On the screen was a video. A tomb in a medieval church, and on the tomb a carved stone knight in full battle armor, arms folded across his breast. Across the bottom of the screen was the text Tactical Brigades of the Knights Templar.

“You need to press play, Dad.”

The shot held on the knight’s tomb, then began slowly to zoom in to the hands crossed on the knight’s chest. The music swirled, grand and romantic in intent; through the phone it sounded tinny and bombastic. The music dipped. A voice began: “Today we honor our forefathers. Today the fightback begins.”

“Vee, why would you be looking at this?”

An evasive little flick of the eyes.

The camera was tilting down the knight’s sword. The shot dissolved to two men in combat gear, bearing Ruger short-barreled rifles. I felt my throat beginning to tighten. These were the men Elsa and I had seen being led off the boat and into the waiting police cars.

I pressed stop. “You understand these people are fascists?”

“Fascist is what you call people who don’t agree with your articles.”

“Listen to me, Vee, I’m not joking now. These men believe in racial hierarchies; they want to concentrate power in the hands of a small number of people; they believe violence justifies their end.”

She was looking blankly at me.

I said, “That’s about as good a working definition of fascism as you can get. How much have you been visiting these sites?”

“A bit. I guess. A lot, maybe.”

“Oh, Vee.”

“They had answers to some difficult questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like who’s actually in control.”

“Let me guess: the Jews and the Marxists?”

“Plus Muslims. Plus bankers.”

“The Marxists and the bankers and the Jews and the Muslims? All on the same side?”

“Okay, it sounds extra-stupid when you use your satire voice.”

I sighed. “Really not using my satire voice, Vee . . . But can you not see where this kind of conspiratorial thinking leads?”

“I’m not saying I think they’re right. But what do we do that’s so great, Dad? Mum takes pictures that no one understands and that no one wants to buy anymore. You write articles telling people to get angry about the government. Every week. I mean, how are these things even jobs? And I don’t know if it’s the Jews or the Muslims or the Marxists, or if it’s the government and the bankers, but the world’s kind of going to hell right now and what are we doing about it? I mean, when did you last grow your own food, or rescue people from hunger? This is pretty much the richest country in the world, Dad, and one family in ten is below the poverty line. Why aren’t we helping them?”

“So these people are attractive because they offer meaning in a meaningless world?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”