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“The Leibniz assumption is that man’s freedom was not taken from him by his fall, which makes Leibniz quite a friend of ours—of us Jesuits, I mean,” Martin said. “There is some Leibniz I can never forget, such as, ‘Although the impulse and the help come from God, they are at all times accompanied by a certain co-operation of man himself; if not, we could not say that we had acted’—but you agree, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” said Dr. Daruwalla.
“Well, you see, that’s why I can’t be just an English teacher,” the Jesuit replied. “Naturally, I shall endeavor to improve the children’s English—and to the most perfect degree possible. But, given that I am free to act—‘although the impulse and the help come from God,’ of course—I must do what I can, not only to save my soul but to rescue the souls of others.”
“I see,” said Dr. Daruwalla, who was also beginning to understand why the enraged transvestite prostitutes had failed to make much of a dent in the flesh or the indomitable will of Martin Mills.
Furthermore, the doctor found that he was standing in his own living room and watching Martin lie down on the couch, without the slightest recollection of having left the bathroom. That was when the missionary handed the leg iron to the doctor, who received the instrument reluctantly.
“I can see I will not be needing this here,” the scholastic said. “There will be sufficient adversity without it. St. Ignatius Loyola also changed his mind in regard to these weapons of mortification.”
“He did?” said Farrokh.
“I think he overused them—but only out of a positive abhorrence of his earlier sins,” the Jesuit said. “In fact, in the later version of the Spiritual Exercises, St. Ignatius urges against such scourges of the flesh—he is also opposed to heavy fasting.”
“So am I,” said Dr. Daruwalla, who didn’t know what to do with the cruel leg iron.
“Please throw it away,” Martin said to him. “And perhaps you’d be so kind as to tell the dwarf to keep the whip—I don’t want it.”
Dr. Daruwalla knew all about Vinod’s racquet handles; the prospect of what use the dwarf might make of the whip was chilling. Then the doctor noticed that Martin Mills had fallen asleep. With his fingers interlocked on his chest, and with an utterly beatific expression, the missionary resembled a martyr en route to the heavenly kingdom.
Farrokh brought Julia into the living room to see him. At first, she wouldn’t approach past the glass-topped table—she viewed him as one might view a contaminated corpse—but the doctor encouraged her to take a closer look. The nearer Julia drew to Martin Mills, the more relaxed she became. It was as if—at least, when he was asleep—Martin had a pacifying effect on everyone around him. Eventually, Julia sat on the floor beside the couch. She would say later that he reminded her of John D. as a much younger, more carefree man, although Farrokh maintained that Martin Mills was simply the result of no weight lifting and no beer—meaning that he had no muscles but that he had no belly, either.
Without remembering when he sat down, the doctor found himself on the floor beside his wife. They were both sitting beside the couch, as if transfixed by the sleeping body, when Dhar came in from the balcony to have a shower and to brush his teeth; from Dhar’s perspective, Farrokh and Julia appeared to be praying. Then the movie star saw the dead person—at least, the person looked dead to Dhar—and without taking too close a look, he said, “Who’s that?”
Farrokh and Julia were shocked that John D. didn’t immediately recognize his twin; after all, an actor is especially familiar with his o
wn facial features—and under a variety of makeup, including the radical altering of his age—but Dhar had never seen such an expression on his own face. It’s doubtful that Dhar’s face ever reflected beatification, for not even in his sleep had Inspector Dhar imagined the happiness of heaven. Dhar had many expressions, but none of them was saintly.
Finally, the actor whispered, “Well, okay, I see who it is, but what’s he doing here? Is he going to die?”
“He’s trying to be a priest,” Farrokh whispered.
“Jesus Christ!” John D. said. Either he should have whispered or else the particular name he spoke was one that Martin Mills was prone to hear; a smile of such immense gratitude crossed the missionary’s sleeping face that Dhar and the Daruwallas felt suddenly ashamed. Without a word to one another, they tiptoed into the kitchen, as if they were unanimously embarrassed that they’d been spying on a sleeping man; what truly had disturbed them, and had made them feel as if they didn’t belong where they were, was the utter contentment of a man momentarily at peace with his soul—although none of them could have identified what it was that so upset them.
“What’s wrong with him?” Dhar asked.
“Nothing’s wrong with him!” Dr. Daruwalla said; then he wondered why he’d said that about a man who’d been whipped and beaten while he was proselytizing among transvestite prostitutes. “I should have told you he was coming,” the doctor added sheepishly, to which John D. merely rolled his eyes; his anger was often understated. Julia rolled her eyes, too.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Farrokh said to John D., “it’s entirely your decision as to whether or not you want to let him know that you exist. Although I don’t know if now would be the right time to tell him.”
“Forget about now,” Dhar said. “Tell me what he’s like.”
Dr. Daruwalla could not utter the first word that came to his lips—the word was “crazy.” On second thought, he almost said, Like you, except that he talks. But this was such a contradictory concept—the very idea of a Dhar who talked might be insulting to Dhar.
“I said, what’s he like?” John D. repeated.
“I saw him only when he was asleep,” Julia told John D. Both of them were staring at Farrokh, whose mind—on the matter of what Martin Mills was “like”—was truly blank. Not a single picture came to his mind, although the missionary had managed to argue with him, lecture to him and even educate him—and most of this had transpired while the zealot was naked.
“He’s somewhat zealous,” the doctor offered cautiously.
“Zealous?” said Dhar.
“Liebchen, is that all you can say?” Julia asked Farrokh. “I heard him talking and talking in the bathroom. He must have been saying something!”
“In the bathroom?” John D. asked.
“He’s very determined,” Farrokh blurted.
