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McGrath was still lost. Should have talked to him,
Joe thought. The boy had had that odd, half awakened
look since Ma Trimble's naked legion had piled aboard.
Maybe they'd whacked him too hard and some of the
Outer Darkness was seeping in through a crack in his
skull.
"It's been over twenty-four hours," Schwartz said.
"Maybe he drowned or fell into one of those caves."
Joe sighed. He wondered if he'd been too anxious
to study the past. Could he have gotten them out of
here a day or two earlier?
" a search," Gorson was suggesting.
"Right. Make up some torches. I'll see if there's a
glimmer left in the flashlight." It was dark. The galley
would have seemed deserted had it not been for the
snickers, giggles and rustlings which came from all
corners. Something seemed to be wrong with the latch
on Joe's cubicle. He twisted again and the knob .sud-
denly opened.
The flashlight wasn't in the shallow drawer under
the chart table. Must be in his bunk. He fumbled and
felt legs in darkness. "Now who the hell?" After an
eternity he found the light switch. He blinked several
times before recognizing Howie McGrath. Then he no-
ticed what the little god shouter held in his hand. Joe
looked straight into the muzzle of his own pistol.
VIII
HOWARD McGRATH had been born illegitimate Sadie's
Sin, as his guilt-holy mother had kept calling him.
Don't look at girls or you'll burn in hell, she had said.
Don't touch whiskey; it's the Devil's Drink.
Don't say naughty words or God won't love you,
Mother won't love you.
Don't touch.
Don't drink.
Don't say.
Don't think.
DON'T!
That confused business of the woman, the snake and
the apple: somehow it all led to little Howie, born evil,
who must fight constantly lest the evil within him break
out and carry him to everlasting hellfire.
His mother had not cried when he left home. The
navy was the heaven of Satan's darlings and Howie
was predestined.
The first few weeks in boot camp had been undiluted
horror but Howie knew a greater horror was yet to
come: evil companions would lead him into sin and
degradation. They would force him to drink whiskey!
He had been surprised and vaguely disappointed
when no one invited him to debauchery. All told, his
first liberty turned out to be as dull as the rest of
Howie's short, hyper-sheltered life.
Came sea duty, the Alice. Red Schwartz was not on
the side of the angels. Red was going to fry in hellfire
forever but he didn't seem to care. Whiskey-drinking,
fornicating, hell-raising Red had survived five and a
half years in the navy. Chances were he would last
twenty-four and a half more. Schwartz taught him all
the things he hadn't learned in bootcamp and privately
vowed he would someday squire this shivering young
wretch through a brothel. But the time was still not
ripe.
McGrath remained as virgin as a national forest. Some
day he was going to see Red Schwartz washed in the
Blood of the Lamb. But not just yet. If Schwartz were
saved, Howie would be deprived of his only sinful
pleasure shuddering over Schwartz's embellished ac-
counts of San Diego's Babylonian quarter.
While he remained aboard the Alice and the women
remained in San Diego it had been easy to avoid sin.
But with warm lithe women, all aquiver with sinful
bulges, bumping into him in narrow passageways, sleep-
ing practically within reach-
Satan had buried him under an avalanche of naked
women!
Yet as he listened to Ma Trimble's long, rambling
story it gradually occurred to Howie that these girls
were from the Holy Land. That language must be the
language Jesus spoke! Maybe they had seen Him. No,
the time was a few years before Christ's birth. No point
in going to Israel . . . but perhaps something greater
offered itself. If he were to go to Rome, now . . . how
much trouble would it be to locate young Pontius Pilate?
Once he found him, and with Mr. Rate's pistol...
It was going to require cooperation from these girls.
They seemed to have no English among them. Howie's
opportunity came when all hands were lugging water
down from the spring. She was small and dark, unlike
the others. Though long past her apprenticeship, some
accident of nature had given her a line of lip and jaw
which suggested that the world was a very large and
somewhat too complicated place for her. Had Howie
stopped to analyze it, he would have realized she re-
sembled nothing so much as a darker and less god-
bound version of his mother. They stumbled down the
trail together, each bearing an amphora of water. Point-
ing to himself, he said, "Me Howard."
She stared.
"Howard my name's Howard."
It came out "yugger" when she said it. Pointing at
her, he made a questioning mumble. Had he possessed
a more detailed knowledge of Semitic vowel shifts
Howie might have felt a premonitory shudder at her
name. To him it sounded like Leilat'.
Lillith put down her water jar and squatted to rest.
These nautae had been more insatiable than a mob of
Roman dogfaces just in from desert patrol. And after
putting in a full night's work this water detail was giving
her aches in places she scarcely remembered. She had
been about to tell this nauta to go bugger Pluto, but . . .
Oh well, these young skinny ones hadn't the staying
power of a starving rabbit. She lugged her amphora
around behind a tree where it wouldn't be seen from
the trail. Howie followed.
It was hot and she'd been running around this island
naked for the last three weeks. Today she wore one of
Raquel's high collared, long sleeved dresses just the
thing for an Iceland winter. She untied the waist cord
and turned round so Howie could unbutton her. After
a moment she turned again to see what was keeping
him.
The idiot had some kind of miniature parchment book
in one hand and a stylus in the other. Lillith was an-
noyed. Slowly it dawned on her that he hadn't turned
her down; he hadn't even understood her offer. What
did he want?
She undid the top two buttons at the back of her
neck and fanned a little air into the bodice. Then she
turned to Howie. "Anachnu Yuggerti?"
"Yes," Howie said, "I'm Howard. Anaknoo Leilat'?"
Soon he knew the words for eye, nose, mouth, arm,
hand. Lillith fanned her bodice again and taught him
the word for button. She ballooned out the heavy wool
and blew into it. This damned tent was suffocating
her! She fanned the skirt up and down.
He learned words for toe, foot, and ankle. Breathing
rapidly, he progressed to knee. Howie had not realized
learning a language could be so interesting. It was get-
ting ungodly hot in this little hole between the oak's
roots. He began to sympathize with Leilat' in that heavy
woolen thing. She taught him the word for dress. Point-
ing at his belt, she said the word for buckle.
Howie was sure he'd never remember the words but
she gave him no time to stop and review. Leilat' caught
his hand and drew him toward her. She had another
lesson in mind for him and since it was Howie's first,
it went very quickly.
In spite of Ma Trimble's change in plans, Lillith had
no interest at all in visiting some outlandish country no
one had ever heard of. She wanted to go to Rome. Ob-
viously so did this timid young soul. Therefore . . .
Lessons progressed. Howie became obsessed with the
magnificence of his plan: they would take the Alice
to Rome and after he'd settled P. Pilate's hash there
would be time to swing around by the Holy Land and
give John the Baptist a briefing on his mission in life.
Mr. Rate had been a history professor. He would be
handy for taking care of details. Mr. Rate would go
along with the plan, and the Alice's men would do
whatever Mr. Rate told them. Mr. Rate wouldn't balk
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