Convent

by Sam Clemens

  Murmurs from the crowd. A clean-shaven government worker bowed his head.

  “And henceforth,” Cosmo said, “through our fellowship, we will always be on this journey together. And no one can take that from us.” He lowered his hands and smiled. “My friends, I cannot wait to see where this journey takes us.”

  “But first,” Laird said, holding out a baseball cap, “donations.”

  Roy served a party sub, plus chocolate chunk cookies and cups for soda. They ate, drank, and had fellowship while the hat was passed for the offering. Cosmo kept tabs on it out of the corner of his eye, and got an emotional rush every time someone dropped in a handful of twenties.

  He walked the crowd and conversed with his subjects, displaying a warm smile and offering vague cosmic platitudes. They ate it up. It wasn’t that hard, Cosmo decided; you just acted happy and friendly and made the people feel wanted. He didn’t know why public speaking had seemed so daunting before. Cosmo made sure to approach the new recruits and welcome them personally; their names were Sadie and Alejandro, and they were close friends. Both spoke to him with wide, glazed eyes and vibrant voices. When he asked how they’d heard about the group, the answer was simple: they’d both had a dream about it.

  Fourteen

  The meeting complete—and a resounding success to the tune of $1,780—Cosmo and Laird walked to the Horse for a drink and postmortem. They chose a booth in the darkest corner, and Laird discreetly counted the money from the hat while drunk college kids stumbled around the bar.

  For Cosmo, things were getting a little too weird.

  “Okay, dude, what the fuck,” he said, a full chocolate porter sitting in front of him. “Why in the shit do people keep having dreams about me?”

  Laird shrugged and kept his eyes on the cash. He licked his index finger and sorted the bills. “Maybe there’s something in the water.”

  “Dude. Seriously. Something weird is going on. We can’t just shrug this one off.”

  Laird separated the cash into two neat stacks. He put bands around them and pocketed both. “Yeah,” he said, finally looking at Cosmo, “that is definitely weird. I don’t think we can rule out the possibility that you’re actually the one true emancipator of the human race.”

  “Fuck off.” Cosmo said, and drank his beer.

  “Or,” Laird said, “it’s groupthink.” He leaned on the table. “Like this: those two newbies tonight. Say one of them has this weird dream with a Jesus-like character. Totally normal, for someone to dream about that type of thing. They tell the other person, and now that second person thinks they had the same dream, too—that type of shit happens, for someone to confuse a conversation with a memory. Now they think it’s their memory. These two people think it’s weird they had the same dream, so they start asking around, and someone confirms that they had that dream, too. Three people, now it’s a phenomenon.”

  “Yeah but where do I come in?”

  Laird took a drink. “You kind of have that Jesus thing going on.” With his right hand, he motioned to Cosmo’s hair. “I don’t know. I’m just saying, it’d be easy to confuse the two of you in the looks department.”

  Cosmo slumped over on the table. “This isn’t like, weird to you, dude? You aren’t a little freaked out by it?”

  “Freaked out?” Laird asked. “No. Dreams don’t scare me. They’re meaningless. Trying to interpret them? A feeble exercise for the average of intellect. I’ll tell you what, though: I’m a bit surprised at how gullible people are, to be honest. Even as a lifetime cynic, these folks are exceeding my expectations.”

  “So what do we do, dude?”

  Laird adjusted the cash wads in his pocket. “You’re really good at this, you know. I’d give yourself a little credit. Sure, these people are tricking themselves with these bogus dreams, but you’re taking it from there.”

  “Thanks,” Cosmo said flatly.

  “That shit tonight? The improv about togetherness? It was magic.”

  “What do we do?” Cosmo asked. “Just keep meeting in the sub shop and taking these people’s money?”

  Laird leaned back. “For now. But pretty soon, we need to find a business.” He tapped his pockets. “This cash needs to be invested in something legit.”

  On Tuesday Laird distributed the pamphlets. Waking early—the sting of last night’s hangover still running through his body—he walked the neighborhoods and strategically placed the glossy trifolds in mailboxes and under windshield wipers, and affixed them to cork announcement boards. Pearl Street Mall first, obviously, then to the Hill, in case they might nab any wayward college students; kids didn’t have money but their parents did. After that, he hit the wealthy blocks; Mapleton Hill, with its grandiose, shaded parkway, and Chautauqua. Then he took the bus all the way to North Boulder and poked around the developments. Someday, Laird thought, he wouldn’t have to ride public transportation with all the fleabags. That Indian dude who led the Oregon cult had had nineteen Rolls Royces. Surely his lieutenant had at least one

  By noon the deed was done. 350 pamphlets in all, extolling the virtues of the exciting new school of thought taking root in Boulder. Laird kept his phone on.

  That afternoon, he met Cosmo and they went hunting for a business to buy.

  Fifteen

  On Wednesday there was a meeting of the tribal council. They did it at Copper Mine in the afternoon, right during business hours, when Retha and Roy were on break. Cosmo saw Abbot Phillips milling around in the back, but he cleared out without making eye contact.

  They sat departmentally—Cosmo and Laird on one side, Retha and Roy on the other—and Laird spread documents on the table.

  “Okay gang,” he said, “the purpose of this meeting is to figure out what we’re gonna do about getting our hands on a business. The business acquisition is important for two reasons: one, to act as an intermediary to channel the donation money, so we don’t have to officially incorporate as a religion and get the government involved. The less they’re in our shit, the better.”

  “Excellent,” Retha said, and her boyfriend agreed.

  “Two,” Laird said, “to provide a legit moneymaker and an investment opportunity for the cul—.” He stopped short and grasped for a way to redirect. “For the…cccccccconfluence of…individuals in our group.”

  Cosmo nodded. “Once this thing is profitable, it’ll mean we have to rely less on donations to fund our operational expenses,” he said. “Plus, for those members who choose to invest on the front end—it’ll be completely voluntary, and that goes for everyone—this will pay real dividends down the road. Kind of a bonus for our members.”

  Laird put his hands out and smiled. “Tell me another religion that pays a return on your money.”

  The group shared a hearty chuckle.

  “Ah, Roy?” Laird said, changing subjects. “What do you say we get some baked Lays on the table here?” He motioned to empty space in front of him.

  “Of course,” Roy said, and scurried away to get the chips.

  When he returned, Laird opened a bag and continued. “We’ve identified three potential options,” he said, motioning to the papers on the table. “The first would be to give it another shot to buy this place.”

  “Now that your owner is, um, sympathetic to us,” Cosmo said, “it’s technically within the realm of possibility. Pros to this idea are that you guys already work here, plus it’s food service, which is exactly the type of thing we need.”

  Laird agreed. “Plenty of perishable inventory, lots of money going in and out. Cons are that it needs a lot of updates, and, honestly, nobody eats here.”

  The group looked around at the restaurant that was—as usual—empty.

  “Plus,” Cosmo said, “we’d be officially getting in bed with a guy who doesn’t particularly like us, and may be suspicious. I’d personally rather avoid putting that relationship in writing.”

  Laird shrugged. “We’d have to strong-arm him some more, but brother Cosmo is right; that’s not a gre
at way to start a business relationship. The second possibility,” he said, shifting the papers around, “is this camera shop on 28th. Not officially for sale but rumors say they’re underwater and looking for a way out. Pros are that it’s a high-dollar business and has been in the community for decades. Totally legit front. Cons are that it’d be the most expensive option by far, and we’d have to get a ton in investments.” He looked up at Retha and Roy. “Also, neither of us know anything about cameras and shit. Do either of you?”

  Retha and Roy shook their heads.

  “Right,” Laird said. “How about anyone at the meetings? Any ideas?”

  Roy bobbed his head from side to side. Retha spoke. “Not that we know of,” she said. “Photographers aren’t typically the crowd interested in Cosmography.”

  Laird shuffled the papers. “Yeah, they’re weird.”

  The bell rang and a young man in a baseball cap entered the shop. He approached the register and saw that no one was there.

  “Hello?” he said, craning his neck.

  “Hey buddy, we’re closed,” Laird yelled across the dining room.

  The man looked at him. “It says open on the door.”

  “Yeah, sorry, misunderstanding.”

  “But the hours on the door say—”

  Laird stood up. “Pal? Beat it before I shove a turkey sub up your ass.”

  When the young man was gone, Cosmo looked at Laird. “Slightly aggressive,” he said.

  “It’s a meeting,” Laird replied, and retook his seat at the table. “Now, option number three is this place.” He tapped a piece of paper showing the exterior of a vacant strip-mall compartment. “Good location over on Baseline—close to campus and upperclassmen housing. Actually right next to the Horse, which would be good for us. Anyway, it’s zoned for a commercial restaurant, so it provides all the same types of benefits this place would. And it’s for lease.”

  “Last business in there was a pizza place,” Cosmo said. “Still has the ovens.”

  “This is our best option,” Laird said. “Food service, so it would be similar to this place, except it’s actually for sale.” He readjusted. “Now, it’s not like I know anything about running a pizza joint, either, but with your guys’ help, I bet we could figure it out. So my question to you two is, if we give you a little bump in pay, would you guys quit this shit hole and help me operate a new restaurant?”

  “We’d double your hourly rate,” Cosmo said. “As a way of saying ‘thank you.’”

  Laird bobbed his head. “Look at that. He’s emancipated you from low wages.”

  “Sir,” Retha said.

  “Sir,” Roy said. “We simply can’t…”

  “…thank you enough,” she finished.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Roy said. He beamed.

  “Say yes,” Laird said.

  “YES,” they said in unison.

  Laird began sweeping the papers into a pile. “Fantastic,” he said. “Now we need to get the place. To be honest, there’s one main hurdle there: the city has to approve the lease. Landlords like people who pay with cash, but governing bodies, not so much. It seems inevitable they’ll ask a lot of questions, and this could hold the process up. We need to brainstorm a way to avoid—”

  “Brother Laird?” Retha said. She was raising her hand.

  He looked at her. “Yes?”

  “I apologize for interrupting—”

  “Accepted.”

  “—but we may have a potential ally in government.”

  Cosmo and Laird looked at her.

  Roy took the baton. “One of the members—Brother Alejandro—I believe is a member of the city council.”

  Simultaneously, the leader and the lieutenant’s eyebrows raised to their hairlines.

  “The new guy?” Cosmo asked.

  Roy nodded. “Perhaps we could talk to him.”

  “Perhaps you should,” Laird said. “Why don’t both of you meet with him? Float the idea. See what he can do. In the meantime, we’ll get our ducks in a row.”

  At the next meeting, the group had grown to twenty. Laird saw two of the new arrivals holding the pamphlets he’d distributed, and it gave him a shot of adrenaline; even he, in his hard-charging optimism about his—and Cosmo’s—ability to grow the cult, hadn’t expected results from the pamphlets so soon. He felt a strange momentum then, like a man rolling a boulder down a hill the instant he realizes it’s going faster than he is, all on its own.

  He watched Cosmo step straight into the role of keynote speaker, and of emancipator. Laird had meant what he said after the last meeting at the Horse—Brother Cosmo had a knack.

  “Cosmography,” the leader said, walking the room in his now-signature switchback pacing, “is bigger than all of us. The epitome of human arrogance is to try to explain the universe. We, rather, seek to understand it.”

  Reverent murmurs from the crowd.

  Cosmo Hendricks wore a full-blown robe. As each wardrobe selection got more difficult, he finally decided a step up in attire would help to advance his credibility. It was borderline inappropriate for anyone known as “the emancipator” to wear such common garb as t-shirts and jeans—rather, a man carrying the moniker should commit himself to one-piece attire. Cosmo saw this now. He’d ordered the robe off of Amazon. It was a taut, double-breasted sky blue number—eighty percent polyester, twenty percent rayon. Machine wash with like colors, cold.

  Laird observed him from the corner of the room and silently ruminated on whether or not the robe was passable. It was, he decided. Even in his private mind, he could not say that his friend looked out of place leading a group of twenty people in a sky blue robe. The momentum charged forward.

  After a moving soliloquy of some horse shit about the difference between “explanation” and “understanding,” the emancipator stepped aside and his lieutenant came forward for announcements.

  “My friends,” Laird said. “Brothers and sisters. Tonight it is my great pleasure to share with you a most exciting investment opportunity.”

  Sixteen

  The days passed and the membership grew. Three new arrivals at the next meeting, then five more. They weren’t yet outgrowing the fluorescent-lit dining room of Copper Mine Subs, but if things continued at this rate, they would.

  The call for investments had been a smashing success. These people were eager to shell out money for anything, and when Laird explained the potential for return on investment, he practically had to fight back the greenbacks. He set the suggested investment at $500, and they left that evening with twenty grand.

  Laird looked it over on the midnight walk to the Horse for debrief. There was so much cash, it was actually heavy. Things had taken another step forward, and the boulder rolled faster down the hill.

  At the next meeting, they took in another ten thousand in investments, plus a grand in straight donations. Laird didn’t even mention the investment that time—people approached him with wads of cash and asked if they could still get in.

  Cosmo wore his robe to all the meetings. As time went on, he took a tighter hold on the role of leader; his words were sharp and convicted, no matter how many pregame drinks he’d had. Laird watched his diction and cadence change, continuing to refine as a public speaker. The practice seemed to embolden him.

  At the next meeting, another five thousand in investments trickled in. The stack of cash was beginning to outgrow Laird’s sock drawer.

  “Dude,” he asked Cosmo at the Horse that night, “do you think we’re, like, in over our heads a little?”

  Cosmo had changed back into shorts and flip flops. He reclined in the wooden booth. “Maybe,” he said, “but it doesn’t much matter now. Weren’t you the one who said if we’re going to do this, we need to do it all out?”

  Laird nodded. “I guess I’m getting a little gun shy.”

  “Ha,” Cosmo said. “Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

  “Me neither.” Laird rotated his empty pint glass.

  The men
watched the highlights on TV of that day’s Rockies game for the second time.

  “I don’t know, dude,” Cosmo said, “I was freaked out with all that dream stuff, but I guess I’ve sort of moved past it. When I talk to these people at the meetings, they’re like…happy.”

  “It’s weird.”

  “I know but, if they’re happy, like, who cares why, right?” Cosmo asked. “Even if this thing is all bullshit, is it so bad if it brings people joy?”

  “Coz, these people have given us a lot of money.”

  “For investments,” Cosmo said. “Once we get the pizza place, we can start paying them back and then some.”

  That’s years down the road, Laird thought, but didn’t verbalize it. Instead he said, “They gave us donations, too.”

  Cosmo Hendricks shrugged and shook his head. “They gave it willingly. Hell, I’ve hardly even asked.” He turned his body to look his friend in the eyes. “Let’s get the lease on that building, yeah?”

  Seventeen

  Laird finally called to inquire on leasing the pizza space. He told them he was ready to move in immediately, and also that he could pay the deposit, plus first and last month’s rent, in cash. This information got them a meeting that very afternoon.

  Both he and Cosmo showed up in collared shirts. The squirrelly man representing the business owner wore a suit. They met at a Starbucks, and he was already seated when they arrived.