The Quest

Purcell held up his glass and said, “To Father Armano, and to God’s plan, whatever it is.”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me what it is.”

“It’s coming to me.” Purcell informed him, “I actually have a private pilot’s license. Single-engine. Did I ever mention that?”

Mercado swirled his wine.

“If we could rent a bush plane in Sudan-”

“You’re not making God’s plan sound attractive.” He asked, “What do you think of the wine?”

“Great. So let’s think about false IDs. I have several sources in Cairo.”

Mercado pointed out, “You don’t actually need me along. It would be easier for you to just apply for a visa and see what happens. The new regime may let you in.”

“I want you with us.”

“By us, I assume you mean Vivian as well.”

“Right.”

“But she’s left you, old boy. Or at least that’s what you seemed to have told me last night.”

“Right. But I also told you she wants us to go back to look for the black monastery.”

Mercado mulled that over, then said, with good insight, “There are easier ways for you to regain her affection.”

Purcell did not reply.

“If you, Mr. Purcell, want to go back, you need to go for the right reason. Your reason is not the right reason.”

Purcell thought a moment, then replied, “I’m not going to tell you that I believe in the Holy Grail. But I do believe there is a hell of a story there.”

“But Vivian, dear boy, believes in the Grail. You need to believe in it as well if you’re going to drag her back there-or if she’s dragging you back.”

Purcell asked, “What do you believe?”

“I believe what Father Armano told us.”

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

“Then how can you not go back?”

He reminded Purcell, “Father Armano seemed to think that the Grail should be left where it was in a Coptic monastery-and he’s a Catholic priest who was under papal orders to find it and take it for the Vatican.”

“I’m not suggesting we should steal it. Just… look at it. Touch it.”

“That would probably end in life imprisonment. Or death.”

“But if you really believe, Henry, that we’re going back to find the actual Holy Grail, what difference does death make?”

Mercado looked closely at Purcell.

“Father Armano risked death by going on that patrol to find the black monastery. Because he believed in the Grail, and he believed in eternal life.”

“I understand that. But…”

“The Knights of the Round Table risked their lives to look for the Grail-”

“Myth and legend.”

“Right. But there’s a moral to that myth.”

“Which is that the Grail will never be found.”

“Which is that we should never stop looking for what we believe in. Death is not the issue.”

Mercado did not reply.

“Why did Peter come to Rome?”

Mercado smiled. “To annoy the Romans with his arguments, as you are annoying me with yours.”

“And to bring them the word of God. And why did Peter return to Rome?”

“To die.”

“I rest my case.”

Mercado seemed lost in thought, then said, “Look, old man, get a good night’s sleep”-he nodded toward Jean who was still at the bar but settling her bill-“and if you’re still suicidal in the morning, give me a call.” He put his business card on the table and stood.

Purcell stood and said, “Henry, this is what we have to do. We think we have a choice, but we don’t.”

“I understand that. And I also understand that you’re not as cynical as you think you are or pretend to be. You are not going to risk your life for a good story-or for a woman. You’re not that much of a reporter or that romantic. But if you believe in love, then you believe in God. There may or may not be a Holy Grail at the end of your journey, but the journey and the quest is itself an act of faith and belief. And as we Romans say, ‘Credo quia impossibile.’ I believe it because it is impossible.”

Purcell did not reply.

They shook hands and Mercado went to the bar, spoke to Jean, then left.

Jean walked toward his table, smiling tentatively. Purcell stood, and thought: Good old Henry, up to his old tricks again, sticking me with the bill, the lady, and the next move.

Chapter 16

Rome was always crowded at Christmas with visiting clergy, pilgrims, and tourists, and even more so this year in anticipation of the pope’s Christmas Eve announcement of the coming Holy Year. The taxi driver was swearing at the holiday traffic and at the foreign idioti who didn’t know how to cross a street.

Purcell had decided to stay in Rome for Christmas and he’d sent a short telex to Charlie Gibson in Cairo telling him that. The return telex, even shorter, had said, YOU’RE FIRED. HAVE A GOOD CHRISTMAS.

He’d hoped that would be Charlie’s response, and he dreaded a second telex rescinding the first. But if war broke out, as it might after all the Christian tourists left Jerusalem, Bethlehem, and Nazareth, then the Cairo office would want him back. In the meantime, he was free to pursue other matters. Also, as it turned out, Jean needed to get back to England for Christmas, which further freed him to write, and to think about what he wanted to do about the rest of his life.