The Mortal Religion

by Marc Horn

My bitterness caused me to write the following reply: ‘I’m glad my face did not influence your decision, however I will be honest too – I am single, but despite my earlier remarks I cannot associate with someone whose face and neck so closely resembles a giraffe’s that she would be better received in a zoo than on a beach full of Baywatch babes.’

  After sending this, I felt disappointed with myself for stooping so low. It was solely retaliation, but for a while it placed me alongside my enemies. Her reply though, instantly erased that particular disappointment: ‘You are passing judgment on my looks! Oh my God! You are deformed! I’ve dated thirteen boys, how many girls have been with you? None, mister, and none will because you are sooooo ugly. I wish you’d sent your picture before we started sending emails, then I wouldn’t have wasted my time on such a retard!’

  Though criticism had always been a part of my life, and to some extent had hardened me, those words had still hurt. They were the blunt, brutal facts, however sick she was. I was too ugly for any girl. I resisted the urge to reply – nothing I could say would change her. Whatever her degree of confusion, she was a fierce conformist.

  The thing in front of me gets off the bus, careful to avoid my eyes. As the bus overtakes her I notice that her middle finger is raised towards me. This affects me in ways I could not have foreseen. I am utterly deflated. My head succumbs to gravity and falls to my waist. I grit my teeth hard and clench my fists. How on earth can we fight this? Even if we achieve an initial victory, how can we maintain that success? It is their inner cores, their base, their souls. It is what they have learned, chosen to retain and want to pass on. I start to cry. ‘What have I done, Elizabeth?’

  What have I done to the poor girl? She thinks like I do, but I have loaded her fragile frame with a weight I do not think she can bear. I do not think I could bear it. It is absolutely pointless. I wish I had the strength I had at the beginning of this journey, but I have learned and gone through so much since then that my belief in it has sagged too much.

  I look out the window at the passing trees and buildings and squint my watery eyes. To be a solid structure, immoveable and constant, is an enviable state. But humans chop down trees and smash buildings into pieces. That is what they have done to me. I hiss, press my hands tight against my face and launch spittle into them. After all this, I am going to go down a failure? What will my Elizabeth think of me? She will think I am weak, false and worthless. She accepted me for who I purported to be. This is not the same person as I am. But the voyage has taken me to a place different from the one I sought. That place is unreachable. I have to salvage what I have gained. I have to save Elizabeth from them. She will not be harmed.

  But I have to give it another chance. I cannot make such a significant decision from these two instances. But the truth is that they are just the tip of the iceberg... This despair, this loss, has arisen from a lifetime of learning. I stand up and face the passengers behind me. ‘Does anyone have the time?’ I ask, trying hard to hide the torment I feel. I look at the dozen or so passengers. All of them look down and shake their heads, unwilling even to speak to me or accord me a friendly glance. ‘I said does anyone have the time? One of you must be wearing a watch!’

  One middle-aged man, solidly built, with a creased face, stares directly at me. ‘Look at your own watch, mate.’ He maintains the stare, tensed and ready for confrontation. This is all I will get – eyes that want to harm me.

  ‘My watch is broken,’ I lie.

  ‘It’s midday mate, plenty of time to get your watch fixed.’ He refocuses on his magazine.

  My limbs tremble and tears trickle down my cheeks. ‘Why are you being so aggressive?’ I pathetically ask, desperate to find some hope and at the same time wanting to be in Elizabeth’s arms.

  The gentleman angrily closes his magazine and grips the seat rail in front of him. The lady sitting beside him grabs his forearm, and mumbles something, trying to quell his anger. ‘Don’t take your problems out on us.’ His voice is coarse and vicious. He thrusts his index finger towards me like a knife. ‘You want help, don’t go looking for it on a bus, ‘cause no one cares!’

  ‘But...why?’ I protest. He glares at me, then shakes his head and opens his magazine. I look around, but the rest pretend they are otherwise engaged. A couple of them are looking into carrier bags. ‘Why does no one care?’ I throw out to them, but I am greeted with silence.

  A hand clasps my shoulder. ‘Can you get off the bus, please? You’re alarming the other passengers.’ I turn. It is the bus driver. The exit door beside me is open. With his other hand the driver indicates towards the pavement. ‘As quick as you can, mate. I’ve got a busy schedule.’

  I stare at him in disbelief. He flinches and steps back. ‘This...this is so important...’ I say, thrusting my hands forwards in a chopping motion. ‘Can you not see that? Can not one of you see that?’ The driver looks away from me, still pointing at the exit. ‘Schedules and passengers… That is trivial, meaningless... I am talking...talking about our lives...our happiness!’

  There is shuffling behind me and a cry of disapproval. ‘I’ll give you a hand, mate,’ I hear. I turn. The aggressive gentleman stops three feet from me. ‘Get off the bus before I throw you off,’ he snarls.

  I take one more glance at the people who could save me. Just this animal pays attention to me. I shake my head at him. ‘Look at yourself,’ I say with revulsion, but all he does is laugh, and, humiliated, feeble and finished, I step off the bus, struggle to get to a garden wall, then turn and slide down onto my bottom.

  As the bus leaves, I see several concerned faces watching me, faces that, seconds ago, would not acknowledge me. They are concerned for themselves, not me. They observe me just for their own peace of mind, just to know where I am. The aggressive male waves at me from the back of the bus.

  ‘You are right, Elizabeth,’ I sob. ‘That mist covers a reflection...’

  I cry for ten minutes, maybe twenty, then I whisper, ‘I have to tell you something, Elizabeth. I was wrong. We cannot change people. I will always be an outcast. No one wants to learn how to let me in. I just...I just hope that you will understand, and not...hate me...’

  Miserable, I push myself up and walk towards her. I think of nothing on the journey home. My mind is an impenetrable, inexpressible hive of desolation. Each step hurts me, each muscle screaming as it is activated, and I feel that I am asking them to carry a million tonnes. I do not want to go home. I do not want to face Elizabeth, but I use all my strength to get to her, so that I can tell her that she is free, so that I can apologise, say I am sorry, and tell her to forget what I have told her and save herself. Reintegrate with the crowd that accepted her. I will tell her I was selfish, misguided and unfair to kidnap her, that she is brainwashed and must dismantle the foundations of the many skyscrapers I have built in her mind.

  I look at the traffic. It is relentless and furious. Part of me wants to step into it, wants to launch my poor, hated form into the path of a speeding vehicle and end this. And I would if I did not owe Elizabeth an explanation. She will try to reverse my opinions, but they are convictions. No one can overturn them.

  I choke up when I see the front of my house. There it looms, lair of the monster, and inside resides someone so temporarily beautiful that words cannot describe her. I have enjoyed life with her, but it was just a mesmerising delusion battling against reality’s unstoppable clock. I do not feel the same fear when I see that the front door is ajar. I feel nothing. In fact, as the realisation dawns on me, I feel a little optimism and manage a small smile. She is free of me. She has flown. She knew what I was about to say. It inspired her to escape. Good on you my Elizabeth. May you dispel the damage I have done and reclaim your place as social queen.

  Salty tears swell between my lips. Maybe, just maybe, in some tiny recess in her mind, I can live on as a flawed but worthy individual. No, that cannot be, that would not help her, I must be rejected.

  As I turn down the garden path, I look back at
the road. It has always been quiet, my road, but a vehicle will pass every few minutes. Should I wait for the next one and dive in front of it? I turn around briskly and look at my door. I stay still. I am right, I am sure I am – I can hear crying from within. What can it be? Can it be that Elizabeth has not left? How could that be so? Why would that be so? I push open the door. The hallway is deserted. The crying emanates from the basement. Hesitant, worried and bemused, I cautiously descend the steps. And then, in front of me, I see Victor Spinney.

  37

  Elizabeth’s chair is empty. She cowers in a foetal position behind it. I stride up to her, lift her from the floor, slide my hands around her back and press her against me. She buries her face into my shoulder and hyperventilates. Now, once more, and forever, I am focused. My strength and determination have returned, and with such force that I know nothing can temper them. The weakness that consumed me has vanquished in my internal fire.

  I gently scoop up her legs in one arm so that my forearms support her weight, and then carry her to the front of her chair. She must confront her fear in order to conquer it. As I sit down in the seat and face Victor, Elizabeth’s head still sticks to my shoulder. The 8-inch kitchen knife that had cut through her restraints now sits in Victor’s heart.

  Whatever the cost, I will never tell a soul that Elizabeth murdered him. I stroke her hair for many minutes and then ask, ‘What happened, Elizabeth?’ She has been silent for the past two or three minutes, her breathing now barely noticeable. ‘Do not feel guilty or distraught,’ I whisper, ‘he is not worth that pain.’ Elizabeth starts to whimper. ‘You did this for me, Elizabeth. I am so proud of you, so humble and in love with you.’ I carefully force her head away from my shoulder so that she looks at me. ‘You have nothing to worry about,’ I assure her. Tears stain her tiny face. She looks older and lifeless. But there is also a glint of hope in her eyes. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘I-I-I...killed him!’ Her head returns to my shoulder.

  ‘No one will ever know that,’ I calmly tell her. ‘No one.’

  ‘But-but-but how? How will they not find out? How, Chalk? How? How?’

  ‘Because no one will ever find him.’

  ‘They always find dead bodies! Oh my God, I am going to prison, Chalk! I am going to spend the rest of my life in prison!’

  I hold her tight against me. ‘Listen to me, Elizabeth... Are you listening to me?’

  ‘Y-y-yes...’

  ‘I promise you, you will not be punished for this. No one except you and me will ever know the truth. Victor’s death will never be revealed to anyone else. He was a sex offender and a drunken vagrant – no one cares about him and no one will report his disappearance–’

  ‘But-but he wasn’t like that. He was sober and incisive, and-and-and totally intent on destroying you...’

  Again, I position her face in front of me. ‘Tell me everything, Elizabeth. Control your breathing and tell me what happened. No situation exists that you and I cannot overcome.’

  Elizabeth’s tears have stopped. Mucus from her nose has run into her mouth and she incessantly sniffs and swallows. After a minute or so, she takes several deep breaths and then opens her mouth to speak. Her lips open and close a few times, as if she is unable to choose the right words. ‘He broke in,’ she eventually whispers. ‘I was in the chair and I heard knocking. After a minute or so, I thought the caller had left, but then I heard a bang. I was terrified – I thought it was the police...’

  I stroke the side of her face. ‘We are in control,’ I say. ‘Nothing has changed. Continue when you are ready.’

  ‘He spent a long time upstairs. I heard him open and shut drawers and tip papers on the floor. I prayed that he would not come down to the basement, but-but-but he did...’

  ‘What did he say when he saw you, Elizabeth?’

  ‘He-he came into the basement and when he saw me, his eyes lit up. His eyes were so cold and mean, but when he saw me tied to this chair, his eyes filled with joy. I knew then that it was not a police officer, that it was Victor Spinney...’

  I remain patient. It is critical that I know as soon as possible whether they were any witnesses to any of this, but I will not rush her.

  ‘He laughed,’ she continues. ‘I read his mind – I knew he felt no compulsion to help me. All he saw was retribution. As always he was thinking of himself.’

  I nod. ‘That does not surprise me,’ I say. I glance at his lifeless body and suppress the urge to attack it.

  Elizabeth takes a deep breath. ‘The-the first thing he said was, “We always said Moonface would have to kidnap a girl to get her to stay with him!” Then he walked up to me and ripped the tape off of my mouth. I said nothing. I panicked. My only thought was that I had to save you. I knew he thought I was a victim, so I played along with it – if he thought I was your friend he would not have listened to me.’

  I close my eyes and smile. ‘You are so wise, Elizabeth. You outwitted him.’

  A slight smile flickers on her face, which warms me. ‘He asked what my name was, and when I told him, I could see from his face that he knew about me. I-I wet myself...’

  ‘Oh, Elizabeth,’ I say, hugging her. ‘I am so sorry that this happened. I will never leave you again, I promise.’

  ‘He told me I was the missing girl, and then said that you had made him rich. I asked why he was thinking of himself and he said “Moonface stitched me up, but now he’s finished. I’ll be able to clear my name, start again, and watch him suffer in prison”. I felt so angry and scared. I wanted to kill him, I did, I wanted to...for you...’

  I lean forwards and kiss her lips. ‘Thank you, my beautiful friend.’ Then I move back a few inches, so that my brave heroine can complete her story.

  ‘I said to him, “What about me? Could you spare a thought for me? All you can think of is yourself, while I am tied to this chair like an animal”. I saw fear rush to his eyes, then he apologised and ran up the stairs. He was fearful that when the media heard of his rescue my recollection of the events would damage his heroic image.’

  I nod. ‘Exactly, Elizabeth.’

  ‘He returned with a knife and started to cut through my binds with a repulsive grin on his face. My hands were shaking when they were set free, but it was more rage than fear. I asked him if he had called the police. He said he hadn’t, and then branded them incompetent. “Now let’s see if they listen to me” he laughed. Then he said, he said “I’ve been through hell because of Moonface. I lost everything because of him. But now it’s his turn. Now I’m going to wipe that big ugly face in the dirt and I’m going to enjoy every second of it”. I asked him why the police wouldn’t listen to him and he said “Because they’re bigots. But that didn’t matter to me. As soon as Moonface told me the truth, nothing was going to stop me proving my innocence and punishing him”.’ Elizabeth looks above her, concentrating on what was said. ‘Then he said something like: “He was stupid enough to think I’d be too drunk to remember what he told me, but I’d always promised myself I’d discover who had downloaded that filth”.

  ‘As he sliced at my ankle restraints I asked him why you would do that to him and he said it was because you were jealous of him, that you resented the fact that he was popular and you were a freak.’

  I bite my lip, maintaining eye contact with Elizabeth, careful not to let it wander over to Victor, as I know that might prompt me to do something unconstructive.

  ‘He said that you could not keep your mouth shut because you were born to lose, that it was in your genes.’

  I swallow hard and clench my fist. Even now, he taunts me. It is not the insults that affect me, but his references to my gloating visit that really incur my wrath. Because it was that moment of madness that set in motion his demise at Elizabeth’s hands. She has paid the price for my idiocy.

  ‘I told him your name was Chalk, not Moonface, but he said that no one calls you Chalk, because your name has to reflect your hideousness. I was so furious, Chalk. It scared
me how livid I was...’ I manage a smile. ‘He-he stood up and turned around. He told me he was going to call the police. I saw that he had left the knife on the ground. And then everything happened so quickly. It felt as if I had the devil in me, that I was possessed.’ Her eyes fill with tears.

  ‘Do not feel ashamed,’ I say. ‘He had to die. You did the right thing.’

  She wipes her tears with the back of her hand. ‘I picked up the knife, and then everything was instinctive. I didn’t question myself, or feel any hesitation... I-I-I stood up and followed him. When he reached the steps I drew the knife back and I screamed as I thrust it forwards. He turned around so quickly and the knife sank into his chest...’ Elizabeth begins to sob. ‘I could not believe what I’d done. His stare will haunt me for the rest of my days, I am sure. His mouth hung open so wide and his eyes were ballooned and his skin was so white. And blood spurted out the wound and he gripped the knife and just held it there where it was, and then he staggered over to that spot and collapsed.’ She does not look at him. ‘I ran and hid behind the chair. I wanted to run out the house, but I knew I couldn’t. I knew I had to wait for you.’

  I kiss the top of her head. ‘You did well, Elizabeth. Now I want you to look at him.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Please, Elizabeth, it will help.’

  ‘I can’t, Chalk. Why must I? I have suffered enough.’

  ‘It will ease your suffering.’ I softly turn her head towards Victor. After a second she stops resisting. ‘Look at him.’ She chokes for breath when she observes him. ‘You have avenged me, Elizabeth,’ I say. ‘And you have stopped him from hurting hundreds of other people. Do not think that you have taken a human life, think instead that you have made a positive contribution to mankind. Victor was the worst kind of person. He was completely irredeemable.’

  ‘But I am a...murderer.’

  ‘That is just what the government says,’ I say. ‘The government forbids us from having sexual intercourse together, but you were still prepared to do it.’