A Highly Unlikely Scenario, or a Neetsa Pizza Employee's Guide to Saving the World (16 page)

Leonard jumped up, but he wasn't listening, for on the next wall, in front of a stand of fruit-bearing trees—the orchard of
Felix's dream, of his grandfather's stories, it had to be—blocking the view of the two Bens, the other one, and the rabbi who were about to enter, was a marvelous drawing, clearly in Felix's hand, of Leonard's grandfather! Whom Felix had never met, whom he had never even seen in a pictograph. The figure was waving his arms, madly.

As in, literally: his arms were moving, right there on the no-longer-white wall; he was trying to get Leonard's attention!

Grandfather! Leonard shouted. Isaac! Talk to me! How do we get Felix back? How do we keep Carol from the police?

Leonard? What is it? Are you okay? Sally asked.

Don't you see? Leonard asked, pointing at the wall.

Boychik, she don't see it.

You don't see it! he said. It's Isaac, he's waving. He's talking! From the wall!

Don't worry about her, boychik. I need you to listen good. You did very very good with the Baconians.

Sally tugged on Leonard's caftan. Who's Isaac? The new Chief Librarian? Is this one of your tricks?

Shh, Leonard whispered. Go check Felix. I'll tell you later.

She left the room, reluctantly, looking at Leonard over her shoulder.

Felix is okay, boychik, but you have to get him, I am sorry for this. There is no other way.

Get him? Now?

Leonard turned to leave the room and saw the shadow of Sally, hiding behind the door.

No, boychik. I don't mean from the other room, I mean from the other century.

Boychik, I need you to listen good. Felix is with a very good, very important man. This man is taking care of him, but I need you to bring him home.

An important man? Another century? What is he doing there? Where is Felix!

Listen, you don't know this man. He is Abulafia.

Abulafia? Spanish mystic? Worked with Hebrew letters?

Yes, I forget. The girl.

Abulafia? said Sally from behind the door.

Isaac! What is Felix doing in the thirteenth century! Where is he?!

Not to worry about it. I had to send him, or his brain explode. He is too young for this, boychik. Nothing for it. He need Abulafia to control his powers. Very simple.

Sally and Felix have Abulafianism, Leonard said.

Abulafia? Sally said from behind the door.

Silly phrase, but yes, they share this Special Gift.

Sally thinks she's lost it. She's very sad.

Not lost, never lost. You fix the Voynich, you did good, this is very very necessary. Now I need you to listen good. Boychik!

But Leonard was behind the door, hugging Sally.

Everything's okay, he said. You still have your Special Gift. Felix is with Abulafia, we're going to get him!

Abulafia is dead!

Isaac knows what he's doing.

Boychik!

WHO'S ISAAC?

Leonard led Sally by the hand back to the no-longer-white room.

Sally, meet Isaac; Isaac, Sally.

Yes yes, Isaac said. I need you to listen, Lenny.

Where is he? Sally said.

We're listening, Leonard said.

Finally! Isaac said. So this is how it goes.

Isaac explained to Leonard, and Leonard to Sally: Carol and Felix would be safe in Leonard's garage apartment until they returned; they would find and know Abulafia by unmistakable signs. Most important, to save Felix, they had to convince Abulafia
not to meet Pope Nicholas till Rosh Hashanah
—later was okay, but any earlier and Felix, and they for that matter, would remain in the thirteenth century forever. The current world, then, the world they knew and loved, would stay frozen until the End of Days. Only there would be no End of Days, because there would be no Messiah to bring on the End of Days, heaven forbid!

Repeat after me, Isaac said.

He wants us to repeat after him.

I can't hear him.

You repeat after me, buttercup.

Repeat after me, Isaac said. What do you convince Abulafia of?

What do you convince Abulafia of?

What do you convince Abulafia of?

No! You are not listening!

Isaac! We are listening!

Isaac! We are listening!

Start over, Isaac said. You are such a literal boy. Answer my question: What must you do to save Felix and unfreeze the world?

We must convince Abulafia not to visit Pope Nicholas until Rosh Hashanah!

We must convince Abulafia not to visit Pope Nicholas until Rosh Hashanah!

You know what is the Rosh Hashanah, boychik?

No.

No.

We're not repeating anymore, Leonard whispered to Sally, and then, because he couldn't help it, he kissed her muddled forehead.

Birthday of the world, boychik. You explain this later. She will come up with the explanation that will convince Abulafia, you trust her.

Leonard kissed Sally's forehead again.

You're going to save us, he whispered. You're going to figure it all out!

Sally looked very pleased with herself.

You trust her with this one thing, Isaac said, but you don't tell her anything what we do. The time will come. She will choose her destiny, then she can know anything. Not till then.

Leonard nodded and turned to Sally. You will choose your destiny, he said. Then you can know everything.

So what will happen, boychik, if you do not do as I say?

If we don't do as you say, we will be stuck in the thirteenth century forever and the world will never unfreeze.

Sally gasped.

Not till the End of Days, Isaac said. Only there won't be an End of Days.

Not till the End of Days, Leonard said. Only there won't be an End of Days.

So stop kissing the girl, boychik, and listen.

Can't do better, a man was saying.

They were standing on wet cobblestones on a dark, narrow street, conversing with a man who wore a yellow straw hat over his pageboy haircut, and a knee-length tunic over a linen shirt and hose. On his feet were soft leather slippers that looked like they'd been turned inside out. His fingernails were indescribably dirty and he smelled like fish.

Where had Isaac landed them? The thirteenth century, presumably, but where?

No decent establishment will take ye on spec, the man added. Go elsewhere and ye'll have to share yer chamber with indigent Frisians and Franks. Whereas I am willing to wait till ye locate florins amongst yer alleged relations here.

Leonard nodded, abstractly, trying to catch up with the conversation, which seemed to have started without him. It had rained recently; the air was steamy with moisture and already sweat was accumulating on Leonard's forehead and back. How wise Sally had been to insist he replace his slim-fitting caftan and trousers!

Who is this, then? the man asked, pointing at Sally. Yer wife?

Sister, Leonard said, just as Sally said, Wife.

'Tis Abraham and Sarah, 'tis it? the man said, laughing at his own inexplicable wit. Not to worry, this is no uncivilized land where a man must call his wife sister to save himself from murder. No one is opportuned or misabused in my hostellery!
Though I fully admit yer caution, I do, and there are other hostelleries—all of them, in fact—where'd ye'd be not so keenly looked after. Have we decided, then? Shall we go up? What has happened to yer staffs, by the bye, were they stolen along with yer scrips and yer baldrics?

Leonard did not know how to answer that.

Their voyage hadn't been what you'd expect. There was no whirring “time tumbler” or kaleidoscopic sinkhole. There was just a circle, a mixing of letters in Sally's head, a silent singing by Leonard of the clapping song, some general hopping and dancing, according to a well-established pattern, and a mysterious extra ingredient offered by Isaac, which Sally and Leonard could neither see nor hear.

It was over in a flash of light, yet it took an entire lifetime. As Leonard hurtled, motionless, through a still yet throbbing conglomeration of space and time, he became reacquainted with his most important moments. Banging a lollisucker on his babycage as a tall be-afroed man approached and said, Let's see those little teeth, Lenny, they're bothering you again, ain't they?

His father? He might have cried to remember this, had he either eyes or time. His grandfather was there, younger than Leonard remembered, and dancing—yes, dancing—in the candlelight. Oy, he was singing, Oy, oy, oy! Yet he looked happy—because there, dancing with him, holding his hands and lifting her knees, was a redheaded woman who looked rather like Carol, only happy. Leonard's mother? His mother? Leonard's
age, as he was now, dancing in joy. Little Lenny toddling over, breaking into the circle so he might dance as well.

His grandfather's face, older now, bearing the news that would make Lenny hide amid his grandfather's books, staining the leather with his orphan's tears. And Carol, barely eighteen, saying, How can I take care of an old man and a little boy? Crying to Joseph, her boyfriend, when they couldn't hear—Joseph, who was there, and then not, his oboe and music stand suddenly gone, Carol's clarinet thrown now into the compost-masher—no time for that, she said, her face puffy, her expression hard. Leonard had forgotten about the boyfriend, he'd forgotten about the clarinet.

There was more: old book smell and helping his grandfather to the toilet, the angry feeling in his chest when he called the old man stupid, his stories and books and herring jokes stupid, his grandfather's eyes slipping from blue to palest green, his grandfather calling him boychik and reminding him to tell his stories only to his grandsons. Awaking in a place as empty as the Desert of Lop when his grandfather died, then the birth two years later of Felix, like a second chance. All these memories and images swirled simultaneously and instantaneously, in less time than it would take for a cat to blink: and when Leonard opened his eyes, they were there.

Ye'll be wanting pottage and ale, I expect, the man continued, leading them up an exterior staircase to the second floor of his hostellery.

Leonard didn't know what pottage was but couldn't imagine anything less appealing than dining at this establishment, unless it was the building itself, which smelled of damp, barnyard animals, and human effluence.

Yes, please, he said.

My Froga is standing o'er the blandreth now, a'stirrin' and a'mixin'. But mebbe they don't eat such where ye come from? Yer dressed so strange, whence is it ye hail? My pilgrims come from every part of this flat earth but I've never seen footing quite so, well, ye don't mind me saying, quite so strange as yers.

He was referring to Leonard's sailing shoes, with their whisper-quiet ground-suckers.

We are from Cathay, Leonard said, surprising himself. I assure you that in that land our clothes are of the highest fashion. Only the richest merchants and princes of the highest rank wear clothing such as ours.

Ah, the man said. Well, then. And what exactly do ye merchant, if I may ask?

Cathay noodles, Leonard said, then wished he hadn't.

Not a product that has made its mark hereabouts, the hosteller observed.

Not yet, Leonard said grandly. Now I'll thank you to forget I ever mentioned it.

I haven't much of a memory for things I ain't seen. So where be yer Cathay?

Well beyond the Levant, Leonard essayed, and full of wonders. You'll be reading about it soon enough. We have all manner of custom unbeknownst to you. Our ladies' feet are bound when young till they are the size and shape of oranges—we find it most becoming. We drink elegant infusions of sticks
and grass. Plus, we have a wall that extends hundreds of versts around our land.

This lady's feet seem well larger than an orange, the man mused.

I told you already, Leonard said. She is the wife of a rich merchant. She doesn't need feet like oranges.

I take yer point, then, the man said, but none the less, ye must know the lady's outfit is, well, scandalizing. Pilgrim or no, merchant or no, she will be mobbed and defrocked, such will be the people's outrage. I say this because 'tis my Christian duty to prevent violence and rapine. Yer Christians, I suspect? Ye'd have no cause to pilgrim were ye not.

In a manner of speaking, Leonard said, not quite ready to enter into theological debate.

Whatever heresy ye partake of, ye'll need some pilgrim gear, if yer to travel about as romei.

Romei?

Pilgrims who come to Rome.

So they were in Rome, Leonard thought.

Have ye ought to trade for yer lodgings, perhaps in the lady's scrip?

He was ogling Sally's clutchbag. He apparently hadn't noticed the inflatable pocket under Leonard's tunic.

I note it was not taken from ye with yer other belongings on that dangerous route to Rome. I also note it is of uncommon size.

I assure you …, Leonard said.

Or perhaps that rare bit about yer wrist?

He was referring to Leonard's navigator watch.

Sally spoke for the first time: We'll exchange that rare piece
of jewelry for thirty days' stay in your fine hostellery. And porridge and ale for all that time …

We do have other victuals! the man protested.

And other victuals, Sally agreed, and clean clothing appropriate for romei.

Sally! Leonard protested. Carol gave me this watch!

And she'll give you another when we bring Felix home, she whispered.

It is motioned by angels, Leonard said. Look! and he removed the watch so the innkeeper could see the second-counter pulsing.

Motioned by angels, the man murmured. Ye shall have yer exchange, and then some, for I am an honest man. Whom ye might call Bobolo, for such is my name. Bobolo Savelli, no relation.

With that puzzling aside, Bobolo showed them to their room.