treat each case of colonial disorder the same. And yet, against the very force of his disdain for them, Antoine felt a glimmer of—what was that? Possibility?
The truth was he probably already had the information they were after. He knew all about the families, who had feuded, who allied. He knew the kinds of crimes committed and how they were commonly avenged. It had not occurred to him that those acts of retribution he sometimes noted might be something the British should police; he simply observed them from the anthropological view. And yet there they were, listed in his book, ripe for such analysis. The bloody scene of Nebi Musa pulsed in his mind.
“O Jesu, vivens in Maria veni et vive in famulis tuis. Lord God, have mercy on me in your goodness.” He placed his hands over his abdomen and bowed his head. “Hear me, O Lord. I am uncertain in my ways. Guide me on my path, in my next decisions. I am humbled before you.”
The sergeant’s eyes were wide.
“I am sorry. But, after all, I have nothing to give you.”
“Ah,” said the sergeant, in a tone of controlled surprise. “In that case. Well, if you wouldn’t mind having a think about it anyway.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a sealed envelope and a business card, “Major Hodges, I’m stationed at the police HQ in the old Russian compound.”
“My answer is no.”
Hodges hesitated. “Indeed. Indeed, no. Nonetheless, I’ll be back in a few days to see, to see how you’re … feeling.” Before Antoine could interrupt him again, Hodges was on his feet. “All right boys, say goodbye to the father. Goodbye, Father Anthony. Off we go.”
* * *
There were a few scholarly Jews and Arabs at Père Lavigne’s meeting, but the audience seemed to be mostly Englishmen and Frenchmen, many from L’École, and some Americans, Greeks, and Armenians, among them the priests and rabbis conspicuous by their clerical robes and headpieces, and the archaeologists and diplomats distinguishable from one another only by degrees of tidiness and the use of pomade. Although the meeting had been advertised to the public, the only obvious non-researchers Antoine could detect were four women chatting in the back row. They were shushing each other as Père Lavigne assumed the rostrum at the front of the room. Antoine slid into an empty chair by the aisle.
Alone before his lectern, Lavigne’s congenital tremor was magnified. His hand shook as it held his spectacles in place, and his head vibrated with something between a nod and a shudder.
“What are we doing?” he began, smiling widely. “We here present a truly strange spectacle. Europe, Asia, the world entire, has just been prey to the most horrific torments that history has ever known. Still, the earth trembles. Across the world, committees toil over how they shall provide the daily bread for their citizens. And here we are, gentlemen, gathered to discuss the meanings of words, and the rules of grammar, and facts of ancient geography, of wildflowers, of old melodies, of the engraved letters on the rocks of Palestine.” He breathed a laugh. “But we know that this is important work. What we are embarking on is not useless. No, on the contrary. If anything can pierce the darkness of the future, if there is anything human that can illuminate the present, guide us on our way, strengthen us in these trials, revive our noblest hopes, it is the lesson of the past. It is the light of history.” A pause as he turned over the page, and with his finger found the first line. “Only, we do not want any more of that type of history which is the child of the imagination, which paints large tableaux and tidies into a pretty sequence the melange of uncontrollable facts. No. Our method, gentlemen, is one of precision and accurate data, though these may be of a more mediocre appearance. Careful, patient study—that is the history of today. And for this, the strength of a single man will no longer suffice. Gone are the days of Herodotus, and even of Bossuet and Macaulay. We, gentlemen, will work together. Indeed, looking around me now I can say it would be assuredly difficult to assemble anywhere other than in Jerusalem such a diverse range of skills as those of you here present, on a terrain any more profoundly transformed over the ages, by such an extraordinary variety of civilisations.”