Bone Box by Jay Amberg

Author:Jay Amberg [Amberg, Jay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amika Press
Published: 2015-03-13T00:00:00+00:00

39

From his corner table at the Sarihan Cave Hotel’s rooftop terrace, Travers gazes out across Göreme at the fairy chimneys in the valley. Nearby, doors and windows are carved into many of the conical spires. Farther away, some of the tufa and volcanic ash formations are cylindrical and capped with darker basalt. Beyond them, mountains range to the horizon. The air is still, but hosts of small birds dart for insects in the fading light. As Charles Lee strides toward him, Travers drinks his apple tea.

Lee says, “Hey, Joe. Good to…” When Travers turns, Lee stops and stares at his swollen jaw. “Y’all sure got your clock cleaned.”

“Yeah,” Travers says, waving toward the white metal chair across the table. “Have a seat.” When Travers returned to the hotel after the tour, there was a note from Lee saying that he had arrived in town and that they needed to meet ASAP. Travers left a return message, showered, and redressed his leg wound before coming out to the patio. He is wearing walking shoes and light nylon pants so that once this meeting is finished he can head out of town. He’s not feeling jangled like he did the morning he hiked to Saint John’s curtain wall at dawn, but he still needs to walk. He wants to roam for awhile to make sense of what he learned on the tour. And, he wants to regain, if only for a moment, that singular feeling of oneness—if he can.

The waiter that followed Lee over to the table takes his order for a can of Coca-Cola and a glass but no ice. Lee then leans forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. His carefully pressed blue sportshirt, the color of his eyes, has a golden eagle monogrammed on the pocket. He looks even more tan and fit than he did when he arrived in Istanbul. “I’d ask,” he says, “how you’ve been, but…” He smiles.

“I’m all right,” Travers says, returning Lee’s smile. “In fact, I’m pretty good.”

“Even if you don’t look so good.” Lee’s drawl is diminishing again. “How was that tour today?”

Travers looks down from the rooftop at the rosebushes and at the amphoras set at angles in the hotel’s courtyard. “Charles,” he says, “the Eagle Consortium has no vested interests in any sites in Cappadocia. None at all in the region. Why are you here?”

Lee’s smile broadens as he leans farther forward. “Why are you here?”

“My stay in Selçuk didn’t go well.”

Lee sits back. “No, I believe it didn’t. And that’s something we have to talk about.” He looks down over the roofs of the town. “But that’s not why you came to a place halfway between East Gibbip and Bumblefuck.”

Travers smiles again. Lee is apparently immune to the landscape. “I came to see the cave churches and the underground cities.” There is, he suspects, more truth to that than Lee will believe.

The waiter brings the can of Coke and a tall glass. Lee takes a paper napkin, folds it, and wipes the top of the can before opening it.

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