“My child, don’t you know what you must do when vile temptation steals into your thoughts? You must say, ‘Get behind me, Satan!’ Come along now, let me hear you say it!”
Délices shrugged in disgust and mumbled some words.
“With conviction!” Bailey demanded.
“Get behind me, Satan!”
Just then a twisted, hairy tree trunk crashed to the floor behind Délices, setting her bounding off with a shriek and bringing Howard and Leslie up out of their cushions.
“Ah! There’s the cursed monster himself! Behold his loathsome form! Behold the hideous visage of Satan!”
And hideous it was. It squatted, quivering and malevolent, its legs splayed to reveal a vast, deformed phallus. Leprous arms ending in claws of splintered wood reached out from a body shaggy with rotting moss. Its head, split in a vicious grin, was the head of a nightmare pig, with elongated snout, a mouth full of jagged teeth, and eyes ablaze with glee and rage.
“This, my children, is the lie,” Bailey resumed in his normal tone. “Please sit down.”
They returned to their places.
“Did you imagine that we worship a creature like this in our rite? Can you imagine that such a creature was ever worshiped? No, this is the lie—the lie told by a hundred generations of slave-masters. It is the lie in which the truth was buried.”
The awful shape on the floor quivered and moaned and, with a crack like a pistol shot, split open.
“Look now, and see who it is our priestess brings forth!”
Délices stepped up to the crack in the tree trunk and drew out a hand covered in green leaves. A moment later a dark face peered out nervously. Catching sight of the figure in white, it quickly ducked back inside.
“Come forth, our Satanic lord, and reveal yourself in all your terror to these children!”
A young man with a dancer’s body stepped out of the tree. It took a moment to realize he was naked; his body was everywhere painted with green leaves. He bowed to Howard and Leslie, then turned back to Délices and they embraced, their open mouths meeting tenderly.
The lights went out, and Leslie squeaked.
“Don’t be alarmed, children. I’ve blinded you not to terrify but to enable you to listen better.”
In the wavering candlelight Howard saw that Délices was kneeling beside them. In a clear, sober voice she said:
“Our worship of Satan isn’t a worship of evil; it’s a worship of affirmation. Our denial of Jesus isn’t a denial of goodness; it’s a denial of denial.”
CHAPTER 11
When the lights came up again a few minutes later, Leslie and Howard saw that the figures of Jesus and Satan had been cleared away and that they were alone.
They exchanged a long, untroubled smile, and in a fit of sheer recklessness, he gave her an amiable nod, which she returned with an even broader smile. Of the awkwardness he would ordinarily feel lying beside a girl forty years his junior there was no trace, and he understood that this was the blessing of the drug. Looking into her eyes, he felt sure she realized that he was just like the grotesque figure of Satan that had crashed to the floor: inside his monstrous, aged hulk was hidden a vigorous and attractive young man capable of facing a ten-round bout without flinching, capable of running for hours without dropping in his tracks, capable of.…
He suddenly became aware of the music, which had risen by imperceptible degrees over the past few minutes. It had a smokey, exotic, Mideastern flavor, and he was listening with such concentration that it was a moment before he realized that Verdelet was speaking again.
“… and for the sake of this, two elements of our rite are omitted tonight, one of them the traditional feast. You will participate in these when next you come. But, while we have omitted two, three remain, and these we would not omit on any account. Please join Robin and Délices at the altar.”
As they got up, he continued. “You now approach the central mystery of our rite. And for tonight it is only an approach, simply the briefest of introductions.”
Howard saw that Délices, once again naked, was lying on the altar. The young man who had emerged from the Satan tree, presumably Robin, now dressed in a leaf-patterned gown, was facing them from behind the altar.
“I’ve told you,” Verdelet went on, “that Délices is the priestess of our rite. She is also the sacrificial offering and indeed the very altar upon which the sacrifice is offered. Please look at her.”
They stood in front of the altar, Howard at her shoulder, Leslie at her waist. Délices, apparently unconscious of their presence, gazed upward, completely relaxed, hands at her sides.
“In the rite of the Nazarene, the offering is Adam redeemed: Adam redeemed by self-denial and mortification of the flesh. In our rite, the offering is Eve redeemed: Eve redeemed by self-acceptance and joyous gratification of the flesh.”
Robin lifted his head and called out. “Eve! Where are you?”
“I am here, my lord.”
He looked down at her, puzzled. “Why do I find you thus laid low?”
“I have been cast down from my place, my lord. My name has become a curse in the mouths of my children.”
“And these wounds? What are these wounds I see upon your spirit?”
“My lord, I am burned by the brand of my sons’ lust and pierced by the blade of my daughters’ envy.”
“Can this be so?”
“It is so, my lord.”
The young man looked up and studied Howard and Leslie gravely.
“Howard, speak the truth. Have you burned this woman’s spirit with the brand of your lust?”
Howard looked down at Délices and swallowed. “You mean … this woman?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well. I thought … I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Délices, has this man burned you?”
“Yes, my lord, he has burned me.”
“Howard, Délices accuses you. Look into your heart and don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. Is she mistaken? Have you burned her with the brand of your lust?”
“Yes, I guess I have.”
“Howard, Verdelet has told you I value courage above all else. Be courageous now and answer me directly and without qualification. Have you burned this woman or not? If you haven’t, don’t say you have.”
“God … I’m just not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Howard, embrace her.”
“Embrace her?”
“Embrace her and we’ll see if she’s burned by your touch.”
He turned helplessly to Leslie and asked her if she understood what they were saying.
“I think so,” she said. “If you can’t embrace her, then … yes.”
“Leslie’s right,” Robin said. “You have indeed burned her with the brand of your lust. Can you withdraw the brand?”
Howard blinked at him. “I don’t know. How?”
“Watch.” Robin gently kissed Délices on the breast, throat, and lips.
Stroking her head, he asked, “Have I burned you, Délices?”
“No, Robin, never.”
He looked up at Howard. “This is how.”
Howard felt as if a steel band were being tightened across his chest. “I don’t understand.”
“Do it as Robin does,” Robin said.
“I can’t,” he said in a strangled voice.
The young man nodded. “Délices will teach you.” He turned to Leslie. “Leslie, speak the truth. Have you pierced this woman’s spirit with the blade of your envy?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Leslie looked at her thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose—” She shook her head. “I was going to say because of her beauty, but it isn’t that. It’s her … freedom.”
Robin looked down at the girl on the altar. “My daughter, you are blameless, as you see. These stains are from your children, and only one water will wash them away.” He looked up at Howard and Leslie. “This water, the water of compassion, must come from
you. Will you wash her?”
They stared at him blankly.
He took two bowls of water from a table beside the altar and offered them across Délices’s body.
“Oh God,” Howard whispered and accepted his. He looked down, stricken, into the girl’s eyes.
“Howard,” she called to him softly. “It’s your fear that burns me. I’m just a woman. I don’t belong to an alien race. I’m like you. Accept me.”
His arms began to tremble.
She took his hand and laid it on her chest.
“This is my chest, Howard. Just a chest, a lot like yours, but not so hairy.”
She moved his hand down and to one side.
“Oh my,” she said. “What’s this?”
“Your breast.”
“It’s not so terrible, is it?”
“No.”
“What is it, if it’s not terrible?”
Howard swallowed. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, I think so myself. Not a bad breast at all. Do you like having your hand there?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t feel like you like having it there. Are you scared to show me you enjoy it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s your fear that burns me.”
Trembling, he caressed her breast.
“Is that so terrible?”
“No.”
“Wet your hand, Howard.”
He straightened up
“Wait!” she said, raising her head to look between her breasts. “When you stood up, something fell on my chest. What was it?”
“Well … I’m afraid it was a tear.”
“Afraid? Silly man.” She touched it thoughtfully. “Do you know what this teardrop is, Howard? It’s the water of compassion. You know at last that there is a real human person here inside this body just as there is inside your body. This is the water you must wash me in.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you do. Give me your lips.”
He gave her his lips, and washed her in the water of his tears.
Half an hour later she was pummeling him on the chest with her fists and shouting, “You will dance with me!”
Robin and Leslie, dancing nearby, laughed.
“Honest to God,” Howard said, “as far as I got was the foxtrot, and that was thirty years ago. I don’t know these steps!”
“There aren’t any steps! Just move!”
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Go ahead, feel ridiculous! Be ridiculous! Come on, Howard. Pretend you’ve got a broken neck. Is your spine fused? Wriggle a little. Give us a little pelvis.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“You’re exhausted because you’re tense. Loosen up. Throw it around.”
“Why are we doing this?”
“It’s part of the rite, of course.”
“It’s not.”
“Verdelet!” she called out. “Explain this part to Howard.”
“Certainly,” he responded promptly. “Most who come to the rite understand the dance of frenzy and need no explanation. It’s a form of ecstatic release that our puritanical society—”
Panting, Howard held up his hand to stop him. “I don’t think I can make it all the way to ecstasy, Délices. Honest to God.”
Laughing, she gave him a hug and told him to go sit down. She returned a few minutes later with a bottle of Benedictine and two snifters.
“We’ll have to get you in shape for this, Howard. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. That was about the equivalent of three rounds in the ring.”
She looked at him surprised. “You were a fighter?”
“Long, long ago.”
“Wow. Aren’t you hot in that caftan?”
“Yes.”
“Well, take it off.”
He shook his head. “I’m an old man with a big sagging belly, and I feel more comfortable dressed.”
“It is your choice to make, of course,” she intoned, mimicking Bailey’s lofty accent.
“You mock him?”
“Certainly. Because I respect him with all my heart, I’m free to mock him. Besides, I wouldn’t be Délices if I took things too seriously.”
When they’d arranged cushions on either side of the stone pit and had settled into them, Verdelet joined them, wearing a plain black caftan. He spent some time lighting the fire and then sat down cross-legged at one end of the pit.
“You’ve done well tonight, my children,” Verdelet said. “Particularly you, Howard. You had to make a long journey to find the path, and I hadn’t expected you to make it in a single night.”
He turned to Leslie. “Your fears and misgivings have vanished?”
“Yes. Completely.”
“Good.” He gave his attention to the fire.
After a few moments the lights went down and a spotlight within the hood shone down on the fire, which seemed to have been laid for smoke rather than flames. The smoke rose as if it were a solid column supporting the hood.
“This is how our rite ends, children. We gaze into the world to seek the shape of our god. Look into the smoke.… There’s nothing special about this smoke or this fire. We could just as well look for him in the clouds, in the leaves of a tree, in the dust blowing over a prairie, in the waves of the sea. With alertness and insight, we may discover him anywhere.… Howard, what do you see in the smoke?”
“Well.… It’s moving upward, swirling upward. But there’s something in it that isn’t moving, or that isn’t moving upward. It looks like a shadow.”
“It is a shadow. It’s stationary?”
“No. It’s turning, revolving.”
“What does it look like?”
“I don’t know. It keeps changing. Just then it looked like the torso of a man with an arm over his head. Now it looks like … I don’t know. Like a television satellite dish.”
“The shadow is cast by a piece of wood suspended under the light. I think you could watch it through a thousand nights and never see the same shape twice. Now look into the shadow and tell me what your eyes find there.”
“You mean what shape?”
“No. What do you see within the shape?”
Frowning, Howard studied it through a full minute. “I personally don’t see anything.”
“Leslie? What do you see?”
“I see glimpses of Howard and Délices. Where the smoke is in shadow I can see through to them. Where it’s lit up I can’t, because it’s opaque.”
He turned to Howard and asked him what he saw now.
“I see Robin and Leslie.”
“Why didn’t you see them before?”
“Well, I did, of course, but …”
“But you told me you saw nothing, because you rejected what your eyes were presenting you with. Within the moving shadow you saw glimpses of Leslie and Robin, but your mind said, ‘There is nothing within the shadow,’ so you denied seeing what you were seeing.”
“Yes.”
“To discover the shape of our god in the world, you must learn to accept what your eyes see. You must learn to see as a child sees, without rationalizing or censoring. Our rite ends in the contemplation of light, smoke, and shadow because our god is a compound of light, smoke, and shadow, a confounding of the neatly-arranged universe of our adversaries, who long ago sorted the universe into light and shadow: into spirit and flesh, into good and evil. For them there is no smoke, nothing to confuse. But behold: In this confusion of light, smoke, and shadow before us, it is the shadow that enables us to see and the light that blinds us. In other words, we have learned a truth that is unknown to them: a very special, humanizing, and liberating illumination occurs when the shadows of our flesh meet and commingle in the rite. When our adversaries worship their god, they become haughty and righteous, because theirs is a god of pure light. When we worship ours, we are humbled and awed, because the mystery of the light, the smoke, and the shadow of which he is compounded is forever beyond us.”
He sighed.
“As always, my words are feeble. What is strong is the rite, which restores to us a universe that is forever ambiguous and pregnant with mystery. That is its purpose.”
After a few minutes the fire began to burn low and the column of smoke slowly faded. Verdelet told them to embrace one last time and to depart in silence.
–––
An hour before dawn, in the darkened city of Howard’s dream, the black dog with the face of a bull padded silently beside the elegant shops of Michigan Avenue. Its nose to the pavement, it loped on purposefully but without urgency: The night was endless.
It crossed Oak Street and continued northward alongside Lake Shore Drive, eerily devoid of traffic. The miles were paced off, one by one. At last it turned west a couple blocks beyond Lawrence. It paused in front of Howard’s building, circled twice, snuffling at the sidewalk, and sat down. Then it looked up at the windows behind which Howard slept. The hunt was over.
Howard rolled over and sighed heavily. If he’d been awake he could have given a name to what he felt.
It was relief.
CHAPTER 12
Over his third cup of coffee the next morning, Howard decided he’d probably been very expertly had. Bailey’s blend of sensitivity-training, feminism, and metaphysical gobbledygook was cunning as hell and smoothly put over, but his “rite” was a forgery. It had the right elements, of course—Howard had done enough research to recognize that—but it bore the unmistakable hallmark of the con-artist: it was just too good to be true.
But what did that mean? In some sense or other, aren’t all religions too good to be true? Isn’t that what makes them religions?
When Howard phoned him, Bailey said: “I very much dislike meeting members of the rite outside my role as Verdelet. It confuses them, and it’s almost physically painful for me.”
“Why is that, Mr. Bailey?”
“I doubt if you called to ask me that.”
“True. I must say you seem … a little unfriendly.”
“Did I seem friendly last night?”
“Well, yes, you did.”
“That’s because, as Howard in the rite, you are my child, a person to be cherished and enlightened. As Howard Scheim, private investigator, you’re a bore and a bloody nuisance.”