The 14th Day (33 page)

Vaniok nods.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Royall says. “This is real unfortunate.” He shakes his head. “Real unfortunate.”

When he leaves the warehouse Vaniok is trying to think ahead: Jory isn't stupid, he doesn't need anyone to tell him that he's finished at work. He's finished in this town too and he knows that. That was certainly why he attacked Carl in the first place. He'll be at home getting ready to leave; he may even have made arrangements already. It would make sense for him to be gone as soon as possible. Out in the sunlight Vaniok pauses in his anxious calculation and he realizes that if he's correct about this all he has to do is to wait and the man will leave on his own. It's an appealing thought: certainly for a good part of the time Jory's been here Vaniok has wished him gone. Now he'll go. And he doesn't need any final conversation with Vaniok. It's true that Royall gave him the rest of the day off on the assumption that was going to see Jory but all his supervisor really wants is an assurance that the man isn't returning to work. Vaniok is confident that Jory isn't coming back. He remembers his feeling when Alex first brought him the news:
It's happened
. There was a sharp, clear satisfaction: the shadow-stealer was going to be leaving at last. And the beauty of it is that it's Jory's choice—Vaniok may have told him about Carl but it's Jory himself who's chosen to make it impossible to stay here. I have clean hands, Vaniok thinks. Why not have a cup of coffee in some quiet place and let events take their course, unassisted by him? The idea excites him; he embraces the notion of being somewhere where no one can get hold of him, simply waiting for things to happen. Still, in the end it's not a very persuasive fantasy. He knows all too well the question that won't be silenced:
What do I owe this man?
The answer to that question isn't easy. In the end, though, he can only come to one conclusion: he can't stay out of this; he has to offer what help he can.

The university's inn is on the way to Jory's place and Vaniok stops there to find Ila.

“Jory got into a fight,” he says. “He's going to have to leave. I wanted to borrow your car.”

“What kind of fight?” she asks. “Is he hurt?” Her hands run nervously down her apron.

“I don't think so. I don't really know,” Vaniok answers. “But I wanted to be able to drive him if he needed a ride.”

“Certainly,” she says. “Follow me. I have to get my keys. You're sure he's all right?”

“I understand the other man hit him a few times but it doesn't sound as if he's in bad shape.”

Ila stops a moment in the carpeted corridor and the two of them hear the muted sounds of the guests in the nearby cafeteria. “Vaniok,” she says. “I hope I acted in the right way in all this.”

“Don't even think about it,” he says. “Jory's on his own mission here. He's been that way from the beginning.”

“Yes,” she nods. “Still … is he really leaving?”

“I think so,” Vaniok says. “Yes, I'm certain.” Vaguely he remembers the time the three of them were here during the storm, when Ila suggested her Constitution Day picnic.

“That island, I suppose.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

Ila shakes her head. For a moment she's lost in her own thoughts, looking down the corridor. Possibly she's also thinking of that time during the storm.

“Ila,” Vaniok says at last, “I want to get to his place.” Against the wall behind her is an antique clock, its face flecked with images of the sun, moon and stars. “We don't have a lot of time if I'm going to help him.”

“Yes,” she responds and she leads him quickly to the room where she has her keys. When she comes out she hands them to Vaniok. “Keep the car as long as you need to,” she says. “And tell him that I wish him happiness. Tell him I hope he's in the homeland soon.”

“I will.” He can't think of anything more to say and the two of them stand there a moment. Vaniok can read in her expression a complex set of feelings, one of which must certainly be wonder that this story is ending so abruptly and completely. Just months ago neither of them knew Jory; now he'll be gone for good. It must be as hard for her to believe as it is for him. “This doesn't seem real,” he says.

“No, it doesn't,” she answers and says no more.

As he drives Ila's car to Jory's place, Vaniok is suddenly fearful that the man is already gone—how long would it take him to pack, to call a cab?
And I'll have missed him
. It suddenly seems crucial for him to have a last meeting with his countryman. Possibly he believes that if he doesn't actually see Jory again he won't ever be sure the man existed. He drives quickly, barely slowing for stop signs, and before long he's at Jory's building.
Could he really have made his calls, packed and be gone already?
The house's exterior gives no clue to whether or not Jory's still there and once inside Vaniok hurries up the steps to the door of his apartment. His knocking produces no response and he stands there a few seconds, catching his breath. The smells bring back the memory of the only other time he's been here. Maybe, it occurs to him, his countryman believes it's Carl knocking on his door. “Jory,” he calls, “it's Vaniok.” He's relieved when he hears movement inside.

Given Vaniok's expectations, Jory is surprisingly unmarked when he shows himself at the door, though one cheek is slightly swollen. He greets Vaniok wordlessly and returns to his rooms, one arm held stiffly at his side as though protecting his ribs.

“Are you hurt badly?” Vaniok asks.

He shakes his head and resumes the packing that Vaniok interrupted. In the ensuing silence Vaniok has time to look around the room. The walls are denuded, desk drawers are flung open, clothes lie across the bed where a pair of small suitcases are half-filled. The room is in the process of reverting to the impersonal space it was before Jory came here. Vaniok has seen all this before; it happened countless times during the Thirteen Days. It's happening again. For Jory it's happening again.

The men have exchanged fewer than a dozen words and now as Vaniok watches Jory at work he's able to get a closer look at his countryman. The man's face is pale—he's clearly in some kind of pain—but under his silence there's a kind of quietly mad elation—Vaniok remembers pictures of the assassin who a generation ago killed the prime minister during a high mass at the cathedral in the homeland.

“I talked to Royall,” Vaniok says. “He says you can't go back to work.”

Jory looks at him, his mouth turned down in scorn.

“What are you going to do?” Vaniok asks, though in the light of the evidence it seems obvious what Jory is doing. “Have you made your contact with the people about the island?”

Jory nods and looks at Vaniok for a moment, his eyes blazing as if with a secret joy mere words can't express.

“You're going then?” Vaniok is surprised by the excitement in his voice.

“Yes,” Jory says simply.

“How?” Vaniok asks. “How are you going to get to where you have to be?”

“I'm going to take a bus,” he answers.

“I have a car,” Vaniok tells him. “Ila's.”

Jory seems to flinch at the name but says nothing. He's only a few feet away but he seems to be looking beyond Vaniok into the distance.

“If it would be helpful, I could drive you.”

The other man comes out of his reverie with a frown and Vaniok, hearing his own words, realizes he might sound eager to have Jory gone; but his countryman's response is mild, even amiable. “That would be good,” he says quietly. It's as if his crazed elation exists side by side with something more serene. He even touches Vaniok's shoulder, a surprising gesture for him. “Yes, I'd appreciate that,” he says. “And I appreciate Ila's help too.” He smiles sadly. “Will you have a drink with me?” he asks. Vaniok welcomes the note of hospitality injected into the chaos of departure.

As Jory pours the amber-colored liquid into the glasses Vaniok looks again at the scar on his countryman's forearm. Now he'll never know how that happened. Jory lifts his glass and they make a formal toast. Vaniok senses that there will be no talk of Carl, of the fight or of possible consequences.
He's gone already
. Vaniok remembers thinking that last night. He's standing beside the man but he'll never know anything more about him—Jory has become a book in another language. Vaniok observes him closely and can see from his restricted movements that he's still in pain from his encounter but he moves with a decisiveness that makes it clear that the pain is unimportant, that all the recent history of the last few hours is now irrelevant. Carl has played his role: he's enabled Jory to make an exit from this place that he was destined to make.

The liquor burns going down, it brings an inner spaciousness even in these close, musty rooms and Vaniok recalls the other time he drank with Jory here. At the same time he's visited by a scene from the homeland: a long lake at evening, its surface still. Where was that? Who was with him there? Suddenly aware that time is hurtling forward, he remembers another moment from his previous visit to these rooms. “I wonder,” he asks, surprising himself, “if I could touch the soil in the jar one more time.”

Jory smiles bleakly. “Of course,” he says. He brings the jar from the suitcase and undoes the cap, releasing the smells of the dark earth. Vaniok dips his fingers into the jar like a worshiper reaching into the holy water font to cross himself on leaving a church. His throat burns. Yes, this is the last time. He runs the grains between his fingers and carefully replaces them.

Jory takes back the jar and puts it in the suitcase. Bent over, he suddenly seems overborne by the weight of things. “Sometimes,” he says hoarsely, “I think it would be better if I just stopped moving, let the story end. Why not here?”

Vaniok wonders about the island toward which Jory is headed. He remembers a phrase from school: “the ends of the earth.” That's where this man is going, to the ends of the earth. It's a frightening thought. All at once he wishes with all his heart that Jory can return one day to the place where he was born. “No,” Vaniok protests. “One of us has to get back to the homeland. Otherwise what was the Thirteen Days all about?” Naming that dark period in their country's history, Vaniok feels all the heaviness and dread of those times. Then it passes. It's over for me, he thinks.

Jory looks up, smiling wanly. “The Thirteen Days. What was it about? Will anyone know the answer to that, my friend? Still,” he brightens, “you're right: I can't lose heart so easily.”

Once again Vaniok thinks of that island. “What are the arrangements?” he asks after a while. “How are you going to meet this person?”

“The actual meeting is hours away,” Jory says. “I needed the time. Especially if I was going to take the bus. I'm supposed to be at a shopping mall. If I'm at a certain place at a certain time someone will contact me.”

“I'm free for the rest of the day,” Vaniok says. “I'm at your service.”

Jory looks around at his bare room. “I'd like to leave as soon as possible,” he says. “This chapter is over.”

“Whenever you want to,” Vaniok offers.

A few minutes later they're in Ila's car. As they pull away from the curb, Jory doesn't look back toward the place where he's lived for the last few months; he keeps his eyes directly ahead. Vaniok, who feels some kind of comment might be appropriate, says nothing. He wonders, though, how he'd behave if he had Jory's history; he wonders what the man is thinking about. Before long they're outside of town, on the same highway they took to the ocean, but neither man comments on that. In the silence Vaniok becomes aware of a vague, simmering agitation that feels like anger but he concentrates on getting the feel of driving amid this rush of speeding vehicles. Traffic is heavy and the noise coming through the open windows discourages conversation. There must be something to say between us, Vaniok thinks, aware that the miles are slipping away, the distance to Jory's place of rendezvous receding speedily. Still, nobody speaks. In the meantime Vaniok finds his way back into the habits of driving and he feels satisfaction operating Ila's car—he realizes that he has to get a car of his own. There is a future, he reminds himself as they move farther away from the university town. Yet this hopefulness is intermittent; underneath it is a dark, tangled emotion: what he felt as anger is entwined with a sense of impending loss. He's surprised by the heaviness he feels about the imminent departure of this man he's never really liked.

“Jory,” he asks, moved by a sudden need to connect with this man, “do you remember that little town we visited on the way to the ocean?”

Jory turns toward him. “The town on the moon,” he says. The words are faint, almost a whisper. His brow is knit, there's a hint of recognition in his eyes, as if he's picturing the place.

“Yes,” Vaniok says. “Those trees with beards, the abandoned house out in the fields.” Jory nods. Vaniok wants him to say more, he feels that this shared memory is important, and he waits for his countryman to respond but Jory says nothing. His silence is a wall. Still, that scene is vividly present to Vaniok and he remembers how he felt there, excluded, somehow displaced—and yet it was something that happened to him, and therefore valuable. He remembers his fantasy about lost angels trying to find their way back to heaven. He should have told that to the other two while they were all three in the car. Now, as he and his countryman make their way down the highway toward Jory's departure, the silence lengthens. Jory is looking straight ahead.
As if he's denying that time, erasing it
. Vaniok wants more. It's true there's little to say about that excursion off the highway—nothing really happened there. And yet, though it's becoming clear that Jory will say nothing more about it, Vaniok is glad that he not only reminded him of that time they spent together but got his acknowledgment that he remembers that time.
He said the words: the town on the moon
. That's something, Vaniok thinks. After all, in a way that too is their homeland, the times they experienced together in exile. He wants Jory to remember that, to take that with him.
Remember that,
he thinks,
remember that on your island
.