"Reuben, I think we had better tend to the business at hand here," Simon suggested. "We can always arrange a time in the future to discuss other matters, if we agree here - ."
" ,Disastrous,, " the man repeated, ignoring Simon. The man seemed genuinely concerned. "I,m so sorry to hear it," said the man. Again, his tone was humble, gracious, and concerned.
"Well, let,s just say this person, Marrok, he objected rather strongly to my presence in the house, to my relationship with Marchent Nideck; he was offended by other things as well." "Things," it was such a weak word. Why couldn,t he choose another word? He looked to the man for understanding. "In fact, I,d say he was pretty angry about the way things had ... developed. He regarded me as a bit of a blunderer. He was very angry. But he,s gone, this man. Gone. He won,t ever be collecting that letter."
Simon made a series of little throat-clearing noises and was about to interrupt again when Reuben gestured for patience.
The man was studying Reuben, not saying a word. Plainly, he was shocked.
"I thought that perhaps you,d written this letter to him," said Reuben. "That maybe he came at your behest."
"Perhaps we should see that letter - ," said Simon.
Very carefully, the man removed the folded pages of the letter from the envelope, his finger running over the place where the envelope had been torn open.
"Yes," he said. "I wrote this letter. But I don,t see how it could have prompted an unpleasant meeting. That certainly was not my intention. The message is simple, actually. I hadn,t written to Marrok in ages. I told him that I,d heard of Marchent,s death, and I,d be arriving soon."
This was said with such conviction and persuasion that Reuben believed it. But his heart would not stop beating in his ears and in the palms of his hands.
"Now regarding this man," said Arthur.
"Please," said Reuben. He kept his eyes on Nideck. "What was I to figure, except that you,d written to him earlier," he asked, "and that maybe his disapproval was your disapproval, that he was acting on your authority when he appeared in the house?"
"By no means," said the man softly. His eyebrows drew together in a tense little frown for a moment and then relaxed. "I assure you," he said, "whatever happened, he was not acting in my stead."
"Well, that,s quite a relief," said Reuben. He realized he had begun to tremble a little, and to sweat. "Because this man, Marrok, he wasn,t amenable to reason. He pushed things to a head."
The man absorbed this quietly.
Simon clasped Reuben,s right wrist very hard, but Reuben ignored this.
How can I make it clearer, Reuben was thinking.
"And you say he,s gone now," the man asked.
"Without a trace, as they say," Reuben answered. "Just gone." He made a gesture with his two hands to suggest the rising of smoke.
He knew this must be utterly incomprehensible to the two lawyers, but he was slamming it home. He had to.
The man was as placid and seemingly trusting as before.
"I felt under attack, you understand," said Reuben. "The woman with me was under attack. I love this woman very much. It was unfair for her to have been threatened under my roof. I did what I had to do."
Again Simon tried to protest. Arthur Hammermill was plainly stunned.
The man was the one who raised his hand for Simon to remain quiet.
"I understand," he said, looking into Reuben,s eyes. "I am so sorry - so very sorry for this completely unexpected turn of events."
Suddenly, Reuben took the gold watch out of his pocket, and moved it across the table to the man. "This was left behind," he said in a small voice.
The man looked at the watch for a long moment before he reached for it and held it reverently in both hands. He looked at the face of it and then at the back. He sighed. His expression was somber for the first time, a marked departure, and perhaps even a little disappointed.
"Ah, poor reckling," he said under his breath as he looked again at the face of the watch. "Your wandering is at an end."
"What is a reckling?" asked Arthur Hammermill. He was pale with frustration and annoyance.
"A runt," said Reuben. "It,s an old English word for ,runt., "
The man,s eyes flashed with pleasure as he smiled at Reuben, but he remained grieved, grieved as he turned the watch again in his hand.
"Yes, so sorry," he whispered. He put the watch in his pocket. He took the letter carefully and slipped it inside his jacket. "Forgive me my eccentric vocabulary. I know too many languages, too many ancient books."
The lawyers were clearly flustered, exchanging glances.
Reuben forged ahead.
"Well, perhaps it,s easy for one in my situation to offend others," said Reuben. He put his right hand in his lap because it was trembling. "After all, it,s a magnificent house," he said. "A magnificent property, a magnificent responsibility, some might say a Chrism of sorts ..." His face was burning.
There was a tiny shift in the man,s gaze.
They regarded one another for a long moment.
The man looked as though he was about to say something momentous, but he sat silent for a while longer and then said only, "And we do not always ask for a Chrism."
"A Chrism?" Simon whispered with exasperation, and Arthur Hammermill nodded and mumbled something under his breath.
"No, quite the opposite," said Reuben. "But a man would be a fool who didn,t cherish a Chrism for what it is."
The man smiled. It was a sad smile, what the world calls a philosophical smile.
"Then I haven,t offended you?" Reuben asked. His voice dropped to a whisper. "That,s the last thing I want to do."
"No, not at all," said the man. His voice grew softer, and eloquent with feeling. "The young are the only hope we have."
Reuben swallowed. He was now trembling all over. The sweat had broken out on his upper lip. He felt wobbly but exhilarated.
"I,ve never faced such challenges," said Reuben. "I think you can well imagine that. I want to face these challenges with resolve and strength."
"Obviously," said the man. "We call it fortitude, do we not?"
"Now, that,s a good English word I understand," said Simon with Arthur Hammermill nodding vigorously in support.
"Thank you." Reuben blushed. "I think I fell in love with the house, I know I fell in love with Marchent. And I became enamored of Felix Nideck, with the idea of him, the explorer, the scholar - the teacher perhaps." He paused, then: "Those diaries written in that mysterious script. The house is full of treasures, and those tablets, those tiny fragile tablets. Even the name Nideck is a mystery. I found the name in an old short story. So many names in the house seem connected to old stories - Sperver, Gorlagon, even Marrok. There,s a poetry and romance to that, isn,t there - finding names that resonate with mysteries in lore and legend, finding names that promise revelations in a world where the questions multiply every day - ."