The Land Across

2 THE STORY

They were cherry trees mostly, Martya said. Whatever they were, they were beautiful, tall trees in wedding gowns. The smell made me think about God and heaven, and the bees that swarmed over them about hell because I got stung twice before we got to the door. “Volitain will put wet tobacco on those,” she told me. “It will take your pain.”

He was pale and starvation thin, with straight black hair, as courtly and polite as Kleon had been abrupt and hostile. “Enter!” He bowed from the hips. “Enter and welcome! Any friend of dear little Martya’s, a brother is to me.” The look that passed between them told me Martya had tried to make him.

“He is bee-bitten.” Her tone was flat, and her face held no expression. “Put tobacco on them.”

“I see…” Volitain stalked over to a table in his parlor, which looked as big as Kleon’s entire house. In the table drawer he found a magnifying glass.

“That will not help!”

Volitain bent over the sting on my cheek. “Sit here, please. Now incline the head, eh? I must have light from the window.”

I did what he said.

“The sting is here. It must be drawn. The hand we see next, eh?” He moved my hand to bring it nearer the light. “Here, also. Wait a moment. Drink good wine.”

He left us, slipping into some interior room through a door that was not quite open.

I asked, “Does he always do that? Not open the door?”

“He has no wife. The room where he go will be soiled, I think. He does not wish you to see it.”

“Or you,” I said.

Martya shrugged. “There is wine here. He desires us to drink. A woman brews tea, a man has wine.” She went to a sideboard. “Is Tokay, I think. We drink it much here. You will drink?”

I nodded and she poured. It was pungent and a little too sweet.

Volitain returned with tweezers and iodine. “The bee that stings, dies,” he murmured. “One would suppose that evolutionary processes would soon end such deaths. Is the hive stronger without him?”

I said, “Ouch!”

“First the face, because it must pain most. The hand next, where the pain is not so much.”

I managed to keep quiet.

“You are hungry? I have little cakes. Martya?”

I looked at my watch. It was one p.m.

Martya said, “I will make for us the sandwiches if you allow it.”

“There is little,” Volitain said. “We go to a café.” He had finished with the iodine and was taping on moist tobacco.

Martya looked at me, shrugging. “Volitain has much money, but he does not spend. Never for me, this money. Never for you, also, I think. You will pay?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be glad to.”

Volitain shook his head. “You will not. You must not listen to our sour chit. I say the café and I pay.”

Martya giggled at that. She had drained her glass, so I thought it had probably been the wine.

“Now we will go out,” Volitain was saying. “The bees sting you if you think of them, so not. Think of pleasant things alone and you shall be safe.”

It sounded silly but I tried it, thinking what kind of food a café here might have. Sandwiches, sure. Soups and salads … I tried to concentrate on those, but I could not keep my eyes off Martya’s hips. They were to die for, and she was leading the way.

“You see?” Volitain said. “You were not stung. Of what do you think?”

“Strabo’s commentary on the Euxine,” I told him. One of my professors used to talk about it.

“Ah! It is interesting, no doubt. I must read it.”

“I’m a lot more interested in finding out why Martya’s pestering you with me.”

“She does not tell?”

I shook my head. There were no sidewalks, so we had to walk in the street. A man on a bicycle zoomed past us, staring at Volitain and pedaling faster and faster. “He’s scared of you,” I told him.

“He hates me.” Volitain sighed. “Hating me, he supposes I hate him. Supposing I hate him, he expects some hurt. Expecting hurt, he fears me. His fear make him hate me all the more. Is that not a sad circle?”

I said yes.

“As you say, but I am not in it. God may make him a king or give him a knife. All is one to me.”

I was watching for the long building I had seen when I first got to the city, the yellow brick building where the Mounted Guards stabled their horses in peacetime, but I did not see it. Here the streets were wider, and a lot of the buildings had shops on the ground floor.

We went into one of the biggest, following a path of well-worn cobbles and passing shoppers who carried their new stuff in string bags. Inside was a big atrium roofed with colored glass. There were balconies up the sides, and they were lined with shops like the floor we were on.

“The cafés here are.” Volitain indicated the level where we stood. “Those who eat in them grow fat, then the steps are not convenient.”

“Also,” Martya added, “they are drunk and fall down them.”

“We have logic in my country, you see. The most valuable things are sold highest, so we say their prices are high. Suppose a robber comes. He must descend many steps while those he robbed shout that he be stopped.”

“And throw chamber pots.” Martya was scanning the cafés. “You will pay, Grafton, so you are to choose.”

I was tired of walking, so I said, “The closest.” Do not come to this country unless you are ready to walk one hell of a lot. If you bring your bike, you will have to double-lock it every time you park it. You had better be ready to fight for it, too.

“This one is not good,” Volitain told me. “Too many come, and we have things to speak of. That one over there. You will like it.”

“It is a place for feeling,” Martya said as we trudged across the atrium. “Most quick I feel Volitain’s hand on my leg, and he my scissors.”

I could not follow what Volitain said to the hostess, but his gestures made it clear that he wanted the booth in the corner. After a little argument he got it. The high backs of the seats in all the booths went up until they just about touched the ceiling, and our booth had a green cloth curtain to close the end that was open to the table area.

Martya translated the menu and we ordered. “Is there an American Consulate here?” I asked Volitain. “Martya said you would know.”

Volitain shook his head. “I do know, and there is none. In other cities, perhaps, but not in this Puraustays of ours. There is the Amerikan ambassador at the capital. It may be there is a consulate also. That I do not know.”

“She also told me you were well connected and you’d help me.”

“I am not.” Seeing Volitain smile was like watching a skull grin. “Even so, I help you—if I can. You have the troubles with our secret police, the JAKA?”

“With your border patrol. How did you know?”

“You are foreign. Many foreigners are arrested. Also dear little Martya brought you to me. Those are enough.”

“What can you do?”

A glance passed between Martya and Volitain, and he said, “Not so much, it may be. First I must know your trouble. Tell me.”

I told him all about my arrest, pretty much like I have told you here.

“You have done nothing.” Volitain sighed and leaned back.

“Damn straight! So why was I arrested?”

“They needed someone. That is all.” His voice had sunk to a sleepy whisper. “They must show their superiors they are active, alert. Arrest someone. They wish also to punish dear little Martya’s husband. Arrest someone. You sleep in a place no one watches.”

I nodded.

“So you are chosen. They can say whatever they wish.”

“They took my passport.”

“Of a surety. They always do.”

The waiter arrived with our food. When he had gone and Volitain had drawn the curtain, I said, “How can I get my passport back? Would it help if I were to notify the American embassy?”

“I will not deceive you,” Volitain said. “I do not deceive.”

Martya sniffed.

“They may return it to you when you do nothing. That happens sometimes.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

Volitain spread his hands. “You must discover the correct official, then you must win his friendship. It is most often done with money. Martya thinks you have money, and that is good, but you do not have enough for that. Not here. In Amerika?”

“Maybe.” I thought about it. “I have some there and I might raise some more. How can I get it here?”

“Someone will have to bring it for you. Diamonds are best.” Volitain hesitated. “They will have to be well concealed. He must pass the customs, you understand. Not only ours, but other nations’.”

“Unless he flies in.”

“Let him attempt it.” Volitain’s sleepy whisper had nearly faded away. He straightened up and considered the meat rolls steaming on his plate. “I wish him well.”

I remembered the canceled flights and the flight that had gone on to Ankara without landing here. “It seems just about hopeless.”

“Fortunately”—Volitain pointed his fork at me—“there is the third way. You might grow rich here. If you wish to return to Amerika there is no difficulty. Our officials fear the rich. It is the same with you, eh?”

I said it was.

“Now let us turn the page. You may choose to remain with us. Much is here for the man of wealth. I offer a plan.”

I probably looked like I did not believe him. That was the way I felt.

“I will not deceive you, for I do not deceive. My plan will make me rich, too, if it succeeds. It may be it fails. Failure is at least as likely as success. Will you close your ears to me?”

I shook my head.

“That is well. You are Kleon’s prisoner. It is not a handicap, and may favor us.”

“We together.” Martya squeezed my hand.

“Exactly. There is a treasure, or there may be. The explanation will take some time.”

I chewed and swallowed a mouthful of fadennudeln. “Then get going. I want to hear it.”

“It require you to pay some money. Not much.”

“Yeah, I figured. And?”

Volitain cut a meat roll and studied it. “You think I take your money. I do not. I say first that if we find this treasure, together or separately, it is to be shared equally between us three. It is understood? If Martya finds it alone, she must share with us. If I find it, and nothing you know of my finding, I will share with you and Martya. If you find it, you must share with both of us.”

I said, “Okay,” and the three of us clasped hands.

“Now we are partners,” Martya said. “Tell him of the judge.”

“Hear me. The year is eighteen sixty. A young man called Eion Demarates leaves home after a quarrel with his father. Twenty years pass, and he return a rich man. His father is dead. His mother likewise. There are brothers, sisters. All want his gold, but Eion Demarates give them nothing. There are old quarrels.”

I nodded again to show I understood.

“He builds a fine house for himself. He has servants, a carriage with four horses, and many other things. We go forward. The year is eighteen eighty-eight, eh? Hear me, for this you must understand. In eighteen eighty-eight, our money was not rubbish.” Volitain got out his wallet and scattered bills over his meat rolls. “Rotting garbage, this is. My dolmades are not so bad as this. In the year of which I speak, it was not so. Our money is silver and gold.”

“Ours, too,” I said.

“You were robbed in that case, just as we were.”

Martya said, “If you don’t want those, I’d like one.”

Volitain said, “You are my guest,” and she speared a bill and a meat roll with a single thrust of her fork. He stared for a moment, then laughed.

Grinning, Martya licked a little grease from her punctured loot.

“An ancestor of mine was the judge here at that time.” Volitain was wiping the rest of his bills with his napkin. “We have half a dozen judges in Puraustays now. In that year, the city was smaller and there was little crime. We had only one, the ancestor of whom I speak. Demarates went to bed, eh? His valet helps him to undress, warms the bed, builds up the fire, does all those things. When his master is in bed the valet wishes him a good rest, puts the little cap on the candle, and goes out. Death finds his master asleep and does not wake him. A physician is brought, an inquest is held, all that. Nothing bad is found.”

I said, “And then?”

“No gold either.” Volitain smiled and licked his thin lips. “There are banks, but Eion Demarates? No accounts he has. His servants stole it, so my ancestor believes. They are questioned under torture. This one has taken a silver cup, that one the razor with which he shaves his master. A maid takes clothing for her son, fine stockings and other such things. Trivialities. The gold of Eion Demarates none ever finds.”

Martya muttered, “Or your ancestor does not think it.”

“Correct. He searches the house, with police to help. They find nothing. There is no will. The brothers, the sisters, loudly say many times everything belongs to them. My ancestor says no, taxes are owed upon the estate. He sells the horses and carriage and other things, and holds the money against these taxes. He does not wish to sell the house because he believe the hidden money will soon be found. It is under a floor, eh? Or in a wall. He will wreck the house and find it.

“Brothers and a sister journey to the capital. This judge will wreck our house, they say. You must stop him. The Prince Judicial issues an order: the house is not to be demolished.”

“It’s still standing?” I asked.

“It is. Some of the furniture has been sold. Some remains. It belongs to the state, that was decided when the taxes went unpaid. It has been rented more than once, long ago. People died there. No one will rent it.”

Martya said, “You will rent it for us. You can get it most cheap.”

“Legally,” I told her, “I’m your husband’s prisoner. I don’t want to go to jail.”

Volitain nodded. “You must sleep in Kleon’s house, but you will rent the house I have told you of that you may repair it, rendering it a fit residence. Soon, you say to those who ask, the court will see that you are an innocent traveler. Then you will be released, and you must have this place to live until your passport is returned. It will be rented to you, and you and Martya will search, reporting to me what you have done.”

My food was gone, but I sipped my wine. “Is a court looking into my case?”

Volitain shook his head. “At present? No.”

“Then I should get a lawyer. I don’t want to stay here forever.”

“I will represent you.” At long last, Volitain forked a piece of his remaining meat roll into his mouth.

“You’re a lawyer?”

“He is many things.” Martya looked sour and serious. “That is why I brought you to him.”

“An attorney, as other things,” Volitain told me. “I practice law for, oh, not quite three years. It bored me, and I did not require the money. I still represent a few friends and take cases of interest. Soon you ask why I do not search the Willows myself.”

That sounded interesting. “The Willows?”

“It is the name of the house Eion Demarates built. At the tax office, you must know it. Tell them you hear the Willows is without a tenant. You will rent, if it is cheap enough. Can you bargain?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“Good. They will ask too much. Officials always do.”

Martya said, “You are an official yourself, Volitain.”

He wiped his lips to hide his smile. “A minor one, you understand. You need not be afraid of me.”

“Can you get my passport back?”

“No. Certainly not. If we win our case, then I might do something. Until then, it is hopeless. Do you think I intend to charge you?”

I nodded again. “Lawyers do.”

“I will not, provided you find the treasure and share it with me.”

A waiter brought our check, parting the green curtain to push it through. Volitain laid it on the table, laid a bill on it, and weighted both with the salt shaker. “You see? I do not deceive.”

“Thanks for lunch. Why don’t you search the Willows yourself?”

He laughed. “That you would ask, I knew. First, because I must do many other things. Second, because already I have. For two months I searched whenever I had an hour to spare, but found nothing. A new searcher, one of foreign temperament, employing foreign methods, may succeed where I failed. Or so I hope.”