heap of bricks and plaster. The main front gate was closed but a smaller door set into it stood open.
The two men got out of the car and walked through the entrance to find a set of low-roofed, white buildings, now in a state of some disrepair. A path wound its way up towards the hill behind the monastery. As they walked up the shallow slope Makana paused here and there to peer into a building alongside. In places the doors had been locked. The ground was littered with debris, dead branches and leaves from the palm trees, wooden slats from the window shutters, doors, broken bricks, timber, and all of it peppered with a liberal scattering of goat droppings. There was an empty shell of a church with a cracked and blackened dome. Further up the incline were workshops and storage rooms, rough constructions made of adobe bricks and crooked timbers. Makana’s eye followed the line of the hill as it rose up to end in the dark mouth of a large cave. He thought he could make out a figure standing in the entrance.
‘Can you see someone up there?’ he asked, shading his eyes with one hand.
Adam squinted. ‘Got to be a crazy man if he’s living out here alone.’
Who else would live in a cave in the desert but a madman? Makana wasn’t sure his eyes were not deceiving him until the wavering figure began to descend. A prophet, perhaps, out here to commune with the Almighty, or a lunatic? Makana lit a cigarette and waited. A couple of minutes later the small, compact figure was striding towards him. Tufts of white hair stuck out from behind his ears, his beard sweeping down from his chin to his chest. The top of his head was bald and mottled. Thick leather sandals and a grubby cassock completed the outfit.
‘You cannot stay here. We do not allow it.’
‘We’re not planning to stay,’ Makana said, wondering who ‘we’ was. Were there others up there in the cave? A tribe of madmen?
‘Then what is your business?’
He was so short his head only came up to Makana’s chest but he still cut a ferocious figure. Makana noticed that Adam had taken a couple of steps backwards just in case. He held up the book from the cabin.
‘Father Macarius suggested I come by to take a look.’
‘Macarius?’ The little man stared at the book, his lips moving silently. His chin lifted and dipped. ‘The monastery is closed to visitors.’
‘I understand there used to be an orphanage here, Father . . . ?’
‘Girgis. Yes, but that closed years ago.’ The white beard whipped up into his face as the wind changed direction. ‘That was the end of it.’
‘The orphanage?’
‘Yes. What did you think I was talking about?’ He frowned. ‘Why have you come here?’
It was a question to which Makana could not readily answer.
‘I’m curious to know why the monastery was closed.’
‘What possible interest could you have in that?’ The face cracked like dry pergament.
‘One of the boys who was here. I’m interested in one of the boys.’
‘A journalist, are you? Here to spin your web of deceit.’
‘I’m not a journalist. Father, someone died last night. Do you remember a boy named Ramy who was here at the orphanage?’
His jaw worked silently for a moment. ‘I remember a lot of people. I forget their names. We had about thirty-seven boys at one time. How did you say he died?’
‘He took his own life.’
The priest winced as though someone had stepped on his toe. ‘Maybe I remember him. He was never a particularly happy child.’
‘From what he told me that was hardly surprising.’
The white beard twitched as Father Girgis lifted his chin. ‘That’s all ancient history. Why should you be interested in that now?’
‘I thought all human life was sacred.’
A long silence followed disturbed only by Adam clearing his throat, worried perhaps about getting the car back to his legless brother-in-law.
‘When we first came here there was nothing much more than that cave up there,’ Father Girgis pointed. ‘Legend had it that a prophet, Saint Nikeiba, once lived in that cave. He had visions of an angel bearing six wings.’
‘The Seraph.’
‘Yes, the Seraph.’ The pale eyes rolled up towards Makana. ‘Macarius told you?’
‘He told me that this was a very special place.’
‘It was,’ sighed Father Girgis. ‘We built it together. We worked side by side. After the scandal it fell into disrepair. The government took the children away.’
‘What exactly happened?’
Father Girgis gestured for them to