The Wrath of Angels

‘She does not say,’ he replied. He let the double meaning hang.

‘Where is she?’

‘Elsewhere. She will join us soon. She has tasks to accomplish first.’

‘For you?’

He nodded. ‘She told me of your wounds.’

There were to be no secrets here, then. ‘I didn’t know that you read sign language.’

‘I have known Liat for a long time. We have learned to communicate in all sorts of ways.’

‘And what did she say of my wounds?’

‘She told me that she was surprised you were still alive.’

‘I hear that a lot.’

‘So many injuries. So many times when you should have died, but you did not. I wonder why you have been spared?’

‘Maybe I’m immortal.’

‘You would not be the first man to think it. I myself still hope to beat the odds. But, no, I don’t think that you’re immortal. Someday you’ll die: the question is whether you’ll come back again.’

‘Like Brightwell and his kind?’

‘Do you think that you might share something of their nature?’

‘No.’

I sipped the coffee. It was too sweet for me. Arab coffee always has been.

‘You seem very certain of that.’

‘I’m not like them.’

‘That wasn’t the question.’

‘Is this a test?’

‘Call it an exploration of ideas.’

‘Call it what you want. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Do you dream of falling, of burning?’

‘No.’ Yes.

‘I don’t believe you. What do you dream?’

‘Is that why you brought me back here, to interrogate me about my dreams?’

‘There is truth in them, or an attempt to understand truths.’

I pushed the coffee away.

‘Let this go, rabbi. It won’t lead us anywhere profitable.’

Behind me, the door opened. I looked back, expecting to see the dark-haired youth with the thwarted feelings. Instead, it was the object of his desire. Liat was dressed in blue jeans and a long coat of sky blue silk. Her hair was braided once again. She looked very beautiful, even with the gun in her hand.

Two of Epstein’s young men joined us from the kitchen. They were also armed. One of them walked to the front of the restaurant and pulled the shades, cutting us off from outside, while Liat pulled down another shade on the door. The second gunman kept an eye on me while Epstein removed the cell phone from my pocket. It buzzed in his hand. The number of the caller was blocked.

‘Your friends, I assume?’ said Epstein.

‘They worry about my health in the big city.’

‘Answer it. Tell them everything is fine.’

The man who had pulled down the window shades had blond hair and a soft blond beard. It gave him an unfortunate and inappropriate resemblance to a Nazi. He also had a suppressor which he fitted to the muzzle of his pistol before pointing it at my head.

‘Answer it,’ repeated Epstein.

I did as I was told. Long ago, Angel, Louis and I had agreed a series of red-flag words for circumstances just like this one. I used none of them now, but simply told them that all was well. If I called them in, there would be bloodshed, and nothing would ever be the same again. Better to wait, and see how this played out. I had to believe that Epstein did not want me dead, and I knew that I had done nothing that might cause him to turn against me.

‘I thought I could trust you,’ I said, once I had ended the call.

‘My sentiments exactly. Are you armed?’

‘No.’

‘That’s unusual for you. Are you certain?’

I stood slowly, put my hands up, and turned to face the wall. I smelled Liat’s scent, and felt her hands upon me.

‘And there I was thinking we had something special,’ I said to her.

But she, of course, did not reply.

She stepped back, and I sat down again. This time there were no sly looks as she leaned against the counter. Her face betrayed nothing.

‘Why are you behaving like this?’ I asked Epstein. ‘You know what I’ve done. I’ve fought the same fight that you have. Those wounds didn’t come out of nowhere.’

‘I sacrificed a son,’ said Epstein.

‘And I a wife and child.’

‘They were lost to you before all this began.’

‘No, they’re part of it. I know they are.’

‘You know nothing. You don’t even know yourself. The first question one must ask of a thing is, what is its nature? What is your nature, Mr Parker?’

I wanted to spring at him for his dismissal of the deaths of my wife and daughter. I wanted to take his throat in my hands and crush it, to pummel him until there was nothing left but a mask of blood. I wanted to put a gun in the mouths of his thugs, his religious soldiers, and watch them squirm. If those whom I had thought of as allies were prepared to turn their guns on me, then I had no need of enemies.

I took a breath and closed my eyes. When I opened them again the anger had begun to fade. If this was a provocation, I would not rise to it.

‘You’re quoting Marcus Aurelius,’ I said. ‘Either you’ve read the Meditations, or a serial killer novel. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume the former, in which case you’ll know he also warned that each day one would meet violent, ungrateful, uncharitable men, and their actions arose through ignorance of good and evil. If you want to understand a man’s nature, he said, look to what he shuns, and what he cleaves to. I think I overestimated you, rabbi. Underneath your cultivated veneer of calm and wisdom, you’re a confused, frightened man.’

‘And I know it,’ he replied. ‘I will admit to it. But you, you refuse to look too deeply into yourself for fear of what you might find there. What are you, Mr Parker? What are you?’

I stood slowly. The man with the suppressor on his gun tracked me.

‘I’m the man who killed the one who took your son,’ I said, and I saw him flinch. ‘I did what you and your people could not. Now what are you going to do, rabbi: shoot me? Bury me somewhere deep along with the others you’ve found, the ones who think they’re fallen angels or risen demons? Do it. I’m tired. Whatever wrong I’ve done, whatever my failings, I’ve tried to make reparation for them. I have nothing left to prove to you. If you think I do, then you’re a fool.’

For a moment nobody moved, and nobody spoke. Liat’s eyes moved from my face to the rabbi’s. He glanced at her, and I saw him give her the barest nod. From the pocket of her coat she produced a sheet of paper and tossed it on the table before me.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘It’s a list of names,’ said Epstein. ‘It’s similar to the one that you gave to me yesterday, but it came from a different source. It’s more recent.’

I didn’t touch it. I left it where it lay.

‘Don’t you want to look at it?’

‘No. I’m done with you. I’m going to walk out of here, and if one of your knuckle-draggers wants to shoot me