The Deceit Read Online Free PDF Page B

monks. They were daubing his forehead with water.
    ‘I … What happened?’
    ‘You fainted.’ It was Andrew Basili. ‘Are ya OK? We can get a doctor … in a day or so.’
    ‘I am so very sorry,’ Victor said. He was acutely embarrassed, as if he had publicly soiled himself. ‘I am an old fool. I shouldn’t have come. I am so sorry.’
    The other monks dispersed, black cloaks whispering, leaving him alone with Brother Andrew. The sun was up now.
    ‘So, why did you come?’
    ‘I came to find out something. Something very important to me. I want to know about Brother Wasef Qulta. A monk murdered in Cairo. He came here, about two weeks ago. And I want to know why.’
    Andrew Basili said nothing. For a long, long time. Then he nodded. ‘Look, I don’t really know anything about that stuff. Sorry. If you are feeling better, maybe you should go back to Cairo?’
    Once more, silence filled the sparse monastic kitchen.
    In his desperation, Victor Sassoon decided to do something quite terrible. Something he had never done before in his life.
    ‘Brother Basili, the reason I ask all this is that I believe Brother Qulta was carrying documents which relate to the history of my Jewish faith. I am a scholar of this area. The texts may be written in a language few can understand. I may be one of those few.’
    Brother Andrew said nothing. Victor went on,
    ‘The history of my faith is very important to me. Because … you see …’ Very slowly, Victor Sassoon pulled up the cuff of his blazer, unbuttoned his shirt and revealed the markings to the Australian.
    The monk’s eyes widened. He gazed at the small, faded tattoo on Victor’s left arm. ‘You were in the
camps
?’
    Victor nodded, suppressing the fierce rush of shame. How could he use this as blackmail, as emotional bribery? It was the worst of sins: the Shoah as a bargaining device.
    But he didn’t care.
    ‘Auschwitz. I was a tiny boy, one of the last, from Holland, we were taken there in 1944, but the Russians saved us. Then … well, we had a British side to the family, they took me in after the war. My mother and father died in the … in the camp. All my Dutch family. They died. That’s when I resolved to keep my faith alive, my Jewishness.’
    The ensuing silence was different. Brother Basili sighed, rubbed his face, shook his handsome young head. Then he pulled up his own wooden chair and sat next to Victor. For a moment, Basili stared at the wall.
    Victor could see the confusion in his profile. Finally, Basili spoke. ‘I guess there is no harm in telling you what I know. ’Cause I don’t know much.’ He made a weary gesture. ‘Brother Qulta visited his mentor. Brother Kelada. A scholar, an anchorite. Qulta had documents on him, I have no idea what they said, I know they were old and valuable.’
    ‘How valuable?’
    Basili turned, and his young face flushed with a tiny hint of pride.
    ‘Priceless! The Coptic church is the source of everything. We are the original church! The church founded by St Mark the Evangelist. The church of the gospel of St John.’ He shook his head, then continued, with real passion. ‘Even the very oldest copy of the Bible in the world is Coptic – the Codex Sinaiticus!’
    Victor nodded.
    ‘I know the story. Stolen by a German from St Katherine’s in Sinai. Then given by Stalin to the British, yes?’
    ‘Yes!’ Basili said. ‘The Brits keep it in London, but it’s
ours.
We won’t let
that
happen again. Whatever these documents are, I am pretty sure we shall keep them. God has entrusted us to be the curators of the Christian faith, of the original church.’
    ‘So where
are
the documents now?’
    Basili frowned. ‘Sohag, I think? Does it matter? Brother Kelada didn’t want them here, I don’t know why. So he told Qulta to take them back where they came from, where they were found – some cave in the desert. That’s what I heard. That’s all I know.’
    Again, the frustration returned, but also the excitement.