Don't Ask (5 page)

"A relic with gangrene," John said. "Not by then," Tiny said. "I'm just giving you the highlights here, Dortmunder."

"Okay, Tiny."

"By that time," Tiny went on, "the bone was in the cathedral at a place called Novi Glad, that was the capital of one of the provinces of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. That province was half Tsergovia and half Votskojek."

Grijk made a weird sound in his throat, almost like a growl. J.C. blinked at the sound, but no one else paid any attention to it.

Tiny continued: "Also by that time, you got two religions involved. You got the regular Roman Catholic Church out of Rome, that said that leg was a saint to begin with. I mean, the girl was the saint, the whole girl. And then there was a schism, the Eastern Unorthodox."

Stan said, "Jewish, you mean."

"No, no," Tiny said, waving a big meaty hand. "There's no Jews around there."

"Dere was vun," Grijk said, "bud he vent to Belgrade. Or Lvov, maybe.

Somevere. Anyway, now we godda ged our suits from Hong Kong. It ain'd da same." "That's the long version, Grijk, do you mind?" Tiny said, and turned back to his audience. "The Catholic Church split up," he said,

"just like all those countries over there keep splitting up."

"Balkanization," Grijk said with astonishing clarity.

"That's the long form," Tiny warned him. "Anyway, out east you got the Eastern Orthodox Catholic Church, that's a schism from the regular Roman Catholic. And in some little places, you got the Eastern C/worthodox, that's a schism from the Orthodox. Okay?

We set on that?"

"All set," John agreed. "That's all the religion I'm gonna need for a month."

"Me, too," Tiny agreed. "Anyway, when the AustroHungarian Empire broke up, that province that was the two countries got to be one country, and the Commies kept it that country, and now the Commies are out, and it's splitting into two countries. So when it was one country, it was a member at the UN, it had a seat, and the question is, which of the halves gets to have that seat, because that's the one with the seniority and the financial help already in place and all of that, and the loser has to apply to become a member, and there's some countries in the world might want to blackball the loser, whichever one it is, so the important thing for both Tsergovia and Votskojek--"

Grijk made that sound again.

"--is to get the seat that's already there. To be the successor to the previous country."

Andy said, "Tiny, I can't seem to remember the name of the country before it split up. I mean, you mentioned it, didn't you?"

Thunderclouds crossed Grijk's face. It was fascinating to watch, like being in a car, driving across the plains of Nebraska, and seeing the storms far away as they march over the wheat fields. Darkness, lightning, slanting rain, all moved this way and that over the rugged terrain of Grijk Krugnk's face. J.C. was so interested in this visual phenomenon that she almost forgot to listen to Tiny"s answer, which was:

"No, I didn't mention it, Andy, and I'm not gonna mention it, and I'll tell you why. You want to think of Tsergovia and Votskojek --"

There went Grijk again, through the storms.

"--as a really bad marriage, so when it came to the end what you got was a really bad divorce, so in both countries now it's illegal to mention the name of the old country that used to be."

"Punishable," Grijk said with gloomy appetite, "by det."

"If anybody from those two countries," Tiny went on, "even hears the old name, they go berserk. You want Grijk here to go berserk?"

Everybody in the room contemplated Grijk, who was looking half-berserk as it was. Everybody in the room came to the same conclusion, which Andy voiced for them all: "I don't think so."

"Good," Tiny said. "I can tell you this much. In the list of the hundred and fifty-nine countries that are in the UN--"

"You're kidding," Andy said. "There can't be that many countries."

"You're right, there can't," Tiny agreed, "but there are. And on the list, where this old country used to be, there's now a space between Benin and Bhutan."

Stan said, "Between what and who?"

"Benin and Bhutan. Those are countries, both of them."

This time, when Andy said, "You're kidding," Stan said it right along with him.

"I'm not," Tiny assured them. "Hanging out with Grijk here, I been picking up stuff about a lotta places. You won't believe the countries there are. How about the Comoros?"

"Isn't that," Andy asked, "what happens when you get knocked out?"

"No. How about Lesotho and Vanuata?"

"They sound like medicines," John suggested, "meant to keep people calm.

People like Grijk over there."

Grijk grinned, flashing a couple of teeth. "Boy," he said to John, "you god id down perfect." "Thank you," John said.

Andy said, "Tiny? Tell us some more countries. You got any more like that?"

"Tons," Tiny said. "How about Cape Verde?"

"I thought that was in Louisiana."

"It isn't. It's in the Atlantic Ocean off Africa."

"Next to Atlantis," John suggested.

"I don't know that one," Tiny said. "But I do know Bahrain and Qatar--"

"You get that in your throat," Andy said.

"--and Burkina Faso, and Oman--"

"No, man," Stan said.

"Yes, man," Tiny said. "And Djibouti."

John said, "How can you say that without snapping your fingers?"

"Say what?"

"Djibouti," John said, and snapped his fingers. It did something for the name.

"I will from now on," Tiny promised. "And there's the Maldives. And Sao Tome and Principe, that's one country."

"What's one country?" Andy wanted to know.

"Sao Tome and Principe," Tiny repeated, and shrugged. "Maybe they're gonna break up, like Grijk's crowd. You all had enough?"

While they all agreed they'd had enough, J.C. pondered. What would be a nice name for a country? Jaycenia. Tayloronia. Needs work.

"So here's the situation," Tiny was saying while J.C. mused. "The whole problem of who's gonna be the successor country at the UN is such a political mess that nobody wants to touch it. So they turned it over to a priest. An archbishop."

"I get it," Andy said. "He's gonna be on the side of the religion in the country, right? I mean, the same religion he is."

"Wrong," Tiny said. "What you got in the country--the two countries--is Roman Catholics and Eastern Unorthodoxes. So the UN made up a commission, and at the head of the commission they put this Eastern Orthodox archbishop from Bulgaria or Poland or someplace, that wouldn't automatically agree with either side, in fact he'd automatically disagree with the whole crowd, and the commission he's in charge of is gonna decide. Which means, he is. And the word is, the archbishop, being another kind of nut--"

"A religious nut," Andy suggested.

"The world is full of those," John said. "If they were a money crop,"

Tiny agreed, "nobodyd ever go hungry again. Anyway, the archbishop decided, this saint's relic is the crucial factor. It's the thing gives the legitimacy to the country, makes the straight line back to the founding, before the AustroHungarians and all those people, so whoever's got the bone has to be the legitimate heir."

"And he won't mind," John asked, "if Grijk's bunch steal it? Are you sure of this?"

"That's not the way it works," Tiny said.

John nodded. "I didn't think it was gonna be."

"The way it works," Tiny said, "the bone was in the cathedral at Novi Glad, and Novi Glad's now the capital of Votskojek--so those are the--Grijk, I wish you wouldn't keep doing that every time I mention the name of the place; it's getting me all geechy."

"I will try," Grijk said, "do restrain myselv."

"Thank you. Where was I?"

John said, "Still the capital."

"Right. So they got it, they got the bone right there. So to stall things a little, the Tsergovians told the UN that isn't the real bone, it's a fake, so the bone was brought to New York to authenticate it."

John said, "How you supposed to do that? You can't put an eight-hundred-year-old bone on a lineup, get a positive ID."

"They turn it over to the scientists," Tiny explained. "They can do these tests, tell you is it a human bone, the right bone from the left leg, is it that old, did it have gangrene, all that stuff."

"So Grijk's people are screwed," John said, and Grijk nodded sadly.

"Unless," Tiny said, "we can switch bones before the tests get finished, and they just got started. We would've been ahead of them completely if it hadn't been for this little delay about money, but that's okay, that's nothing for you to worry about."

"You're right," John said.

"Meantime," Tiny went on, "Tsergovia's telling the UN the other guys're fulla shit, that's a fake bone, and when the scientists prove it's a fake bone Tsergovia will come out with the real one. The archbishop will get mad at Votskojek--mmmmm."

"Sorry," said Grijk.

"Keep trying," Tiny urged him, and told the others, "The arch bishop'll get mad at Votskojek for blasphemy with the relic, and the commission will recommend that Tsergovia inherits the seat, and the good guys win."

"I'm not sure about that last part," John said, "but never mind, I get the idea. So where's the bone now, in some lab somewhere?"

"Oh, no," Tiny said. "Both countries got these UN missions, only they're what they call observer missions now, until they get a seat, and Votskojek's got tight--very good, Grijk--got tight security on the bone by keeping it in their mission and only letting the scientists study it inside there."

"And where is this mission?" John asked.

"On a boat in the East River," Tiny said.

"A boat," John said, while the others looked troubled. "So we row out to it, is that the idea?"

"Naw, it's tied up to a dock in the East Twenties," Tiny said, "where there used to be a ferry across to Long Island City a long, long time ago. The city owns the dock and the old ferry building there, and the Votskojeks rent it from the city for like nothing a year."

"That sounds like New York," John agreed.

"You got to remember," Tiny said, "both of these countries are poor.

Their principal export is rock."

J.C. had promised herself to remain silent, since this wasn't her meeting, it was theirs, but this news was too compelling. "Rock?" she blurted out; as a businesswoman, one whose mail-order businesses could be thought of as a kind of export, she wanted to know how you made money out of exporting rock.

No one seemed to object to her horning in like this. The guys, in fact, seemed just as interested in the answer as she was and paid as close attention when Tiny said, "Gauntries with more regular land, like dirt-type land, they use Tsergovian and Votskojek rock when they're making new roads."

"Tsergovian rock much better," Grijk announced. "Dests prove."

"No argument," Tiny said. "Anyway," he told the others, "the point is, these countries are poor, so they don't go in for UN missions in fancy town houses in the East Sixties and all this stuff. You know, they had to float a loan just to hire you guys."

"Which raises a question, Tiny," John said. "You did explain to Grijk about expenses, didn't you?"

"Absolutely," Tiny said. "Subway fare, stuff like that, you take care of yourself. A real expense, like a bribe or a vehicle or a weapon, Tsergovia pays."

"In front."

"He knows that, Dortmunder," Tiny said.

"No limousines," Grijk said, raising an admonitory finger.

"They know that, Grijk," Tiny said.

Andy said, "If they're so poor, how come they got a yacht?"

"Did I say yacht?" Tiny asked. "I said boat, am I right?"

"So the first thing we better do," John said, "is go look at this boat."

"I'll take you over there and show you," Tiny offered, "whenever you say." 'What about now?"

"Good," said Tiny.

Andy said, "Grijk, you coming with us?"

Grijk said, "Andy, you must led John teach you how pronounce Grijk. And I don'd go, because if dehr guards would see me, dey would shood me."

Andy raised an eyebrow at John. "A fun crowd."

And that was the end of the meeting. Everybody stood up and all the men shook hands with Grijk, and Grijk assured them their praises would be sung forever in the schoolrooms of Tsergovia, even if anonymously, and then J.C. said, "Nice to see you fellas again," and the fellas said it was great to see her again, and then they all trooped out and away down the hall toward the elevator, and at last J.C. was alone. She went to the kitchen and poured out her one-of-the-guys beer and filled a different glass with a nice Pinot Grigio and went back to the living room to kick off her satin shoes and sit in her morris chair, which seemed larger and lower than before, and to think about countries.

A cacophony of countries, a mob, a milling throng, a legion of nations.