I remembered Josip patiently waiting, and rose to leave.
Up the hallway a door opened and the first monk emerged. He gave me a placid nod and led me to the door in the big gate. With a courteous word of farewell he let me out.
Instead of the rust-black VW bug, Alec’s red Fiat gleamed in the weak sunlight.
He leaned against the car door, contemplating the distant mountains, Riev Dhiavilyi—Devil’s Mountain—crowned by the Eyrie silhouetted in the drifting haze.
Alec had not yet seen me. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows and the brisk wind ruffled through his hair and over the shirt but he seemed unaware of the cold.
As the door shut behind me with a quiet but solid thud he squinted against the sun’s glare, then took a couple of swift strides to meet me. He studied my face, then said, “I’m sorry I did not tell you before. I’d planned to today. Both of us were going to.”
“Both?”
“No one as yet knows that my father is here. He wants to meet you. Asked me yesterday to bring you up to have lunch with him. Are you up to it, do you think?”
I had difficulty making the transition, and said blankly, “Shouldn’t I be dressed up?”
“Your appearance is fine. Are you too tired?”
“You knew all the time?”
“Your mother was born in Vienna, but she wasn’t baptized until your grandmother reached Paris. Apparently Armandros always had some excuse, until right before they parted.”
“And?” I asked, but I knew what was coming.
Alec said gently, “And she was baptized Maria Sofia Dsaret.”
Up above, an eagle rode on a current of air, head twitching back and forth. The rising wind rustled through the trees.
“She knew,” I said. “She knew.”
“Armandros confessed the false marriage to her before he went back to fight against the Russians.”
“So that’s why they broke up?”
“The initial break was on ideological grounds, as I told you before. This is what I couldn’t find a way to tell you: when he would not give up his plan to fly against Russia she begged him as a last act to go to church with her so their daughter could be baptized. Though he wasn’t religious he apparently balked at lying to the priests about the baptismal certificate, which in those days was often the only form of ID a baby had. So he told her the truth. He hadn’t know if she was serious or not about that ‘last act,’ but after that confession, well, it was the last time they saw one another.”
“So she knew. I just don’t get it. She’s the most honest and straitlaced person I’ve ever known, but she wears a ring to this day!”
“On which hand?”
“On the left, of course.”
He gave his head a shake. “In this part of the world we wear wedding bands on the right hand.”
I tried to deal—but my brain had frozen.
“In those days, to be a single mother was serious business,” he said. “The ring as well as the false name would be a bit of social protection during stressful times—for your mother as well as for your grandmother. After all, she’d thought she was married when she left home and when her baby was born. Kim, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have—I meant to—but I didn’t quite know how.”
I sank into the car seat, and wound my hair slowly around my right fist so it wouldn’t blow in the wind, as I thought wonderingly, Everything has changed. No. Nothing has changed, except I know the truth that everyone else knew.
He started the car and started down the long road. I said bitterly, “You would’ve told me in Dubrovnik if I hadn’t reacted like General Gudarian leading the troops every time you opened your mouth. And I probably wouldn’t have believed you anyway.” Depression curled like cold fog at the edges of my thoughts.
“I should have done better at broaching the subject,” he said. “I thought I was avoiding the accusatory, but I wasn’t, or you wouldn’t have been so angry with me. Rightly so. I grew up angry at your grandmother for what I regarded as a selfish act. Easy to condemn, isn’t it, when one doesn’t understand all the facts?”
“Totally.” I let out my breath, and the last of my anger with it. “Totally.”
Alec flashed a quick smile at me, but his eyes were preoccupied. “How’d you track the story down? Old palace servants?”
“At first. They told me about Salfmatta Mina—”
“Oh, the old governess.” He nodded. “Everyone whispered about her for years, but she steadfastly maintained she knew nothing.”
“She told me the whole story. That’s who I was with, when I escaped from Tony that time. She was a witness at the wedding, or what she thought was a wedding. I’m glad she doesn’t know it was fake.” I grimaced, shaking my head hard.
He nosed the car down the driveway to the Assumption church, the one with the mosaic ledge at which the festival begins. The one with the treasure.
He parked and helped me out. Silently I followed him around to the nave. As we entered, an old woman stepped from a pew, knelt and crossed herself, and walked away.
Alec and I were now alone.
We walked up the center aisle. The statues were there, the arresting beauty unchanged. Eternal rapture on Mary’s face.
“Wait.” I held up a hand, and looked around. “No children—no ghosts.” I sighed. “I not only saw ghost kids here last time, I heard them singing. But you say no one in the Dsaret family saw them?”
Alec said, “You do have two parents.”
I drew in a breath sharply. “The Murrays? Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe because everything here has been so much about Mom’s side of the family tree.”
“What do you know about your father’s people?”
“Nothing, really. His folks were old when they moved to California, and there weren’t any other relatives.” I pointed up at the cracked plaster figures with the peeling paint. “I didn’t dream that, did I?”
Alec murmured, “The statues underneath the plaster are solid gold.” He smiled at my dropped jaw. “One of the few pleasant stories about the prewar years, and Milo couldn’t write it down. If he’s up to it, I’ll ask him to give you the details, if you like, but the gist of it is, they took advantage of an already established process.”
“You mean, replacing the statues?” I whispered.
“That had been under discussion for close to twenty years. When the king and the then-bishop took a hand, things did speed up. Did you notice the statue of Mary in the garden up there on Mt. Corbesc?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“That artist, a man named Janacek, was well known here. He was a Riev carpenter. In his free time he made religious art. The king began the conspiracy with Janacek, who was connected to the rabbi at that time through his wife. He was already involved in disguising the temple against possible invasion—everyone had heard what was happening to Jews in Germany.”
“Is the Blessing behind how the religions get along? Because that sure doesn’t match the rest of history.”
He said, “Pretty much, yes. Anyway, his wife and daughter obtained work as laundry women at the palace, and among the baskets of linens she took away to wash at the close of the day were quantities of gold.”
“So she sneaked it all out of the palace?”
“A lot of it. Milo and his cousin Grigorian helped, in countless wheel-barrows of sewage rolled right through the city. This was before the pipes were put in. Milo was supposedly overseeing the project, which was to be finished in time for the festival. Janacek had had the reputation for keeping his art to himself in his basement until he was ready to show it, or this never would have worked. Milo said that the night the statues were finished and they went down to see them, all gleaming golden in lamplight, is something he will never forget. This was early in August.”
“And the plaster?”
Alec’s smile deepened. “That was the fun part. They had to act fast, as the procession and installation were planned for the thirteenth. He an
d Grigorian and some artist friends—the sister of one of them is Emilio’s wife, who was in on it as well—all sat up at night, drinking wine and plastering. Poor Janacek could not bear to watch. A couple days later they painted the figures, this time under Janacek’s direction. On the thirteenth, the figures were unveiled, and the townspeople were astonished to find the great work done in plaster! But Janacek explained that the figures were solid oak underneath, built to last. The plaster was to further protect the wood, and could be changed every few years. The unlucky blokes chosen as bearers sweated the figures up the stairs and out into the streets on their way to the mountain.”
“I bet they weigh a ton.”
“That was the bad moment, Milo said. Wondering if someone would question their weight. But no one did. Oak is heavy, after all.”
“And so they’ve been here all along, despite the Germans, and the Soviets, and Tony. That’s great!” I laughed. “Are they all gold?”
“No, five have been converted. Milo found an artist who has been replacing the figures on Janacek’s model, working from photographs. I’ve been overseeing the exchange, one at a time. She thinks the aging process on the plaster is to keep visual continuity. Hers are wood underneath. She doesn’t know about the gold.”
Aware of tiredness pulling at my muscles, my shoulder, I sank onto a pew and stared silently up.
I enjoyed the story, until the thought popped into my head that if Gran had not married Armandros she too probably would have been part of the conspiracy.
“Married” Armandros? Oh, Gran.
“Something wrong?”
He must have felt my change in mood; I bounced up again from the wooden pew and burst out, “I guess I can see Gran giving Armandros a fake name when she emigrated to the States, but what I can’t get past is her wearing that ring her whole life. It’s like she was living a lie.”
“Do you think she was lying?” His gaze was steady. “How many people do you know whose marriages are absolutely legal and for whom the whole process means nothing? From everything you’ve told me about her, my guess would be that the ring was a symbol of her good faith, even if the priest blessing it was false.”
I thought of people I knew who out of ignorance, or boredom, or greed, or transient lust, get married and then divorced and then married again a year later. I thought of Gran, who had not been able to make a meaningless marriage with Alec’s father.
I thought of Alec, who was expected to make one with Ruli von Mecklundburg.
“Shall we go?” Alec suggested.
THIRTY-NINE
KING MILO WAS FRAIL, but he sat straight in his chair, and he looked kingly. There was nothing faltering in the deep-set gray-blue eyes or in the slow, precise French.
He was staying in an old stone-walled house down in the valley behind Our Lady of the Assumption. It was a quiet house, shaded by old oaks and perched on the bank above a deep-running river. I expect it was a religious retreat; a black-robed Benedictine brother opened the door to us, and there were religious symbols on the walls of the simply furnished rooms.
Milo remained in his armchair before a roaring fire and apologized for not getting up. His face was long and lined and craggy; except for the eyes it was difficult to see much resemblance to Alec. He had the same steady, reflective gaze, which narrowed to express humor the same way his son’s did.
I sat on the edge of the other big chair with my hands in my lap and my ankles crossed, like a schoolgirl at a formal tea, and let him lead the conversation. He offered refreshment once, and though I remembered Alec’s having mentioned lunch I sensed that the plans had been changed. I said “No thanks,” then met Alec’s eyes as he stood behind his father’s chair, and he lifted his chin slightly in agreement.
The conversation was short. Milo asked me what I thought of Dobrenica and after I told him some of my impressions, he went on to ask a number of questions about Gran, and about my mother, about music and books and art.
Alec remained in the background, listening. After half an hour or so, about the time I finished my impressions of Vienna, I detected a shade of hoarseness in Milo’s voice. I glanced Alec’s way for clues, and caught a flicker of his eyes toward the door.
I finished up quickly, “And I saw the London Ballet. That’s when I met Alec. You know the rest.”
I didn’t know how much he knew, but I left it at that.
Alec said, “How’s your shoulder? This has been a rather long first day.”
“I’m tired,” I said truthfully, starting to rise.
“I’ll take you back to town.”
“Thank you for visiting me, Aurelia Kim.” Milo extended a hand and gripped mine with brief but firm warmth. “I trust you will visit again.”
“I’d like that,” I responded sincerely.
When we were outside, Alec said, “I’m sorry about the lunch. He must have taken a bad turn last night and a messenger, if one was sent, did not catch up with me.”
“Oh, yes. The unreliable phones.”
He spread his hands. “There are many who still condemn the hydroelectric dam as frivolous. How do you feel?”
“Like week-old kitty litter. I think it was poor Josip’s well-sprung chariot that did me in. You sent him home, I take it.”
“Yes, with thanks, since he would not take money. Who is he, one of the Waleskas?”
“Just married the oldest daughter.” I wound my hair around my hand again, and as the car started to roll, I leaned back and shut my eyes.
“Shall we stop somewhere for a meal, or would you rather we postpone until dinner? If I go straight back now, I might be able to shake free of business by seven.”
I sighed. “Perfect.”
The clouds were disappearing, leaving a warm afternoon. The city had never looked so lovely.
Nat’s door was unlocked, but she was not there. I found a bowl of fruit and a piece of yellow cheese wrapped up in white paper on Nat’s main table, where the usual clutter had been shoved aside. Propped against it was a note in a hasty scrawl, It’s twins—might need a C-sec—make yourself at home! N.
I nibbled some cheese, ate a plum, washed it down with water, then curled up for a nap. It was 6:30 by the time I had dressed and brushed the snarls out of my hair. Alec arrived soon after. “Nat not here?” he asked as he stepped in.
“Nope,” I said, feeling inexplicably nervous. As if he had grown, or the room had shrunk. I rummaged busily, found her note to show him, and retreated.
He glanced at it, then at me across the room fiddling with a lamp, and smiled. “Shall we go?”
“Sure.”
I picked up a sweater. Alec followed without touching me, and we got into the car. The air was summery; I twisted up my hair again, and crumpled the sweater into a ball in my lap as the car loudly made the climb out of the city.
The drive was not long. Alec pulled off the road onto a narrow track that bumped along for a hundred feet or so then ended under a grove of oak. “Here we are.”
“What’s this?” I said, looking about me.
“I thought you might like a picnic. I know I’d welcome a few hours without interruption.”
“A picnic? Sounds great. As long as Tony’s not invited.”
“Tony? So he took you on a picnic, did he?”
“At Sedania. It’s so pretty up there. More than Aunt Sisi deserves,” I added.
“My father gave it to her when she was married,” Alec said with a wry smile as he tossed the keys on his hand. We were still sitting in the car. “At her request. More of a demand, I suspect. I know he always regretted it, even though he doesn’t believe that the site is a portal to the Nasdrafus.”
“He should take it back. What’s supposed to be the portal, that weird old archway?”
“That’s the tradition. Did you see things there?”
“Yes. For a moment. I still don’t get it. Six senses? I still don’t know how much of what I saw is real and what isn’t.”
“Maybe we need to rel
ook at what defines ‘real,’” he said. “One of my friends, Beka Ridotski, has a great-aunt who is a Salfmatta.”
“Isn’t Beka Jewish? How does she reconcile using the Catholic novena to do her magical stuff?”
“She doesn’t. All the religious traditions have their own forms.”
I hit the car door latch. “Are there any forms outside of religious tradition?”
Alec got out of the car, and sprung the lid to the trunk. “Maybe. I don’t know—since I have no proof that magic exists, I haven’t pursued the methods by which it is invoked.”
“Okay. My brain is about to explode from the idea of redefining reality. So I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, and let me say that I hope your dad takes Sedania back, because it’s so beautiful, and Aunt Sisi doesn’t deserve it. Can I carry something? One hand’s better than none.”
“Here. How about this rug?” Alec held out a quilt and I tucked it under my arm as he picked up a basket and another quilt. He slammed the car trunk down and tossed the keys on the seat. “This way. We should make the spot before the light disappears.” He added, smiling, “You are not being abducted, by the way. The keys are there in the car, and you’ll find a light in the bottom of the basket if you decide to leave.”
“And strand you up here?” I laughed.
“I know where I am. I hiked all over these slopes when I was small.”
I followed him down a short trail, and then I forgot everything as we emerged on a ledge beside a small waterfall plashing into a stream. Below us lay the city of Riev, which was beginning to glow golden with night lights. Above, the sky was purpling swiftly, punctuated by glimmering stars.
“Nights this clear and warm are rare here,” he commented, setting his basket down and spreading out the quilt. “I thought it would be a shame not to take advantage of it. And best of all—” He gestured for me to sit down. “Reithermann’s evil twin could show up, or Tony could gather the remains of his boys and swoop down on the city, or the council could challenge one another to duels, and none of ’em can find me. For tonight.”