The Mortal Religion

by Marc Horn

  He laughed again. ‘I can live with that burden. What about the headaches? Don’t you wish you’d just worn a blindfold?’

  ‘People are too weak. We had to eliminate the temptation to use the eyes.’

  ‘You gonna write an autobiography? It would be interesting.’

  ‘I am not the right person to tell it.’

  ‘No one else’s gonna tell it for ya.’

  I bowed my head. ‘Do you attend a fireworks display on the fifth of November?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is that not glorifying an attempted act of terrorism?’

  Hesitation. ‘It’s just a bit of fun.’

  ‘In 1605, Guy Fawkes was tasked to detonate thirty-six barrels of gunpowder that had been smuggled into the cellars beneath the Houses of Parliament. Had he succeeded, King James and his ministers would have died. It was a plot designed to improve the lives of Roman Catholics. Four hundred years later we still set off thousands off fireworks to remember this event. King James intended for these annual gatherings to celebrate his good fortune and deter other potential assassins, but do you really think people these days share these sentiments? I would suggest that many foolishly consider it a tribute to Guy Fawkes. In 2002 the BBC ran a public poll to determine the identities of the hundred greatest Britons of all time. Guy Fawkes featured at number thirty, ahead of Charles Dickens, King Arthur and Bobby Moore. How do my crimes compare to his, Todd?’

  ‘Yours are worse, ’cause you kidnapped one of us. It could’ve been anyone we know.’

  ‘That is partly why Hallam despises me. But, more importantly, Guy Fawkes will be remembered forever. His murderous intentions have been turned into something positive. It will just be a matter of time before everyone warms to my guidance.’

  ‘I see what you’re saying. In four ’undred years we’ll all celebrate you by cutting out our eyes!’

  ‘No, by that time everyone should be unburdened. But you are right, there will be some form of celebration, perhaps hundreds of effigies will be unburdened.’

  ‘I reckon you’re gonna be disappointed.’

  ‘As you said, Todd, there are a lot of hard-ons around right now. They will multiply.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a nice thought. I’ve gotta go.’

  And now, Todd’s privileged access to my mind has come to an end. I can hear Hallam’s footsteps. He stops outside my door. I can hear him breathing.

  ‘Did you sleep well, Hallam?’

  ‘I’ve got a letter for ya. I think it’s from Elizabeth.’ He opens the door and steps inside my cell.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Good. You’re learning. Maybe you’ll survive in ’ere.’

  ‘We need to focus on your issues, Hallam. If you cannot deal with your own fear, then how on earth can you hope to comfort your little girl?’ I brace myself. I am already on the floor, but an attack does not come.

  ‘For breaking your glasses and assaulting me, you will clean every shitter in every cell for the next month.’

  ‘I must warn you that I intend to raise a defence during the trial.’

  ‘There will be no fucking trial.’

  ‘When would you like me to start scraping?’

  ‘Right now. Let’s meet your neighbour’s rotten arse.’

  I am guided to the next cell and handed a roll of tissue. ‘Begin,’ Hallam says.

  The smell in the bowl is potent, but it is nothing compared to the stench that had emanated from Victor. ‘There is a fresh stool in here,’ I say. ‘I suspect it is yours, Hallam.’ I flush the toilet.

  ‘Thought you might appreciate it, so I saved it for ya.’

  ‘Might I be furnished with a brush and a pair of gloves, as one would expect in a civilised world?’

  ‘You were stupid enough to give up that world. Now you’re in hell, remember?’

  I could easily refuse to cooperate, but I choose not to, as I will do whatever is necessary to have Hallam realise that he cannot win. He considers this to be a horrendous punishment, and it is indeed quite grotesque, but it reveals that I am constantly in his head, aggravating him, tormenting him. I need to stay there. That is where I am most effective. Violating his demands will help neither of us. I wipe the tissue around the bowl. There are dry crust-like slithers of excrement cemented to the bowl and I work persistently to remove them.

  ‘That’s what I like to see, a perfectionist!’

  ‘Of course. A toilet bowl should be inviting.’

  ‘Hate to tell you this, but while you’re cleaning up this shit, the other cons are stuffing their faces with vindaloo.’

  ‘Then I shall need to start a little earlier tomorrow.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Three cells later I decide to socialise with Hallam. ‘Do you agree with anything I did?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Victor Spinney?’

  ‘He took the piss out of ya ’cause you’re an ugly bastard. Big fucking deal.’

  I smile. ‘It was actually.’

  ‘You’re just a self-pitying loser. Look at ya... You should be fucking shot.’

  ‘You still hate me, don’t you?’ Silence. ‘So, Hallam, what sort of background do you have? I mean, your role is a physical one, you must have dealt with confrontation before.’

  ‘I boxed.’

  ‘At what level?’

  ‘I never competed. I got injured.’

  ‘What was your injury?’

  ‘Damaged ligaments in my right shoulder.’

  ‘So six months later, when the ligaments had repaired, you returned to the sport, right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I lost interest in it.’

  I smile. ‘I know you didn’t have one fight. You never stepped in the ring to fight. You sparred once or twice, but that scared you enough to discontinue.’

  A pause. ‘I told ya, I got injured.’ Weak voice.

  I lift my head. ‘Am I right, you never fought?’

  ‘I couldn’t be bothered with it. I didn’t ’ave the time.’

  ‘Make your mind up, Hallam.’

  ‘Have you cleaned that bog yet?’ Aggressive tone.

  ‘You took up boxing to give you some courage, but all it did was increase your fear and self-loathing. You then came here to force yourself to deal with confrontation and it seems you acquired an ego-boosting reputation – Todd said that you’re solid. But I know otherwise. I know what a coward you are.’ I hear Hallam swallow. ‘Lump in your throat, officer?’

  ‘Hurry fucking up!’ A pitiful tone.

  ‘Use me to fuel your ridiculous persona, and you have the audacity to call me a loser. I, Hallam, dealt with my grievances. I took hold of society and let it know how I felt. I persevered until I found and achieved a solution. You however can merely dream of such strength.’ No answer. ‘It is not a weakness to be afraid, Hallam, it is a weakness to pretend you are not.’

  ‘That’s clean now, move to the next cell,’ he orders. We do so.

  ‘You are a timid, sensitive individual, Hallam. That is the truth you have to face. You are not a prison officer, nor are you suited to any physical and dangerous job. You will thrive in a safe and friendly environment. But, like me, you have to take bold steps to get there. You have to alter the perception everyone, including yourself, has of you.’

  I hear Hallam leave the room. ‘Tell me when you’ve finished, freak,’ he says outside the cell door.

  I smile to myself and feel a warm glow.

  45

  ‘You will not see what I see.’

  I weep. There is a tingling sensation in my eye sockets, an irritating one that needs to be scratched. I do not know how to respond.

  ‘The coastlines...the turquoise ocean...the red sun sinking into the night... And you will not see...me...’

  I slowly reach out, careful not to strike her. I touch her hair. ‘I will...always see your face. It is an image, the most perfect of images, that I cannot forget, that canno
t be distorted, that is with me in every conscious moment...’

  ‘But we will not see the world together.’

  ‘Elizabeth, please do not pity me, there is no need. What I now see in my mind is infinitely more beautiful than anything my eyes ever saw... Except you, my love. You were the most beautiful thing I ever lay eyes on... But you are just as beautiful now.’

  ‘I am not as you remember me...’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Feel me.’

  Perplexed, I cup her face in my hands and then gently slide my thumbs over her face. My thumbs disappear into the hollows which should house her eyes. I stagger backwards and scream.

  ‘I did it for you, Chalk. Now both of us cannot see those sights...’ I still scream. My throat burns. ‘It is what is in here that matters ̶ arghh!’ She trips over me. I slide away from her. ‘Chalk, what is wrong? I did this for you... For you...’

  I sit up fast as water splashes onto my face. ‘You’re waking everyone up, freak!’

  I gasp for air and suck it in until my stomach expands. I repeat this several times.

  ‘Hallam, you must give me Elizabeth’s letters, I beg you!’

  ‘There are no fucking letters. Only way you’re gonna hear from her is in your ’mares, so you better go back to sleep.’

  ‘You are so twisted.’

  ‘Yep, a lot of people say that.’

  He slams the door close. Jesus... Jesus! I have got to see her. That will not happen. I have to read her letters. I have to communicate with her now. I do not have time to bargain with Hallam. But he will not relent, not without some personal gain. I have to speed things up. What if she has...done that? But it is The Mortal Religion, unburdening oneself is a crucial element of it, it is a vital step that must be taken in order to become accepted and to accept others.

  Is it just that the nightmare has temporarily shaken my belief? It must be. That is the effect, the power of nightmares. Soon, I will think differently, normally. My pores sweat profusely and I shiver beneath my blanket. I do not know. I do not know. The thought of Elizabeth, deformed, is horrifying, wrong. But if I cannot approve that, her like that, then I would be a hypocrite, encouraging everyone other than those I love to cut out their eyes. But I was going to let her do it to herself, wasn’t I? Only when she asked me to do it did I back down.

  I roll onto my side and bury my head in my blanket. She means more to me than The Mortal Religion. Much more. I wish she did not. It would be so easy if I did not feel attached to her. I was never supposed to fall in love with her, and I never foresaw it, as at first she was evil. But I was stupid to overlook that possibility. I intended to change her into someone thoughtful and equal. I should have known that once I succeeded she would be an appealing person. And even though I had not suitably prepared myself, I still had enough time to rationalise my emotions when I felt them. It was not as if she had suddenly changed, or that I never had full control of the situation. I was naive and foolish. But it was love.

  I cover my face with my hands. I want everyone to do it, except her. She is too beautiful. But if everyone thinks like that then few people will unburden themselves. It will just be the rejects, the outcasts, the unloved ones. They are the victims though and it will help them, as it helped me. If this is the way it will happen, then they will still be treated like victims, but they will not care. The Mortal Religion would still be a sensation, it would still save people, but…there would not be equality.

  I sigh and shake my head. How could it come to this? Such uncertainty and indistinctiveness. I was so certain of my creation, so convinced of its good. But, for it to work, I must encourage every single person to unburden themselves. There cannot be one rule for one and another for someone else. I would have to want Elizabeth to do it. But the nightmare has given me an insight into the aftermath of Elizabeth’s unburdening. And now that minutes have passed, I still find that I cannot accept it... ‘Oh, Elizabeth, I wish you were here, lying with me...’

  I may never lie with her again. I will only ever see her as a sweet fifteen year old. I will not see her beauty mature... I curl up into a ball. What have I done?

  ‘Wake up, freak. You don’t get a lay in just ’cause your fucked up mind keeps you up at night.’

  ‘Now I know how you feel,’ I say.

  ‘I sleep fine. But then I ain’t got demons.’

  ‘I’m your demon, Hallam.’

  ‘Ready for your daily dose of shit?’

  ‘Just line up those bowls for me.’ My disturbing thoughts, both conscious and subconscious, still linger and prevent me from sounding and feeling positive.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  Within minutes I press my fingers against a lump of excrement while Hallam whistles beside me. ‘Not so chirpy today, freak, are ya?’

  ‘I’m just having an off day.’

  ‘Your sick mind’s finally torturing the right person.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  I am at a low point. I am weak and susceptible to attack. I cannot let Hallam break me. I have to defend myself.

  ‘What goes around comes around, eh, freak? You feeling that right now?’

  ‘I have finished with this one,’ I mumble.

  ‘On your feet then, the next one’s even more heaving.’

  I make my way to the cell door where Hallam waits. As I walk past him I wrap my arms around his and secure him in a bear hug. He struggles to break free, and makes straining noises. He is too insecure to scream for help. I force him to the back of the cell and then pull him down to the floor. With my dead weight on him I grab his wrists with my left hand and hold them together.

  ‘You...you will fucking suffer for this, freak!’

  ‘What goes around comes around, huh?’

  ‘Fucking right it does. You’re making the biggest mistake of your fucking life, Chalk! You better let me go right now!’

  I slide out my right hand from beneath his back and then open it in front of his face. At this point he decides to sacrifice his reputation and scream for help. ‘No! No! Help! Someone fucking help me!’

  ‘It’s come around to you now, hasn’t it, Hallam?’

  He shuts his mouth and growls from his throat as I press the soft stool into his face. He resists violently, but is too weak to throw me off. I wipe the excrement over his face, working it into his nostrils, eyes and mouth as if I am perfecting the features on a face made of clay. His face is scrunched up and his eyes and mouth tightly closed, but it is not difficult for me to work my fingers into these orifices. I am especially keen on massaging the excrement into his tongue, just to ensure this incident leaves a lasting impression. Of course, excrement is most noticeable to one’s sense of taste and then next one’s sense of smell. ‘Are you feeling that right now, Hallam?’ He vomits. I feel the warm liquid run along my fingers. I hear shouting and heavy footsteps. If self-preservation was my priority I would retreat to a corner of the cell right now and brace myself for a beating, but it has no place in this situation. I want Hallam’s colleagues to see him immobilised and helpless. I need them to acknowledge his true self.

  Hands join around my throat. I am careful not to resist. My offensive was directed only towards Hallam. I cannot give any of these brutes reason to divert attention from Hallam’s experience. This is about Hallam. That is how it must stay. The hands are tight around my throat and I cannot breathe. Someone is punching me in the ribs and has broken them, I think.

  ‘What’s happened? What’s he done?’

  ‘He’s fucking–’ Cough, vomit. ‘He’s fucking...’ Cough, spluttering. ‘He’s wiped…shit…all…over me!’

  I smile. Hallam’s voice is whiny and loaded with emotion. He cries like a baby. I hear one of the guards laugh and then leave the room. Someone else is snig…

  46

  Courtesy of the prison guards, I have just enjoyed two peaceful weeks in hospital. I know some of my injuries had occurred after I lost consciousness. I certainly do not recall feeling my ankle sn
ap, nor three of my fingers break.

  Now I make my way along the prison corridor.

  ‘In ’ere.’

  ‘Hello Todd. Are you pleased to have me back?’

  ‘Si’down, Chalk.’ His voice is blunt and authoritative. He is about to warn me. I manoeuvre over to my bed, sit down and then place my crutches on the floor. ‘Hallam was a pussy. I ain’t no pussy. You ever wanna test that theory, I ain’t shitting ya, I’ll fucking murder ya.’

  ‘Where is Hallam?’

  ‘You won’t see ’im again. He wasn’t up to the job.’

  ‘I did tell him that.’

  ‘Yeah well, whatever thrill that gives ya, it means fuck all. He was a spineless little prick, a fucking embarrassment, but the rest of us here ain’t like ’im. So fuck the mind games off and do ya time like every other fucker. Understand?’

  ‘I do. All I wanted was my mail.’

  ‘You ain’t gonna get no mail now. Not now we know what it means to ya. It’s like currency in ’ere – you’re gonna have to earn it.’

  ‘How long must I cooperate?’

  ‘After pulling a stunt like that, months.’

  He leaves and the door crashes close. I lie back on my bed. I am close to depression. Hospital offered good, unhindered thinking time. But my thoughts were not pleasant. They frequently left me anxious, paranoid and despairing. I felt helpless, powerless and scared. My faith in my own invention steadily waned and left me harbouring regrets. I knew I was becoming weak, but there was nothing I could to prevent it. I realised that it was true – no man was an island. My belief in my own convictions had been extraordinarily strong, but without support it was always going to dissipate. I had created something awesome, unheard of, beyond the boundaries of most imaginations. Having to fight such universal disapproval alone was a gargantuan task, and I had succeeded until I had to spend so much time alone in hospital. It was easier when I had Hallam acting as my adversary, taunting and goading me, as he had unwittingly fuelled me. I was always ready then to defend myself, to stand up for my decisions, because I was rebelling against the very person who was confronting me. And more than anything I was trying to justify my treatment towards Elizabeth. If I had believed that I had been cruel to her and had damaged her, it would have crushed me.