2. The Wall

He spent the next day debating with himself over whether he’d make the appointment. He wasn’t sure if it was his curiosity that won out, boredom, or simply not knowing how else to proceed with his life, so he found himself awaiting Harker at the Wall at sunset.

“The Wall,” of course, was the Wailing Wall, otherwise known as the Western Wall—the holiest place on earth where observant Jews are concerned. It used to be the western retaining wall, but is now all that remains of the ancient Temple where, they believed, God Himself dwelled until it was destroyed by the Romans two-thousand years ago, in retaliation for the Jews’ rebellion against the Empire. The Jews, however, regard the Temple’s destruction to be far more than a military loss in the pages of ancient history. It is believed to be a sign of God’s rejection and wrath against them for breaking His law, and so they pray here—“wailing” in contrition and asking that He accept them as His people again by sending the Messiah to rebuild it and regather them to the land promised to their ancestors.

Pearce wondered why this, of all places, would be Harker’s preferred meeting place to discuss his supposed possession of an ancient Christian relic. Pearce knew there were underground tunnels nearby in use by the Templars a millennium ago, but those had been excavated for years. The catacombs in which Pearce had invested so heavily were a few miles north, situated partly beneath the Church of the Holy Sepulchre where, according to tradition, Christ was buried prior to supposedly rising from the dead.

He waited on a stone ledge on the western edge of the plaza, opposite the Wall, where he could get a clear, open view of the scene. It was dusk, and Pearce scanned for any sign of Harker, but did not see him. He wondered if the old man would show.

Pearce watched as about a half-dozen or so hasids placed their foreheads against the ancient Wall, rocking back and forth in fervent prayer, muttering unintelligibly. With his own long, fruitless search for the Grail, he could relate to their fervency, but wondered at how they could stand to just ask and wait. Whatever it was for which they were asking, wouldn’t they be better off just going out and getting it than praying to some silent and invisible imaginary friend, especially when their own belief system told them that He had already rejected them two-thousand years ago anyway? Pearce didn’t know if God existed or not, but saw prayer mostly as a waste of time. It was, at best, a last resort when every other possible alternative had failed. From his extensive study of history—particularly medieval European history, replete with its many plagues and Church-imposed superstitions, inquisitions, power struggles and crusades—he was pretty well convinced that prayer is a one-way conversation into thin air.

He grew impatient as the better part of an hour passed with no sign of Harker. After checking the time on his cell phone, he took one last scan of the plaza to see if he was there and, not finding him anywhere, stood up and walked toward the plaza’s southern exit.

“God certainly is severe in His wrath, is He not?” said a familiar, basso voice from behind him.

Pearce turned to see Harker settled comfortably on the seat on which he’d been waiting for the last forty-five minutes. He looked around in confusion, wondering how he could have missed him only seconds ago. It was an open area, so he should have easily seen him approaching. Perhaps he did see him, but with Harker’s similar attire, he mistook him for another black-clad hasid?

In any case, Pearce’s impatience far outweighed his curiosity or confusion.

“You’re late,” he barked.

“I am not late,” the old man calmly answered.

“You told me to meet you here at twilight, and I’ve been sitting here waiting since then,” Pearce rebutted in a raised voice.

“You have just been waiting? Certainly you could have found something else to do to fill the time… like them, perhaps?” said Harker, gesturing to the handful of people praying at the Wall.

“But I did not tell you I would meet you here at twilight. I told you to come here at twilight, and I would meet you. You did come at twilight, as you said, and as you can see, I have now met you. I said nothing to you of when I would be here, however,” the old man continued.

Pearce rolled his eyes, exhaling impatiently. “So you expected me to come here and pray until you showed up? What the hell for?” he said.

 “I had no expectations. How you filled the time is your business, and your choice,” said Harker, as he reached into his breast pocket to remove a pipe he then lit. Pearce noticed that the smoke did not smell like that of tobacco, but was similar in odor to the tea Harker had been fighting to choke down the night before. His reaction to the pipe smoke was much the same.

“What do you think they are praying about?” Harker asked between smoke-filled gasps and chokes, gesturing again to the praying Jews.

“I don’t know. Probably that the earth would open up and swallow those mosques on the other side of the Wall,” answered Pearce, referring to the gleaming Dome of the Rock and the less ornate Al-Aqsa mosque accompanying it, which have stood on the Temple Mount since the 8^th century, preventing the Jews’ rebuilding their Temple ever since.

“Indeed. They have borne the brunt of God’s anger for the past two-thousand years, and now it is time for someone else to get their share, eh?” said Harker.

“I don’t know. Who cares? Why are we here, old man?” answered Pearce.

“We are here because you want the Grail. Or, I should say, we are here because you believe you want the Grail,” said Harker.

“And why would I be mistaken about wanting the Grail?” the younger man asked.

“How do you know that the Grail is what you truly seek?” returned Harker.

“I have plenty of receipts that can testify to that,” said Pearce, punctuating his remark with an empty laugh.

“Ah. Because you have spent money. But this does not answer the question of why you want the Grail. It only demonstrates that you believe yourself to desire it,” answered Harker in between fitful coughs of smoke from the strange-smelling herbal mixture he smoked.

“Well, who wouldn’t? It’s the Grail. It’s the most coveted artifact of all time,” said Pearce.

“‘Who would not want it?’ indeed. But who would want it to the extent that you do? You have spent everything you have to find it. Why not leave it be, and enjoy what you had? You could have done anything else you wanted to do in life, and you already had what many struggle their entire lives to achieve, yet you chose to seek after the Grail for most, if not all of your adulthood,” said Harker, now holding his pipe downwind and away from his face.

“How do you know me, old man? How do you know what I’ve given up for it?” demanded Pearce, who felt somewhat violated by the apparent extent of Harker’s knowledge of him.

“It is not necessary to know you. I can see you. Your… obsession is written in your face, and in the fact that you now sit alone in this ancient city, drowning in spirits when all of your servants have left you. And they are not even the expensive spirits to which you are accustomed. Would you not prefer a more… refined version what you Americans call ‘scotch’ to that working-class poison you were imbibing last night?” said Harker.

“You’re one to talk, Harker. What’s that crap you’re choking yourself on? If you’re not suffocating yourself on it, you’re gagging it down in liquid form. It’s disgusting! It’s obviously not recreational, so what the hell is it?” said Pearce in an attempt to turn the tables.

“Please, call me ‘Arthur.’ Or even ‘old man,’ if you prefer. But never mind about that. Why do you want the Grail?” said Harker with joyless equanimity.

“Like I told you—because it’s the Grail. No other discovery, or accomplishment, could ever compare to finding it. As a piece of history, it would be priceless,” said Pearce.

“And no other trophy could compare, as well, eh?” said Harker.

“Absolutely. It would be an incredible trophy. I’d be internationally famous if I found it, and for something more than just inheriting my parents’ fortune,” said Pearce.

“But what do you know about the Grail? What makes it so important that you would give so much of your life to find it?” Harker asked.

“Don’t you know? You literally wrote the book… well, not just ‘the book,’ on it, but an entire library. Isn’t its… importance self-evident?” said Pearce.

“Please, indulge an old man. In the most basic of terms, tell me what you know, or believe you know, about the Grail,” Harker answered.

“Ok…,” said Pearce, his irritation and impatience subsiding somewhat. He saw no purpose in it, but because the Grail had been his singular pursuit and passion for so long, he was accustomed to speaking about it, and found a measure of solace in lecturing on the seemingly endless legends and stories surrounding it. So, he not-so-reluctantly acquiesced to Harker’s inquiry.

“As you’re well aware, there are a couple of different versions of the story,” he commenced. “The first is that it was the cup used by Jesus Christ at the Last Supper. Another is that it first belonged to Joseph of Arimathea—the rich man who buried Christ in his own tomb. According to either version, when Christ died, while he was still on the cross, Joseph used the cup to catch his blood as it fell from the wound in his side. Then he took the Grail with him to Britain, where he founded the first Christian church on the island.”

“It is curious that he would do such a strange thing at so tragic a time, is it not?” Harker remarked.

“What do you mean?” answered Pearce.

“Catching his blood in the cup, as he hung there—having died for the sins of the world. And then suddenly leaving everything behind to go to Britain, of all places in the world. But, I apologize for interrupting you. Please, continue,” said Harker.

“The Grail disappeared from history for several centuries, but then it figured prominently in folklore about King Arthur and his knights. It was said to have mystical power to heal and to give eternal life. Apart from Arthurian legend, it was mentioned here and there during the Crusades. There is passing mention by some obscure writers from the time of a mysterious chalice the Knights Templar obtained from an unidentified order of English knights. They would drink from the chalice during their secret rituals, it was said. At least, that’s what some of the stories report, as you’ve written yourself,” Pearce continued.

“And you believe those stories? You believe that the Grail exists because of them?” asked Harker.

“Not entirely, but where there’s smoke there’s fire, isn’t there?” said Pearce.

Harker’s dark eyes narrowed, and his reddish lips elongated into a crooked half-smile.

“Yes, well. Stories also abound, say, about… vampires. Do you believe in them as well?” he asked.

“No, of course I don’t believe in vampires. Nor do I believe in werewolves or leprechauns or Santa Claus,” said Pearce.

“And yet, you believe in the Grail. But not in vampires. Why is that?” returned Harker.

“Because the vampire myth can be accounted for by so many other things—illnesses they didn’t know about yet, superstitions about the supernatural, fear of the unknown, fear of death… I can’t say I’ve researched this enough to back it up, but I suspect that stories of vampires probably started around the time Christianity began to spread,” answered Pearce.

“And why then?” asked Harker with what appeared to be sincere interest.

“Well, you know—they were a mysterious new religious cult, driven underground by the Roman government. They were suspicious enough already for denouncing the traditional Roman gods, but with stories going around about them drinking blood and eating someone’s body and meeting at night in catacombs… it’s easy to connect the dots. Persecuted Christians were probably the first ‘vampires’ in the popular imagination. Christianity eventually became acceptable and institutionalized, but those stories of nocturnal tomb-dwellers drinking blood for eternal life had already circulated and taken hold, so people just projected those elements elsewhere—onto Bela Lugosi and Robert Pattinson,” said Pearce with a laugh before he became suddenly conscious of his uncharacteristic moment of levity. He found that speaking and teaching about his historical passions was the only relief he had from wallowing in his crushing disappointment, so he welcomed the distraction, if not the company.

“So you have given significant thought to the question of vampires, then?” said Harker.

“Not really. But, you can’t search for clues about the Grail without scouring through medieval literature, and you can’t help but come across a few vampire legends here and there doing that, with all the vampire scares there were back then,” answered Pearce casually.

“Did you ever find accounts in which the two were related?” asked Harker.

“You mean the Grail and vampires? Of course not. What would vampire scares have to do with the Grail?” said Pearce.

“You yourself only moments ago pointed out the curious resemblance between Christianity and vampirism. Why would a connection with the Grail be out of consideration?” Harker asked.

“What’s your interest in vampires, anyway?” asked Pearce.

“Is it because of your name?” Pearce continued, recalling Bram Stoker’s famous novel Dracula. One of its protagonists was Jonathan Harker, whose fiancée-then-wife Mina was the demonic count’s favorite meal for much of the story, if Pearce remembered correctly. He recalled also that two of the other heroes of the book were named Quincey and Arthur as well.

“Let us say that, because of my… name, I could not help but be aware of vampires,” answered Harker.

At that, Pearce suddenly saw Harker in a new light. “What a pathetic person Harker must be!” Pearce thought to himself. He apparently had vampires on the brain, and it probably all started in childhood with that name of his. Pearce hadn’t made the association before then, but Harker apparently thought of himself as a vampire—with his black-on-black ensemble, the long black coat and the black hat. That was probably red lipstick he was wearing, to complete the effect.

Isn’t he just a bit old to be engaged in such an adolescent search for identity? And how could a man so childishly pretentious become so respected in a serious profession as Harker was, Pearce wondered. Did he think of himself as a “vampire archeologist”? Was that the reason for this line of questions about vampires?

And yet, none of his considerable body of published work ever touched upon the subject, despite his clear preoccupation. Was this a recently developed obsession for him, then? Something he fantasized about all along, only becoming full-blown recently?

Pearce suddenly began to wonder, however, about how Harker had appeared seemingly out of nowhere this evening. He didn’t know if Harker’s get-up was the product of deranged and deluded role-playing or not, but he did know that he couldn’t explain Harker’s sudden appearance out of nowhere. And what about the night before at the café? Pearce was sure Harker wasn’t there when he came in, and would have noticed him entering. Could it be possible…?”

“About the Grail…” said Harker, startling Pearce from his reverie.

“…you seem to acknowledge that there is something about it, yes?”

“What do you mean?” asked Pearce.

“You acknowledge that it has a… power of some kind, yes? Something to provide the… How did you say it? Yes—the ‘fire’ beneath the ‘smoke’ of all the stories we have both researched?” Harker elaborated.

“I guess so. I believe it exists and that there’s something extraordinary about it to fuel the stories, if that’s what you mean. I suppose the mystery of what that might be is a big part of its appeal,” Pearce answered tentatively as he pondered the new mystery of this strange, man-shaped creature before him.

“And that… something—its power and mystery—it is tied to the Grail’s connection to Jesus Christ, yes?” said Harker.

“Sure, I suppose. What about it?” asked Pearce.

“You believe that, because there might be some truth to the stories of the Grail’s origin—that it belonged to Christ, or held his blood, that the Grail has power of its own, a power to bestow life and immortality, perhaps?” Harker elaborated.

“I wouldn’t say that I ‘believe’ that, but that’s certainly one of the questions that intrigues me—enough to spend a fortune, and the best years of my life in search of the Grail,” said Pearce.

“And what of Christ? Have you never searched for him?” asked Harker.

“What are you talking about? He’s been dead for two-thousand years. How the hell would I ‘search for Christ’?” said Pearce, shaking his head.

“If what you say is true, searching for him would be a simple matter of locating his remains. They would be quite nearby, as a matter of fact, as he was executed and then buried within walking distance of this very location. But, your entire life’s pursuit presupposes that what you are saying is not true, does it not?” said Harker.

“Meaning…?” said Pearce, annoyed.

“Meaning that if he is dead, he was just a man, like any other. But, ‘where there is smoke there is fire,’ as you say, yes? If he was only a man, then why would the Grail have any power? Why would there be legends of a Grail at all, if he was only a man?” Harker explained.

At that, Pearce laughed mockingly, shaking his head.

“What is this? A religious pitch? Is that what you’ve lured me here for?” he said.

“These are valid observations and fair questions, are they not?” answered Harker nonchalantly.

“You seek the Grail because it is reputed to bestow eternal life, by virtue of its connection to him. But, the one from whom the Grail reportedly derives its power has already promised eternal life to any who would but trust him for it. If there is any truth to the legend of the Grail, why then do you need the Grail at all when the one from whom it came already offers freely whatever benefit you might obtain from finding it? It seems that you—and the untold multitudes of others who have also searched for it throughout the ages—would happily sacrifice all to have the gift, yet reject the giver, yes?” the old man explained.

“Oh my God…,” said Pearce.

“Indeed,” answered Harker.

“So this was all just a religious pitch, then? You’re trying to recruit me to go to church with you? I’m supposed to drop my search for the Grail because I’ll get to go to heaven for believing in Jesus? You should have just handed me a tract instead of wasting my time with this, this… con game about having the Grail!” shouted a red-faced Pearce, drawing the attention of the few dozen supplicants at the Wall.

“I can tell you most assuredly that I am not lying about my possession of the Grail. I would not lie about such a thing. And I do not recall making any mention of ‘church’ or ‘heaven,’” said Harker before laboring a few more gasps from his pipe.

“You sure sound like a brainwashed true believer to me,” returned Pearce.

 “Heh! A ‘true believer,’ eh? Well, let us remember that the demons believe, and shudder,” Harker answered.

“Whatever. You can go to hell old man,” said Pearce as he turned to walk away.

He couldn’t believe that he’d actually entertained, just for a moment, the notion that Harker might be a vampire. Vampires—in the unlikely event that they actually exist—most certainly do not preach sermons or thump Bibles. Sanctimonious, has-been archeologists who play vampire dress-up, on the other hand… well, that’s a different story.

At that, Pearce thought of a few especially snide and cutting barbs about Harker’s ridiculous appearance, so he turned to deliver them, only to find that Harker was nowhere to be seen. It was only a moment ago that he turned to leave, but Harker was gone. Pearce looked around and scanned the entire plaza, trying to make sense of where the old man had gone. An Olympic athlete at peak performance couldn’t have sprinted out of sight in twice the time, much less this decrepit fossil. Where could he have gone? There was nothing there at all where Harker had been sitting other than a barely visible mist of evening fog, which appeared to be dissipating.

The hair on the back of Pearce’s neck bristled as he stood in stunned disbelief and tried to make sense of Harker’s vanishing act. Vampires, he recalled, could change form—turning themselves into a bat, a wolf, hundreds of rats, or into a mist or vapor, and back again at will. Could Harker really be…?

No. That’s beyond absurd, Pearce thought to himself. He must be on the verge of a psychotic break himself, with everything going on lately. There are no vampires, no devils, probably no God, and certainly no risen messiahs. There is a mystery surrounding the Grail, to be sure, but that doesn’t mean Pearce was about to buy into some strange old eccentric’s attempt to convert him to Christianity, or start believing in vampires and boogeymen.

He decided he just needed a good stiff drink or ten, and made his way back to Jaffa Gate where a few tourist-friendly restaurants could be found. He decided the Rendezvous Café wouldn’t be a stop in tonight’s bar-hopping tour, however, as that was where Harker had found him the night before.

As he made his way through the stone streets of the Old City, though, the question of how Harker had vanished still haunted him, and he suppressed a shudder as he tried to put thoughts of Harker—and the Grail, for that matter—behind him as he looked forward to the sweet, numbing sting of whiskey he planned to soon feel on his lips.