of a rival gang.
“Hey, what about underwear?” asked Markowitz. “All I have are my Fruit of the Looms.”
“That should be fine,” Lavon mumbled as his eyes dropped to the floor.
“One more unknowable,” he said to me, out of the earshot of the others.
I glanced over to Sharon, who had laid out five different robes and head coverings, and sat in deep contemplation trying to pick the one she liked best.
“What about her?” I asked.
The modern notion of an independent single woman was inconceivable in the time of Christ. A woman belonged to someone – to a father, a husband, or to some other male relative. As for those who didn’t, who were truly alone in the world, they didn’t call it the oldest profession for nothing.
“I’m working on it,” he said. “For her own protection, she needs to be noble.”
“Makes sense.”
“The trouble is, – ”
“Hey, what about this one?” Markowitz interrupted in a loud voice.
We looked up to see that he had opened another box and taken out a gleaming white robe, bordered with a deep purple stripe.
Lavon shook his head. “No, Ray, leave that one here.”
“Why?” he asked as he held it up to the mirror. “It makes me look dignified.”
“We’re not trying to look dignified. We’re trying to blend in, as best we can. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves if we can help it.”
***
While Lavon checked on the others, I waited until Juliet’s back was turned and then stuffed a few items – well, maybe more than a few – from my gym bag into my travel pouch, just in case we had to stay longer than we had planned.
I also took a more careful look at my traveling companions. For obvious reasons, we’d have to defer to Lavon’s judgment; and I took comfort in the fact that over the past few days, he had struck me as competent and efficient.
Still, I couldn’t be sure who would fall apart if our venture didn’t proceed according to expectation – if, for instance, the others had to witness a man being eviscerated in front of their own eyes, as I once had.
Our modern world is so incongruous in this regard.
On one hand, our televisions beam a constant barrage of twenty-first century atrocities into our living rooms, ranging from mass rape as an instrument of policy in parts of Africa, to youthful militias routinely hacking off the limbs of members of rival tribes, to women, even to this day, being stoned.
Yet the viewers watching these horrors buy their meat from grocery stores in shrink-wrapped plastic, and inhabit a society where leading animal training schools have to ensure that incoming students won’t be traumatized by having to kill rats of all things, in order to feed the snakes and birds of prey at their zoos.
***
The more I considered our party, the more I realized that it was my client’s son who worried me most. Though sober and level-headed in comparison to many of his peers, Markowitz had never quite shaken the attitude common to men born into great wealth – a superficial acknowledgement of authority that only partially concealed a central belief that the rules did not apply to them.
I walked over and pulled him away from the others.
“Ray, you do understand the seriousness of what we’re about to undertake?”
“Sure.”
My stern gaze did not change.
“Relax, Bill. It’ll be just like Everest. A man could get killed there, too, if he wasn’t careful.”
The mention of Everest was not altogether reassuring. Back in my Army days, I had trained with a New Zealander whose brother had spent years as a Himalayan guide.
The bars of Kathmandu resounded with complaints about would-be adventurers who believed that payment of their $60,000 fee entitled them to an ironclad guarantee that they would reach the summit, regardless of poor weather or their own limited mountaineering abilities.
“I mean it, Ray. This isn’t a
“Hey, what about underwear?” asked Markowitz. “All I have are my Fruit of the Looms.”
“That should be fine,” Lavon mumbled as his eyes dropped to the floor.
“One more unknowable,” he said to me, out of the earshot of the others.
I glanced over to Sharon, who had laid out five different robes and head coverings, and sat in deep contemplation trying to pick the one she liked best.
“What about her?” I asked.
The modern notion of an independent single woman was inconceivable in the time of Christ. A woman belonged to someone – to a father, a husband, or to some other male relative. As for those who didn’t, who were truly alone in the world, they didn’t call it the oldest profession for nothing.
“I’m working on it,” he said. “For her own protection, she needs to be noble.”
“Makes sense.”
“The trouble is, – ”
“Hey, what about this one?” Markowitz interrupted in a loud voice.
We looked up to see that he had opened another box and taken out a gleaming white robe, bordered with a deep purple stripe.
Lavon shook his head. “No, Ray, leave that one here.”
“Why?” he asked as he held it up to the mirror. “It makes me look dignified.”
“We’re not trying to look dignified. We’re trying to blend in, as best we can. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves if we can help it.”
***
While Lavon checked on the others, I waited until Juliet’s back was turned and then stuffed a few items – well, maybe more than a few – from my gym bag into my travel pouch, just in case we had to stay longer than we had planned.
I also took a more careful look at my traveling companions. For obvious reasons, we’d have to defer to Lavon’s judgment; and I took comfort in the fact that over the past few days, he had struck me as competent and efficient.
Still, I couldn’t be sure who would fall apart if our venture didn’t proceed according to expectation – if, for instance, the others had to witness a man being eviscerated in front of their own eyes, as I once had.
Our modern world is so incongruous in this regard.
On one hand, our televisions beam a constant barrage of twenty-first century atrocities into our living rooms, ranging from mass rape as an instrument of policy in parts of Africa, to youthful militias routinely hacking off the limbs of members of rival tribes, to women, even to this day, being stoned.
Yet the viewers watching these horrors buy their meat from grocery stores in shrink-wrapped plastic, and inhabit a society where leading animal training schools have to ensure that incoming students won’t be traumatized by having to kill rats of all things, in order to feed the snakes and birds of prey at their zoos.
***
The more I considered our party, the more I realized that it was my client’s son who worried me most. Though sober and level-headed in comparison to many of his peers, Markowitz had never quite shaken the attitude common to men born into great wealth – a superficial acknowledgement of authority that only partially concealed a central belief that the rules did not apply to them.
I walked over and pulled him away from the others.
“Ray, you do understand the seriousness of what we’re about to undertake?”
“Sure.”
My stern gaze did not change.
“Relax, Bill. It’ll be just like Everest. A man could get killed there, too, if he wasn’t careful.”
The mention of Everest was not altogether reassuring. Back in my Army days, I had trained with a New Zealander whose brother had spent years as a Himalayan guide.
The bars of Kathmandu resounded with complaints about would-be adventurers who believed that payment of their $60,000 fee entitled them to an ironclad guarantee that they would reach the summit, regardless of poor weather or their own limited mountaineering abilities.
“I mean it, Ray. This isn’t a
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