Trash - Andy Mulligan [40]
We both looked at him. ‘You memorized the whole letter?’ said the old man. ‘By heart?’
Gardo nodded his head. ‘It is not so long,’ he said, smiling.
The old man sat back, and Gardo licked his lips.
‘Speak.’
Gardo stood up straight. He put his hands behind his back, and I had a vision of him in a classroom, reciting.
‘To Prisoner 746229,’ he said. ‘Cell Block 34K, South Wing, Colva Prison.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Dear Grandfather. It is a long time since I have written to you but you have always been in my thoughts, particularly of late, and you will perhaps be happy to know that on your birthday many glasses were raised in your honour. Not a day goes by without me thinking of you, even though getting to you is so hard now, especially as duties take me away from the city.’
Gardo paused.
‘I think also of Dante Jerome, your dear son – in memoriam. I bring up my daughter to honour his memory and your own. Sir: I am to tell you something important, and it may be that I never see your face again. I tell you that the seed-corn has been planted, but not in the way you expected. Soon the harvest, I hope and pray, soon the harvest because it is accomplished, it is accomplished, it is accomplished. I say it three times, but if I could make a banner – if I could write it in the sky for you to look out on, I would do so. My friend, it is accomplished. I am writing in haste, because nothing is for certain, and I have many reasons to be cautious always, as you said to me so many times. I know they will find me. This letter will lie in a private place, with instructions. If it comes to your hand, then you know I am taken. Ask after my daughter, please – use any influence you have, for I am afraid for Pia Dante now. But the seeds are safe, sir – and the veil of the temple is rent in the midst. If only you could go to Zapanta’s house now: it would make your soul sing.
‘Your loving godson, José Angelico, bless you, your wife, all your many children and their memories, and all of us so lucky as to be born in your light.’
Gardo stopped, and I could see that the old man had gone pale. His eyes were closed and he was very still. His mouth was open, and I thought for a dreadful moment that he was having a heart attack, or was about to. I could see his chest rising and falling. Gardo took up the glass of water.
‘No,’ said the old man. ‘What he says is impossible.’
‘That is the letter, sir.’
‘There was something else,’ whispered the man. ‘He said there were instructions.’
‘Sir?’
He managed to open his eyes, and all at once his face was changing colour. His face was damp again with sweat, and he turned to Gardo and reached for him. He held the boy’s arm. ‘Was there something else? A slip of paper?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Of course there was. There always was. Did you bring that?’
‘No. I memorized … some of it.’
‘Why only some of it?’
‘Because it …’
‘Because it was too long? Because it made no sense?’
Gardo was nodding.
‘It was just numbers and slashes, wasn’t it? Boy, you are chosen.’
‘Yes, sir. It was just numbers, starting 940.4.18.13.14. Then I think 5.3.6.4 – I can’t remember any more.’
Gardo paused, and the old man whispered, ‘You don’t know what it means. You’ve got the instructions, Gardo – you’re holding a key … The numbers are a code.’ He spoke in his own language; he was fidgeting in his chair, trying to stand.
‘You did right not to bring the letter,’ he hissed. ‘Oh, my boy, you are – you are an angel. You are a young, sainted angel. It’s a code that we used, José and I – other boys too. It’s what you call a book-code, simple when you have the book. We played games with it, but it was also for special things. Those numbers … they correspond to letters on certain pages – I must get my Bible. If you know where to look – if you know the rules … the code is so simple.’ He spoke in his own tongue again. He was standing now, leaning on the table.
‘What’s he saying, Gardo?’
‘I need my Bible. My Bible is the book we used.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. The door had opened: a guard was standing there, watching