FALLON OPENED HIS EYES JUST BEFORE DAWN. IT TOOK HIM A MOMENT to focus but then he sat bolt upright, for he and Aja had been joined by a stranger in the night. The man sat cross-legged and looked at Fallon kindly with something like a beatific smile on his face.
Fallon shook Aja awake and they both stared unspeaking at the stranger. He was perhaps middle-aged or slightly older, round under his tunic which, even in the darkness, didn’t appear to be traditional Bedouin or Arab dress. He still smiled under Fallon’s appraisal, his hands folded on his lap with no weapon apparent. Nor any ill intent.
“Do you speak English?” said the man in English. “Or do you speak French?” said the man in French. “Or should we speak in Spanish?” said the man in Spanish.
“I speak all three languages,” said Fallon without thinking. “But I would prefer to speak English.”
“Excellent, good sir,” said the man. “I am Friar Orturo, sometimes called la blanche Friar, or White Friar in some parts of Algiers. I apologize for giving you a fright, but I thought it best to not wake you unexpectedly in the middle of the night, for I saw you were armed and I did not want a misunderstanding. I suspected you were not Arab by your skin. Although your companion might well be.”
“His name is Aja, and he is from Senegal,” replied Fallon, at least telling that part of the truth. “He is my master.”
“I see,” said the Friar, without a hint of skepticism. “I was a slave myself once for two years. The corsairs took a Spanish trader I was on and imprisoned all of the crew and myself. We were sold at auction in the marketplace.”
“How did you become free?” asked Fallon, immediately absorbed by this strange man’s presence.
“I was always good at sketches, and one day my master asked me to draw his likeness in charcoal. I did, and he liked it so much he allowed me to draw others whom he knew, which I did. And they paid me. Instead of keeping the money himself, my master allowed me to buy my freedom a little at a time. Until one day I was free.”
“And now?” asked Fallon, intrigued. “How can you be a friar in a Muslim country?”
“I don’t try to convert anyone, certainly,” said the friar. “My order was always passive and itinerant, anyway, created to wander this earth and help others through kindness. It was always my intention to live God’s will in this way. I was always good with languages and I managed to pick up lingua franca within a year. I minister to those who need help finding their way in the world, no matter who they are. I often venture outside the walls of the city to seek out travelers. That’s how I came upon you.”
And then he resumed his smiling.
Fallon looked at Aja, who gave no expression back, and then looked at the friar again. He seemed to be who he said he was, and Fallon could not sniff an imposter or spy. But could he be trusted to help them?
“You are wondering, perhaps, if I can be trusted to be of some service to you,” said the friar softly. “If it is God’s will I will help you. If it is not, I will leave you.”
Fallon was taken aback, even shocked, that his thoughts were so transparent. They had always been so with Elinore, but with a stranger? Was his face so expressive?
“I think we should ask this friar for guidance, captain, sir,” said Aja suddenly, giving Fallon and the Friar a start. “He seems to read our minds anyway.”
And so the story of Wilhelm and Caleb Visser came out as the sky lightened to the east. The attack by the corsairs, the taking of Little Eddy, leaving out the encounter with the Bedouins and the lie detection test and ending with their hope to find Richard O’Brien, the American consul, and seek his advice for freeing Visser and, now, Little Eddy. Friar Orturo listened with his kindly mien, nodding at points along the way, but never interrupting. Fallon apologized for claiming to be a slave, genuinely sorry for lying to a holy man, his Anglican upbringing making him feel guilty.
“I am sorry to tell you that Captain O’Brien is not in Algiers at present,” said the friar, waving away the apology, “but on his way back to America, where he goes periodically to consult with the government. I know him well; he is a good man. But I also tell you I know Wilhelm Visser is alive, but weak from overwork and poor food and has all but given up hope of going home. As to the boy, I’m afraid it will be impossible to rescue the boy as it is a deeply unfortunate circumstance that young boys and girls are highly prized as slaves here and the dey will not interfere in the auction of them. I’m sorry.”
Most of the news, with the exception of Wilhelm Visser being alive, crushed Fallon and Aja. Any semblance of a plan was gone with O’Brien, and Little Eddy seemed doomed to slavery or worse.
“You are wondering what is to be done now, I believe,” said the friar, once again a mind reader.
“Yes,” admitted Fallon sadly.
“No one has ever been rescued from the prison,” said the friar. “And, if I may, any attempt to interfere with the auction will result in the worst punishment. You will be caught and killed, probably horribly. Sometimes they throw prisoners who try to escape over the wall, a symbolic escape I suppose, except that I am told there are hooks placed there to receive the poor souls and they are impaled. Those who don’t die immediately are left to twist on the hooks until they do. I suspect that would be your fate. Both of you.”
“But what are we to do, friar, sir,” asked Aja, whose eyes were now wide with fear and worry.
“Sometimes, my brother, we cannot interfere with life,” said the friar, reflecting his avowed passivity. “Especially life in a country not our own. They have customs and ideas here that seem strange to outsiders, even hostile or barbaric, but not to them. To them it is just life.”
“There has to be a way,” said Fallon, with determination and conviction he didn’t really feel. “I don’t plan to leave Algiers having done nothing.”
Friar Orturo studied them both carefully, their faces now fully illuminated by the risen sun. Their apprehension was clear; well, they had come across an ocean to do something brave only to discover it was impossible.
“There is a belief in our order,” he said, “that I know you will understand because you are sailors. If you are in a howling wind and you try to capture the wind in a box, what have you done? For now the wind in the box is just air. Similarly, if you stand by a fast-moving river and try to capture it in a bottle, what have you done? Now the fast-moving river is just water in a bottle. The parable is meant to describe our need to control life, which cannot be controlled. If we try to master it, we fail.”
There was a noise, the rustle of the camel in harness as the beast shifted position.
“I understand the parable, friar,” said Fallon quietly. “Perhaps as you say I am trying to control life. I am certainly trying to save a life. Two, actually. Does your faith allow you to help us in any way?”
“What is it you would have me do?” asked the friar.
“Is there a guard at the entrance to the city?” Fallon asked.
“Yes, there is a gate on this side of the city and it has a janissary to guard it. He looks very carefully at all who enter,” replied the friar.
“Would you help us get inside then?” asked Fallon. “That’s all we could ask. Just to get inside.”
The friar thought for a moment. It was getting lighter now, the morning coming softly in the desert. The night’s chill would soon be another memory.
“Yes,” said the friar with a sigh, “I believe I can get you through the gate. But you will have to be good actors.”
Fallon looked at Aja and they both laughed.