An Intercessory Mission, pt. 2

"I still don't think I get it - so your Cistercian monks said, 'let's build the new church into the city walls?'" says Gus.

"No," says Art Guy. "Well, possibly. Wait, let me explain."

Today we find the assiduous scholars bushwacking their way through the Peruvian rain forest in search of Machu Picchu. They could have taken a tour bus, but I prefer to have them bushwacking.

"These Cistercian monks came to Siena because they were called there by the government," says Art Guy.

"Right," says Gus, "And then they started building the new churches?"

"Yes, exactly. And that's my main point, done."

"But so what?" says Gus.

"So what!? - So that means the reputation of these Cistercians as builders of monastic complexes, not just as architects, but also as institutional-founders, got the monks established inside cities," says Art Guy, karate-chopping a large palm out of his way.

"It all seems kind of foggy to me," says Gus.

They enter a clearing and hold still at what they see. A mother ocelot is nursing two cubs.

"There's a myth," Art Guy whispers, "that Siena was founded by Sinus, son of Remus, and therefore traces its roots to Roman times. One of their civic symbols is the mother wolf nursing Romulus and Remus."

"What does that have to do with your essay?" says Gus.

"It doesn't. I just brought it up because of the ocelot."

"Stay focused."

---

"What is that for?" says a Velazco Estete Airport, Peru customs agent to F. B. Irish, motioning towards the shape of a flamethrower under her decorated silk poncho.

"For killing beasties," says Irish.

The agent raises her eyebrows.

"Only dangerous ones," says Irish.

"Did you bring any food with you?" the agent says as if not hearing her.

Irish briefly considers mentioning a brownie she bought at Starbucks, then thinks better of it and shakes her head.

"Welcome," says the agent, stamping her passport.

Settling into a taxi, Irish says, "Machu Picchu."

"That's a long way," says the driver.

"The less time I have to spend outdoors the better."

"Why's that?" says the driver.

"I'm from a place where the most dangerous thing you'd ever see in the wild is a rat."

The driver laughs. "That's not the case here. Some things here will eat you alive. Crocodiles, caymen, pirahna, jaguars."

"La la la I'm not listening," says our scholar.

"But you don't have to worry about seeing a jaguar: they're very rare. And don't worry about the tarantulas. The tarantulas aren't harmful."

"You tried in vain to save the lives of a few tarantulas by telling me that," says Irish, patting her flamethrower.

"The only thing I think you'd need to worry about is Icchu Pako," says the driver.

Irish laughs. "Just put on the radio will you?"

"It's real."

"Believe me, I've heard of Icchu Pako, and it's not real."

---

"Now I'm really confused," says Gus.

"I can't make it any simpler," says Art Guy. "The crossing piers were built as a particularly Cistercian innovation, something that could not have been invented by the government of Siena. In fact they even write in the city council deliberations, ed invitando di fatto frate Melano a completare l'opera intrapresa. Fra Melano, that's my guy!"

"No, I'm confused about where we are," says Gus.

The two have emerged from the jungle and stand before a sizeable Andes vista with not one Incan ruin in sight.

"Why didn't we just take the tour bus?" says Art Guy, unaware of the fiction of his existence.

"Hey, there's a road," says Gus.

They bushwack their way down to a little dirt road.

"Which way?" says Gus.

"I don't know," says Art Guy. "There's a spider on you."

Gus notices a tarantula on his shoulder.

"Ah, they're harmless. Look at him, he's cute."

"Suit yourself, Custeau."

They hang out by the side of the road hoping for a vehicle to come along, drinking some water and some whiskey.

"Right, I know they were responsible for vaulting the dome," says Art Guy.

"That doesn't sound like a very Cistercian thing to do at all," says Gus.

"That's what's bothering me," says our hero.

"Hey, I know something that'll take your mind off it," says Gus. "You ever heard of Icchu Pako?"

"No."

"Well," says Gus. "Legend has it around these parts that there's an ape man, like Sasquatch."

"Oh did you attend that cryptozoology conference?" says Art Guy. "I meant to catch that, but Peter Cherry and Roger Stalley were giving some talk about theoretical contributions of their 2009 undergraduates."

"Oooh, you missed out in a big way, my friend," says Gus. "While you were off in la-la undergraduate land I was learning about Nessie 2 and Icchu Pako."

"Convince me of Nessie 1 first and then you'll get somewhere with me," says Art Guy.

"Reports of Nessie 1 are more substantiated than Kenneth Conant's pointed arches in the reconstruction of Cluny 3," says Gus.

"Granted."

"I'm not going to go into Nessie 2, but get a load of Icchu Pako."

"So he's an ape man, like Bigfoot?" says Art Guy.

"Yes, but more intelligent," says Gus. "I'm surprised you didn't come across this when you went to those icon symposiums."

"Sorry?" says Art Guy.

"Oh my God, look!" says Gus pointing beyond our hero.

Art Guy whips his head around and scuffles in the direction of the underbrush before he sees that Gus is referring to a cab and not Icchu Pako.

After hailing it they pile in and are surprised to encounter Foxy Byzwiz Irish.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," says Irish.

---

"I wasn't going to come, but my Last Judgment project requires that I be here on site," says Irish as they ramble down the road, the driver grinning while he takes every bend at far too many kilometers per hour.

"I think the real question is, do we still get our money?" says Gus.

"Gus, I bet a hundred qualified scholars would gratefully do this as an unpaid internship," says Art Guy.

"You'll get your money," says Irish. "I need you guys to take photographs and carry out the chore of describing the images. I don't have time to be bothered with anything besides interpretation."

"I bet that's what Ghirlandaio said to Michelangelo," says Art Guy.

"Sorry?" says Irish. "I didn't catch that."

"Oh look, Machu Picchu," says our hero.

The glorious ruin comes into view. I'm not going to waste your time with a romantic description. Read Hiram Bingham's.

"I think I'll let you out a little further up," says the driver. "Dangerous out there." He looks in the mirror and winks at Irish. She grins sarcastically back.

"Hey, speaking of dangerous, you didn't happen to go to the cryptozoology conference last May, did you?" says Gus to Irish.

Irish turns to Gus and suddenly goes wide-eyed. She slowly reaches into her poncho, draws the flamethrower, and points it at Gus. She flicks a switch and a small flame begins dancing at the nozzle.

Gus's eyes follow the destination of her gaze and the direction of the nozzle of the flamethrower: it is a slowly moving target on his right tricep.

"Don't move," says Irish.

(to be continued...)

An intercessory mission, pt. 1

"I want you to go to Machu Picchu," says Foxy Byzwiz Irish to Art Guy and Gus.

"You're not going to tell me there's a Last Judgment to be found there," says Art Guy.

The Byzantinist raises her eyebrows. She pulls out her hunting knife and carves an outline of the Incan ruins in a napkin, cutting straight through to the tabletop. The trio are eating pastrami rubins in a Manhattan deli.

The manager casts a warnful glance over to them - Irish shoots it straight back and then continues to carve up the table.

"It's right here," she says to Art Guy and Gus while pointing at the map, "All that remains is a Deesis. The Virgin, Christ, and John the Baptist."

"Where would they have seen that iconography?" says Gus.

"Or should you say Incanography," says our hero tastefully.

Irish raises her knife and says, "I would very much appreciate if we left the interpretation to me this time. Gus, take a camera you can hike with... Art Guy, can I trust you to bring me a beautiful, lucid description as if it were Jean Bony writing it?"

"Yep."

"Except don't try to contextualize it with a formal narrative," she says.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

The bill comes to the table.

"I've got it," says Irish.

"Heavens no," says Gus, thrusting his credit card into the center of the table. He spills his water all over the Machu Picchu napkin.

"Have fun finding your way around the ruins," she says. She passes the bill on to the waiter with a bundle of cash and makes her way to the door.

"Wait - have you ever been to see this image?" says Art Guy to Irish.

"Yeah...naturally...loads of times. See you in a couple weeks." She walks out the door.

---

Irish lies in bed staring at a poster of Machu Picchu. She sighs, turns off her lamp and goes to bed. In her dreams the duo is wandering around in South America.

'Gus, where do you think Irish accents come from?' says Art Guy trying to ford the Amazon River.

'Mr. Guy, look out!' says Gus. Suddenly a school of piranhas takes our hero under the water. No sooner than this, Gus is attacked by a jaguar.

Irish awakens with her heart racing. She turns on the light and looks over toward the fireplace, above which a few woodland animals are safely mounted and stuffed. She sips a little water, turns over, and almost goes back to sleep. But then she remembers something.

She turns on her computer and shuffles her eyes past all the spam e-mails. Somewhere in the 'trash' folder she uncovers a message marked 'Save the World, pt. 2 guidelines.' She opens the attachment and scans down to the Machu Picchu section.

'When you trace the origins of Christian imagery in Incan civilization you must be at Machu Picchu in person.'

"Why!" says Irish aloud to herself.

As the reader might have gathered, F. B. Irish has not been to Machu Picchu. And for personal reasons, she has no intentions of going there. The reader may be wondering why Irish is receiving e-mails about how to save the world, in which case the suspense is working.

She taps her finger against the desk and stares down the petrified rabbit above the fireplace. It looks about five times as ferocious as it would in the wild, with an upright stance, a gaping mouth, and prickly fur.

Irish pulls up a travel website. "Dammit," she says. "Why me?"

She books the next flight to Peru.

---

"Do you know what happened to the Incans?" says Art Guy.

"Yeah, why?" says Gus.

"Nevermind."

The two of them step off the plane into the hot, wet, Peruvian air, Art Guy in a multi-pocketed hiking shirt, Gus wearing a t-shirt that depicts a collage of El Greco and Velasquez works.

(to be continued...)