lynn handed him a slip of paper
torn from a notepad. He took it and read: ‘Dr. Philip Hoffman, MD.’
This was followed by the doctor’s phone number and
address.

Ari raised his eyes
inquiringly.

"I want you to go in for a checkup,"
Lynn said with quiet intensity. "From the moment you walked in, I
could see you were ill. It might be nothing. Maybe a vitamin
deficiency. Has something depressed you very much,
lately?"

Did Mustafa seem worried
about anything before he dropped out of sight?

"My cat…" said Ari.

"You mean Sphinx? You told me about
it."

"
Him
."

"Did he run away?" Lynn asked, amending
the pronoun. "You don’t seem to be the type who would be very upset
over a missing cat."

Ari lowered such soulful eyes upon her
that Lynn considered revising her opinion.

"Whatever the problem is, I want you to
promise me to see Dr. Hoffman. He’s a great GP. He doesn’t believe
in over-prescribing or ‘better living through
chemistry’."

"How amusing."

"Ari…"

"Yes?"

"That’s not a promising
response."

Ari’s eyes drifted to a book about
Arctic exploration. How strange, that men were testing their skills
and wit against the polar regions, while the warmer masses seemed
bent on extermination. The great white wasteland and the morbid
desert of mutual destruction. There seemed to be a vast reaching
out for universal emptiness.

"I won’t be coming to the library again
for a while," he said.

"Wait. I’ve got some books by Iraqi
writers that I ordered for you. Mushin al-Ramli…Ali
Bader…"

"Saddam Hussein…he was a novelist, too,
you know. You are assuming I am Iraqi?"

"You told me you went to the University
of Baghdad. I just thought you might like…"

"I can’t tell you how very much I
appreciate this gesture," said Ari. "I don’t have time to read,
these days. I have pressing business. But I’ll come back for
them."

"I’ll call," said Lynn.

"That would not be…please
don’t."

She did not know him well enough to ask
why. Was there a woman? Family troubles? A serious illness? A harsh
sadness came over her. Her eyes unsettled Ari, who turned back to
the Arctic. "I will come back. But perhaps not soon."

"You don’t want to tell me what’s
wrong?" Lynn said, not plaintively, but without expectation in her
voice.

"There is a great
uncertainty."

It was a legitimate answer. There was
even a category for it in the library’s Find It Fast! browser: The
Unexplained.

On the way home Ari stopped at Walmart
to buy fava beans to replace the ones he had burned the week
before. He was pushing his shopping cart down the ethnic food aisle
when a familiar voiced called out from behind him.

"Karen said she likes to bang you with
her cart to get your attention. That’s not my style."

"Hello, Fred."

He was not in the uniform he wore while
spreading mulch in Ari’s garden, a pair of overalls with ‘Ted’s
Lawn Service’ emblazoned on the back, but a heavy jacket and jeans.
There was a large bag of kitty litter in his basket.

"You have a cat?" Ari asked.

"Two."

"It’s the great American
infestation."

"I love them," said Fred, whose jovial
demeanor reminded Ari somewhat of Ramesh. "Care for a burger?" He
nodded at the McDonald’s at the back of the store.

"I’m not hungry, but I would be
agreeable to a chat."

He followed Fred to the restaurant.
While Fred stood in line, Ari worked himself with difficulty into
one of the narrow booths. His overcoat was bulky, but he preferred
to keep it on. Underneath it was a Walther P99
semi-automatic.

"I guess fish mush is healthier than
meat mush," Fred said as he rested his Filet-O-Fish and Coke on the
table and squeezed onto the seat across from Ari.

"This meeting is very convenient,
Deputy Fred," said Ari, flashing a brief smile. "I have some things
I want to discuss with the U.S. Marshals Service."

"Oh, I don’t know much," Fred
cheerfully admitted, as though he found this arrangement to his
liking. "They keep me pretty much in the dark about
everything."

"I perfectly understand, Deputy," said
Ari.

"Just ‘Fred’, okay?" Fred said with a
mildly nervous glance to the side.

"I’m sorry. I realize we might be
overheard, but I thought I was practicing your country’s laudable
transparency." Ari stared down at his fingers and noted dirt under
his nails. How could he have missed that? Hiding his dismay, he
said, "But you go first, Mr. Donzetti. What did you wish to talk to
me about?"

The ‘Mr. Donzetti’ warned Fred of
trouble ahead. He nibbled at his sandwich.

"Well?" Ari prompted.

"It's about yesterday," said
Fred.

"Ah."

"Yeah, 'ah'. The word his getting
around that Karen blew it. The Henrico dispatcher said she was
'overly emotive'...I think that's the phrase she used. The
supervisory deputy heard the recording and says she was just a
little breathless after finding a headless body. He doesn’t see any
need to pass it on to the chief deputy. But you combine that with
you being there—"

"She told him I was there?" Ari
asked.

"No, she told
me
you were there," said
Fred, and Ari inwardly shook his head at the boy’s blunder. Fred
reminded him of the children the U.S. State Department sent to the
Green Zone to run Iraq after the invasion. Wide-eyed and quite
clueless.

"She didn't tell her supervisor I was
there?"

"Uh...no. I mean, you weren't supposed
to be there, right?"

"And your…what did you call him, the
‘supervisory deputy’?...accepted the fact that Deputy Sylvester had
just 'shown up' on Mustafa Zewail's doorstep?"

Fred took a bite out of his
sandwich.

"Are you saying that Karen is in
trouble at work?" Ari said, taking a brief detour away from the
more important question.

"I arrived soon after you left." Fred
swallowed and shot down a mouthful of Coke. "She looked like she
was doing okay to me. I mean, I took a look inside and...what you
saw. That would cause anyone to choke."

"Does she know you're speaking to me?"
Ari said.

"She'd kill me if she knew, so please
don't mention this to her. Listen, Mr. Ciminon, I'm just doing this
for myself. They've asked me my opinion of Karen's mental status.
She's on the edge right now, with Henrico saying she's incompetent
and the boss doing his best to stand up for her. What I want is to
make sure for myself. Was she all right while you were there? Did
she cry and scream and upchuck her breakfast?"

"Was this her first headless victim?"
Ari asked.