monk held a large tin watering can and sprinkled one of the most productive casks, a large-leafed cucumber plant coiled around a stake, already abloom with yellow flowers and heavy with fuzzy fingers of infant vegetable.
Bernardo called out a greeting and the monk turned. He was in his forties, tan and freckled, with a tense foxlike face, pale-brown eyes, thin pinkish hair, and a lied beard cropped short and carelessly trimmed. When he saw Bernardo he put down the watering can and assumed a position of deference, head slightly lowered, hands clasped in front of him. Daniel's presence didn't seem to register.
Bernardo introduced them in English, and when Roselli said 'Good afternoon, Chief Inspector,' it was with an American accent. Unusual-most of the Franciscans came from Europe.
Roselli listened as Bernardo summarized his conversation with Daniel. The priest ended with: 'The chief inspector isn't at liberty to say what's happened to her, but I'm afraid we can assume the worst, Joseph.'
Roselli said nothing, but his head dipped a little lower and he turned away. Daniel heard a sharp intake of breath, then nothing.
'My son,' said Bernardo, and placed a hand on Roselli's shoulder.
'Thank you, Father. I'm all right.'
The Franciscans stood in silence for a moment and Daniel found himself reading the wooden tags: cornichon de
BOURBON, BIG GIRL HYBRID, AQUADULCE CLAUDIA (WHITE SEEDED), TRUE GHERKIN
Bernardo whispered something to Roselli in what sounded like Latin, patted his shoulder again, and said to Daniel: 'The two of you speak. I've chores to attend to. If there's anything else you need, Daniel, I'll be across the way, at the College.'
Daniel thanked him and Bernardo shuffled off.
Alone with Roselli, Daniel smiled at the monk, who responded by looking down at his hands, then at the watering can.
'Feel free to continue watering,' Daniel told him. 'We can talk while you work.'
'No, that's all right. What do you need to know?'
'Tell me about the first time you saw Fatma-the night you took her in.'
'They're not the same, Inspector,' said Roselli quietly, as if admitting a transgression. His eyes looked everywhere but at Daniel.
'Oh?'
'The first time I saw her was three or four days before we took her in. On the Via Dolorosa, near the Sixth Station of the Cross.'
'Near the Greek Chapel?'
'Just past it.'
'What was she doing there?'
'Nothing. Which was why I noticed her. The tourists were milling around, along with their guides, but she was off to the side, not trying to beg or sell anything-simply standing there. I thought it was unusual for an Arab girl of that age to be out by herself.' Roselli hid the lower part of his face behind his hand. It seemed a defensive gesture, almost guilty.
'Was she soliciting for prostitution?'
Roselli looked pained. 'I wouldn't know.'
'Do you remember anything else about her?'
'No, it? I was on a? meditative walk, Inspector. Father Bernardo has instructed me to walk regularly, in order to cut myself off from external stimuli, to get closer to my? spiritual core. But my attention wandered and I saw her.'
Another confession.
Roselli stopped talking, eyed the casks, and said, 'Some of these are getting wilted. I think I will water.' Lifting the watering can, he began walking along the row, probing, sprinkling.
The Catholics, thought Daniel, tagging along. Always baring their souls. The result, he supposed, of living totally in the head-faith is everything, thoughts equivalent to actions. Peek at a pretty girl and it's as bad as if you slept with her. Which could make for plenty of sleepless nights. He looked at Roselli's profile, as grim and humorless as that of a cave-dwelling prophet. A prophet of doom, perhaps? Tormented by his own fallibility?
Or did the torment result from something more serious than lust?
'Did the two of you talk, Brother Roselli?'
'No,' came the too-quick answer. Roselli pinched off a brown tomato leaf, turned over several others, searching for parasites. 'She seemed to be staring at me-I may have been staring myself. She looked disheveled and I wondered what had caused a young girl to end up like that. It's an occupational hazard, wondering about misfortune. I was once a social worker.'
A zealous one, no doubt.
'Then what?'
Roselli looked puzzled.
'What did you do after you exchanged stares, Brother Roselli?'
'I returned to Saint Saviour's.'
