The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud

20

ZAFARIN TREMBLED. ONLY THE PRESENCE OF his father kept him from turning and fleeing. His mother was holding his arm, and his wife, Ayat, with their litde daughter, walked at his side without a word-they were as frightened as he was. A thin, frail-looking little man, modestly dressed, had opened the door and greeted them quietly.

Now he led the women into another room. "Wait here," he told them, closing the door behind him as he turned back to Zafarin and his father. He led them through the foyer to the threshold of a richly carved double door, opened it, and ushered them inside. Shelves lined the walls of the room, overflowing with books and other objects that were impossible to discern in the flickering candlelight. Heavy curtains over the windows blocked every ray of sun, maintaining the effect of a perpetual twilight in which the shadows seemed alive.

The man at the head of the immense, elaborately carved wooden table should have been dwarfed by the enormous chair in which he sat, but it only made his imposing figure more intimidating. There was not a hair on his head, but the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth left no doubt as to his age, which was also apparent in his bony, large-knuckled hands, which were clasped before him on the table, veins seeming to pulse through almost transparent skin.

Along each side of the table were four high-backed chairs. Sitting in them were eight men, dressed in severe black. Their eyes remained lowered as Zafarin and his father entered the room.

"You failed."

Addaio's voice echoed through the oppressive chamber. Zafarin lowered his head, unable to hide the shame and terror that lay deep within his soul. His father took a step forward and fearlessly met the pastor's eyes.

"I have given you two sons. Both Zafarin and his brother Mendib before him have been selfless and brave; they have sacrificed for you; each has given his body, his voice, his future. Mendib languishes in a foreign prison. They will not speak until the Day of Judgment, when God raises them from the dead again. Our family does not deserve your recriminations. For centuries, the best of us have dedicated our lives to Jesus Christ and to this community. We are human, Addaio, only human, and we fail. Zafarin is intelligent, and you know it. You yourself insisted that he, like

Mendib, go to the university. My son believes that there is a traitor among us, someone who has access to your plans even as you are plotting them out and knows each move we intend to make before we even begin.

"The failure is here, Addaio, inside, and you must find the traitor who lives among us. Betrayal has lived in our community down through time. That is the only way to explain the fact that so far every attempt to rescue what is ours has failed."

Addaio listened without moving a muscle, but his eyes filled with fury.

Zafarin's father stepped forward, up to the table, and placed a sheaf of more than fifty pages, covered front and back with handwriting, on its polished surface.

"This is the report my son has prepared on what happened. His suspicions are there too."

Addaio ignored the papers. He stood up and began to pace silently back and forth. Then he rounded on Zafarin, looming over the younger man as though he were about to strike him.

"Do you know what this failure means? Months, perhaps years before we can try again! The police are investigating, they've begun to connect your failure to your brother's and all the others and they are determined this time to get to the bottom of it. Some of our men may be arrested. If they talk, what then?"

"But these others know nothing of the truth… why they were sent-" Zafarin's father interrupted.

"Quiet! What do you know? Our people in Italy, in Germany, in other countries, know what they need to know, and if they fall into the hands of the police, they'll be made to talk, which means the trail may lead to us. Then what do we do? Do we all cut out our tongues so that we will be unable to betray our Lord?"

"Whatever happens, it shall be the will of God," Zafarin's father said.

"No! It will not be the will of God at all! It will be the result of the failure and stupidity of people who cannot fulfill His will! It will be my fault for not being able to choose better people to do what Jesus asks of us, people worthy of his sacred mission."

The door opened, and two more young men were shown in, accompanied like Zafarin by their fathers.

Rasit, the second man who had been with Zafarin in Turin, and Dermisat, the third, embraced him, as Addaio looked on in contempt. Zafarin had not known that his companions had arrived in Urfa. Addaio had imposed a vow of silence on families and friends so that the three would not learn of one another's presence in the city.

The fathers of Rasit and Dermisat spoke on behalf of their sons, pleading for understanding and clemency.

Addaio seemed not to be listening; he seemed distracted, lost in his own frustration and despair. Silence prevailed in the chamber for a time. Then the pastor raised his head, his eyes cold.

"The three of you will pay for your failure, which is a sin against our Lord."

'Are the sacrifices our sons have already made not enough for you? They have allowed themselves to be mutilated, and one has died. What further punishment would you have them suffer?" Rasit's father burst out.

"You dare defy me?" asked Addaio ominously.

"No. God forbid! You know that our faith in our Lord is unswerving and that we obey you in all things. I ask only compassion for our sons, who have given so much for us, for our mission," the father replied.

Dermisat's father, more contrite, distanced himself from the others. "You are our pastor," he said, "and your word is law. Do what you will with them, for you represent our Lord on earth."

All six of the men fell to their knees then and, heads bowed, began to pray. All they could do was await Addaio's judgment.

None of the eight men who surrounded Addaio had yet spoken. At a sign from him, they filed out of the room. Addaio followed without another glance at the kneeling men.

"Well?" asked Addaio, when they had gathered in an adjoining room. "Is there a traitor among us?"

The group's continued silence enraged him. "You have nothing to say? Nothing, after all that has happened?"

'Addaio, you are our pastor, our Lord's chosen one; we look to you for guidance in this," ventured one of them at last.

"You eight were the only people who knew the entire plan. You eight know who our contacts are. Who is the traitor?"

The men looked at one another nervously, unsure whether Addaio was, in fact, accusing them. They were, after him, the highest leaders of the community.

Their families could be traced back to the earliest history of their people, and they and their forebears had always been faithful to Jesus, faithful to their city, faithful to their vow.

"If there is a traitor, he shall die."

Each of the eight knew Addaio was capable of killing anyone who betrayed the cause. Their pastor was a good man who lived modestly and who fasted for forty days each year in memory of Jesus' fasting in the desert. He helped all those who came to him in need, whether of work, money, or mediation in a family dispute. His word was law to all his followers, but even more, it was counsel in difficult times. He was a respected man in Urfa, where the non-Christians took him to be a lawyer and recognized and respected him as such. But all of them had seen the terrible forces that simmered just beneath his devout surface.

Like the members of the council, Addaio had lived a clandestine life since childhood, praying in the shadows, where neighbors and friends would not see him, because he was the repository of a secret that would define their lives as it had denned the lives of their fathers and their fathers' fathers.

They knew he would have preferred not to have been called upon to be their pastor, that he had longed to live a life free of the all-consuming responsibility required by his role. But when he was chosen, he accepted the sacred honor and sacrifice and swore what others before him had sworn, that he would do the will of Jesus and dedicate his time on earth to the well-being of the community and the restoration of the Holy Shroud to its ordained place among them.

Another of the council members cleared his throat. Gray hair covered his head like a mantle; his lined face was wise and venerable.

"Speak, Talat," Addaio commanded.

"We must not let suspicions destroy the trust we have in one another. I do not believe there is a traitor among us. We are facing powerful and intelligent forces; that is what keeps us from recovering what has belonged to us since the beginning. We must go back to work and formulate a new plan, and if we fail, we must try yet again. The Lord will decide when we are worthy of succeeding in our mission."

Talat fell silent then, waiting for the others to speak.

"Show compassion to the three chosen ones," another, Bakkalbasi, pleaded. "Have they not suffered enough?"

"Compassion? Do you think, Bakkalbasi, that we will survive by our compassion? That has not helped us in the past."

Addaio clenched his hands together in frustration. His voice was tormented. "Sometimes I think you made a mistake when you chose me to be your pastor-I am not the man that Jesus needs for these times and circumstances. I fast, I do penitence, and I pray to God to give me strength, to enlighten me, and to show me the path, but Jesus does not answer my prayers, or send me a sign…"

Then the pastor seemed to gather himself. He looked at each of them in turn as he spoke. "But so long as I am your pastor, I will make decisions and act as my conscience directs me, and with one clear objective: bringing back to our community what Jesus gave it and seeking the welfare of us all. Above all other things, I will see to our safety. God does not want us dead; He wants us alive. He does not need more martyrs."

"What will you do with them?" Talat asked of the three who awaited their fate.

"For a while I will command them to live in isolation, in prayer and fasting, here, where I can observe them. If and when I think they have been sufficiently chastised, I will send them back to their families. Too much is at stake. We cannot treat failure lightly. They must pay a penance for it. Meanwhile, you, Bakkalbasi, will devote your fine analytical mind to reviewing our operations as a whole."

"To what end, Addaio?"

"I want you to consider carefully-very carefully- whether there is room among us for betrayal, and where it might be, and why."

"Then you believe that Zafarin and his father may be right?"

"We must not resist the evidence. If there is a traitor, we will find him."

Each of the men knew what would follow.

When they returned to the council room, they found the young men and their fathers still on their knees in prayer. The pastor and the elders resumed their seats.

"Stand up," ordered Addaio.

Dermisat was quietly weeping, Rasit's eyes were angry, and Zafarin seemed to have grown serene.

"You will do penance for failing in your mission with retreat from the world and prayer and fasting for forty days and forty nights. You will remain here, with me. You will work in the gardens while you still have strength. When the forty days have passed, I will tell you what more awaits you."

Zafarin gave his father a worried look. The father read his son's eyes and spoke for him.

"Will you allow them to say good-bye to their families?"

"No. The expiation has begun."

Addaio rang a silver bell that was on the table. Seconds later, the little man entered.

"Guner, take them to the rooms that open on the gardens. Find clothes for them and give them water and fruit juices. That is all they will have to eat or drink while they remain with us. I want you to explain the customs of the house and our hours for waking and working and sleeping. Now, you three, leave us."

The men embraced their fathers briefly, not daring to linger. When they had followed Guner but of the room, Addaio spoke again, as he and the members of the council rose from their chairs.

"Go back to your families. You will have word of your sons in forty days."

The fathers filed by Addaio, bowing and kissing his hand and inclining their heads in respect before the elders of the community, who stood as motionless as statues.

When they were alone again, Addaio led the others down a gloomy hallway to a small door, which he unlocked with a key hanging at his belt. It was a chapel, which they would not leave until nightfall.

That night, Addaio did not sleep. Though his knees were raw from long hours of prayer, he felt the need to mortify himself. God knew how much Addaio loved Him, but love alone could not persuade God to forgive Addaio for his anger-the anger he had never been able to cast out of his heart. Satan would be delighted, he knew, if that mortal sin cost him his eternal soul.

By the time Guner quietly entered Addaio's room again, the dawn had given way to morning. The faithful servant had brought coffee and a pitcher of cool water. He helped Addaio to his feet and then over to the only chair in the austere room.

"Thank you, Guner. How are the young ones?"

"They are at work in the garden, eyes red and swollen from their miserable night. Their spirits were broken before they arrived."

"You are not pleased with this punishment, are you, Guner?"

"I obey, sir. I am your servant."

"No! You are not! You are my only friend, and you know that, you help me to-"

"I serve you, Addaio, and I serve you well, as I've done since my tenth birthday, when my mother put me into your service. She considered it an honor that her son be chosen to serve you. Her last wish was that I always take care of you."

"Your mother was a saint."

"She was a simple woman who accepted the teaching of her fathers without question."

"Do you, Guner, doubt our faith?"

'Addaio, I believe in God and our Lord Jesus Christ. But it is hard for me to see the virtue in this fever that has possessed the pastors of our community for centuries, the acts of madness that they have committed or ordered to be committed in God's name. God is worshipped with the heart."

"You dare to question the foundations of our community? You dare to say that the holy pastors that went before me erred? Do you think it is easy to keep the commandments of our forebears?"

Guner lowered his head. He knew that Addaio needed him and loved him like a brother, for he alone had a place in Addaio's private life. After so many years at the pastor's side, Guner knew that only with him was Addaio truly himself, an angry man consumed by the responsibility of leading the community and carrying out its ancient mission, a man who trusted no one and exercised his authority over all. Over all except him, Guner, who washed his clothes, brushed his suits, kept his quarters spodess. The only man who saw him with sleep in his eyes or covered with sweat after a night of fever. The only man who knew his frustrations and depressions and his efforts to appear before bis flock clad in an aura of majesty and infallibility, so that he might calm their souls and lead them on the treacherous path they had chosen.

Guner would never abandon Addaio. He, too, had made a vow of chastity and obedience, and his family- his parents while they lived and now his brothers and sisters and their children-enjoyed the financial comfort that Addaio granted them and the status they enjoyed within the community.

He had served Addaio for forty years, and he had come to know him as well as he knew himself. That was why he feared him, despite the trust that had long been between them.

"Do you think there is a traitor among us?" Addaio asked him now.

"There may be."

"Do you suspect anyone in particular?"

"No."

"And if you did, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

"No, I would not, not unless I was sure. I would not want someone condemned solely on suspicion."

Addaio looked at Guner fixedly. He envied Guner's goodness, his equanimity, and it struck him not for the first time that his servant would be a better pastor than he was-those who had chosen him had made a mistake; his lineage had weighed too heavily on them. They had chosen him because of the absurd yet age-old habit of showering the descendants of great men with honors and privileges, even when they were unworthy.

Guner's had been a humble family of country people whose forebears, like Addaio's own, had followed their faith in secret.

What if he resigned? What if he called the council together and recommended that they choose Guner as their pastor? No, he thought, they would never do it, they would think he had gone mad. And in fact, he felt that he was going mad in this impossible role, struggling constantly against his own nature, trying to tame his sinful wrath, speaking the certainties that the faithful demanded, and protecting the secrets of the community above all else.

He remembered every detail of the terrible day his father, racked with emotion, had accompanied him to this house in which the former pastor Addaio had then lived, and left him there.

His father, a prominent man in Urfa and a clandestine militant of the True Faith, had told Addaio from the time he was a child that if he behaved himself, if he lived well and purely, one day he might succeed the older Addaio. Addaio had always resisted the idea, assuring his parents that it was the last thing he wanted. The wonder and color of the world filled him with joy: running through gardens filled with fruits and vegetables, swimming in the river, exchanging looks and winks with the teenage girls in whom life was beginning to awaken, as it was in him.

He had especially liked the daughter of one of their neighbors, sweet Rania, a girl with almond eyes and long dark hair. He dreamed of her in the darkness of his room.

But his father had different plans for him. Barely out of adolescence, he was ordered to go to live in the house of old Addaio and to make his vows in preparation for the mission for which, people said, God had chosen him. The community had decided for him that he would be Addaio.

His only friend in those painful years was Guner, who never betrayed him when he escaped to go and hide near Rania's house, hoping to see her even from a distance.

Like him, Guner was a prisoner of the wishes of his parents, whom he honored with his obedience. The poor country people had found for their son, and thus for their entire family, a better destiny than working in the fields from sunup to sundown. Addaio's mother and father, believing the boy worthy, had honored him and his whole family when they accepted his service on behalf of their chosen son.

And so the two men had submitted to the will of their parents, and of their community, and of all those who had come before them, and had ceased forever to be themselves.