To Play The Fool Part 7

aSo, you go to Berkeley for a rest. Do you go there regularly?a There was no answer to this, only patient silence, as if Sawyer had heard nothing and was waiting for Hawkin to ask him the next question.

aDo you have a regular schedule?a Silence.

aYou spend time in San Francisco, too, donat you? In Golden Gate Park? With the homeless? Why wonat you answer me?a aNot every question deserves an answer,a he replied repressively. It was one of the few times Kate had heard him repeat himself.

aSo you think you can choose what questions you answer and which you wonat. Mr. Sawyer, you have been arrested for the murder of a man in Golden Gate Park. At the moment, the charge is murder in the first degree. That means we believe it was premeditated, that you planned to kill him and did so. If you are convicted of that crime, you will go to prison for a long time. You will grow old in prison, and you will very probably die there, in a room considerably smaller and less comfortable than this one. Do you understand that?a He did not wait for an answer other than the one in Sawyeras eyes.

aOne of the purposes of this interview is to determine whether a lesser charge may be justified. Second-degree murder, even manslaughter, and you might sleep under the trees again before you die. Do you understand what I am saying, Mr. Sawyer? I think you do.

aNow, I donat know if you planned on killing the man known as John or not. I canat know that until you tell me what happened. And you canat tell me until you drop this little game of yours, because the answers arenat in William Shakespeare or the Bible,- theyare in your head. Letas get rid of these word gamesa"now, before they get you in real trouble. Just talk in simple English, and tell me what happened.a There was no doubt that Hawkinas speech had made an impression on the man, though whether it was the threat or the appeal was not clear. He had sat up straight, his hands grasping his knees, now his eyes closed, he raised his face to the overhead light, and his right hand came up to curl into the hollow of his neck, as if grasping his nonexistent staff. For three or four long, silent minutes he stayed like that, struggling with some unknowable dilemma. When he moved, his hand came up to rub across his eyes and down to pinch his lower lip, then dropped back onto his lap. He opened his eyes first on Kate, then on Hawkin. His expression was apologetic, but without the faintest degree of fear or uncertainty.

aTruth,a he began, ais the cry of all, but the game of the few. There is nothing to prevent you from telling the truth, if you do it with a smile.a He gave them the smile and sat forward on the edge of his chair to gather their attention to him, as if his next words would not have done solely themselves. aDread death. Dry death. Immortal death. Death on his pale horse.a He paused and held out the long, thin fingers of his right hand. aWill all great Neptuneas ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No. Your brotheras blood is crying to me from the ground. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain. A fugitive and a vagabond shall you be on the earth.a He paused to let them think about this, his eyes going from one face to the other. He drew back his hand and commented in a quiet voice that made the thought parenthetical but intensely personal: aDeath is not the worst. Rather, to wish for death in vain, and not to gain it.a After a moment, he sat forward again and held out his left hand, cupped slightly as if to guide in another strand of thought. Putting a definite stress on the misplaced names, he said, aThen David made a covenant with Jonathan, because he loved him as he loved his own soul. And David stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to Jonathan. And then he shall go out to the altar which is before the Lord and make atonement for it. He shall go no more to his house. He shall bear all their iniquities with him into a solitary land. I have been a stranger in a strange land. And the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh in the evening, and he drank of the brook. I met a fool in the forest, a motley fool. A learned fool is more foolish than an ignorant one. Let a fool be made serviceable according to his folly.a He stopped, saw that he had lost them, and pursed his lips in thought. Then, with an air of returning to kindergarten basics, he began again. aThe wisdom of this world is folly with G.o.d. If anyone among you thinks that he is wise now, let him become a fool so he may become wise. To the present hour we hunger and thirst, we are poorly clothed and buffeted and homeless. We have become, and are now, as the refuse of the world, the offscouring of all things. We are fools for Christas sake.a aSo youare saying you do this as some kind of religious exercise?a Hawkin asked bluntly. Kate couldnat decide if he was acting stupid to draw Sawyer out or because he was irritated.

aI count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.a aThen I guess I must be burning in sin,a snapped Hawkin, abecause I donat know what the h.e.l.l youare talking about.a Sawyer sat back again with his fingers across his stomach and eyed Hawkin for some time, his head to one side, before making the stern p.r.o.nouncement, aA living dog is better than a dead lion.a Kate glanced at him sharply and saw a sparkle of mischief in the back of his eyes. He looked sideways at her and lowered one eyelid a fraction. Hawkin did not see the gesture, but he was staring at the man with suspicion.

aWhat does that mean?a he demanded.

aHe who blesses his neighbor in a loud voice, rising early in the morning, will be counted as cursing.a aLook, Mr. Sawyera"a aDo not speak in the hearing of a fool, for he will despise the wisdom of your words.a aMr. Sawyera"a aHe who walks with wise men becomes wise, but the companion of fools will come to harm.a Hawkin stood up abruptly, his face dark. aAll right, take him back to the cellsa"a he began, but he was drowned out by Sawyeras sudden loud stream of words.

aA whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey, and a rod for the back of fools,a he a.s.serted. aLike a thorn that goes into the hand of a drunkard, is a proverb in the mouth of fools. Like snow in summer or rain at the harvest, honor is not fit for a fool. A man withouta"a The door closed behind Al Hawkin, and Sawyer, on his feet now, stood tensely for a moment, then relaxed and smiled at Kate as if the two of them had just shared a clever joke. aA man without self-control,a he said slyly, ais like a city broken into and left with no walls.a He sat down again.

Kate did not smile back at him. aWhy do you antagonize people? Al Hawkins a good man. Why make an enemy of him?a Sawyer shrugged. aThe way of a fool is right in his own eyes. A fool speaks his whole mind.a aThatas exactly what weare trying to get you to do, David. Your whole mind, not just the games.a aIt is a happy talent to know how to play.a She leaned forward, her arms flat on the table. aDo you really take death so lightly?a aRemember, we all must die.a aAnd you honestly think that justifies murder? You?a she said pointedly. aThink that?a The ghostly presence of Kyle Roberts visited the room, and on the other side stood his innocent victims: Kate saw in the worn face across the table that Sawyer felt them there. He finally broke her gaze, and his throat worked before he answered.

aWhat greater pain could mortals have than this: to see their children dead before their eyes?a aYou know, Iad have thought that would make you more willing to help us, not less.a He did not answer. aAll we want is for you to talk to us. No games, just talk.a Still nothing; but she had not expected a response. Time to end it. aYouare tired, David. Think about it for a while, see if you donat change your mind. Weall continue this discussion later.a Kate stood up, went to the door, and looked on as the guard prepared to take Sawyer back to his cell. The prisoner paused in the doorway, with the guardas hand on his elbow, and looked down at Kate.

aI well believe thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know. And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.a He turned and allowed himself to be led away. She went back into the interrogation room and turned off the tape recorder, then took out the tape and carried it downstairs, where she slid it into the other machine that stood on Hawkins desk and waited while he ran the tape back a short way and listened. Erasmus ranted, the door slammed, Kateas voice reproved their suspect, he answered her. When the tape clicked, Hawkin switched the machine off.

aWell done. Thatas just what I had in mind. Weall let him stew today. Iall lead another session tomorrow morning, and then you can take over. Stop by and hold his hand for a few minutes before you go home today, okay?a If you say so.

aI want him softened up. The DAall have him sent off for psychiatric evaluation the first part of the week. If we keep him longer than that and then they decide he really is nuts, weare risking a hara.s.sment charge.a aIs it really necessary, the evaluation?a aFor Christ sake, Martinelli, the DA couldnat possibly take it to trial without. You heard him in there. He was raving. It may be an act, but after forty-eight hours in custody, it isnat likely to be drugs or booze.a aI donat know, Al. He makes a weird kind of sense.a aWeirdas the word for it.a aI mean it. I think Iall make a copy of that tape, if you donat mind.a aStudying it for secret meanings?a aI thought I might have it translated.a

TWENTY-ONE.

But after all, this man was a man.

On Sunday afternoon, Kate a.s.sembled her team of translators. They met at the house on Russian Hill to avoid the problem of transporting Leeas wheelchair up and down stairs. At two oaclock, Kate left the house and drove across a rain-lashed San Francisco to fetch Professor Whitlaw, and when they returned, they found Dean Gardner already ensconced in front of the fire in the living room.

On her trip out, Kate had stopped to photocopy the transcripts of the first two interviews, both the abortive one from Friday morning and the longer but even less productive Sat.u.r.day session. The one from Sunday morning had not yet been transcribed, but she had the tapes from all three.

Coffee and tea and the preliminary rituals were dispensed and then Kate handed out Fridayas interview. The rain on the windows sounded loud as Lee, the dean, and the professor all dove into the pages with the quick concentration of people who live by the written word, all three with pencil in hand. Kate followed more slowly behind them. She had two pages yet to go when the two academics and then Lee began to discuss what they had read, but since she knew how the story ended, she allowed her stapled sheaf to fall shut.

aI should make a couple of comments about what youave read. First, Inspector Hawkinas abrasiveness was more or less deliberate, and certainly he played it up when Sawyer responded to it. In the first two sessions, the idea was to make me look like a paragon of understanding,- for some reason Erasmusa"Sawyera"had already responded to me, and there was a degree of rapport before his arrest.a aGood heavens,a said the professor. aDo you mean to tell me that isnat just an invention of the television police dramas? There is even a name for the technique, isnat there?a aGood cop, bad cop,a suggested the dean.

aThatas right.a aWe use it a lot,a answered Kate, athough itas not as simple as it sounds. Perpetratorsa"the accuseda"are human beings, and most of them want to be told that theyare not really all that bad. Sympathy is a much more effective tool, whether youare in an interrogation or in a street confrontation, than swagger and threat. All we did was exaggerate an existing situation to emphasize the contrast and make me appear, frankly, on his side.a aAnd was David taken in by this little play, Inspector?a aProfessor Whitlaw, your friend David is a tired, confused seventy-two-year-old man who has been living in a carefully constructed dream for the last ten years. I think he is partially aware that he is being gently manipulated, and I think he is allowing it.

aI want to be up front about this. What Iam looking for is a way of making David Sawyer talk. I could tell you itas for his own good, I could even tell you I want to help acquit him of the charges because I donat think heas guilty, but Iam not going to bulls.h.i.+t you. I donat know if he did it or not. I think he would be capable of hitting out in a moment of great anger,- I think most people are. I do not believe it was premeditated, and, in fact, I think the charge will be reduced next week.

aSo. What Iam saying is this: Yes, Iam a cop, and yes, it is my job to compile evidence against your friend. There may be things you donat want to tell me, and there are sure to be things Iam not going to tell you. Are those ground rules acceptable?a Professor Whitlaw looked determined and nodded, Dean Gardner looked devious and reached for the Sat.u.r.day transcript, and Leea"Lee was looking at Kate as if shead never seen her before.

aHey,a said Kate with a shrug. aItas what I do.a Lee let out a surprised cough of laughter and shook her head. Kate handed her the transcript.

Kate did not bother to read along, as the session was clear enough in her memory. Instead, she went into the kitchen to make another pot of coffee and put on the kettle for Professor Whitlawas tea, and as she stood and waited, her eyes went out of focus and she thought about what she had just told them.

A great deal of any police officeras time is spent on the thin line that divides right from wrong. Representatives of Good, cops spend most of their life in the company of Bad, if not Evil, and often find more to talk about with the people they arrest than with their own neighbors. In a fair world, ends do not justify means,- to a cop, they have to.

She had gone to see Erasmus on Friday before she left, as Hawkin had asked. She found him sitting on the bunk in his cell, his eyes closed and his lips moving in a murmur of prayer or recitation. His head came around at the sound of her approach and he watched her come in, his eyes neither welcoming nor antagonistic, simply waiting. She sat down on the bunk next to him.

ah.e.l.lo, Erasmus. David. Are you comfortable?a She laughed at the sweep of his eyes. aYeah, I know, stupid question. What I meant was, can I bring you anything?a aO, thou fairest among women!a he said in wan humor.

aI donat know about that. Something to eat tomorrow? Jail food isnat the greatest.a aThe bread of adversity and the water of affliction.a aI hope itas not quite that bad.a aThe abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep,a he said in a gentle refusal of her offer.

aI wasnat offering rich abundance, but I might stretch to a cheese sandwich and some fruit.a His eyes lighted up at the last word, though he did not say anything.

aNothing else?a He hesitated, then said, aI had rather than forty s.h.i.+llings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here.a aYour books? From your backpack. Yes, Iall have them brought to you. Writing materials? Another blanket?a He smiled a refusal, then his right hand came up and nestled into his neck, his index finger stroking his beard. He c.o.c.ked his eyebrow at her. aThy rod and thy staff, they comfort me,a he suggested.

aUrn, your staff? Iam sorry, I donat think I could get that approved.a Even if I could get the laboratory to hurry up with it, she thought.

He shrugged a bit wistfully. aNaked came I into the world, and naked shall I return. The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.a She hesitated and then risked a joke. aI donat think even Inspector Hawkin himself thinks heas G.o.d.a His smile was warmly appreciative, but somehow she got the uncomfortable feeling that shead given something away. She stood up, and he rose with her.

aIall see if I can get your books released tonight, and Iall see you in the morning. Good night.a He surprised her by putting up a finger to stop her, then bent down to look into her face. aBe strong, and of good courage,a he told her. aBe not afraid.a And when she could find no answer to that, he merely touched her shoulder and, sitting back down on the too-short bunk, said, aI will lay me down to sleep, and take my rest.a That last little episode was what she had had in mind when she said that David Sawyer was cooperating with his seduction. He knew what she was doing, and moreover he knew what it was doing to her.

No, she did not like cozying up to that old man in order to pry him loose from his secure rest,- she was honest enough with herself to admit that she felt dirty using his affection against him. Feeling dirty was, of course, an occupational hazard, and so far it had never kept her from doing her job.

But all in all, she would much rather play bad cop.

The readers in the living room were coming back to life and the coffee had finished dripping, so she moved back out to be hostess for a few minutes. When the cups were full and hot, she paused, the tape of the Sunday session in her hand.

aAl Hawkin was not there this morning. This was partly technique but mostly because he had other commitments.a (As if Al would allow previous commitments to stand in the way of an important interrogation session unless it was toward a greater goal, Kate thought to herself.) aI conducted the interviewa (stick with that less-loaded term) aand another sat ina" and only sat in. I donat think she said a word the whole time, except for saying h.e.l.lo when I introduced her to Erasmus. Sorrya"Sawyer.a aHis nom de folie does seem to fit him better than the workaday David Sawyer,a agreed Dean Gardner.

Kate slipped the ca.s.sette into the player and sat down with a cup of coffee. Her own voice came on, sounding stifled and foreign as it always did, with the formalities, then explaining to the prisoner Hawkinas absence and Officer Macauleyas presence. After that the interview began.

The recording, on more than one ca.s.sette, ran for nearly three hours, and there was even more silence on it than Kate remembered. Long stretches of silence. Many questions were unanswered, or perhaps unanswerable,- at other times, remarks were offered that seemed to have nothing to do with Kateas questionsa"even at the time, Kate had thought that the p.r.o.nouncements seemed plucked out of thin air. Hawkin, on the telephone afterward, had been greatly encouraged: There had been no antagonism, and he had interpreted Sawyeras mute periods as the first signs of stress, the lapse of confidence that would open him up. Kate was not sure of that. She had been in the room with Sawyer and she had witnessed no lack of confidence. If anything, he seemed to be reconciling himself to his surroundings. When he came into the room, he stood easily in himself, he submitted to the handcuff rituals without noticing them, and he was beginning to look with interest at his jailers and fellow prisoners. Last night, the guards had told Kate, he had sung to the other inmates and read from his book of poetry. It had been, she was informed, the calmest Sat.u.r.day night in a long time.

No, Kate did not think Erasmus was building up to a revelation,- she was afraid he might be settling down to a new home.

Had the tape recorder been voice-activated, the tape they were listening to might have run under two hours. As it was, by the time it ended, Kate was laying out plates and forks and the cold salads Jon had left for them. They helped themselves and carried their plates and gla.s.ses back to the sofas and the fireplace. Kate shoveled a few bites down and then opened her notebook.

aNow,a she began, athere are two reasons Iave asked you to help me with this. The first, as I mentioned, is that one of you might have an idea about how we can get David Sawyer to talk to me about the murdered man. The other is to help me decipher what heas already told us. It would take me years to track down the references and meanings you probably know instantly.a aI donat know about Professor Whitlaw,a began the dean.

aEve, please,a murmured the professor.

aEve, then. But it would take me hours to figure out sources for most of the quotes Erasmus uses.a aI donat think we need all of them. How about if we concentrate on the ones that donat seem to have much bearing on the question that weare asking at the time.a aWhat do you hope to gain?a the professor asked doubtfully.

aI wonat know unless I find it. You see, in an investigation like this we may ask a hundred useless questions for every one that turns out to be of importance. The hope is that a thread end may appear in the process.a aThe method is not precisely scientific,a said Professor Whitlaw, sounding disapproving.

aThat side of it is not. Itas an art rather than a science,a Kate stated, hoping she sounded confident rather than apologetic. The dean and the professor seemed satisfied, though the therapist lowered her gaze to her plate and did not respond.

aFor example. Dean Gardner, whena"a aPhilip.a aPhilip. When I first met you, Erasmus said something abouta"where is it? Herea Jerusalem killing the prophets, and you interpreted that as a reference to hens, and therefore eggs, and so decided he wanted omelets for breakfast.a Lee was frowning and Eve Whitlaw smiling at the convoluted reasoning. aNow, Iam a.s.suming there are other places in the Bible or Shakespeare or wherever where hens are mentioned. Why did he choose this one?a Philip Gardner scowled at the first page of the thick sheaf of papers. aYes, I see what you mean. The Beat.i.tude he quoted before that was definitely from Luke, not Matthew, so it wasnat a tie-in from that. And before, letas see. It was Corinthians.a The professor had put her plate aside and picked up her own papers. aPerhaps the link in his mind was thematic rather thana"what, bibliographic? I see he was citing Paulas criticisms of the Corinth church for not accepting the negative side of being prophetsa"that is, being perceived as silly or mad. It is a reasonably close parallel to aJerusalem killing the prophets,a donat you think?a aWas Sawyer saying that he is a prophet, would you say?a Kate asked.

aI donat think we should read too much into his choice of pa.s.sages,a the professor objected. aIt strikes me that he uses whatever is to hand, then cobbles the phrases together as best he can. A bit like a collage, where the overall effect is more the point than the parts that go to make it up.a aWould you agree with that, Lee?a aA Freudian would say that each phrase has to be a.n.a.lyzed in regards to its setting, but I am no Freudian. However, I think you do have to be aware of the sourcesa"where they come from and whatas going on in the place he lifts them froma"and to be sensitive to any themes and patterns that may appear. Itas like a collage I saw once, Eva, to use your a.n.a.logy. It was a giant picture of an empty chair with a book on the floor next to it, but when you got up close you saw that the whole thing was made up of snippets of naked female bodies, cutouts of portions of breast and navels and throats. Knowing that changed the meaning of the final collage considerably. Which was the whole point.a aPhilip?a aI agree, the overall picture is more important than the component parts. For one thing, I donat think Erasmus regards himself as a prophet. A prophet is chosen, often despite his wishes, and spends his time exhorting, preaching, driving people toward right behavior. In my experience, Erasmus seems to spend a great deal of his time listening, and when he does preach, itas often far from clear what he thinks you should do. No, heas no prophet. Although he may well be a saint.a Kate looked at him, startled, but he did not appear to be joking.

aAre you serious?a aAbout his potential sainthood? Oh yes. You have to remember that even Francis of a.s.sisi was a man before he was a saint. Why not Erasmus?a She could think of no way to answer that, so Kate turned back to her notes. aWhy not indeed? Tell me about his choice of pa.s.sages that first day, out on the lawn at CDSP. What is Corinthians? Why would he use it so much?a It was very late when the meeting broke up, and Kate felt more battered than enlightened. It had been a slow and laborious process, and humiliating, an ongoing admission of her own profound ignorance. She had persisted, however, and in the car, driving back from delivering Professor Whitlaw to the Noe Valley house, she came to certain conclusions.

First of all, she abandoned any hope of finding a hidden meaning in Sawyeras utterances by looking at their original context. Occasionally he used a phrase to refer to a story or episode, but those were generally characterized by the marked inappropriateness of the phrase, such as when he referred to the dead man as aHe was not the Lighta to give the man a name. For the most part, Sawyer used a quotation as raw material, hacked from its setting regardless.

Beyond that, Kate was not sure what she had expected. However, she did not feel it had been a wasted day. Without knowing why, she felt she had been told the layout of a dark room: She still couldnat see where she was going, but she could begin to sense the shapes and obstacles it contained.

And as she turned up Russian Hill, she began to play with the idea of meeting Erasmus on his own ground. Could her team of translators a.s.semble enough quotes of their own to enable her, as their mouthpiece, to put David Sawyer on the spot?

Could it be that he was waiting for someone to do just that?

TWENTY-TWO.

Never was any man so little afraid of his own promises. His life was one riot of rash vows, of rash vows that turned out right.

When the phone rang at 2:20 on Wednesday morning, Kateas first thought was how shead forgotten this jolly side of working homicide. Her second thought was that David Sawyer had attempted suicide.

aMartinelli.a aInspector, this is Eve Whitlaw.a aProfessor Whitlaw?a Kate dashed her free hand across her eyes and squinted at the bedside clock. Yes, it was indeed the middle of the night. aWhat is it?a aItas about David. I know why he does it.a Does it, not did it, Kate noted dimly. aAnd that couldnat wait?a aI thought, before you sent him to that mental inst.i.tutiona"a aHeas already gone.a Actually, it was just to the psychiatric ward at San Francisco General.

aIs he? Oh dear. Well, perhaps itas for the best.a aItas also required. I doubt heall be gone long. Was there anything else, professor?a aDid you not want to hear my thoughts? There is a distinct internal logic to his actions, once one understands the starting point.a aProfessor, could it wait until morning?a aIs it that late? Why, what timea"oh good Lord, I had no idea. I was sitting here thinking anda"oh how appalling of me, you poor thing. Yes, by all means, ring me in the morning. Go back to sleep, dear.a Kate hung up with a chuckle and, savoring the delicious feeling of reprieve, curled up against Lee and did indeed go back to sleep.

In the morning, Professor Whitlaw was bristling with apologies. Kate drank half her coffee just waiting for a chance to get a word into the telephone receiver, and she then arranged to meet the professor at a cafe downtown at eleven oaclock. The professor was quite willing to break her other appointments for the morning, but Kate decided that she did not need to break her own.

She did have to cut it short, though, and even then she came into the cafe late, shaking the rain from her coat. She spotted the professoras gray head at a corner table, bent toward a book, a cup frozen halfway between saucer and lip, forgotten. Kate sat down. Eve Whitlaw looked up, startled, sipped from the cup, made a face, and let it clatter onto the saucer.

aInspector, how lovely to see you. Youare looking remarkably fresh, considering your disturbed night.a Before she could launch into more apologies, Kate greeted her, offered her more tea, or a meal, and when both were refused went over to the counter and ordered herself a double cappuccino and a cheese sandwich. Thus fortified, she went back to the table, where she found the professor hunched forward, ready to pounce.

aI will not bore you with further apologies for my deplorable manners, Inspector, but I must apologize for the slowness of my intellect. It has taken me since Sunday evening to see the obvious. The problem is,a she said, as if laying out the basic premise for a lecturea"which indeed she wasa"aI am an historian, and as such I am accustomed to approach theological questions as historical questions. That is, they are tidy, complete, finished. It is very difficult to visualize a modern phenomenon in the same way: it keeps moving about, and one can not foresee its consequences. Rather the same, I suppose, as an early-fourth-century theologian would be unable to visualize the real importance of the Council of Nicaea, or a bishop of the time to imagine the immensity of what Luther was doing. Iam sorry, Iam dithering.

aWhat I am trying to explain is why I couldnat see what is happening to David when we first looked at it on Sunday afternoon. You, of course, were approaching it from a legal point of view, your friend saw it from a psychological one, Philip Gardner can see David only as the colorful Erasmus, and I was stuck at seeing Erasmus as a perversion of David Sawyer. This morning at that unG.o.dly hour, I finally turned it around, placed him in an historical setting, and looked at his actions as if they indeed held an internal logic, rather than simply reflecting the irrational reactions of a severely traumatized man.a She leaned forward to drive her point home. aThe key idea here is, acovenant.aa Kate swallowed her bite and tried to look intelligent. aA covenant is some kind of agreement, isnat it?a aA biblical covenant could be anything from an international treaty to a business arrangement. It was regarded as a sacred commitment, legally and morally binding, absolutely unbreakable. The relations.h.i.+p between the Divinity and the people of Israel was covenantal, for example. I should have known immediately that was what David was doinga"he used the idea twice in explaining himself, the first time when he was talking to you and Philip Gardner in Berkeley, the second in the interview on Friday. The pa.s.sages were on both lists, but I was seeing it as one of his loosely metaphorical quotations, or expressing a psychological truth, not a literal one.a aWhat difference would that make, precisely?a aA great deal. You seea"well, let me take a step back here.a Take several, thought Kate. aWhat you see in David is a conjunction of two very different religious traditions that have been brought together by his personal disaster and welded together by his need. The idea of covenant is one of thema"weall come back to that. The other is the tradition of the Holy Fool, a figure David spent much of his adult life studying. Ten years ago, David took a long-delayed but decisive action and told Kyle Roberts that there was no future, no real future, in the academic world for him. David now attributes his harsh words to his own vanity, which I a.s.sume means that he was too proud of his own status to recommend an inferior scholar for a post that he, Kyle, was not suited for. I agreed with him at the time, and still do: One cannot allow oneself to be known as a person who recommends duds,- the academic world is too small and too unforgiving for that. At any rate, Davidas criticism was the spark that set off a badly unbalanced and volatile personality, and Davidas family, his beloved son, as well as three other innocents, were destroyed in the explosion.

aNow, one of the most basic characteristics of the fool, either a secular or a religious one, is that he is without a will. Even inanimate objects are more self-willed than a fool. Think of some of Charlie Chaplinas brilliant bits where he wrestles with chairs and clothing and lengths of wallpaper and such and then is beaten by them. Look at the way your Erasmus depends on his sceptera"a cla.s.sic piece of foolishness, by the way. He has no will,- he makes no choices,- he is wafted to and fro by powers he cannot control: Even when he appears forceful and aggressive, he is acting only as a mirror. David, in fact, took this to an extreme, though I admit a logical one: He does not even have words of his own.a She waited until she saw that Kate had followed her this far, saw Kate begin to nod, and continued.

aOnly a brilliant man like David could have managed it. And, more than brilliance. I am not so ready as Dean Gardner to attribute sainthood to David, but he did have a point, and Davidas charisma was always considerable.

aWhat I think happened, then, is that at the point in Davidas life where he had to choose between deatha"remember what he said, that the only thing worse than death was wanting death and being denied it?a"and some tolerable form of life, he chose a life of absolute surrender, of complete will-lessness. Complete and daily sacrifice, without any risk of doing harm to another by taking positive action, a form of service to humanity that was properly demanding and might go some way to make up for what he was responsible fora"and hereas where the idea of covenant comes in. Guilt is a feeling with a limited life span, and David could not take the chance that somedaya"in a year, or three years, or fivea"the initial impulse that drove him to live the life of a Fool would fade and he would find some excuse to resume his normal life. So he ensured that it would be permanent by declaring a covenant, an unbreakable oath said, I venture to say, over the dead body of his son.

aA covenant is either whole or it is brokena"nothing in between, no amendments or retractions. In the most archaic forms, the symbolic recognition of a covenant is a split carca.s.s, down the halves of which a flame is pa.s.sed or the people walk. In fact, in the Hebrew language a covenant is acut,a not just made, which serves as a reminder that if one party goes back on his part of the agreement, he may be split down the middle as the carca.s.s was.

aI can see Iam losing you, and I freely admit that itas a very cerebral explanation. In fact, I doubt very much that David thought of it in anything like this manner. His was, I imagine, a aguta response to the option of suicide. The foolas way of thinking came naturally to handa"it fita"and he clamped on the oath, sworn on his sonas body, like a suit of armor. Noa"more than armor,- like an exoskeleton, a rigid carapace that held him together and allowed him to justify living. The inflexibility of the vow, the safety of speaking in other menas words, the freedom that comes with letting goa"that has become his life. A life of service to the homeless, of ministering in different ways to the spiritually impoverished middle cla.s.ses and to the dangerously isolated seminarians.a aAnd now, jail,a said Kate slowly. aAnd probably prison.a aWhat do you mean?a Professor Whitlaw said sharply.

aI have had the strong feeling the last few days that Sawyer is reconciling himself to being incarcerated, that he doesnat really care whether heas in or out. At any rate, he certainly isnat afraid of it anymore, like he was at first.a aG.o.d. Oh G.o.d. Yes, I can see that. His ministry in prison. Oh Lord, what can we do?a aWe must make him talk. We have to find out what he knows about Johnas death. Professor Whitlaw, I am being horribly unprofessional by saying this, but frankly I have serious doubts that David Sawyer killed the man. However, I think he knows who did. He must tell us.a The cafe lunch tide that had risen around the two women was now starting to ebb, and Kate only now became briefly aware of her surroundings. After a long time, Professor Whitlaw looked up at her, and to Kateas astonishment the woman did not seem far from tears.

aI want David back, you do understand that. He was my best friend in all the world, and I have missed him terribly, every day, for all these years. However, much as I would rejoice in having him return to himself, I have to admit that what you want could finally destroy what remains of his life. If you make David break this strange vow of personal speechlessness, you will force him to break faith with his murdered son, and I suspect that for David that would be intolerable. It would negate the whole last ten years of his life. I do not wish to be overly dramatic, but I very much fear that if you break his oath, you will break him. You could kill him.a aWhat would you recommend we do?a aYou might find the real murderer.a Kate suppressed a surge of irritation. aYes,a she said dryly.

aOther than that, frankly, I do not know what you can do. Self-preservation is too low a priority for him to respond to that particular appeal, and you have already tried to convince him that he has the responsibility to help bring the manas killer to justice, with no result whatsoever. Unless you can convince him that his silence positively harms others, I canat see that youall budge him.a Kate began to pile her dishes together. She did not say anything, could not say anything without it being inexcusably rude. Even a aThank you very mucha would inevitably sound like sarcasm, and this woman was only doing her best. Still, even with all the pretty words shead dressed it in, she had told Kate no more than she knew already: Erasmus would not talk, Sawyer would not save himself. So she said nothing. Professor Whitlaw, however, had one more observation to throw in.

aMartyrdom has always been the act of fools. Itas the ultimate absurdity, giving up oneas life for an idea.a aMartyrs stand for something,a Kate said, suddenly fed up with words. aThereas nothing to stand for here. Heas just being stupid, and a real pain in the neck.a With that judgment, she tipped her plate into the tub marked DISHES and walked out into the rain.

TWENTY-THREE.

a The abrupt simplicity with which Francis won the attention and favour of Rome.

A few days later, David Sawyer was returned to the jail, along with a lengthy psychiatric evaluation that said, in effect, that the man was eccentric but quite sane enough to stand trial. That evening, on her way home, Kate stopped by his cell to see him. She stopped in the next night as well, to take him a book of poetry that Lee had sent, and the next. It soon became a part of her day, and twice when she was out in the city and might normally have gone directly home, she found herself making excuses to drop by her office first and then go up to the sixth floor for a few brief words.

Kate was not the only one to fall beneath the spell of Brother Erasmus. One evening he held out a flowered paper plate and offered her a home-baked chocolate chip cookie. A childas drawing mysteriously appeared, Scotch-taped to the wall of his cell. Once, late, following a long and depressing day, Kate entered the jail area and heard the sound of Sawyeras voice ringing out clear and loud among the astonis.h.i.+ngly silent cells. When she came nearer, she saw him stretched out on his narrow bed, reading aloud from a book called The Martian Chronicles. The other inmates were sitting, lying down, or hanging on their bars, listening to him. Kate turned and left. Another night, even later, Kate pa.s.sed by on business and heard a voice singing: a repet.i.tive tune, almost a chant, with every second line exhorting the listener: Praise Him and glorify Him forever.

He had visitors, too, over the next couple of weeks. Those of the homeless who could work up the courage to enter the daunting Hall of Justice came for brief visits: Salvatore once, the three Vietnam vets once each, Doc and Mouse and Wilhemena twice each. Beatrice came four times in the first six days after he had returned to the jail. From Sawyeras other worlds came Dean Gardner, who visited regularly, and Joel, the grad student who had given Erasmus rides to Berkeley. There was a steady stream of others from the seminary, professors, staff, and students, and from Fishermenas Wharf, the owner of the store that sold magic supplies and the crystal woman.

Brother Erasmus even had his own newspaper reporter, who had adopted him and argued with his editor about the newsworthiness of a jailed homeless man. Ten days after Sawyer had been brought back to San Francisco, the reporteras efforts paid off with a full-page human-interest story in the Sunday edition on homeless individuals, one of whom was Erasmus. Photographs and interviews of the homeless men and women connected to him, and of their more settled neighbors, succeeded in drawing a picture of the homeless population as a community of wise eccentrics. The feature spread resulted in a great deal of cynical laughter among those responsible for enforcing the law, a flurry of letters to the editor in praise and condemnation, a brief increase in the takings of the panhandlers across town, and even more visitors for David Sawyer.

It was a popular article, and two days later the reporter submitted another, smaller story, this one looking at the murder case itself in greater detail. His editor cut out half the words and changed it from an investigative piece to one with a greater emphasis on the people involved, but still, there it was in Wednesdayas paper, with interviews of five of the homeless, a review of the facts, and photographs of Erasmus, Beatrice, and the colorful Mouse.

The guards grumbled at the number of visitors they had to handle for this one prisoner. However, they did not stop bringing him plates of food their wives had made and snapshots of their dogs.

The only person Erasmus flatly refused to see was Professor Eve Whitlaw. Everyone else he listened to, smiled at, prayed with, and presented with a pithy saying to take away with them, but the English professor from his past, he would have nothing to do with. She tried twice but not again.

During the weeks after David Sawyeras arrest, Kate had been immensely busy, not only with the case against Sawyer but with another investigation that she and Hawkin had drawn, the lye poisoning of an alcoholic woman (who had looked to be in her sixties but was in fact thirty-two), which could have been either accident or suicide but was looking more and more like murder. It involved long hours of interviewing the womanas large and predominantly drunken extended family, and it left Kate with little time to spare for Erasmus, safe in his cell.

It was over a month since the murder, and Kate felt the Sawyer case slipping from her. She had neither the time nor the concentration to pursue it further, and she was uncomfortably aware that she might let it go entirely but for the continued entreaties of Dean Gardner and Professor Whitlaw. She came home late on a Monday night, aching with exhaustion, cold through, and hungry, and found a series of five pink aWhile You Were Outa slips lined up for her on the kitchen table: Philip Gardner, Eve Whitlaw, Rosalyn Hall, Philip Gardner, Eve Whitlaw.

Fortunately, it was too late to return the calls. However, she no longer had much of an appet.i.te. She poured herself a tumbler gla.s.s of raw red wine, drank it up as she stood in the kitchen, filled up the gla.s.s again, and took it to bed.

Things looked rosier in the morning, as she lay with Leeas arm around her shoulder while they drank their morning coffee.

aYou see,a Kate was saying, awhat I had hoped to do was a.s.semble enough quotes of my own to meet him on his own ground. I even got a book of quotations and started it offa"The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself and aI hate quotations. Tell me what you know,a that kind of thing. But I canat do it. I just donat have time to memorize the whole d.a.m.n book.a aYou saw the notes, that Eve and Philip Gardner called?a aI did. Iall call them later.a aSheas only here for another month, did you know that?a aSo she told me. About six times. I donat know what I can do, Sawyer wonat see her.a The phone rang.

aOh h.e.l.l, itas not even eight oaclock.a aLet the machine get it,a Lee said, but Kate was already stretched across to the telephone.

aYes?a she demanded. aOh, Al. Hi. Yeah, I was expecting someone else. Whatasa"Who?a Kate became quiet and listened for a long time, unconsciously disentangling herself from Leeas embrace until she was sitting upright on the edge of the bed. aWhat do they think about her chances?a she said finally, listening again. aOkay. Sure. Do you have someone at the hospital? Good. See you there, twenty minutes.a She hung up and went to the closet.