“I am Arroz conPollo and these are my followers. Have you been saved?”
“I am Jim diGriz and this is my band. And I don’t believe in banks.”
“What are banks?”
“Where you save money. Fedha.”
“You misunderstand my meaning, Jim of diGriz. It is your soul that needs saving-not your fedha.”
“An interesting theological point, Arroz of conPollo. We must discuss it in some depth. What do you say we all put the weapons down and have a good chinwag. Put them away,” I called out.
Arroz signaled his two companions and we all felt a lot better as the swords were sheathed, axes lowered. For the first time he looked away from me to my followers. And gasped, turned pale under his tan, and held his arm before his eyes.
“Unclean,” he moaned, “unclean.”
“Well it is a little hard to have a bath when you’re on the trail,” I told him. I didn’t add that he wasn’t that spic and span himself.
“Not of the body-of the spirit. Is that not a vessel of corruption among you?”
“Could you spell that out a little more clearly?”
“Is that . . . person a . . . woman?” He still had his arm across his face.
“The last time I looked she was.” I moved sideways a bit, closer to my sword. “What’s it to you?”
“Her face must be covered to conceal impurity, her ankles covered lest they promote lust in the hearts of men.”
“This guy is a bit of a weirdo,” Madonette said disgustedly. He yiped.
“And her voice silenced lest it lure the blessed into sin!”
Steengo nodded to Floyd and took the angry girl by the arm, but she shrugged him off. “Jim,” he said. “The bunch of us are going to stroll back among the trees and have a break. See if you can sort this out.”
“Right.” I watched them leave and when they were out of sight looked back at the three nomads who were emulating their leader, all with their arms raised, as though sniffing their armpits. “It’s safe now. Can we talk about this?”
“Return,” Arroz said to his mates. “I will explain the Law to this stranger. Let the flock graze.”
They trotted off while his own mount chomped away on the grass. He sat down cross-legged and motioned to me. “Sit. We must talk.”
I sat. But upwind of him because it had been a long time since he or his clothes had been near soap and water. And he talked about unclean! He rooted about under his robe, had a good scratch, then withdrew a book and held it up.
“This book is the font of all wisdom,” he intoned, eyes gleaming.
“That’s nice. What is it called?”
“The Book. There are no other books. All that men need to know is in here. The distillate of all wisdom.” I thought that it looked pretty thin for that job, but wisely kept my mouth shut. “It was the great Founder, whose name may not be spoken, who had the inspiration to read all of the Holy books of all of the ages, who saw in them the work of the god whose name may not be spoken, saw which passages were inspired and which were untrue. From all the books He distilled the true Book-then burned all of the others. He went forth into the world and His followers were many. But others were jealous and tried to destroy Him and His followers. That has been told. And it is told that to avoid this senseless persecution He and His followers came to this world where they could worship untroubled. That is why I asked-are you unclean? Or do you also follow the Way of the Book?”
“Most interesting. I follow a slightly different way. But my way believes in respecting your way, so don’t worry too much about me.”
He frowned at this and shook an admonitory finger at me. “There is only one Way, only one Book. All who think differently are damned. Now is your chance to be cleansed for I have shown you the true Way.”
“Thanks a lot-but no thanks.”
He stood up and stabbed an accusatory finger in my direction. “Unclean! Profane! Leave-for you soil me with your presence.”