He stepped up to her and pulled a plastic baggy from his pants pocket. It held white powder. She passed the baby to him at the same time that he handed her the powder.
She looked at it, doubtfully. “It's not enough.”
“Discipline, Sister. Discipline. You know how to get more if you need it.”
The nun bowed her head and nodded, then silently turned and stepped through the door, closing it behind her. Father Ambrose looked down at the infant in his arms. Dark brown eyes stared up at him. It was, at most, a week old, perfect. He covered it with his coat and briskly walked away.
Father Graves sat in the dark blue Ford Taurus a block away, smoking his second cigarette. He anxiously watched for Ambrose and tossed the butt out of the open window when he saw him approach. Graves started the car while the other priest was still a quarter block away and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited.
Ambrose opened the door and slid into the seat beside Graves.
“Is it satisfactory?” Graves asked.
“It's perfect,” he said, moving his coat to reveal the baby.
Graves carefully drove away, keeping exactly to the speed limit. The two priests didn't speak. He drove around to the back of the church and parked in Father Ambrose's designated spot, then got out and opened the car door for the older priest. Ambrose carefully stepped out while Graves opened the door to the rectory.
The two priests sitting inside rose as Father Ambrose walked in with the baby. The taller of the two, Father Leonard, appeared to be in his early 30's, as did Father Graves, while the other priest, Father Ocasio, was short, rotund and noticeably older. Graves followed Ambrose in and greeted the two priests while Ambrose carried the baby into the next room, then shortly returned.
He addressed the three other priests, “Would anyone like something to drink? I've just acquired a nice single malt.”
Fathers Graves and Leonard nodded while Ocasio said, “Do you still have that cognac? I'd love a snifter.” Ambrose left, shortly returned with the drinks and passed them around. He had just sat in his chair when the doorbell rang.
“Must be Horwitz,” Leonard said. Ambrose opened the door and let in a man older than the others, medium height but slightly stooped.
“Welcome, Rabbi Horwitz,” Ambrose said as the others stood. “Have a seat and tell me what you'd like to drink.”
“Just a glass of water, thanks. It's a long drive home and I'd hate to get stopped with whisky on my breath.”
The rabbi sat down and the others resumed their seats. He looked around and smiled. “It's good to see us all together again. We should do this more often.”
Ambrose chuckled. “Perhaps for Seder. I love the food.”
“What's new with you, Rabbi?” asked Ocasio.
“Ah, a brand new Lexus, courtesy of an anonymous gift from the temple expansion fund. The congregation was quite moved that one of its members felt that their rabbi's old car should be replaced with something so nice.”
“God bless a generous congregation,” Ambrose solemnly intoned.
“Hear, hear,” the others replied, raising their glasses.
Horwitz turned to Ocasio. “How is your little project coming along?”
Ocasio replied, “He's not coming yet and neither am I, but progress is being made. I'm tutoring him in Latin and he's bright as well as angelic. I believe he's gay, though it's hard to tell with an eleven-year-old, because he shows more interest in male nudes than females in the art books we look at. He was quite taken with some Indian erotic art and Japanese shunga prints. I showed him Donatello's David and said that I'd like to sketch him in that pose. He seemed quite enthusiastic. I'd better stop; I'm getting quite aroused thinking of it. The seduction adds so much to the actual conquest that I almost prefer it at this stage in life.”
“It is nice to have a hobby,” Horwitz said. “And what is the time?”
Ambrose said, “We have fifteen minutes until lunar zenith.”
“Well, then. Shall we get started?” Horwitz asked, as he looked at the others.
They silently rose and walked into the next room where Ambrose had taken the infant. It was larger than the parlor they'd been in, square with a small fireplace centered on the wall adjacent to the door they'd passed through. The single window across from the door was shuttered and a closed door opposite the fireplace led to the kitchen. A simple altar topped with a marble slab sat against the wall next to the fireplace and tall candelabras stood in each corner of the room.
The infant lay in a small wooden box on a credence table next to the altar. Ambrose had swaddled it in a lambskin with the wool still attached. Arranged in the center of the altar were a bowl, a chalice and a tray, all of gold. A small knife with a golden handle and a wooden box sat on the right side of the altar.
Five hooks on the side wall held gray, ankle-length, long-sleeved woolen tunics. Each man donned one of the tunics over his clothes. Leonard and Graves began to light the seven candles on each candelabrum while Ocasio and Ambrose rolled up an Indian rug, revealing a large pentangle incised into the wooden floor. Horwitz arranged the items on the altar, then opened the wooden box and removed a scroll.
“Is it time, Ambrose?”
“We can begin now.”
The four priests stood in a line with heads bowed as Horwitz spoke, “These are the true words from the Book of Genesis, revealing God's command to Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac.”
Then he began translating from the scroll written in ancient Hebrew:
El olam appeared to Abraham and said, “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moria and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you.”
So Abraham rose early in the morning, saddled his donkey, and took his son, Isaac. And he cut the wood for the burnt offering and arose and went to the place of which God had told him. And Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it on Isaac his son. So they went, both of them together.
And Isaac said to his father Abraham, “My father!”
And he said, “Here I am, my son.”
Isaac said, “Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?”
Abraham said, “God will provide for Himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.”
As they climbed, they saw a young woman coming down the mountain toward them. Her eyes were full of sorrow and she did not speak as they passed. When they came to the place of which God had told him, Abraham built the altar there and laid the wood in order and bound Isaac his son and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son.
But the angel Ba'al appeared to Abraham, holding an infant swaddled in the skin of a lamb. He said, “Behold the Lamb of God, whom you shall sacrifice rather than your son, Isaac. El olam will surely bless you and will surely multiply your offspring as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore. And your offspring shall possess the gate of his enemies, and in your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed, because you have obeyed El olam's voice. As proof of his blessing, El olam commands you to drink the blood and eat the flesh of the Lamb, and you shall have life everlasting.”
Abraham freed his son, Isaac, and then took the infant swaddled in lambskin from Ba'al and laid him on the altar he had prepared. Then he and Isaac partook of the blood and flesh of the Lamb and praised El olam for his beneficence. After Abraham burnt the offering, Ba'al spoke again.
He said, “All of your sons and sons of sons who perform this sacrifice at the height of the first full moon in Nisan, each at a point of the five cornered star of El olam, will also have eternal life. From this day forth, The Everlasting God shall be known as Yahweh and no other gods shall be worshipped in his stead.”
Then Ba'al rose into the sky as smoke ascended to the heavens. So Abraham and Isaac left the mountain and went to Beersheba. And Abraham lived at Beersheba.
Horwitz returned the scroll to the box and said, “Bring the Lamb.”
Ambrose unwrapped the infant and stepped toward Horwitz.
Horwitz asked again, “Is it time?”
Ambrose looked at his watch. “In a minute.”
Graves took the bowl from the altar and Horwitz picked up the knife. They waited until Ambrose said, “It is time,” and held out the infant, holding it head down by the ankles. Graves moved the bowl under the infant as Horwitz held its head. The baby began to cry. The cry became a wail when Horwitz gently pushed the blade into the side of its neck. Blood poured out into the bowl Graves held. After a short while, the infant stopped wailing but blood continued to flow. When the last drops of blood had drained into the bowl, Ambrose held a cloth under the infant's neck as Horwitz turned and laid the body on the altar. He used the knife to slice five strips of skin from the body and lay them on the tray. Horwitz then held the chalice while Graves carefully filled it halfway from the bowl.
Horwitz stepped back from the altar and knelt, facing it as the other four knelt behind him. “Yahweh, may our humble sacrifice be blessed by you. We thank you for this gift of life and swear to uphold and obey you forevermore.”
Horwitz, and then the others, rose. Horwitz placed the infant's body back into the wooden box on the credence table while Ambrose picked up the chalice, and Graves the tray. Horwitz carried the box containing the infant's body to the fireplace and placed it on the grate while Ambrose and Graves set the chalice and tray in the center of the pentangle.
The pentangle was oriented with one point facing the fireplace. The four priests prostrated themselves, facing inward at the other four points. Horwitz turned on the gas and lit the flame, then prostrated himself at the remaining point. As the fire began to consume the wooden box and its contents, the four priests closed their eyes and chanted in Latin while Horwitz joined them in Hebrew.
They continued chanting until a thunderclap shook the house and a light, bright enough to penetrate their eyelids, filled the room. They remained prostrate for a few moments, then slowly sat and finally stood up, remaining at their places around the pentangle.
Horwitz stepped forward, bent and picked up the chalice while Ambrose did the same with the tray. Horwitz said, “This is the body and the blood of the Lamb of God. He who partakes of it shall have life everlasting.” He took a sip from the chalice and said, “Blessed be the blood,” then passed the chalice to the man next to him.
Ambrose passed the tray to him and Horwitz took a strip of skin, saying, “Blessed be the body,” before he ate it and passed the tray. After the chalice and tray had made the circle back to Ambrose, he carried them to the altar, and then returned to the group. The five held hands and prayed silently. When they had finished praying, they returned the tunics to their hooks and went back to the living room.
Horwitz spoke up, “A perfect Ritual. Thank you, gentlemen.”
They all returned the compliment, and then Ambrose asked, “Would anyone like another drink?”
All but Ocasio demurred. Ambrose saw them to the door, then turned to Ocasio, “Another brandy?”
“Sounds lovely.”
They sat silently for a moment, and then Ocasio said, “You know, this is the one constant in an ever-changing world. That stability comforts me amidst the chaos that the world is becoming. I remember centuries when nothing basically changed.”
“It is hard to get used to,” Ambrose agreed. “I thought that the Church would provide me a refuge from change, but even it's becoming something unfamiliar. But as long as we have the Liturgy, there will be a consistency in Catholicism. Though I do miss the Latin service. And allowing the Scriptures to be translated into English was a huge mistake. Inevitable, I suppose, though we both fought it tooth and nail.”
“Damn that Martin Luther,” Ocasio chuckled. “Those were the days. But I've gotten used to the lack of luxury and we still have our boys, though that is getting more difficult to hide.”
“Do you ever think of the days before us, the time of Rome and the early Church?” Ambrose asked.
“From a historical perspective or more philosophically?”
“Philosophically, I suppose. I wonder what would have happened if Jesus' Pentad had not been betrayed and his remaining four hadn't written the Gospels and created the story of the Last Supper to hide the true nature of the Ritual. What would the world be like today if the Church hadn't come into being as a cover story for the Ritual?”
“Well, we'd not have had a job for hundreds of years,” Ocasio said.
Ambrose chuckled. “True. But it's amazing to me that just one Pentad being exposed could cause such a change in the world. So many others have been found out and all that happened was that they were burned or hung.”
“Witches make convenient scapegoats for all sorts of things. Lucky for us that every time a Pentad is found out, the world doesn't change.”
Ambrose sat for a moment, and then asked, “What do you think of Graves?”
Ocasio hesitated. “His participation in the Ritual is certainly satisfactory but I have a sense that he's not entirely comfortable with it. Perhaps because it's so new to him. How old is he?”
“Fifty something. He's had over twenty Rituals. But I know what you mean. There seems to be some lingering doubt, perhaps even guilt. It's so hard to know how people will react in the long run. His confessions make me think that he'll be fine. When Father Johnson was killed in that car wreck, we had to find a fifth in a hurry.”
Ocasio shook his head. “Amazing how much luck plays in it. When I think of some of the things we've survived... sometimes I think that God does favor us over others. I wonder if Abraham is still around. Hard to believe he could be, but who knows?”
“I wonder what he'd look like if he was. The world takes its toll on our appearance, however slowly. But I think we both look pretty good.”
“Here's to a graceful old age.” Ocasio raised his glass.
The next morning, Ambrose arose early as he always did after a Ritual. Its rejuvenating effects didn't extend to his mood. He stared at the mirror, critically looking at the lines in his face and the skin starting to sag under his chin. He lathered his face, picked up the straight razor, and wondered once again why go on. Ambrose sighed, put the razor to his throat and carefully began to shave.
THE END
WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER
By JL Shioshita
The light outside the window was dazzling, as the noonday sun shone down upon the white snow. Father Dreed closed his eyes against the radiance, but the afterimage still glowed, burned on his retinas like so many fireworks. After a deep breath, he reopened them and picked up the tattered Bible lying on the seat beside him, yet try as he might, he could not read one passage or even attempt his daily devotions. His mind was burdened, and his thoughts weighed heavily upon his soul like a heavy cloak. His beloved church was going to be shuttered unless he could find some way to pay off the many debts his small parish had accumulated over the years, and with attendance at an all-time low, the coffers were no longer full. They even had to use saltine crackers for communion, which the children didn’t seem to mind, all three of them. No, Father Dreed thought. I will not worry. Take your burdens to the Lord. He closed his eyes to pray.
* * *
It was bright. Not a warm, cozy brightness, but a harsh, blinding, white light, the kind that illuminates public restrooms, revealing all faults and blemishes. The pain was intense, and as he started to move, his body cried out in agony, willing him to stop. He collapsed once more into the cold wet snow, a crumpled heap. He was alive. The thought struck him as inane and ironic, for though he had survived the malfunction of one of man’s machines, he was destined to die, not by any human means, but by the unforgiving harshness of nature. He was dizzy, and his head hurt. It felt like he was swimming. He knew he wasn’t in his right mind, and that understanding brought him little comfort. I must have injured my head in the crash, he thought. It w
as cold, so very cold. Father Dreed closed his eyes. He was so weak.
* * *
He awoke again, this time fully conscious. The harsh light was gone, replaced by an inky blackness. Not a star shone in the heavens above, yet a hidden moon seemed to cast an eerie glow over the surrounding, snowy landscape. As far as the eye could see, there was only snow. It encompassed all. All was white, white and so quiet. Slowly the memories began to creep back into Father Dreed’s consciousness, the chain of events that had led to this current calamity. The horrible recollections flooded upon him, overwhelming him. The train, it had derailed. It crashed, Father Dreed remembered. There had been something over the intercom and a nervous passenger pacing up and down the aisle; a child crying and a gruff voice silencing it…
The memories seemed vague and fuzzy, like they belonged to someone else. Then, slowly, full realization dawned and Father Dreed understood the peril of his situation. “It’s so cold, so cold,” he said out loud, surprised by how faint his voice sounded. “I guess this it. This is the end.” But with this understanding came no fear or anxiety. For despite everything, he felt at peace. He closed his eyes and prayed, “Dear Lord, take me to paradise. I am ready, Lord. I am ready.” And with that, Father Dreed prepared to die.
* * *
“Oh, so you finally decided to wake up, huh?”
“What?” Father Dreed replied.
“I thought you’d never wake up,” the voice answered. “You’ve been out for quite a while.”
The voice sounded raspy and high pitched, the kind of timbre that might belong to a mischievous imp or a gremlin.
All was black.
“I, I can’t see,” Father Dreed said.
“Oh, don’t worry. Your vision will come. Like I said, you’ve been out for a while, and your eyes need time to readjust to seeing.”
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