The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [71]
"A fine tribute to your father's standing as a scholar," said Doyle.
"There's really no one else quite like him," said Stern, settling onto a stool. "After Mother died, he began spending more and more of his time down here alone. Most nights he'd sleep on that sofa over there." He pointed to a poor-looking daybed in the corner. "To be honest, I never could understand half of what he was talking about. Maybe if I'd made more of an effort, I could have understood and he—" His voice choked; he hung his head, trying to stave off tears.
"Here, here," said Innes, a hand on his back, the closest to him. "We're sure to find him. Without fail. No quit in this bunch."
Stern nodded, grateful. Sparks turned and walked right up to him, offering no acknowledgment of his emotion.
"Your father's methods of study," said Sparks. "He took notes as he read."
"Yes. Volumes."
"A pen in his left hand. Sitting in this chair." Sparks walked to a chair at the desk.
"How did you know?"
"Worn on the rests; scratches along the left arm; he wore a long coat, with buttons on the sleeves."
"Yes, he almost always wore that coat. He was usually cold down here; poor circulation, the doctor said, but to tell the truth Father was always a bit of a hypochondriac."
Hasn't lost his observation skills, thought Doyle. Sparks sat in Rabbi Stern's chair and stared at the books cluttering the desk directly before him. He peered closer, reached in, and lifted one book off the pile, unveiling a pad of white lined paper underneath. He leaned down and studied the pad.
"Have a look at this," he said.
Doyle and Stern joined him; the paper covered with sketches, doodles, scrawled phrases, snatches of academic doggerel; the quality of the drawings surprisingly expert and detailed.
"Yes, Father often did this sort of thing when he worked," said Stern. "Drew odd bits while thinking something through—he was clever that way. I used to sit with him and watch when I was a boy; he'd sketch street scenes, faces, people passing by."
Two central images on the page: a large tree with drooping, denuded branches, holding ten round, white globes arrayed in a geometric pattern and connected by straight lines.
"That's the Tree of Life," said Stern. "An image I've seen in kabbalistic books. I'm afraid I couldn't begin to tell you the significance of it."
The other image: a black castle, stark and forbidding, a single window illuminated in its highest tower. Sparks's eyes narrowed as he stared at it.
"Looks like something out of, what do you call it, you know," said Innes, snapping his fingers. "The dwarf and the pretty girl..."
"Rumpelstiltskin?" said Stern.
"Rapunzel let down your hair and all that," said Innes.
Doyle didn't take his eyes off Sparks; something was rumbling up from deep inside the man.
"What does this mean?" said Sparks, pointing to a boldly sketched cuneiform figure on the page below the castle.
"Schischah," said Stern. "That's the Hebrew word for six."
"The number six?" asked Sparks.
"Yes," said Stern. "It has other meanings, in the kabbalistic sense, but you'd need a scholar to—"
Sparks stood up abruptly and jumped back from the table; chair legs screeched against the floor. He stared over at the bed in the corner, a wild, uncontained look passing through his eyes, as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Jack? You all right?" asked Doyle.
Sparks didn't answer. Tension coming off him permeated the room. A water pipe dripping rhythmically somewhere sounded as loud as gunshots.
"Where is the Gerona Zohar?'' asked Sparks.
"The safe in my offices," said Stern. "A few blocks north of here."
"I need to see it. Now."
"I'll take you there."
Sparks and Stern started for the door.
"Bring that pad of paper," said Doyle quietly to Innes. He pried the pad out from under the books without knocking over the stack and they followed Jack out of the tenement.
Gaslight threw weak ripples of light into the damp air. Sparks