To Play The Fool Part 3

aNot just now.a Lee slowly finished her coffee. Kateas was going cold. aDonat you love it, a woman with bright red hair wearing that color of red? Only Maggie Smith could pull it off.a aIam jealous of Maggie Smith,a muttered Kate happily.

They never did see the end of the movie.

Murder cases not solved within two or three days tend to drag on into weeks, and this was no exception. The fourth and fifth days pa.s.sed without any startling revelations. Kate and Al Hawkin had agreed that Brother Erasmus was not likely to run, so after Thursdayas fruitless question-and-statement session he was handed back his staff and allowed to walk back out into the city of Saint Francis. Kate, rather to her surprise, found herself making a detour from a Sunday morning shopping trip to drive slowly through Golden Gate Park, where eventually she came across Erasmus, dressed like a tramp and walking along the road in the midst of a group of street people. The raggle-taggle congregation might have been from another world compared to the group of his admirers in Berkeley, except for one thing: on these faces was an identical look, a blend of pleasure, awe, and love.

Hawkin saw him once, too, although his sighting was accidental, when he pa.s.sed Erasmus on his way home from work one afternoon. Erasmus was not wearing his ca.s.sock then, either, but a pair of jeans and a multicolored wool jacket. He was sitting in the winter sun on a low brick wall, reading a small green book and eating an ice cream cone.

The millstones of justice continued to grind. Their John Doeas lab work showed no signs of alcohol, drugs, or even nicotine and indicated that his last meal had been a large piece of beefsteak, green beans, and baked potatoes at least six hours before his death. Death had been due to a blow with a blunt object to the right side of the skull, which, judging from the angle, had been delivered by a right-handed person standing behind the victim as he sat on the stump a few feet from where Harry and Luis had found his body. Death had been by no means instantaneous, although unconsciousness would have been.

John had bled slowly, both internally and onto the ground, for as much as an hour before his heart stopped.

There was one other piece of possible evidence, which Hawkin interpreted as sinister, though Kate privately reserved judgment,- twenty feet from the body, at the foot of a tree, had been found a lone cigarette stub that had been pinched off, not ground out. Oddly, though, the-drift of ashes on the ground around the tree was considerably more than could be made from one cigarette. The crime scene investigator estimated that five to eight cigarettes could have produced that quant.i.ty of ash. There was another, smaller pile of ash just in front of the stump. In three places at the site were found boot prints, none of them complete, but together an indication that a pair of size nine menas heeled boots, not cowboy boots but similar, had been there within a day of the time John had died.

When the lab results were in, Al had Kate drive him across town to the park. He stood within the fluttering yellow tapes marking the crime scene and stared at the ground.

He said deliberately, aI think a man wearing a pair of those expensive menas boots that make you two inches taller stood here and talked with John, smoked a cigarette, walked around, picked up somethinga"baseball bat, tree branch, nightsticka" and hit John with it as hard as he could. John collapsed but didnat die, and the man dragged him away from the stump and under the bush so he was invisible. He then stood behind that tree over there, smoking cigarettesa"which he pinched off and put in his pocket, except the one he droppeda"and watching John die. Cold-blooded, deliberate, smoking and watching.a aI canat see this as a pleasure killing,a objected Kate.

aNo. Too casual, no ritual. And he didnat come in close to watch,- it was more just waiting. He wanted John dead, didnat mind if he suffered, but didnat want to be too close. Could have been simply cautiona"he could get away more easily from over there if someone came down the road, couldnat he?a aYou think he had a car along one of the streets outside the park?a aLetas get some posters up, see if anyone noticed something. Funny, though, about the cigarettes.a aWhat about them?a aWhy did he pinch them all and take them?a aTo leave nothing behind. He watches too much television, thinks we can find him from a fingerprint on paper. Or just didnat want us to know he was here.a aWhy not knock the ashes out into the cellophane wrapper, then? Iave done that myself, smoking on a tidy front porch. And why didnat he worry about his footprints? Theyare at least as distinctive as his smoking habit.a aMaybe the TV programs he watches only deal with fingerprints. That could also be why he waited for the man to die instead of bas.h.i.+ng him againa"he wasnat necessarily coldblooded, just afraid of getting blood on his clothing. With the single hit, he was probably clean, but multiple blows would increase the risk of contamination.a aYou have an answer for everything, Martinelli. How about this one: What kind of man habitually pinches his cigarettes out rather than smas.h.i.+ng them?a aYouare the smoker, AI. You were, anyway. J donat know. Someone showing macho? Like striking a match with your thumbnail to show how tough you are. Someone about to put the b.u.t.t in his pocket and wanting to make sure it didnat light his pocket on fire?a aYouare probably right,a he said absently.

aOkay, AI. What kind of man would you say habitually pinches off his smokes? And why do you think itas habitual?a aBecause he went through at least six or eight of them without once forgetting and putting it out against the tree or under his foot. Pretty calculating for a guy standing there smoking nervously, waiting for a friend to die.a aFriend?a aAcquaintance at least. And you may be right about the reason for the habit. Or it could be heas a man who doesnat mind a bit of ash but doesnat want to toss a burning b.u.t.t onto the ground. Someone who works around flammable things, maybe. Or someone concerned with the litter. Groundskeepers rarely toss away their cigarettes, knowing theyall have to clean them up.a aSo, we have a short, vain groundskeeper in expensive boots who is friends with a homeless man who doesnat smoke, drink, or do drugs, bashes him on the head, and stands around being tidy until the homeless man dies.a aYep, thatas about it,a said Hawkin.

aI like it.a Kate nodded and followed Hawkin to the car. aSure, that is a doable theory. Letas give it to the DA and just arrest every gardener in the city, starting with the park workers. Get a bus and shovel them in.a aYouall take care of it, wonat you?a asked Hawkin. aI have a date with Jani tonight.a aNo problem. Drag aem in, beat aem up, get a confession, be home for dinner.a aI knew I could count on you, Martinelli.a

NINE.

The way to build a church is to build it.

Six days, seven days. Lee came up with some references and sent Jon in several directions to pick them up and request more from the universityas interlibrary loan service. She began to read and digest, in between physical therapy, a trip to the doctoras, the lengthy preparation for and exhaustion following an appointment with one of her two clients, and sleep. Dean Gardner phoned Kate every day, even though Erasmus had been released, until finally, to get rid of him, Kate gave him the same research a.s.signment shead given Lee: Find me someone who knows what a Fool is.

Kate didnat quite know why she was interested, though she did know that it had more to do with the enigma that was Erasmus than with the investigation into Johnas murder. She mentioned her by-proxy academic investigations to Hawkin only in a pa.s.sing way, he, in turn, nodded and told her to let him know if anything came up.

Nine days after the murder, eight days after the cremation, the first faint hairline crack appeared in the case, although Kate did not at first recognize it as such. She was mostly annoyed.

aDean Gardner, I do not have any news for you. I havenat even seen Erasmus sincea"oh, he is? Of course, itas Thursday.a Erasmus had been told not to leave San Francisco, but somehow she wasnat surprised that he was following his usual rounds. aIs everything all right?a aOh yes, he seems in good spirits. The reason I called is that I have some suggestions for that question you put to me. Do you have a pencil?a aGo ahead.a aThe first name is Danny Yamaguchi. Danny is a woman, a professor of Religious Studies at Stanford. Her specialty is cults, she should know if there is a Foolas movement. Second is Rabbi Shlomo Bauer. Heas a GTU visiting professor this semester, his field is Jewish/Christian relations in Russia from the seventeenth century to the present. And third is a Dr. Whitlaw, who teaches at one of the redbrick universities in England and is over here on a sabbatical. I donat know her, but I was told that sheas something of an expert on modern religious movements.a He then gave Kate telephone numbers for Yamaguchi and Bauer, explaining, aDr. Whitlaw is staying with friends in San Francisco, but I couldnat come up with her number. The only one I have at the moment seems to be an answering machine.

Iam sure Iall have a number for you in a few days, and I know sheas coming to lecture here the end of next week, but do you want the machineas number?a aMight as well.a She wrote it down, thanked him, and prepared to hang up, when he interrupted her.

aI also have that list of pa.s.sages Erasmus was quoting. Shall I send it to you?a Actually, Kate had forgotten about it. aThat would be helpful. Just send it to the address I left with you.a aThere was just one odd thinga"it struck me when I was thinking about that conversation. One of his pa.s.sages was wrong. Thatas never happened before, not that Iave ever caught. Remember when he was getting so worked up about something and cited Davidas lament over his son Absalom? Before that he said, aDavid made a covenant with Jonathan, because he loved him as his own soul.a Iam sure he said it in that order. In fact, I was aware of it at the time because itas wrong. Itas Jonathan who makes the covenant with David.a aDoes that matter?a aI donat know. I mean, it would in the biblical context, but I donat know if it was only a slip. I just wanted to mention it, because it was unusual.a Kate thanked him, rea.s.sured him yet again that she would phone if there was news, and firmly said good-bye. She dutifully wrote the information down, then went out to pick up Al Hawkin so they could tie up the interviews of the people who lived in houses facing Golden Gate Park, on the slim chance they might have noticed, and remembered, the booted man nine days before. The inquiries had to be made, but she was not too surprised when the slim chance had faded into nothingness by the end of the day.

That night she took out her notebook and phoned the three numbers. At the first, a tremulous voice with limited English informed Kate that her granddaughter was away until Tuesday and then hung up. There was no answer at Rabbi Baueras number. The number for Dr. Whitlaw was indeed an answering machine, which rattled at her in a womanas rushed voice: aYouave reached the Drs. Franklin answering service, please leave your name, number, and a brief description of what you need and weall try to get back to you.a That last qualified offer was none too encouraging, but Kate left her name, without any identifying rank, her home number, and the message that she needed to reach Dr. Whitlaw and would the recipients of the message please phone back, whether or not they were able to pa.s.s the message on to Dr. Whitlaw, thank you.

When she hung up, she found Lee looking at her, forehead wrinkled in thought. aWas that something to do with your fool case?a aA rather thin lead to finding an expert, yes. n.o.body home.a aI just wondered, because a couple of the names sounded familiara"Yamaguchi and Whitlow.a aWhitlaw.a aWas it? It might not be the same person. Those were a couple of the names Iave come up with. Jonas requested a book for me that was edited by a Whitlow or Whitlawa on the Fools movement of the twentieth century.a aYou donat have anything yet?a aDo you want to go up and get the folders and Iall look? Itas on my desk next to the computer, a manila folder labeled aFools.aa It was there. Kate came back downstairs with it and handed it to Lee, who opened it on her lap and started sorting through the pages.

aOh, I meant to mention,a she said without looking up from the file, aJon has a friend whose brother installs those stairway lifts in peoplesa houses,- he said head do it for cost plus labor. The only problem would be that when we want to tear it out, itall leave marks on the woodwork. What do you think?a It was fortunate that Lee was busy with her papers and did not look upa"fortunate, or deliberate. Kate felt her face stiffen in an impossible mixture of shock and relief and despair: This was the first time Lee had admitted that her time in the wheelchair might not be brief. The first time, that is, since the early months of complete paraplegia, when suicide had seemed to Lee a real option. Kate turned and walked out of the room, looked about for an excuse, saw the coffee machine, poured herself a second cup, although she hadnat drunk her first yet, and took it back into the living room.

aAny idea what it would cost?a she said evenly.

aIt would still be a lot, several thousand dollars, but thereas an extended-payment program, and they buy it back when youare finished with it. I donat really mind going up and down on my b.u.t.t. Actually, itas good exercise, but it is slow. I just thought it would save you and Jon a few hundred trips a week up and down, fetching things for me.a Anything that could increase Leeas sense of independence was to be s.n.a.t.c.hed at, and Kateas face was firmly in line when Lee looked up, a paper in her hand.

aAnyway, itas something to think about. Hereas that printout. D. Yamaguchi, Stanford, and E. Whitlawa"youare right, it is Whitlawa"Nottingham, England. You said sheas here?a aDean Gardner thought she was visiting friends in the city.

aThe t.i.tles of her articles and the one book look like what you need. I should have some of them Monday or Tuesday, if you want to look through them before you see her.a aGood idea. If she calls and Iam not here, see if you can get a real phone number or an address from her. Want another coffee?a aNo, this is fine. Could you stick that tape into the machine for me?a Kate obediently fed the indicated videotape into the mouth of the player, turned on the television, and, while she was waiting for the sound to come up, looked at the box: The Pirates of Penzance.

aAnother heavy intellectual evening, I see,a she said, grinned at Leeas embarra.s.sment, and went off to do the dishes. Lee thought Gilbert and Sullivan hilarious,- Kate would have preferred the Sat.u.r.day-morning cartoons.

After a while, she heard Jonas voice above those of the cavorting sailors. A minute later, he came into the kitchen, dressed in his mauve velour dressing gown, and took two gla.s.ses and a squat bottle out of the drinks cupboard.

aWe really must have a crystal decanter,a he complained, pouring out a thick red-brown liquid. aWould you like a gla.s.s?a aWhat is it?a aPort, my dear. I thought it might be fun to reintroduce gout as a fas.h.i.+onable disease.a aNo thanks. Say, Jon? Just now Lee said something about installing a lift on the stairs. Do you know anything about that?a aYes, well, I thought it might not be a bad idea.a aI agree. I suggested it three or four months ago and she nearly bit my head off.a aDid she? Well, times change. I admit I did b.i.t.c.ha"a small b.i.t.c.h, a gentle b.i.t.c.ha"about the state of my knees on those stairs. And, er, I also pointed out that she could probably deduct the depreciated cost of it as a business expense, now sheas working again.a Jon studied his fingernails for a moment and then looked up through his eyelashes at hera"difficult to do, as he was four inches taller than she. Kate began reluctantly to grin, shaking her head.

aBy G.o.d, youare a sly one. And she fell for it. Iad never have believed it.a He laughed and whisked the gla.s.ses off the counter. aJon?a He turned in the doorway. aGood work. Thanks.a He nodded, then went to join Lee in front of the television.

An hour later, Linda Ronstadt was bouncing around a moonlit garden in her nightie, flirting with her pirate, when the phone rang. Kate picked it up in the kitchen, where she had retreated with a stack of unread newspapers.

aMartinelli.a aThis is Professor Eve Whitlaw, returning your call.a The voice was low, calm, and English.

aYes, Dr. Whitlaw, thank you for phoning. I am thea"a aIs that pirates?a aSorry?a aThe music youare listening to. It is, yes. Not perhaps their best, but it has a few delicious moments. You were saying.a aEr, yes. I am Inspector Kate Martinelli of the San Francisco Police Department. We are investigating a murder that occurred recently in Golden Gate Park. The reason I am calling you is that one of the persons involved refers to himself as a afool,a and I was told by the dean of the Church Divinity School of the Pacific over in Berkeley that you might be able to tell me exactly what this man means when he uses that description.a By the time Kate reached the end of this convoluted request, she was feeling something of a fool herself, and the sensation was reinforced by the long and ringing silence on the other end of the line.

aDr. Whita"a aYouave arrested a Fool for murder?a the English voice said incredulously.

aHe is not under arrest. At most, heas a weak suspect. However, heas a problem to us because itas very difficult to understand what heas doing here. The interviews weave held have beena unsatisfactory.a The deep voice chuckled. aI can imagine. He answers your questions, but his answers are, shall we say, ambiguous. Even enigmatic.a aThank G.o.d,a Kate burst out. aYou do understand.a aI wouldnat go so far as to say that, but I may be able to throw a bit of light into your darkness. When may I meet this fool of yours?a aYou want to meet him?a aMy dear young woman, would you ask a paleontologist if she would care to meet a dinosaur? Of course I must meet him. Is he in jail?a aNo, at the moment heas in Berkeley. He will be back in San Francis...o...b.. Sat.u.r.day, I think, and I could put my hands on him by Sunday. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting on Monday?a aNot until then? Ah well, it canat be helped, I suppose. However, my dear, if you lose him, I shall find it very hard.a There was a thread of steel beneath the jovial words, and Kate had a vivid picture of an elderly teacher shead once had, a nun who used to punish tardiness and forgotten homework with an astonis.h.i.+ngly painful rap on the skull with a thimble.

aIall try not to lose him,a she said. aBut I wonder if before then you and I could meet.a aA brief tutorial might well be in order. Tomorrow will be difficult, the entire afternoon is rather solidly booked. Let me look at my diary. Hmm. I do have a s.p.a.ce in the early afternoon. What about onea"no, shall we say twelve-thirty?a Dr. Whitlaw gave Kate an address in Noe Valley and the house telephone number, wished her enjoyment of the remainder of Pirates, and hung up. Kate obediently poured herself a tiny gla.s.s of the syrupy port and went out to sit between Lee and Jon on the sofa, watching the equally syrupy ending of the operetta.

TEN.

When Francis came forth from his cave of vision, he was wearing the same word afoola as a feather in his cap, as a crest or even a crown.

At under five and a half feet with shoes on, Kate was not often given the chance to feel tall, except in a room full of kids. In fact, when the door opened, she thought for a moment that she was faced with a child. It was the impression of an instantas glance, though, because no sooner had the door begun to open than it caught forcibly on the chain and slammed shut in her face. The chain rattled, the door opened again, more fully this time, and the person standing there, colorful and gray-haired and of a height surely not far from dwarfism, was not a child, but a woman of about sixty.

aDoctor Whitlaw?a Kate asked uncertainly.

aProfessor, actually. Youare Inspector Martinelli. Come in.a Kate stepped inside while the woman reached up to fasten the chain.

aI was told that I must always bolt and chain the doors in this city. I live in a village, where a crime wave is the neighboras son stealing a handbag from the backseat of a car. Iam forever forgetting that Iave put the chain on,- I nearly took my nose off the other day. Come in here and sit down, and tell me what I can do for you. Will you take a cup of tea?a She had a lovely voice. On the phone it had sounded gruff, but in person it was only surprisingly deep, and the accent that had sounded English became something other than the posh tones of most actors and the occasional foreign correspondent on the news. Her accent had depth rather than smoothness, flavor rather than sophistication, and made her sound as if she could tell a sly joke, if the opportunity arose. Kate couldnat remember the last time shead drunk tea, but she accepted.

They sat at a round, claw-foot, polished oak table, between a cheerful pine kitchen and a living room bursting with gloriously happy plants, tropical-print fabrics, and African sculpture. Professor Whitlaw brought another cup from the kitchen (using a step stool to reach the cupboard) and poured from a dark brown teapot so new that it still had the price sticker on the handle. She added milk without asking, put a sugar bowl, spoon, and plate of boring-looking cookies in front of Kate, and sat back in her chair, her feet dangling.

aThis is a very pleasant place,a Kate offered.

aDo you think so? It belongs to friends of my niece, two pediatricians who are away for the month, so Iam house-sitting. Actually, I am beginning to find its unremitting cheerfulness oppressive, particularly in the mornings. I come out in my dressing gown and expect to hear parrots and monkeys. Fortunately, I donat have to care for the jungle. They have a sort of indoor gardener who comes twice a week to water and prunea"a good thing, because if I was responsible, they would come back to a desert. You wish to talk about the Fools movement.a aEr, yes. Or about one particular fool, really.a Kate explained at length what she knew about Erasmus, his relations.h.i.+ps with the homeless and the seminary, and his apparent unwillingness or inability to speak other than by way of quotations. She then gave a very general picture of the murder and investigation, ending up with: aSo you see, the man must be treated as a suspect,- he has no alibi, no identification, no past, no nothing. The only thing he has said about himself that sounds in the least bit personal is that he thinks of himself as a fool. Now, he could just be saying that, or he may be referring to this organization or movement or whatever it is. Dean Gardner thought there was a chance he might be, so he referred me to you.a aYou are catching at straws.a aI suppose so.a aAnd even if he is a remnant of the Fools movement, it may have nothing to do with the manas death.a aThatas very possible.a aBut you are hoping nonetheless to understand the differences between the cultivated lunacy of Foolishness and the inadvertent insanity of a murderer.a aWell, I guess. Actually, I was hoping that if he had been a member of thisa movement, there might be records, or someone who might know who Erasmus is.a aThe Fools movement was short-lived, and fairly comprehensively dispersed. It was also never the sort of thing to have any formalized members.h.i.+pa"that would have been seen as oxymoronic. If you will pardon the pun.a She chuckled, and Kate smiled politely, not having the faintest idea what the woman was talking about. aWhat you require,a she continued, sounding every bit the academic, ais background information. However, as I told you over the telephone, my day is fairly full. Iam afraid that Iave loaned out my only copies of the book I edited on the subject, but may I suggest that I give you a couple of papers and you come back and talk with me when youave had a chance to digest them? This evening or tomorrow, or whenever.a Without waiting for Kate to agree, she slid down from her chair and went out of the room and through a doorway on the other side of the hall. When Kate reached the door, she found Professor Whitlaw with her head in a filing cabinet. She laid three manila folders on the desk, opened the first two, and took out some papers, leaving a stapled sheaf of papers in each one. The third one, she hesitated over, then opened it and began to sift through the contents thoughtfully.

The doorbell rang. Professor Whitlaw glanced at her wrist in surprise, thumbed through two or three more sheets of paper in the file, and then snapped it shut and handed it to Kate along with the other two folders.

aI donat have photocopies of the loose material,a she said, aand it would be very inconvenient if you lost it. But if one cannot trust a policewoman, whom can one trust? Give me a ring when youave had a chance to formulate some questions. The next two nights are good for me.a The professor remembered the chain this time. Kate changed places on the doorstep with an anemic young man wearing a skullcap and went to do her a.s.signment.

aWhat are you doing home?a demanded Jon. aDid you get fired?a aThe teacher gave me homework. Ooh, love your outfit, Jonnie.a It was quite fetchinga"a lacy ap.r.o.n over his Balinese sarong and nothing elsea"as he leaned on the table, making a pie crust on the marble pastry board, the rolling pin in his hand and a smudge of flour on one cheekbone. It always surprised Kate to see how muscular Jon was, for all his languid act. She wiggled her fingers at him and went looking for Lee.

Her voice answered Kate from upstairs, and Kate followed it to the room they used as a study. Lee was in her upstairs wheelchair at the computer terminal. A scattering of notepads and a long-dry coffee cup bore witness to a lengthy session.

aHi there,a Lee said. aI didnat expect to see you so soon.a aIam obviously getting too predictable in my old age,a complained Kate. aYou and Jon can plan your orgies around my absences. I had some reading to do and itas too noisy at work,a she explained, waving the folders. aLook, I donat know if you want to go on with your search. Dr. Whitlawa"Professor Whit-lawa"is a real find, and if youare getting tiredaa aOh, Iam not working on your stuff. This is something else.a Feeling both piqued and amused at her sensation of being abandoned, Kate went to look over Leeas shoulder at the screen, which was displaying a graph.

aWhat is it?a aI had an interesting visit this morning from a woman I worked with on a project two or three years ago,- she said shead seen you in Berkeley recently.a aRosalyn something?a Kate tossed the folders onto a table and sat down.

aHall. Sheas putting together a grant proposal for a mental-health program targeting homeless women, wondered if I might help with it. Remember that paper I gave at the Glide conference? She wants me to update it so she can use it as an appendix. I was just reviewing it, seeing how much Iad have to rewrite the thing. I donat know, though,- my brain seems to have forgotten how to think.a aYou and me both, babe. It looks like youave been at it for quite a while.a Lee picked up on the question behind the statement. aI did most of this earlier. I had a long session with Petra,- she thinks the tone in my right leg is improving. And then I had a rest, so I thought Iad work for a while longer.a They talked for a while about gluteus and abdominal and trapezius muscles, about spasms and recovery and tone, the things that until a month ago had formed their entire lives, until Lee had seemed to make a deliberate choice to push back all the necessary fixations and pa.s.sions of her recovery in order to allow a small s.p.a.ce for the life that had been hers a year ago. Kate respected Leeas decision and tried hard not to push for every detail of a muscle gradually regained, a weight lifted, in the same way that she had respected Leeas choice of a caregiver, Leeas decision to come directly home from the hospital with full-time attendants rather than enter a rehabilitation clinic, and Leeas determination to keep some of the details of her care from her lover. Privacy is a precious commodity to anyone, but to a woman emerging from paraplegia, it was a gift of life.

So all Kate said was, mildly, aWell, donat overdo it.a aOf course not. What have you got?a aCouple of articles by the expert on Fools. I was looking at one of them on the way here, and I swear it isnat written in English.a aWould you rather do my appendix to the grant application?a aTempting, but I think thereas going to be a quiz on this.a Kate picked up the folder and Lee turned back to the terminal, and for the next hour the rusty gears of two minds independently ground and meshed. Kate looked over her two articles, decided to skip for the moment the one that used exegetical and synthesis in the first sentence, and began to read the other, a transcript of a talk given to some religious organization with an impressive name but an apparently generic audience.

HOLY FOOLISHNESS REBORN.

The modern Fools movement began, as far as can be determined, in 1969 in southern England. Its earliest manifestation was on a clear, warm morning in early June, when three Fools appeared (with an appreciation for paradox that was at the movementas core from the very beginning) at the entrance to the Tower of London, that ma.s.sive and anachronistic fortress which forms the symbolic heart of the British Empire. And, lest anyone miss the point, they arrived there from the morning service at St. Bartholemew-the-Great, a church founded by Rahere, Henry Ias jester.

Had any of Londonas natives been watching, the behaviour of the taxi driver would have alerted him to the extraordinary nature of what was arriving, for the cabby, unflappable son of a phlegmatic people, stared at his departing pa.s.sengers with open-mouthed befuddlement. Interviews with that driver and with the American tour which witnessed the appearance of Foolishness were more or less in agreement: One of the trio, the tallest, turned to pay the driver, adding as a tip a five-pound note and a red rosebud plucked from thin air. The three pa.s.sengers walked a short distance away, dropped the small canvas bags they each carried, joined hands in a long moment of (apparently) prayer, and set about their performance. The cab driver shook himself like a setter emerging from a pond, put the taxi into gear, and drove off. The red rose he tucked into the side of his taximeter, where it gradually dried and blackened, remaining tightly furled but fragrant, until he plucked it off and threw it out the window over the Westminster Bridge nearly three weeks later.

He did not see his three pa.s.sengers again, although as the summer pa.s.sed he saw others like them. The original three, having bowed their heads and muttered in unison some chant barely audible even to the women who emerged from the toilets ten feet away, turned to face the Tower (and its tourists) full-face.

And an arresting trio of faces it was, too, glossy black on the right side, stark white on the left, hair sleeked back, and a row of earrings down the length of each left ear. Black trousers and shoes, white blouses and gloves, harlequin diamonds black and white on the waistcoats. The tall one alone had a spot of color: One of the diamonds on his waistcoat was purple.

What followed was a busking act such as even London rarely saw, street performance as one of the high arts. Part magic show, part political satire, part sermon, it seemed more of a dance done for their own pleasure, or a meditation, than a performance aimed at the audiencea"though audience there was, and quickly. The act of the three Fools was peculiarly compelling, faintly disturbing, wistful and wild in turns, austere and scatological, the exhortations of gentle fanatics, anarchists with a sense of humour, three raucous saints who were immensely professional in their direct simplicity. The bobby who eventually moved them on had never seen anything quite like it. He had also never seen buskers who didnat pa.s.s the hat.

By the end of the summer, there were at least a dozen harlequin buskers in London, and others had appeared in Bath and Edinburgh. By Christmas, New York had its first pair, and the following summer they were to be found as far afield as Venice, Tokyo, and Sydney.

Then, around the second Christmas, the first tattooed harlequins appeared: the black half of their faces no longer greasepaint, but one solid and spectacularly painful tattoo from a sharp line down the center of the face, from the hairline to the chest. These half-and-halfs were the extremists, the most radical of a radical group, and although they never numbered more than a dozen, they were visible, confrontational, frenetically active, and disturbing: frightening, even. The other Foolish brothers and sisters contented themselves with the small tattoo of a diamond beneath the left eye, like a tear, but the handful of tattooed harlequins inevitably garnered the attention of the press, and the police. There had been arrests before, for such things as unlawful a.s.sembly and public nudity, but now the Fools (as they were known to the public through the various newspaper articles) began to collect more severe misdemeanors, and eventually felonies. One half-and-half in New York was so caught up in his performance that he picked up a small child and ran off with her, the little girl was greatly amused, the mother was not, and he was arrested for attempted kidnapping (a charge that was later dropped). Another a.s.saulted a police officer who was trying to move him out of a crowded downtown intersection in Dallas. Four months later, the same man, out on bail but now in Los Angeles, reached the climax of his performance by pulling a revolver from his motley and shooting a young woman dead.

It was the death, too, of the Fools movement. The young man had a history of violence and severe mental disturbance, and the Fools were not to blame for providing him with an outlet, but they were all comprehensively tarred with the same brush of dangerous madness, and within a few months they had dispersed. Fools went back to the everyday life they had so often mocked: Fools bought clothes, bore children, voted in school board elections. And six teachers, two lawyers, a magistrate, two actors, four clergy of various denominations, and a junior congressional aide all wear the faint scar of a removed tattoo high on their left cheekbone.

The modern Fools movement of the early seventies sprang from a soil similar to that which nourished earlier Fools movements: The Russian Yurodivi, the cla.s.sical Medieval Fool, the buffoonery of the Zen mastera"all came into being as a warning personified, a concrete and living statement that the status quo was in grave danger of smothering the life out of the spirit of the individual and the community. A church which no longer hears its paris.h.i.+oners, a government which is operating with its head in the clouds, a people which have moved too far from its source: The Foolas laughter serves to point out the shakiness of these foundations,- the Fool seeks to save his community by appearing to threaten it. The essential ministry of a Fool is to undermine beliefs, to seed doubts, to shock people into seeing truth.

However, I shall not trespa.s.s on the lectures of my colleagues by going any further into the larger themes of the Fool movement, and in addition, I see that we have run short of time. Perhaps we might take just two or three questions from the audience.

The question-and-answer session that apparently followed was not recorded, and Kate turned to the next article with a sigh. This one was composed as a written, rather than oral, presentation, a reprint from a quarterly journal, and had so many footnotes that on some pages they took up more s.p.a.ce than the text. Kate didnat think she really needed to know all about aFedotovas a.n.a.lysis of this Russian manifestation of kenoticism,a aViaas exploration of the kerygmatic nucleus of Gospel and the generative linguistic matrix of Greek comedy,a or even aHarvey c.o.xas dated but valuable Feast of Fools.a The article was cluttered with namesa"Willeford and Welsford, Hyers and Eliade and Browna"and turgid with the concentrated essence of scholars.h.i.+p.

She contented herself with skimming, picking up interesting tidbits, mostly from the footnotes. aHoly Foolishnessa was an accepted form of ascetic life in Russia, with thirty-six canonized saints who were Fools. Extreme Foolishness was used as a means of triggering Zen enlightenment. The Cistercian, the Ignatian, and the Franciscan orders of the Roman Catholic Church all had their roots firmly in Foolishness. (St. Ignatius Loyola regarded Holy Foolishness as the most perfect means of achieving humility, and St. Francis of a.s.sisi was, as Lee had suggested, Foolishness personified.) There was an illiterate Irish laborer in the nineteenth century who lived the life of a Fool, and a tiny monastic order in the same country, founded about the time the tattooed harlequin in Los Angeles had murdered international Foolishness. The members of this Irish order, monks and nuns alike, wandered the roads like harmless lunatics, carrying on conversations with farm animals and then going home to pray.

So why not Erasmus, in twentieth-century San Francisco? Kate mused, turning to the third folder.

The loose papers it contained were a disparate lot, most of them handwritten, occasionally a mere sc.r.a.p of paper, but mostly full sheets, though of a different size from standard American paper. The writing was in several hands, all ineffably foreign but for the most part legible. Some of the sheets were merely references, often with two or three shades of ink or pencil on the same page: t.i.tles and authors of books or, more often, articles. Kate glanced at these pages and left them in the file. Others had quotes and excerpts, with references, and yet others seemed to be Professor Whitlawas own writing, perhaps thoughts for the book outlined on one page, much scratched out and emended.

A number of the pages were as unintelligible as the second article had been, one academic talking to others in a shared language. Others, however, were obviously meant for popular consumption, as the transcribed lecture had been. Kate picked up a few of these and read them: There is no place [professor Whitlaw wrote] for the Fool in the modern world of science and industry. The Fool speaks a language of symbols and of Divinity. We forget, however, those of us who live our lives conversant with computer terminals and clay-footed politicians, with scientists who gaze into invisible stars or manipulate the genetic building blocks of living matter, that there is an entire population living, as it were, on the edge, who feel as powerless as children and cling, therefore, to any sign of alternate possibilities. They believe in the possibility of magic, the reality of Saints, and would not be surprised at the existence of miracles. The Fool is their representative, their mediator, their friend.

Judaism doesnat have fools,- it has prophets. Mada" look at Ezekiel. Poor and uneducateda"Jeremiah. Laughingstocks alla"poor old Hosea couldnat even keep his wife from making a spectacle of them both. Jesus ben Joseph fit right in, preaching to the poor, the prost.i.tutes, the sc.u.m, scratching his lice and calling himself the son of G.o.da"and the ultimate absurdity, G.o.das only son strung up and executed with the other criminals: A royal diadem made from a branch of thorns, a kingas cloak that went to the high throw, his only public mourners a few outcast women with nothing left to lose. Then, to cap it off, Christ the original Fool is decently clothed in purple, his crown traded for one of gold, he is restored to the head of his Church, and the transformation is complete.

But what consequences, when the jester a.s.sumes the throne? Someone must take his place in the hall, lest the people forget that the essence of Christianity is humility, not magnificence, that in weakness lies our strength.

(This page was marked: aTaken from personal communication, 12 October 1983, David Sawyer.a) The three thinkers of Deventesa"Thomas a Kempis, Nicholas of Cusa, and Desiderius Erasmusa"all based their thought on Foolishness.

The craving for security leads modern people to images of G.o.d that are powerful, demanding, and, above all, serious. We have lost the absolute certainty in G.o.d (G.o.d existing and G.o.d benevolent) which allows us to express religious ideas in freedom and good humour. In the twentieth century, G.o.d does not laugh.

Foolishness can be a hazardous business, and not only to oneas mind and spirit. After all, one of the Foolas main activities is to make a fool out of others, to throw doubt on cherished wisdoms and accepted behaviours: in a word, to shock. If this is done too aggressively, without caution, the result is more likely to be rage than enlightenment. Foolishness does not usually coincide with caution. Even the less flamboyant Fools courted danger: The half-and-half extremists seemed almost to glory in it. I know of twenty-two cases of violence against Fools, all but one of them a direct result of some inflammatory word or action on the part of the Fool. One Fool spent three days unconscious in hospital, put there by a motorcycle gang member who became enraged when the Fool made fun of the motorcycleas role in the manas s.e.xual ident.i.ty. Another Fool had one foot amputated following a particularly aggressive mocking episode which began when a young man came out of a Liverpool pub with his girlfriend literally in tow, bullying and abusing her. The Fool stepped in and soon had a crowd gathered, all ridiculing the young man. A more experienced Fool would have then turned the barrage of criticism into a more long-term solutiona"some pointed suggestion perhaps, that real men do not slap women arounda"but this Fool was new to street work and lost control of his mob. The man stormed off, got into his car, came back to the pub, and ran the Fool down.

St. Francis wished his followers to become joculatores, clowns of G.o.d,- his band of fools and beggars quickly became an order studded with intellectual giants.

How can a movement embodying the ant.i.thesis of organisation possibly deal with the modern world? When I wished to interview a certain Brother Stultus about the early days in England, he was not to be found. One of the brothers told me he had gone to Mexico (we were then in San Diego), but that was some weeks before. Stultus was not a young man, and I was concerned, but there was not much I could do. Some weeks pa.s.sed, and a rumour reached me of a acrazy Angloa who had taken up residence near the border patrol offices in Tijuana. I immediately drove down, and there found Stultus, living behind a garage, fed by the generous Mexican women, and waiting for rescue with sweet patience (in between periodic arrests for vagrancy by the frustrated police). Stultus, of course, carried no identification papers, and without them the U.S. Immigration Service would not allow him back in.

ELEVEN.

He listens to those to whom G.o.d himself will not listen.

Kate closed the folder, unable to read any more. She felt as if shead just finished Thanksgiving dinner: packed with more than she could possibly digest and experiencing the onset of severe mental dyspepsia. This wasnat cop business,- this was tea-and-sherry-with-the-tutor business, Oxbridge-in-Berkeley business, Greek-verbs-and-the-nuances-of-meaning business, worse than memorizing the latest departmental regulations concerning the security of evidence and treatment of suspects. That at least was of personal interest, but thisa"she couldnat even convince herself it had anything to do with one charred corpse in Golden Gate Park. She thought it did, feared it might not, and all in all she had the urge to strap on her club and go rousting a few drunks, just to taste the grittier side of reality again. She scratched her scalp vigorously with the nails of both hands, knowing that there was no way she would be going back to continue her interview with Professor Whitlaw, certainly not tonight, and possibly not tomorrow.

She reached for the telephone.

aAl? Kate here. I had an interesting time with Professor Whitlaw.a Hawkin listened without interrupting while she told him about the interview with the English professor and gave him a brief synopsis of the papers she had waded through, ending with, aAnyway, I thought Iad check and see if you still thought we needed to interview Beatrice Jankowski. I could do it tonight.a aWe definitely have to see her again. She knows more about the victim than she was willing to tell us last week. However, if you want to go tonight youall have to take someone elsea"Tom called in sick, I have to stand in for him on a stakeout.a ah.e.l.l. If this flu goes on weall have to put out a white flag, ask the bad guys for a cease fire.a aWe could make it another time, or I can ask around here for somebody to go with you. Whatas your preference?a Kate thought for a moment. aWould you mind if I went by myself?a aMartinelli, youare not asking my permission, are you?a aNo. I just wondered if you had any objections. It might be better anyway if I went alone,- she might talk more easily.a aThatas fine, whatever you like.a aWhereas your stake-out?a aThe far end of China Basin.a aThe scenic part of town. Dress warmly. We donat want you coming down with this flu, too.a aYes, mother. Talk to you tomorrow.a Kate sat for a while staring at Leeas books until gradually she became aware that the voices she had been hearing for some time now were not electronic, but indicated a visitor. She wandered downstairs in hopes of distraction and found Rosalyn Hall, wearing not her dog collar but an ordinary T-s.h.i.+rt with jeans and looking to Kateas eyes eerily like a defrocked priest. She was standing in the hallway at the foot of the stairs, putting her jacket on, and Kate greeted her.

aKate, good to see you again. As you can see, I took you at your word that Lee might be interested in the project, and wasted no time.a aIam happy to do it, Rosalyn,a said Lee.

aItas been tremendously helpful. I didnat know how I was going to pull that section together. Iam so grateful I ran into Kate the other day,- Iad never have had the nerve to ask otherwise. So what did you think of Brother Erasmus?a she asked Kate, her eyes crinkling in humor.

aHeas an experience,a Kate agreed.

aIave never really talked with him, but Iave heard a couple of conversations, if you can call them that. Itas sort of like listening to a foreign language; you get a general sense of what people are talking about, but none of the details.a aItas a challenge for an interviewer all right.a aI can imagine. I saw him again the other day,- he sure manages to get around.a aIn Berkeley, you mean. Yes, I knew he was back there.a aWell, actually it was over here, down on Fishermenas Wharf last weekend. At least, I a.s.sumed it was him, though honestly I hardly recognized him, he looked so different.a aWhy, what was he doing? Why did he look different?a aHe was performing, like that juggling act he does sometimes, but a lot more of it, and other things. Sort of clowning, and some mime, but weird, a little bit creepy, and his face was painteda"not heavily, like a clownas, just a really light layer of white on one side and a slight darkening of the other halfa"he looked like he was standing with a shadow across half of his face. And he wasnat wearing his ca.s.socka"he had on this strange outfit. Well, it wasnat strange, just sort of not right. He was wearing those sort of dressy khaki Levias, but they were too short for him, and a striped T-s.h.i.+rt that had shrunk up and showed a little wedge of his stomach, and a pair of white athletic shoes so big, he kept tripping over them. Oh, and a watch. Iave never seen him with a watch before.a aWhat day was this?a aSat.u.r.day. I had a friend visiting, and you know how you only do the touristy things when friends and family come. I thought shead like Ghirardelli Square.a aAnd thatas where you saw him?a aAcross the streeta"you know that park where the vendors set up? Necklaces and sweats.h.i.+rts? Lots of times street performers wander up and down there. Isnat that where s.h.i.+elds and Yarnell got their start?a Kate had never heard of s.h.i.+elds or Yarnell, but she nodded her head in encouragement. However, it seemed that was about the sum of the report. After a bit more fussing and arrangements for the next phase of the grant application, Rosalyn hugged Lee and then left.

aNice woman,a Lee commented, her wheels purring after Kate on the wood of the hall. Kate turned and went into the kitchen to stand in front of the refrigerator.

aDid I have lunch?a she called to Lee. Nothing in the gleaming white box looked familiar.

aOnce, but whoas counting?a Lee answered. Kate fingered the increasingly snug waistband of her trousers and settled for an apple,- Jonas cooking had its drawbacks.

aIam going to have to be out tonight,a she told Lee.

aIave been surprised you havenat had more calls at night,a Lee said in resignation. aI expected it, with you back on duty.a aYes, Iave been lucky. Itas been quieta"n.o.body feels like shooting anyone in the rain. But I need to talk to one of Brother Erasmusas flock, and Fridayas one of the few times I can find her without a search.a Sentient Beans was your typical Haight coffeehouse, self-conscious about its location and the sacred history of the district in the Beat movement and the Summer of Love. In this case, however, it was without the superiority of age, for its even paint and the cheerfulness of the furniture within gave it away as an imitation, set up by people who in 1967 would have considered an ice cream cone a mood-altering substance.