The Quest

“You don’t have to ask.”

They stayed silent and Purcell looked across the dark, windy park at the Ethiopian College.

Vivian saw where he was looking and said, “I still haven’t developed any of the photographs.” She asked, “Are you going to write about… our quest?”

He thought that the world did not need to know what he, Vivian, and Mercado knew. Nor did the monks need the world to know. “I think we should all close the book on Ethiopia and move on.”

She nodded. “That is our beautiful and sad secret.”

“Right.”

She asked him, “Would you ever go back?”

“If I found the right photographer.”

She laughed, then asked him, “How are your job prospects?”

“Probably better than yours.”

She smiled.

“I’m looking for something in the States.” He stayed silent a moment and said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home.”

“Let me know how I can contact you.”

“Will do.” He glanced at his watch. “Must be a late-breaking story on the Holy Year.”

She smiled again and said, “Why don’t you come to dinner with us?”

“Thanks, but I really do have to meet someone.”

“How long will you be in Rome?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

She looked at him.

“I’m going to London tomorrow to meet Colonel Gann’s family. He has an ex-wife who was fond of him, and two grown children.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

“The British embassy still has no word on the body.”

“He’s in heaven, Frank.”

“Right.” He asked her, “Did Henry get that skull to the right people?”

“He did.” She suggested, “Maybe we could meet in Berini.”

Purcell didn’t know who she meant by “we.” He said, “I’ll let you know when I’m going.”

“I’ll be your translator.”

He smiled at her. They both stayed silent, then he asked her, “Tell me again why they let us go.”

“Because they knew we were chosen.”

“So was Father Armano, and he spent forty years in a cell.”

“The Falashas are all gone from Shoan, and the monks were leaving the black monastery with the Grail.”

“Right.” It was more than the monks thinking they were chosen.

He looked again at the Ethiopian College where a group of monks were entering, and he thought back to the black monastery, which was now abandoned. The monks had packed a dozen donkey carts, and presumably taken the Holy Grail and the Lance of Longinus with them, though Vivian somehow got the impression that the Lance was spectral, and appeared by itself wherever the Grail was.

In any case, the monks had taken them-he, Vivian, and Henry-with them, and when they reached the monastery of Kirkos on Lake Tana, their three uninvited guests were put in a small boat with two oarsmen who rowed them across the lake to the mouth of the Blue Nile. The oarsmen left them, and the boat continued on in the swift current of the river with Purcell at the helm, across the border into Sudan until it reached Khartoum, where the American embassy helped get the three refugee reporters on a flight to Cairo.

Purcell had chosen to stay in Cairo for a few days to visit his apartment and see some people at the AP office. Henry and Vivian had gone on to Rome. And when Purcell had joined them, he discovered, not to his complete surprise, that Henry and Vivian were at the Excelsior together.

As he’d thought, and as he’d always known, Henry and Vivian were better suited for each other. But better is not best, and though he was angry-and hurt-he was also concerned about Vivian. He still liked Henry, but not as much as Henry liked himself. He would have told Vivian this-as a friend-but she might think it was coming from a jealous ex-lover. So he wasn’t going to say anything now.

He said to Vivian, “I meant to ask you-what were we chosen for?”

“I’ve thought about it. I think we were chosen to give some meaning to Father Armano’s life. I think God blessed him, and sent him to us so he could die with peace in his heart.”

“Okay. But why us?”

She smiled at him. “There must be something special about us.”

“There was-we were the only ones around.”

“Don’t start being cynical again.” She asked him, “How can you be cynical after what you saw?”

“I’m not sure what I saw.”

“I am.”

“I envy you.”

“Open your heart, Frank.” She reminded him, “If you believe in love, you believe in God.” She asked him, “Do you believe in love?”

“You shouldn’t have to ask that.” He looked at his watch again. “I have to go.” He stood. “Tell Henry I said good-bye. And tell him I’ll see him next time I’m in Rome.”

She stood, too, and they looked at each other.

He thought she was going to suggest that he walk with her along the path, toward Henry’s office. But she didn’t.

He said to her, “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

“I wish you God’s peace and God’s love.”

“You, too.”

“We have a bond that can never be broken.”

“We do.”

There wasn’t much else to say, and he didn’t want it to be awkward or emotional, so he said, “Take care,” turned, and walked away.

This was the first time his sense of loss was not made easier by a sense of relief. In fact, he felt as though he were walking away from life.