experience, although naturally that was fine too.
Joe sagged in his chair.
I'm limp, he said, I can't move. That's all, I hope.
Not quite. Apparently the heavy scent of Sophia's cheroots lingered in the bedroom for days. Munk said he used to go in there and find himself immediately lost in a reverie. He said it was several weeks before he could pull himself together and get back to working in a proper manner.
Proper? cried Joe. What's proper about any of these goings-on? It's all outrageous, that's what, and should never have been repeated to a sober Christian like myself. Mere fluffs of ambrosia indeed. A scandal.
Cairo laughed.
Now in the course of that very long night Sophia talked about a number of things, including the man she'd loved all her life, the last of the Skanderbeg Wallensteins. Her mother had been a servant in the Wallenstein castle in 1802, when that young and friendly Wallenstein wife had taken a Swiss stranger to her bed, and had been so excited by it she had to tell some of her female servants about it the next day, after the stranger had gone on his way. Thus Sophia was able to describe the Swiss stranger who'd been the father of her beloved Skanderbeg, the young Swiss student with a passion for details who'd been on a walking tour to the Levant that year. I mean she described his appearance exactly, down to a quite specific and intimate fact.
What fact? asked Joe.
Cairo cleared his throat.
It seems the Hungarian Szondi men all inherited a certain peculiarity from Johann Luigi.
What peculiarity?
A physical one that proved exceptionally pleasurable to the Szondi women.
Move on, Cairo, what specific fact?
It has to do with size, with dimension.
Oh.
And with a change in direction.
Oh?
Highly unusual. About halfway along, it seems, matters take an abrupt turn. Thus movement is going on in many directions at once, so that the love the Szondi man is expressing is being expressed in a whole host of different manners at one and the same time. Apparently you can't speak of thrust in such a case. And in and out is simply out of the question. Apparently there's only one word for the sensation the woman feels inside her in such a case.
Which is?
An explosion. A vast explosion of continuing duration as long as he's inside her. That change of direction, you see, simply strikes everywhere. Apparently it feels as if something about the size of a baby's head is in there, humming and singing and shouting for joy.
Explosions, muttered Joe. These revelations are exhausting me. Back to Munk and Sophia at once.
Yes. Well when Sophia described the young Swiss student who had impregnated the young and friendly Wallenstein wife in 1802, Munk recognized at once that this student was none other than his own great- grandfather, the tireless Johann Luigi Szondi.
Tireless Luigi, said Joe. That's him all right. But hold on there. What about this male Szondi peculiarity you were speaking of?
What about it?
Well Sophia had just spent the night with Munk.
Yes.
And so?
Oh you mean didn't she recognize the similarity, the connection, between Munk and that Swiss student of the early nineteenth century? Of course she did. No woman could mistake that explosion. In fact Munk speculates that was the real reason, once they'd got into bed, that Sophia was so taken with him. He's modest about it and doesn't put it down to his charm. No, he thinks Sophia must have found the idea of it immensely appealing. Erotic to the outer limits, in other words, making love with the great-grandson of the man who'd fathered her beloved Skanderbeg.
I'll never understand the Balkans, said Joe. Go on.
Well Sophia also told Munk how her Skanderbeg, formerly a Trappist by the way, had discovered the original Bible in the Holy Land, been shocked by its chaos and gone on to forge an acceptable version. A new original.
Discovered what? whispered Joe. The wind up here's playing tricks with my head.
The original Bible, repeated Cairo slowly. You know, the Sinai Bible.
Joe choked. He reached for his handkerchief but didn't get it up to his mouth in time. A slug of dark brown phlegm shot out of his throat and landed in his champagne glass. Joe gazed absentmindedly at the glass for a moment and fished in it with a spoon.
You're smoking too much, said Cairo.
Joe nodded vaguely.
I believe it. What I don't believe is this business about the Sinai Bible, Munk knowing about it all these years. Why didn't he ever mention it to me?
Did you ever mention it to him?
No.
Well?
I see. But wasn't he interested in finding it?
Munk's not religious, said Cairo. You know that.
I do. But I'm not religious either.
So?
Joe shook his head. He seemed dazed.
All right, Cairo, so the bog's all around me and I'm sinking fast. Give me a hand and pull me out before my head goes under. In other words, when did you learn all this from Munk? About this Luigi fellow who was your common great-grandfather and what he'd been up to one night in Albania? No I don't mean that, I mean about the Sinai Bible. When did you learn about the Sinai Bible?
When I met Munk.
What? All the way back at the beginning of the poker game?
Yes.
How'd it happen? I'm about to go under for the last time.
I asked Munk about his name. Menelik Ziwar had told me my great-grandfather's real name was Szondi.
He did? Old Menelik the mummy? On his back in the bottom of his sarcophagus conjuring up the past again? Well I thought I was going under for the last time but it seems you can sink forever in this bog. I mean, how did old Menelik know that? I always thought he was ferreting out tombs along the Nile, not spending time down in villages on the fringe of the Nubian desert soliciting accounts of Swiss wanderers who had passed that way in disguise some years before he was born.
Menelik had known my great-grandmother when he was young, when they were both slaves in the delta.
She told him about the father of her child, who'd been a well-known expert in Islamic law in his day.
Later Menelik was able to trace this expert back to Aleppo, where he discovered his real identity.
Aleppo, you see, was where Johann Luigi had lived for several years, perfecting his Arabic, before assuming his disguise and setting out on his wanderings.
Ah sure, someone's real identity. So tell me now in the end when it's almost over, what is this game we've been playing, Cairo? And where did it really start?
Cairo laughed. Any one of those places we've mentioned?
Yes I suppose. And when. When did it start?
Any one of those times we've mentioned?
I believe it, I do. All these years I've been circling around like my pigeons up there. Well why not pop another song of time so we can see the scheme of things over the Old City?
Cairo opened another bottle of champagne and the pigeons scattered in the air. The two men watched them
