The Quest: A Novel

general.”
    They reached the gun emplacement and Purcell could see an 81-millimeter mortar surrounded by piled stone. A fire pit held the charred wooden remains of ammunition crates and the blackened bones of small animals.
    They stopped and Purcell said, in Amharic, “Weha.”
    One of the soldiers indicated a five-gallon jerry can, which Purcell lifted and poured over Vivian’s head and clothes to bring down her body temperature. She took the can and did the same for him, saying, “Spa, Ethiopian style.” A soldier handed them a canteen and they drank.
    Vivian smiled at the soldiers and thanked them in Amharic: “Agzer yastallan.”
    Purcell gave the soldiers his last pack of Egyptian cigarettes and they all lit up. So far, so good, he thought, though Vivian’s gender was a complication.
    One of the soldiers was talking on a field radio, then he said something to his companions. The soldier who seemed to be in charge handed them their documents and motioned them up the ridge.
    Before anyone changed their minds, Purcell took Vivian’s arm and they continued unescorted up the mountain.
    Vivian said, “I think we’re all right.”
    “I think I could have done this on my own.”
    “Me too.”
    He didn’t reply and they continued on in silence.
    Finally, she said, apropos of something she was thinking, “Go to hell.”
    “Already here.”
    She asked him, “Are you married? Girlfriend?”
    “No.”
    “I can’t imagine why not.”
    “Can we save this for the Hilton bar?”
    “I don’t ever want to see you again after this.”
    “Sorry you feel that way.”
    “And we don’t need you to look for the black monastery.”
    He didn’t reply and they continued on toward the top of the mountain.
    Purcell thought about Father Armano, the black monastery, and the so-called Holy Grail. There was no Holy Grail, but sometimes his editors or other war correspondents described a story as the Holy Grail of stories—the story that would win a Pulitzer, or a National Journalism Award, or at least the admiration of their colleagues and a few drinks in a good bar.
    He glanced at Vivian, and thought of Henry Mercado. Could he let them go without him? What if they died? What if they didn’t and they found something? He wished he had something better to do with his life.

Chapter 9
    P urcell and Vivian sat side by side on a cot inside the medical aid tent. Vivian’s face was covered with white ointment and she wore a reasonably clean gray
shamma
, as did Purcell.
    The army doctor sat in a camp chair and smoked a cigarette. Purcell also smoked one of the doctor’s cigarettes, while Vivian finished the bowl of cooked wheat that Dr. Mato had brought.
    Vivian said in Italian, “Thank you, Doctor. You have been very kind.”
    The big Ethiopian smiled. “It was nothing. You are both fine. Continue to rehydrate.” He added, “You may keep the ointment.”
    Vivian translated for Purcell, then she asked the doctor, “Any word on our colleague?”
    Doctor Mato replied, “As I said, we have sent ten armed men and a mule. I’m sure your colleague will be joining you shortly.”
    Vivian nodded, and again translated for Purcell.
    The doctor stood. “I have many sick and wounded. Excuse me.” He left.
    Purcell said, “I’m sure Henry is enjoying the mule ride.”
    She nodded absently, then said, “I hope they reach him in time.”
    He didn’t reply.
    She continued, “I worry about the Gallas.”
    “The Gallas,” said Purcell, “attack the weak and the dying. Not ten armed soldiers.”
    She looked at him, forced a smile, and said, “You do know how to con a worried lady.”
    He smiled in return, though he found himself for some reason annoyed at her worry about Mercado, justified as it might be. He stood and looked around the aid tent. His and Vivian’s personal possessions were in neat piles at the foot of their cots, but their clothesand boots were gone, and he didn’t see any native sandals for either of them. He said, “I’m going to take a look around.”
    She stood. “I’ll go with you.”
    “Be here when they bring Henry in.”
    She hesitated, then nodded, and said, “Find a toothbrush.”
    As he began walking, he could see soldiers lounging under jerry-rigged tarps, eating, talking, and smoking, which was what soldiers did when they weren’t killing other soldiers. In any case, they didn’t seem that interested in the white guy walking around barefoot in a gray
shamma
—though a few did point to