“You could have been hurt, you stupid old man,” she declared furiously. He did not seem to be listening as he watched the two young people go off down the street. He shook his head in sorrow.
“Such as sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.”
“Talk about the shadow of death!” Kate stepped in front of him, though she practically had to jump up and down to interrupt his gaze. “That kid could have put you in the hospital. And you would have deserved it, for being such a damned… idiot.”
He finally looked down at her, and his eyes crinkled up in a smile. “How forcible are right words.”
“Damned straight they’re right. Don’t do that again, you hear me? I don’t care what you think—it doesn’t do anyone any good.”
He looked again at the retreating backs and sighed. “We have scotched the snake, not killed it,” he said, which Kate took as agreement.
“Just stick to juggling,” she suggested. “I can’t guarantee to stumble on you every time you get into trouble.”
She knew in an instant that he did not believe she had just happened to show up here. He leaned on his staff, two identical heads sharing a good joke, and laughed at her. Even the wooden head seemed to be laughing at her, and she felt her face go red. There was absolutely nothing she could do, so she turned her back on him and walked away.
♦
FOURTEEN
♦
With all his gentleness, there was originally something of impatience in his impetuosity.
Kate stalked off down the busy sidewalk, her face flushed, her mind troubled, her shin and left shoulder sore, and her jaw aching. She stopped at the first trash bin she came to and spat out the gum. How could people chew the stuff all day? They must have jaws of iron. She pulled off the stupid pink hat, rolled it up and stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans, and ruffled her short hair back into place with her fingers.
Could the man be schizophrenic? There was certainly some kind of a split personality going on here, but whether it was uncontrollable or an act, cynic that she was, she honestly could not say. The performance had not been put on merely for her benefit, of that she was reasonably sure. He could not have seen her until she had stepped back from the crowd, and the direction of the act had been already fully established.
What was that snippet in Professor Whitlaw’s file? Something about Foolishness being a dangerous business. Kate could well believe that, if this was the pattern: One might as well tease a bull as the particular target he had chosen. Come to think of it, the bull would probably be safer.
And what was the point? Did Erasmus actually expect to change the way the boy treated his girlfriend? Or had he just been hoping to distract the young man, to take his attention away from the girl and—what? Allow her a chance to escape?
Oh, this was ridiculous. Erasmus wasn’t all there, and looking for rational reasons for his behavior was pointless.
Still, he was clever, give him that. The more she thought about the scene she had just witnessed, the more impressed she was. Teasing a bull, indeed—and walking away intact, while the bull… what was the image she had in mind? Not a bull, some other powerful and savage animal. A wolverine or a cougar or something, seen long ago on a television nature program, being tormented and ultimately brought down by a pack of small, scruffy, cowardly coyotes or jackals.
At this point, Kate came to herself, finding that she was standing outside the elevator in the parking garage, feeling as bedeviled and set upon by her fanciful thoughts and images as the wolverine was by the coyotes (a lioness, perhaps it had been, and jackals). She was seized by the desire to lower her head and shake it in massive rage and befuddlement, but a family of honking New Yorkers came out of the garage and she controlled the urge. Don’t frighten the children, Kate, she told herself, and grinned at them instead. The mother instantly herded her charges to one side and the father bristled in suspicion. Kate stood aside and allowed them to sidle past her, then went on into the garage. New Yorkers, she thought with a mental shake of the head. They probably would have been less frightened if I had bellowed at them.
Out on the street again, she pulled her car over into a loading zone and reached for her notebook and the car phone. The phone was answered after four rings by an English voice that by way of greeting merely stated the number she’d just punched out.
“Professor Whitlaw? This is Inspector Kate Martinelli.”
“Yes, Inspector, what can I do for you?”
“I wondered if you might be free for an hour or so this afternoon?”
“Inspector, I’m terribly sorry, I have an informal tutorial that seems to be turning into a seminar, and I can’t see that I’ll be free much before tea.”
“Er, right.”
“I have six people here,” the professor clarified, “and they look to be ensconced until hunger drives them out. Did you wish to review the material I set for you? Would tomorrow do as well?”
“No, it’s not that exactly. I mean, yes, I’d like to go over it with you, but I found Brother Erasmus, and I wondered—”
“You found your Fool! Oh, grand. Where are you?”
“In my car, up near the Fishermen’s Wharf area.”
“Where can I meet you? I’ll have one of the young people drive me. Surely; one of them must have come in an automobile.”
“Well, if you can get free, I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Even better. I’ll dig out my Sherlock Holmes glass and my entomologist’s bottle and meet you on the doorstep. Although come to think of it, etymology might be a more useful discipline for this exercise.”
“Oh, certainly.” Whatever.
“Inspector, I cannot tell you how grateful I am.”
“For what? Messing up your day and dragging you across town to push your way through San Francisco’s answer to the Tower of London?”
“I am ecstatic at the prospect, I assure you, Inspector.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’ll be about ten minutes.”
“I shall be ready.”
When Kate turned the corner on the street where Professor Whitlaw was staying, she saw a group of young people on the steps of the house, forming a circle around an invisible center, which they all seemed to be addressing at once. When the car pulled up in front of them, Kate could see an extra pair of legs in the knot, and after a moment Professor Whitlaw peered out, her gray hair at shoulder level to the shortest of them. They gave way but followed her across the sidewalk to the street, still talking.
“Yes, dear,” the professor soothed. “It’ll keep until tomorrow. Just continue with your word studies.” She climbed in beside Kate, pulled the door shut, and, as Kate pulled away from the protesting students, patted her hair. “My goodness,” she said weakly, “Americans seem so very large, especially the young ones. What do their parents feed them?” She didn’t seem to expect an answer, but sorted out the seat belt, lowered her black leather handbag onto the floor, put the black nylon tube of a fold-up umbrella on her lap and draped a tan raincoat over it, and folded her hands together. Sixty-eight degrees and not a cloud, not even a haze in the sky, but the well-dressed Englishwoman was ready for sleet.
“Where did you find him, this Erasmus?” she asked. “What is he doing?”
“He’s in the very center of the tourist area, juggling, conjuring quarters out of the ears of children, and goading bulls.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Kate laughed. “Sorry, not literally. It’s an image that came to mind.” She explained about the confrontation she had witnessed. Professor Whitlaw reached down for her handbag, snapped open the clasp and took out a small notebook, and wrote for a moment.