“I’m afraid Jared is right,” B told the boy.
“I still don’t see what’s to be gained by helping him.”
“Show me how hindering him will gain more, and I’ll hinder him.”
Albrecht gave it some serious thought but evidently couldn’t come up with anything.
B stood up and said, “I think we’ll stop here. Shirin or I will be in touch with you.” Then, turning to me: “Shirin will walk you to your hotel. Come back tomorrow at six or seven.”
I opened my mouth to say that it was hardly necessary to provide me with an escort for a four-block walk, then realized that B knew this as well as I did.
The prisoner is released
I was surprised to find that it was still dark night when we emerged from the theater. Although I could see the time on my wrist, I had the feeling dawn should be well advanced after that prolonged Sturm und Drang.
We walked in silence for a few moments, then I remarked that they seemed very much at home at the Schauspielhaus Wahnfried.
“The director of the board is a supporter,” Shirin said without elaboration.
“You actually live there, then?”
“It’s our home base, yes.”
“But why in Radenau?”
As soon as I said it, I remembered that I knew why. The “mysterious caller” had explained it to me over the phone in Munich. For a second I was in an icy panic, then I realized it was a perfectly natural question. To avoid asking it might well have seemed more suspicious than asking it.
She said, “There’s a medical center here devoted to the study and treatment of mixed connective-tissue diseases.”
I said, “B has a mixed connective-tissue disease?”
“I have a mixed connective-tissue disease. Scleroderma, in fact.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “My medical education is pretty spotty. Is that connected to this?” I waved a finger over my nose and cheeks.
“The lupus butterfly,” Shirin said.
“Lupus. I’m sorry: What’s lupus?”
“Another mixed connective-tissue disease. I have symptoms of both.”
“I hope it’s not serious.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do. Believe it or not, priests are occasionally capable of normal human feelings.” Aiming for a light touch in my welter of lies.
“It all depends,” she said, “on how involved other organs are—heart, lungs, kidneys. Unfortunately, in my case, it’s very serious indeed. No one expects me to see the new century. On the bright side, in my case, the end will probably come suddenly, and I should be quite active until then. It’s not a pretty disease to linger with.”
Clergy are trained to have plenty of good, solid things to say at moments like this, but I didn’t reach for any of them. I didn’t even want to say—for the third or fourth time—that I was sorry. We walked on for a bit in silence.
Finally she asked me if I knew why B had told her to walk me home. I said I didn’t.
“I didn’t either, at the time,” she said. “Now I do. He knew I’d be able to think about the unthinkable and to ask the unaskable. People in my position have practice at that.”
“You have an unthinkable question for me?”
“That’s right.”