Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [55]
The fact that I’m on the bus is a testament to something else. I’m no longer on Reese’s payroll, which means I’m working for free. But there is an understanding between Espy and me that we’ve invested too much to give up. Now I just want to find the bones, regardless of any power they possess. I want to spite Reese. Too, I want to see the things that Will may have died for.
The driver navigates the turns to get us onto King George Street without going anywhere near the brake, and we ride the wrong lane for the few harrowing moments it takes for us to slip back into the flow of traffic. Through my window I have a clear view as the Arat Kilo monument—a monolithic structure that sits in the center of the square—comes into view and the bus screeches to a halt. But our destination is beyond this; I can see a dome beckoning. The weyala shouts “Mercado!” several times into the crowd, announcing the destination for the return trip, and a few people climb aboard before the bus lurches and speeds off to its last stop before returning to the open-air market.
When Esperanza and I are, to my relief, deposited within a short walk of our objective, I take in a large draught of air and execute a sleepy stretch and then start down the narrow access road—almost a long driveway—that will take us to Trinity Cathedral. Espy is in step and, in contrast to my condition, she looks energized. Some people just travel well, and I’m a bit envious of that.
Most descriptions of the massive church ascribe European sensibilities to the structure. But to my eye, there’s a visible, if minimal, classical North African element evident amid the Old World lines. In terms of most sacred buildings in Addis Ababa, Trinity is new—completed in 1941. But the builders stayed true to all that makes Orthodox construction unique. The details are beyond exquisite, showcasing a love of iconic imagery and ornate design.
As we enter the courtyard, its borders defined by a low stone gate with spaced pillars joined by chains, I notice Espy running appreciative eyes over the architecture. Our progress is slow through the courtyard; we almost dawdle as we pass the statues of the four writers of the Gospels.
Finally we reach the entrance, where there’s a steady stream of people entering and exiting—tourists and the devout carrying cameras or prayer books. Espy and I slip into the tourist line and pay the fee.
It takes my eyes some time to adjust after entering, and I bump into someone I can’t see enough to avoid. After turning down a tour guide who appears out of nowhere, we both remove our shoes and walk deeper into the cathedral. I’m taking in as many of the details as I can while still remaining mindful of the reason I’m here. After spending some time appreciating the cathedral’s interior, we head toward one of the two doors on either side of the altar, my right hand running along the back of a wooden pew. Ignoring the few men and women praying in various parts of the sanctuary, I disappear through the door, Esperanza in tow, before someone tries to stop us.
Following the directions he gave when I called from the plane, I proceed to the end of the hall, make a right, and stop at the second doorway.
Alem’nesh Wuhib must have a sixth sense, because a tennis ball is in the air before I’ve cleared the threshold. I catch the ball a few inches from my face, somehow doing so without dropping my shoes.
“Hello, my friend,” Alem’nesh says with a wide smile. He stands and comes out from behind a desk and gives me a warm embrace. I’m still clutching the tennis ball at eye level.
“Hello, Al.”
As he steps back, I toss the ball into the air between us and he fields it and, as smoothly as a magician, slips