The glass was missing and in fact so were the hands. They had been
drawn in with pencil. On sunbaked Deq, it seemed, it was always
three o’clock in the afternoon.
“I can make a donation too if you like,” Roy said. The monk
shrugged as if to say the donation wasn’t important to him. “The
donation isn’t important,” he explained.
“So then will you take me for free?”
“I am really quite busy,” he replied.
“Money,” Roy said, “For the church.”
“Very well,” said the sad-looking monk finally, “For the church.”
It didn’t take long to reach the spot where the stone altars still
stood. They were dug into in a small clearing encircled by withered
old trees. Crash grunted a bit disappointedly. They were little more
than wretched lumps of stone. Three impressions were carved into
the lumps, each of them stained dark with the stigmata of ancient
gore.
“Well, well, well,” said Winfield. The monk stared at him as he
fidgeted nervously. “Well,” he said again. He looked back at the
monk, hoping he might disappear.
“What are these trees?” Roy said. The monk didn’t understand
the question.
“Yes,” he said, “They are trees.”
“I mean, what kind of trees are they? What do you call them?”
Roy couldn’t help but notice how sickly they were, nothing even close
to a Tree of Life or a Tree of Knowledge. They looked half-dead and
dopey indeed.
“They are chat trees,” the monk said, walking over to one and
tearing off a few leaves. He handed them to Roy. “We use them
sometimes to help us pray.”
“No thanks,” Roy said. “I’ve tried them. They taste terrible.” The
monk shrugged and placed the leaves in his own pocket. Roy glanced
over at Winfield who was pretending to examine the altars intently,
running his finger over their ridges with all the finesse of a trained
archaeologist.
“Could I have a few minutes alone?” Winfield said to the monk.
“Why?” he replied.
“I’d like to pray to God,” he said, “In private.”
The monk looked confused, “If you want to pray to God, we must
do it in the Church. God will not hear you here.”
“Yes, but you see,” Winfield said, “I’m a Jew.” He winked at Roy.
ABYSSINIA
278
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