The Priests of Hiroshima: November 2007

Nina purred quietly while Maria placed the book carefully on the table and poured herself a small ceramic cup of wine. She did so love her wine, this Maria, Nina thought.

“I found it,” Maria said as she sat beside Nina, “when I was cleaning out the thing we laughingly call a store room. In the back. Next to a couple of very worn and very old Korans. It looked,” she hesitated, sipped her wine, then continued, “out of place. Very... much like a vagabond.” She gazed out the window for a moment then turned back to Nina. “How much do you know about a guy named Gutenberg?”

“The goldsmith turned printer turned pauper who lost his business to his partner’s father-in-law and once got 2000 liters of wine,” Nina nodded at Maria’s cup, “for a printing job and who, once he got over the shock of it, actually talked to me about typography,” Nina smiled as only a cat can smile and licked his right paw.

“Oh,” Maria muttered and smiled. “So, you met him.”

Nina nodded but realized she was only patronizing him. He kept his anger to himself.

“That makes you...”

“Old. What’s your evil plan?”

“Tell me about Gutenberg. How’d you meet him?” But she had a twinkle in her eye and Nina knew she was making fun of him. He snarled, raised the hair on the back of his neck and jumped off her lap onto the floor.

Maria sipped her wine and watched Nina who stared back.

“I have been alive since the black plague ravaged the earth,” Nina growled. “I have lived in Mainz and Istanbul. I have traveled with crusaders and merchants. I am not human so I am not a liar. I am not a human so I do not belittle my friends. I am not human so I do not immediately assume others are liars.” He hissed at Maria and strolled into the bookstore, seeking a comfortable, warm place to lie down and dream. If she didn’t want to believe him, he didn’t need to convince her. He would be around long after her grandchildren were dead. Having practical immortality allowed you to take a very long view of life.

After a moment in which Nina avoided the Philosophy books and found a warm cushion near the very very thin poetry books - not even books, he though, more like pamphlets and all easily destroyed by time - Maria strolled in pretending to dust the leather-cased books and shelves.

“Vincini is Venetian,” she said, still not looking at Nina. “But whereas I’m an unmarried maiden beholden to a shopkeeper for the next five years as an apprentice. Vincini is not.” Maria carefully examined the slightly damaged binding of a 900-year-old Koran. “He is not a maiden, he is not an apprentice, and he is not...” She looked directly at Nina and paused.

Nina, failing in his attempt to ignore her, finished her sentence. “Unmarried.”

“Exactly,” Maria stated firmly. “His wife lives, not poorly nor richly, but comfortably in a small house off St. Marks. With her two sons, one of whom is nearly 22 and unmarried.”

“You want to marry him? Vincini’s son?” Nina, curiosity getting the better of him, asked.

“No. Not at all. He is, what’s the word you use when people are, ah, yes. He is slovenly and extremely lazy. Vincini sends them money and they spend it.”

“And you want?”

“This,” she said and looked around the cramped and crowded little store.

“What’re you going to do with Vincini?”

“Do with?” she asked, puzzled. “Nothing.”

Nina looked at her, puzzled, now.

“Oh,” Maria smiled and sipped her wine. “You mean you think I want to steal this from... Oh, no, no. That would be... human of me,” she smiled. “No, I was hoping he would leave it to me, should he die.”

“You want to inherit this store?” Nina asked. “Why? It’s small, it rarely makes enough money. It is a treacherous business. Thieves would plunder this place if it were not for the alarms, bolts, and locks. Look,” Nina said and raised a paw at a large, 150-year-old Bible. “Don’t you notice how it is bolted not to the desk but to the floor? You have to never leave anything unprotected here. And selling them? Selling these books? How many customers have you seen in here since you came? Total. Can you not count the number of customers on both your hands? Why do you want to inherit such a painful store?”

“Because,” Maria replied casually, “It has a 300-year-old talking cat. Tell me about your weird adventure you had this morning.”

Nina stared at her.

“The one Vincini didn’t want to hear while he was spying on me.”

“You, Maria of Venice, are a witch. How else could you have heard that? We were in the alley. Whispering.”

“Not as quiet as you thought you were and maybe,” Maria’s eyes twinkled as she spoke, “Maybe I am a witch.” She smiled at Nina. “Or, since I’m human, maybe I’m a liar? Now, please, tell me about your little adventure.”

______________

Next: Coming Soon.

22. The Drunken Priest

June 22, 1450 - Mainz, Germany

Father Gabriel stormed down the German street, his robes flapping earnestly with every step the agitated priest took. He ignored greetings from friends and Catholics alike. He strode with a determination few had seen outside of his sermons and confessions. He rounded a corner and kicked open the door to the print shop.

“Johannes!” he yelled but stared fiercely at the top of the counter. “Johannes!” he screamed again when no one responded to his first bellow.

“Sir?” Mikhail said softly from the floor of the print shop.

Father Gabriel looked over the counter and down at the prostrate apprentice. “Where is Johannes?” he asked.

Mikhail pointed toward the east and at first Father Gabriel thought that the young man meant Johannes had fled to the Byzantine empire and Constantinople, then he realized that a workman’s café was a few streets east and it was, he checked the sun, after mid-day.

“He’s at lunch, then?” Father Gabriel demanded of the boy. Mikhail nodded and waited. Father Gabriel had nothing left to say so he turned and stormed out of the print shop and headed to the café where he hoped to capture the immoral printer. He rushed quickly past the wine merchant’s store and the bakery and pushed his way into the crowded café.

“Johannes!” he yelled above the cacophony of workers’ voices. He noticed they were all drinking the Evil Beer and knew they would regret it when they attempted to get into heaven. “Johannes!” he screamed again and watched the serving wench as she stooped to place three large steins in front of three burly men. He also noticed that when she bent over, her bosoms were exposed to all the Laborers. And himself. He forced himself to look away but not before she caught his eyes looking down her blouse.

“Johannes!” he screamed in anger and frustration.

“Father Gabriel,” a soft voice replied. He turned and saw the Judge.

“Judge!” Father Gabriel responded, surprised. “What are you...” Then he noticed that the Judge was sitting with The Printer. “You!” he spit.

“Father Gabriel,” Johannes replied casually. “Please, join us.” He moved a wooden chair toward the priest and the Judge cautiously moved several plates away so that the priest would have adequate room for his own beer.

“Yes,” the Judge said. “Join us.”

“But...” Father Gabriel began but, defeated, sat. He watched in horror as the Printer motioned for the serving woman to bring another beer. The priest started to protest but the Judge raised his hand for another ale, too.

“It’s a pleasure seeing you again,” the Judge said, addressing the priest. “The archbishop was talking about you at dinner the other night.” The Judge turned to Johannes and added, “The archbishop has a weakness for seafood.”

Johannes nodded but remained silent.

The serving woman arrived with two large steins of beer and, smiling at Father Gabriel, bent low and exposed her bosoms to him. Father Gabriel glanced at them but then immediately looked up at the pockmarked unpainted ceiling until, giggling, she left.

“What brings you to our little café?” Johannes asked.

“Me?” Father Gabriel looked at his beer and forced himself to leave his hands palm down on the table without picking up the stein. “I, I was looking for you. I went to you shop, thinking you would be...”

“Ah,” Johannes interrupted. “Peter and I have worked so long and so hard we decided to take a break.”

“Where’s Peter?” Father Gabriel asked but without enthusiasm.

“Asleep, I believe. In our office. My office.”

“Ah,” the priest said. “Like your apprentice.”

The three sat in silence for a moment and let the hubbub of the café flow over them. The Judge picked at a bit of food left on his plate while Johannes sipped his beer.

“I came to ask you, sir,” Father Gabriel said, interrupting the noisy silence, “to allow the church... me...”

“Your beer, Father,” the Judge said. “You haven’t touched it.”

“I...” But Father Gabriel gave in to Temptation and picked up his stein. “To God,” he muttered and the other two men mumbled the same. When he finished his first sip, Father Gabriel knew his afternoon was doomed. He had another sip, larger and more refreshing that the first.

“Yes?” Johannes asked. “To ask me?” he prompted when the priest looked at him quizzically.

“Ah, yes,” the priest said.

“Are you hungry, Father?” the Judge suddenly asked but when Father Gabriel looked at him he saw the Judge staring at the serving wench.

“Yes,” Father Gabriel said reluctantly. His plan when he awoke was to confront the printer in his shop and return to his church to pray. This lunch was throwing his plans completely into disarray. “A bit of bread would be, uh, nice,” he said quietly.

“Excellent,” the Judge said and signaled the serving woman who hurried over to their table. The Judge ordered while the serving woman giggled and brushed her ample thigh against Father Gabriel’s leg. Then she curtsied, again displaying her bosoms to the three men, and rushed off. The Judge watched her as she scurried over to the kitchen. Father Gabriel didn’t like his lazy smile.

“I came to order you to give the church a copy of that Blasphemous tract you are printing. Against the church’s wishes,” Father Gabriel blurt out.

“Oh,” the Judge sighed. “Not that ungodly book again?”

“Yes,” Father Gabriel said and drank deeply from his beer. “The church wants a copy. For study.”

“You’re going to study a book you claim is immoral? Father Gabriel, I’m surprised at your unabashed glee. I can’t do it,” Johannes said flatly. “Ten copies. No more. It was my promise to the Judge, you, and the owner of the book.”

“I Must Have a copy!” Father Gabriel screamed, surprising even himself at his fierceness.

“Father!” the Judge cried out. “Please,” he said quietly. “Let’s discuss this as gentlemen.”

“I’m sorry,” Father Gabriel mumbled. “It’s this.” He held up his half-empty stein. “I’m not a strong drinker of alcohol. I apologize.”

“As do I,” Johannes said. “I cannot give what I do know own. If you would like a copy of the book, you must ask the owner.”

“And his name is?” the Judge asked.

“That, I’m also sorry to say, I do not know.”

“You’re printing a book for someone but you don’t know their name?” Father Gabriel asked.

“His money was a sufficient bond of trust.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

“No,” the Judge said, smiling at the serving woman as she approached with three plates of meat. “Money isn’t everything.”

The woman bent low to put the Judge’s food in front of him. He took the opportunity and stared down her blouse. She giggled and repeated the gesture for Johannes. Then she turned to the priest and allowed him the longest time to look, pretending to clean his area of the wooden table clean of invisible crumbs.

“Here you are, father,” she smiled as she bent over to place his plater of meat. “Hope you like what you see.” She giggled and turned to the Judge. “And you, sir? Anything else you’d be liking to have?”

“Yes,” the Judge said. Father Gabriel took the pause to look at the serving woman’s ankles. Slender for such a big woman, and clean. “But later, perhaps. After...” he waved a petulant hand at Johannes and Father Gabriel.

The serving woman giggled again and caught Father Gabriel tracing the curve of her buttocks with his eyes. “And do you fancy anything, Father?” she laughed.

Red faced, Father Gabriel could only shake his head and finish off his beer. He held up the empty stein and the serving woman grabbed it - and grazed his fingers with her own - intentionally? he wondered - and rushed off to the kitchen. Both the Judge and Father Gabriel watched until she disappeared behind a heavy door.

“As you can see,” Johannes continued, “I cannot give what I do know own. All I can promise is to tell the owner that you are interested in purchasing a copy.”

“Not me,” Father Gabriel muttered. “The Church.”

“Of course. And, just so that I may sweeten the bargain for the owner, how much would... the Church … be willing to pay for such an immoral and political treatise?”

“We were hoping the owner, or you, would be more than happy to bequeath us a copy.”

“Ah,” Johannes said and turned to his food in earnest. Giving anything away without suitable compensation never interested him; especially not his first completed book.

“Perhaps,” the Judge interrupted. “A small donation?” he said to Father Gabriel, “would - what is the word? - encourage our mysterious owner to part with a copy? In the interests of Catholic harmony?”

“How much?” Johannes asked as he tore a piece of venison apart.

“Oh,” the Judge said. “I think we should leave that up to the good father, don’t you? Maybe 50 florin wouldn’t be too little to ask?”

Fifty florin! Father Gabriel yelled to himself.

“Fifty?” Johannes mused. He could use with the extra money. He was in debt 800 florin to Peter’s father-in-law and fully expected to be an additional 800 florin in debt in a few months. His plan was three printing presses and a completed Bible in one, maybe two years. An extra 50 florin would be more than welcome. “Perhaps,” he said to both the priest and the Judge, “I can convince the owner to part with a copy. Or allow me to make an extra. For religious reasons, of course.”

The serving woman brought the priest another beer and allowed him to look at her bosoms. And he did, happily so. He took a huge gulp of beer and leered at her. She giggled and rushed to serve another group of increasingly drunken men.

“Father,” the Judge said suddenly, pulling the good priest from his fantasies. “Would 50 florin be too much to ask the good church to pay for a copy?”

“No,” Father Gabriel said, slurring the word and wondering why the Judge was leaning so far to his left. Then Father Gabriel wondered why he was looking at the unpainted ceiling instead of down at his food. Perhaps, he wondered, the earth was tilting sideways and all would be destroyed. Then darkness descended and all he heard was the serving woman giggling.

_______________________

Next: Maria of Venice

21. The Fall, The Time Warp, and Maria

June 22, 1700 - Istanbul, Turkey

Nina leapt onto a stool, the only stool with a cushion tied to the seat. It was one of his favorite napping places. Someone, probably Vincini, had placed it in the Philosophy Section hoping that maybe more Spinoza would be sold; or Augustine. These were some of Nina’s favorite books, too. They smelled heavily of leather and ideas; they creaked when opened and could always be counted on to attract the more aggressive mice and rats. Nina enjoyed the chase more than the meal sometimes. It made him feel.… young.

Even Nina had to smile at that. Young. He was only 360 years old. How much younger could a cat be and still jump up on a stool in front of the many Spinoza and DeCartes books?

Vincini wasn’t in the store, of course. He was probably at the coffee shop buying cakes and coffee for the Istanbul elite. Or people who thought they were the Istanbul elite: lesser nobles, paunchier priests, a mullah. The kinds of people who had the money to buy expensive texts, although they were cheaper now than a few hundred years ago. Nina remembered when books dropped in price because they no longer had to be hand copied and bound. Johannes saw to that, although Wang Zhen came up with the idea 150 years earlier. Now, even with cheaper prices, only a certain segment of Istanbul society could afford books. Whether they read them or not, Nina was not sure. But even Nina thought having a shelf of leather-bound, handcrafted books was a thing of beauty. He wasn’t too sure about the leather part, though. It was only a matter of time before some artisan decided cat skin would make a good cover.

With Vincini at the coffee shop, Maria was left alone to tend to the tomes and customers, if any wandered in off the street. Nina liked Maria. She had only just come from Venice and was still uncomfortable with the size and energy of Istanbul. While Venice had merchants from around the world, it didn’t have the multitude of merchants and their families from so many distant lands as Istanbul. Nor did it have the Moslems or Buddhists from China that Istanbul had. Maria was overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, languages, religions, and pure unadulterated noise of Istanbul.

Comfortable on the cushion, Nina decided it was time for his mid-morning nap. He flopped his head down on his forepaws and was about to close his eyes when an arrow shot through the open window and - thunk! - whacked into the Spinoza just above Nina’s head.

He jumped off the stool.

Thunk!

Followed by a scream.

Horse hooves clattered on the cobblestone street.

Another scream!

Thunk! Thunk! Into the bookstore door.

Nina rushed through the store, up the stairs, into the kitchen, looking searching running to find Maria! Under attack! he screamed silently to himself. Why!?

Thunk!

Nina rushed to Maria’s bedroom. The door was open a crack. He pushed through. Inside: nothing. None of Maria’s clothes, Maria’s bed was gone. Nothing except a work bench. With leather strewn around. And an old man. An arrow in his back.

Thunk!

An arrow just above Nina’s head. He jumped beside the old man. Who is this? I don’t recognize... Thunk! and Twap! as an arrow careened off the metal window casing and flopped into a pile of fine leather.

Nina jumped to the window to look around.

Turks. Everywhere. Fires. Looting. Turks. People running. Horses chasing. Smoke from the fires everywhere. Women running naked. Men chasing. The air thick with arrows. Nina jumped down from the window into the street. He raced after a riderless horse. The horse rushed into the main street and was shot several times until it stumbled and slid into a squad of Turkish soldiers, knocking three into the Bosporus.

Nina watched two soldiers give the horse coup de grace and then rush off to loot a bakery that was already ablaze while the body of the baker lay dead in the doorway. His head was nowhere to be seen. His wife, clothes ripped and bloody lay seemingly dead beside a headless child

“This is not...”

Thunk!

Nina jumped into the wine merchant next to the bookstore. His first thought, “big mistake” was followed by howls and a cloud of arrows as 22 drunken soldiers shot arrows in his direction. The wine merchant’s body hung upside down from a beam and his body was pierced by a hundred arrows.

“You’re not in Istanbul anymore, Nina,” Nina cried to himself and ran from the wine shop, out into the street, and skittered back into the bookshop. Looking quickly around, he jumped into the least ransacked area of the store: the philosophy section.

He decided to hide behind a thick leather-bound book written in Arabic and finely decorated. He crouched down, his heart thumping, as the mob of Turks moved on and the moans of injured and cries of survivors filled the darkening skies.

Nina stepped cautiously on the Arabic book and a tingle rushed through his body. He took another step and saw Maria!

“Maria!” he said to himself. She did not yet know that he could speak and after the turmoil of the Turkish invasion, he thought she didn’t have to be shocked by a talking cat. He rushed over to her and... stopped.

She reached down and petted him but absently. She was looking at Vincini’s ledgers, which Nina thought odd, and not in the mood to play with the old cat.

Nina looked outside.

All was peaceful. All was calm.

Nina strolled over to the door and looked around. The wine shop was in business. The wine merchant was serving customers at two small tables he had put out in front of his shop. But it wasn’t the same pin-cushioned merchant Nina had seen just moments earlier.

Across the street, the bakery was doing great business as a dozen people jostled for position for the remaining loaves. Among the customers were several Turkish soldiers laughing and pushing each other. A priest strolled quietly up the street, his head buried in a thin, loosely put together book. “Psalms,” Nina ventured aloud and quickly looked around.

No one seemed to have noticed the talking cat. Nina pounced back into the bookstore and into the kitchen just as Vincini stumbled in through the back door.

“Vincini,” Nina whispered. “I just had to most unusual...”

“Shhh,” Vincini hissed. He crept quietly to the door and peered out into his store where Maria was pouring intensely over his ledgers, big thick books chained to his desk. Vincini pulled back into the kitchen and motioned for Nina to go out the back door.

In the alley, Vincini turned to Nina.

“She’s up to something, what, I am not aware,” Vincini said as he slumped against the stone wall.

“But I just had a most unusual adventure. I slipped through...”

“She’s doing something. She’s reading my ledgers. She wants to get rid of me,” Vincini said.

“Reading your ledgers?” Nina said. “Probably just wants to know more about the store. It’s business. Customers... that sort of thing. But I traveled through time! Don’t you want to hear about that?” Nina nearly shouted.

“What sort of female cares about the book business? No, she’s up to something and this something she is up to I wager is not good. Even worse,” Vincini said quietly, “even worse is a female that can read. Who heard ever of teaching a female to read? Why? For what purpose was this woman taught to read?”

“I can read,” Nina admonished.

“Pshaw,” Vincini said, “You are a cat,” he finished as if it were natural that a cat could read but against all that was normal that a woman could read. “She is going to rob me, I’ll wager a years profit on that. She will steal my best books and then take all of my money.”

“Lucky for you, Vincini, you have so little of it.”

“I should take her to a priest. Have him confession her.”

As he finished, the back door opened and a surprised Maria stumbled into the alley with a book held tightly to her breast.

“Oh,” she said and started back into the shop.

“No,” Vincini argued. “Stay. We were just having a chat.”

“We?” Maria asked in her Venetian accent.

“The cat and I,” Vincini laughed, covering his mistake. “We often have subversive chats and a bowl of tobacco out here. In the dirty alley. By ourselves.” He laughed. “Someday perhaps you will see my cat smoking a pipe. It is a most hilarious sight. And what is this that you have under your arm?” he asked pointing at the book.

“Oh, I, uh, I was going...” Maria stuttered. Nina thought her Venetian accent was beautiful beyond description and wondered how Vincini had managed to convince her father that she should learn the book trade from him. In Istanbul!

“A book!” Vincini said, surprised. “And what book is it that you need to be carrying around with you like a culprit, eh?”

“Just a small one,” Maria whispered like a small child caught stealing dried fruit from an elderly grandmother.

“Come,” Vincini ordered. “Let us see.”

Maria held the thin book out and Vincini grabbed it from her. “Reading books while you are supposed to be taking care of customers. I find that... irresponsible. At best.”

“Just for a moment,” Maria mumbled, her head held down in shame.

“’Just for a moment?’” Vincini mocked. He looked at the book: an old book bound in an old style with a simple board-covered leather cover with a simple design. “I find it hard to believe, Maria, that you, as a woman, can read.”

“My father...” Maria started but Vincini held his hand up for her to stop.

“And this book,” Vincini said. “It is a trifle. Not worth reading. Not a history, not philosophy. Certainly not the Bible or even a book of psalms. A trifle. Not worth the energy you must be spending to read it. And look,” he opened the book to the first page. “Not even a dedication to anyone of note.”

Nina looked over at the book and saw that Vincini was right. Most books were dedicated to nobles or officials high in the church who either the author was currying favor from or who had paid to have the book printed and bound. This book had neither.

“I chose it,” Maria said, raising her head to defend herself, “Because it is a lovely story and a story that lifts me up and sends me to another time and place.”

“And what is wrong with this time and this place?” Vincini demanded. “Is Istanbul not your idea of a wonderful city and is not this time in which even I live not a good time?”

“It is a wonderful city, Vinicini, and a wonderful time to be alive,” Maria said, her voice gaining confidence as she spoke. “This book,” she pointed at the book in Vinicini’s hand, “Takes place in Istanbul, sir, and in Constantinople.”

“Then you had best leave the reading of it to a paying customer,” Vincini ordered and shoved the book in her hand. “Put it back.”

“We have very few paying customers this season,” Maria said, taking the book nonchalantly and pressing it to her breasts again.

“And what would a woman know about business?” Vincini said with a tone of disdain and sarcasm.

Maria glanced down at Nina, smiled, turned on her heel, and marched back into the store, leaving Nina and Vincini in the dirty back alley.

“She knows something,” Vincini muttered. “She knows and is planning something. I’ll have to send her back to her father.”

“You can’t,” Nina said. “The bargain was for five years, no exceptions.”

“The worst deal I’ve ever made,” Vincini mumbled and started off down the alley towards the wine merchant and his new tables.

“Don’t you want to hear about my... ordeal? My weird little ordeal?” Nina yelled after him. But Vincini only waved and hand and was gone.

“What little ordeal?”

Nina spun around. Maria smiled down at him, the book still pressed to her breasts.

“Meow,” Nina said, hoping to pass as a real cat.

“Meow yourself, Nina,” Maria smiled. “I heard you. I’ve suspected you could speak the first day I was here.” Maria smiled and looked down the empty alley where Vincini had gone. “I heard you talking to him that night. At first,” she looked down at Nina with a wry smile. “I thought he had a lover. Then I thought, is he a homosexual? Then I realized he was talking to you. About this book.” She held the book out so Nina could see it, although he already knew what book it was. “Got me kind of interested in it.”

“He thinks,” Nina said quietly, “that you’re planning on something evil.”

Maria smiled. “About your strange ordeal,” she said, ignoring his comment. “What happened?”

She sounded genuinely interested.

“You really want to know?” Nina asked and strolled past her into the warmth of the kitchen.

“Yes,” Maria said in her soft Venetian accent. “And then I’ll tell you about my ‘evil’ plan. And this book.”

______________

Next: The Drunken Priest

20. The Disappearance of Time

October 26, 2007 - Istanbul, Turkey

“Hiroshi. Calvado, here’s the mystery.”

“It’s not a mystery,” Zlatno sneered. “You lost it.”

“I didn’t lose anything,” Nina argued back. He turned back to Hiroshi and Calvado. “It moves.”

“It doesn’t move,” Zlatno told Hiroshi. “He lost it.”

“Lost what?” Calvado asked, more irritated than angry; she hated unimportant small talk when important things haven’t been cleared up yet. She looked at Zlatno then glared at Nina.

“This store,” Nina said as he waved a paw around the kitchen, “has a door. A mysterious door.”

“It’s not mysterious...” Zlatno began but Calvado glared at him.

“It’s not mysterious but it is a mystery,” Nina said, softening Calvado’s anger. “I found it about...” he looked up at the ceiling.

The mark of a liar, Calvado thought. Mac taught her that, also she probably realized it emotionally since she hit puberty.

Nina looked at her, directly into her eyes and held them. “in 1700 or so. Give or take a few years. You know,” he said and looked at Hiroshi, “when you’re 20 or 30 you can remember almost everything because you’ve only go a few years to devote to memory. As you get older,” Nina glanced at Zlatno, “you have more and more to remember so you have to edit, you have to decide what to remember and what you can forget. It’s not really up to you, of course, but your brain.”

“Your brain has a max input?” Hiroshi asked.

“It has a memory max, I think.” Nina looked at Calvado. “Imagine having to remember 667 years worth of experience. It’s... it’s...”

“A mystery,” Calvado said evenly and quietly.

“Yes, back to the mystery.” Nina looked at Hiroshi. “Back in 1700 I wandered around the philosophy section when I found a.. not a door. A.. a...”

“Space,” Zlatno said, miffed.

“Yeah,” Nina replied. “A space.”

“You mean like between books or shelves or what?”

“In front of a book,” Nina said. “In front of one of Liebinz’s musings,” he smiled.

“What happened?” Hiroshi asked.

“Well,” Nina said, “I stepped into this space and suddenly... Suddenly the store was different. The books were... newer. Different.”

“How long have you been here?” Calvado asked.

“This store or Istanbul?”

“Here,” Calvado said, looking briefly around the store.

“Ach,” Zlatno said. “This question is so frequent. Many times I have heard this question and the answer is, what is the word, sad.”

“Depressing,” Nina said. He turned back to Calvado. “I first found this store in 1453, just after the Fall.”

“The Fall?” Hiroshi asked, bewildered.

“The Ottomans,” Zlatno said as if that explained everything he needed to know, but Hiroshi looked confused.

“The Ottoman Empire,” Nina expanded but Hiroshi was still confused.

“The Ottoman Empire conquered Constantinople in 1453,” Calvado said. “They defeated Constantine... the Second?” Nina nodded, so Calvado continued. “It wasn’t the first time Constantinople had been besieged but it was the first time it was completely and utterly controlled by another party. Genghis tried, didn’t he?”

Again Nina nodded.

“Genghis Khan?” Hiroshi asked. “The guy who tried to invade Japan a long time ago?”

“He says ‘a long time ago’ he says. What history do you learn in this Asian country of yours?” Zlatno said. “Of course a long time ago! The great Khan died a long time ago! I can’t believe this knowledge this Japanese man doesn’t have. I can’t believe...”

“Relax, Zlatno, he’s not as old as you,” Nina said.

“And he never will be either if he can’t remember simple history!”

“Not everyone is as immersed in their love of history as you, Zlatno,” Calvado said in her quiet soothing voice. “At least he knows who Genghis Khan was.”

“I’m learning more. On this trip, I’m learning more. About history, people, and, well, geography,” Hiroshi defended himself. “Growing up in Japan, history is always over there. Except Japanese history, of course. But Genghis Khan, the Black Death, the Crusades? All that took place over there, you know. Nothing ever happened in Japan.” Hiroshi sounded sad, as if as a country Japan had been left out of world history.

“World War Two?” Nina asked, incredulous.

“What?” Hiroshi said. “Oh, you mean the Pacific War. Hey, that reminds me. I saw ‘Saving Private Ryan’ and that looked like it took place in Europe, right?” Everyone nodded their head. “But then I said ‘Thin Red Line’ and that looked like the Philippines or some place like that.” Everyone nodded their heads again. “So, where did World War Two take place, anyway?”

Zlatno stared at Hiroshi. Nina looked at Calvado and Calvado looked first at Zlatno then Hiroshi. None of the three knew what to say except Zlatno but he was keeping his anger silent this time, so surprised he was about the question.

“Hiroshi,” Nina said quietly. “Which part of ‘world’ don’t you understand?”

“You mean every country in the world was at war?” Hiroshi asked.

“Every country was effected by World War 2, yes,” Nina replied.

“Except Yemen,” Zlatno spit out, angrily. “Maybe.”

“But, like, Israel fought? On whose side?”

“Israel wasn’t a country back then,” Nina said. “It’s a relatively new country.”

“But,” Calvado said to Nina, “it came into creation because of World War Two. All those concentration camp survivors and refugees. Somebody had to take them but, of course, nobody wanted them.”

“So they forced Israel on the Palestinians, right?” Zlatno said.

“They didn’t force Israel on anyone. Israel took it.”

“But if Israel wasn’t a country, how could they take...” Hiroshi said.

“The Haganah took it,” Nina said.

“What’s the …” Hiroshi began but Calvado, impatient, cut him off.

“We could be here all... year explaining the ins and outs of Mideast political and economic history but, Hiroshi,” she said quietly but firmly, “Read up on it some other day. Right now Nina was telling us about falling into a space in front of Leibinz book.

“But this is fascinating. I never knew anything about Istanbul until I picked up a book about it last month. In Goa.”

“Hiroshi,” Calvado said. “Bedtime story-time. Read it then get back to us.”

“But...”

“Hiroshi,” Nina meowed. “First my mystery spot, then back to history, okay?”

“Oh, all right,” Hiroshi said but wasn’t happy about it.

“And don’t pout,” Zlatno ordered. “You’ve got your life to read history. Listen to this now. Nina,” he said and nodded at the cat.

_____________________

Next: The Fall, The Time Warp, and Maria