Ritual

by Graham Masterton

  M. Musette nodded. ‘Almost all of those with senior civic positions in Allen’s Corners are aware of what we are, and what we do.’

  ‘Then why––?’

  ‘Because many of their sons and daughters have joined us. Because many of them have joined us. There are fifty-eight Devotees here at the moment; some of them are the children of families whose names you would recognize. Others may not have come to us from such celebrated homes, but their parents nonetheless have considerable influence in the community.’

  Charlie slowly rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension. ‘Is Haxalt a Devotee? He’s not eating himself, is he?’

  M. Musette smiled. ‘There are two levels of Devotion. There are the Devotees, those who attain spiritual perfection through self-ingestion. Then there are the Guides, who participate in the rituals by eating the flesh of the Devotees––only, of course, when that flesh is freely and openly offered. The Guides are both mentors and servants to the Devotees. They must assist them to reach spiritual perfection by discussing the scriptures with them; they must also do anything that the Devotees ask of them, no matter what. To give you an example, we had a Devotee in New Orleans who fell in love with his Guide, who was a woman. A very striking woman, I might tell you, a real Cajun beauty. One day the Devotee demanded that she take out his eyes and eat them, so that he would no longer be tempted by her looks.’

  ‘You’re telling me this to frighten me off,’ Charlie said, ‘I don’t believe any of it.’

  ‘Well, believe whatever you wish,’ said M. Musette.

  Charlie hesitated, and then asked, ‘Did she?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said M. Musette, his head on one side.

  ‘Did she eat his eyeballs?’

  ‘Oh, that! You must use your own imagination. But I have been told that there is something very special about the human eyeball, especially when it has been freshly gouged out, and snipped quickly from its optic nerve. You can do it with very little pain indeed, provided you are careful; and I understand that there is no sensation on earth like biting into an eyeball when the optic fluid inside is still warm from its living owner... Ha! Do you think I’m trying to frighten you now? Maybe I am. Maybe, rather, your own inhibitions are frightening you. You eat other animals, don’t you? You eat slices of cattle and lumps of lamb. Why should there be any difference when it comes to humans? Especially when you think that those cattle and those sheep and those pigs that you eat––you aren’t Jewish, are you?––are all murdered, so to speak. None of them would volunteer to be eaten if they had the choice. Whereas the humans who are eaten here are eaten because they want to be, of their own free will. Isn’t that far more moral?’

  Charlie said, ‘I’ve heard enough of this garbage. I want you to tell me if my son is here, and that’s all.’

  M. Musette lifted both hands. There was a gold ring on his right middle finger in the shape of two snakes, entwined, with emeralds for eyes. ‘You are like most Americans, I regret,’ he said smiling. ‘You have no sense of humour whatsoever.’

  ‘I can laugh when something’s funny. This isn’t funny.’

  ‘Very well,’ said M. Musette. ‘I appreciate your anxiety. Your son is here. He came here early this morning of his own free will, and asked whether he might be initiated into the order of the Célèstines.’

  Charlie had been almost certain that Martin couldn’t have been here – not after all that fantastic nonsense about people eating themselves. He was so shocked when M. Musette casually admitted that he was that for one fragmented moment he was unable to think of anything to say. He stared at M. Musette with one clenched fist held tightly against his chest. Then he managed to say, ‘You’d better show me where he is, and pretty damn quick.’

  ‘He did ask that you should be kept away,’ said M. Musette. ‘At least until he’s had time to settle himself in.’

  ‘You’re crazy! This is kidnap! This is a capital offence! Now you show me where my son is or else I’m going to be doing some damage around here!’

  ‘Please, Mr McLean, keep calm. Losing your temper isn’t going to solve anything.’

  Charlie seized hold of M. Musette’s lapels and tugged him forward until their noses were almost touching. ‘You show me where my son is right now or else I’m going to break your arms.’

  M. Musette said quietly, ‘I don’t think so,’ and grasped Charlie’s wrists. With almost no effort at all, he prised Charlie’s hands away from his coat, and lowered them. Then he fastidiously brushed his lapels and gave Charlie a nod that was more of a warning than an acknowledgement of what he had done.

  Charlie was breathing deeply. ‘Let me get this straight. Martin came to you of his own free will?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘How did he get here? He doesn’t have any transportation.’

  ‘He arrived by taxi at about midnight last night. He paid the fare out of his own money. He was unaccompanied, so there was no possible question of kidnap. I talked to him myself when he arrived. He said that he had decided to join us, and that he was prepared to become one of our Devotees.’

  ‘And what did you do?’ snarled Charlie. ‘Give him a knife and fork and tell him to get on with it?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, my dear sir, I tried very hard to dissuade him from becoming a Devotee. I always do when I am approached by volunteers. I explain that it is a difficult and painful road to heaven, a road that is often beset by terrible doubts, and which can bring despair as well as ecstasy.’

  Charlie said, ‘He listens to rock music and reads comic-books. How the hell was he supposed to understand anything like that?’

  ‘Your son is far more perceptive than you think. He sees you and your weaknesses quite clearly. For himself, he wants something better.’

  ‘Cutting your own toes off and eating them is better? What kind of a cockamamie crock of shit is that?’

  ‘Just listen to yourself,’ M. Musette said. ‘Listen to the sound of your own voice. You are a man of impulse and vulgarity, a man with no spirituality whatsoever. You have spent your whole life in the empty pursuit of something you can never find, which is yourself. Those endless meals you eat, those endless miles you drive, you are looking for something which you left behind with your wife and your son. Your soul is what I am talking about, Mr McLean. Your spirit.’ He paused briefly, and then he said, ‘Your son came here because he didn’t want the same fate to befall him. He has accompanied you on your travels for only a few days, but he has already seen the tragedy of your life. It was you who precipitated his decision to come here, not I, nor any of my Devotees.’

  ‘This is bull,’ Charlie retorted. ‘If it hadn’t been for Harriet Greene and that damned dwarf of yours, he never would have known about Le Reposoir.’

  ‘Oh yes, dearest Harriet,’ said M. Musette. ‘Harriet has wanted to join us ever since I first employed her as a waitress. A little too enthusiastic, I’m afraid; a little too talkative. She never should have mentioned our name. And of course David was waiting to collect her from the Iron Kettle and bring her here. He couldn’t help noticing such an obvious candidate as Martin.’

  ‘Who’s David?’ Charlie demanded.

  ‘The one you call the dwarf. David was a Devotee, too; but at the very height of his initiation, he decided that he could no longer continue. It was impossible for him to return to the outside world, of course; but to atone for his lack of faith he acts as our gofer. His punishment for doubting the reality of heaven is the lifelong humiliation of having to live in that part of his body which he denied to the Lord.’

  ‘And Velma? You got me involved with Velma deliberately, didn’t you, so that Martin would have time to escape?’

  ‘Nobody obliged you to get involved with Velma, Mr McLean. You did it of your own free will. You put the beastly desires of the flesh before your spiritual involvement with your son, and that is why he left you. If you had stayed with him that night, then the chances are that you could have convinced him that
you are not the man he perceives you to be. You might have won his heart for ever. As it is... he is here now, and he is preparing himself for a physical and spiritual journey whose end is glory.’

  ‘Take me to him, now,’ said Charlie. ‘This is your last warning.’

  ‘He has no wish to see you.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn. He’s my son, he’s a minor, and I’m legally responsible for him. I’m taking him away with me, and what’s more I’m going to make sure your ass is thrown straight into jail, for kidnap, and unlawful imprisonment, and unnatural practices, and anything else that the law can throw at you.’

  M. Musette laughed out loud. ‘Very well, you can see him if you want to. What else can I do, but bow to such a terrifying threat? Let me call my wife, she will take you.’

  He went across to a rococo-styled telephone and picked it up. ‘Aimée, this is Edouard. Yes, that’s correct. I have Mr McLean with me, and Mr McLean is anxious to see Martin before he leaves.’

  M. Musette’s familiar use of Martin’s Christian name was not lost on Charlie. Nor was the implication that Charlie would be leaving alone.

  ‘My wife will be with you directly,’ said M. Musette. ‘I hope very much that you will not be excessively angry with us, my dear sir. Our beliefs are deeply rooted, and tenaciously held, but we always do our very best to live in peace with those who do not revere the body and blood in the same way that we do.’

  He opened his case and took out another cigarette. Charlie watched him in fascination and loathing. M. Musette seemed so single-minded, his view of the world seemed so complete; and Charlie felt that M. Musette had tipped open his brain like a worn out carpetbag cluttered with fear and prejudice and stubborn odds and ends. M. Musette lit his cigarette placidly, and returned Charlie’s grim stare with the most courteous of smiles.

  After a minute or two, the doors opened, and Mme Musette stepped into the room. Charlie had been right. She was indeed the beautiful fingerless woman in the black cloak. Now, however, she was wearing a watered silk day dress in misty blue, and she looked even more beautiful than before. Her eyes were startlingly wide; her skin glowed; her lips were infinitesimally parted in unconscious sensuality. All that betrayed her involvement with the Célèstines was the gloves she wore: wrist-length cotton gloves in blue to match her dress.

  ‘Mr McLean,’ she said softly, and inclined her head. ‘Our security people have found your car. If you will let me have the keys, they will return it to the front entrance for you, so that you may leave here in comfort.’

  Charlie reached into his pocket and handed over his keys. ‘Just don’t be too anxious to get rid of me, Mme Musette. I’m not leaving here without my son.’

  ‘Well, we shall see,’ she said. ‘Would you care to come with me? Your son is upstairs, where all our new Devotees stay.’

  ‘Please,’ said M. Musette, and indicated with a smart click of his heels that Charlie should follow his wife.

  Mme Musette led Charlie across the echoing marble-clad hallway. A thin youth with close-cropped hair and a suit that looked as if it had once belonged to Buddy Holly stood at the foot of the stairs. Mme Musette handed him Charlie’s car keys. The youth gave Charlie a quick, insolent smile that Mme Musette either failed to notice or ignored.

  She mounted the stairs and Charlie followed close behind her, smelling her perfume. He couldn’t identify it. It wasn’t anything as modern as Obsession. It could have been Chanel No. 5, but on Mme Musette’s skin it seemed to have acquired a flowery aura all her own. Halfway up the stairs, Charlie said, ‘Are you a Devotee, too?’

  ‘I was; but Edouard decided that I could better serve the order if I were to assist him.’

  ‘So you stopped at a few fingers, is that it?’

  Mme Musette turned her head and glanced at him. ‘That’s it. You have it exactly.’

  ‘Are you all headcases or what?’ Charlie asked her.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, headcases.’

  ‘I mean are you mad? In my book, self-mutilation is the act of a lunatic. As for eating yourself, that’s so far out I don’t even know where it is.’

  ‘Didn’t Edouard explain our beliefs to you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sure he did. But I notice that Edouard hasn’t started making himself into Edouardburger yet, whatever he says about his beliefs. And he stopped you before you got to the best bits.’

  ‘You cannot make sport of us, Mr McLean,’ she replied. ‘Edouard is our Supreme Guide, and like all of the Guides in the Célèstine order it is his duty to remain whole until the end of his natural life. It is a duty––not a privilege. The truly privileged members of the Célèstines are those who manage to devour so much of themselves that there is scarcely anything remaining to make a meal for their mentors.’

  They had reached the landing. Charlie said, ‘You know something? If any of this is true, it’s criminal and it’s maniacal and it’s totally disgusting. I thought James Jones was nuts, but you people are unreal.’

  ‘Come see your son,’ said Mme Musette gently. ‘But may I warn you not to upset him? He is in the early stages of self-preparation, and if you try to bully him into leaving Le Reposoir you may cause him lasting psychological damage. You will certainly lose his affection for ever.’

  ‘Don’t let’s make any mistakes here,’ said Charlie. ‘That boy is coming away with me right now.’ He was angry; but he still wished that he didn’t sound so much like Archie Bunker. The Musettes were bringing out his blue-collar Indiana background and there was nothing that he could do to stop it.

  They walked down the same corridor to which Velma had taken him, all the way down to a door at the end. Mme Musette raised her deformed hand and knocked. There was a short delay, and then the door opened and a girl’s face appeared. Dark, Latin-looking, with unplucked eyebrows.

  ‘This is Martin’s father,’ said Mme Musette. ‘He wishes to speak to Martin before he leaves.’

  The Latin-looking girl glanced quickly at Charlie and then shook her head. ‘It is not possible, madame. He is already preparing himself.’

  Charlie stepped forward and pushed the door. ‘Come on, honey, just get out of the way will you? I want to talk to my son.’

  The girl tried to resist him, but Charlie gave her a sharp dig in the breast with his elbow, and she released her hold on the door. Mme Musette cried, ‘No, Mr McLean!’ but Charlie ignored her and barged into the room.

  A white cotton blind had been drawn across the window, so the room was dim. There was a plain bed, covered by a white cotton sheet, a tubular steel chair, a white-painted bedside cupboard with a Bible on it, and that was all. Martin lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. He was naked.

  ‘Martin! For Christ’s sake!’ said Charlie, and his eyes filled with tears. ‘Martin, it’s Dad here!’

  He went up to the bed and took hold of Martin’s hand. Martin’s eyes slowly turned to look at him as if he had all the time in the world. ‘You came,’ he whispered. His voice sounded as if he were drugged.

  ‘Of course I came. What did you expect? Why didn’t you talk to me before you left? You didn’t have to come to a place like this.’

  Martin smiled. ‘This is the only place, Dad. This is really and truly the only place.’

  ‘Martin?’ Charlie asked. ‘Did they give you any kind of injection? Any pills, or dope, or anything like that?’ Before Martin could reply, he turned around to Mme Musette, who was standing in the open doorway and he waved his finger at her threateningly. ‘Believe me, lady, you’re in deep trouble. Where are his clothes?’

  ‘He has renounced his clothes,’ said the Latin-looking girl.

  ‘I’ll renounce you in a minute!’ Charlie roared at her. ‘Just bring me his fucking clothes!’

  ‘Mr McLean,’ put in Mme Musette, ‘I did warn you that it would do you no good to lose your temper.’

  Charlie ignored her. ‘Martin,’ he said, ‘you’re coming with me, and you’re coming now. The car’s outside. You can put on s
omething of mine.’

  ‘I’m not coming with you, Dad,’ said Martin. He seemed to be completely unperturbed.

  ‘Am I hearing you straight? Do you know what these people expect you to do?’

  ‘I know all about the Célèstines, David told me. That day in the parking lot; and that night at Mrs Kemp’s. We talked about it for hours. I know what they do and I know why they do it and I want to do it, too.’

  ‘You want to eat yourself? Are you bananas?’

  The absurdity of what his father had said made Martin chuckle. It was that chuckle that unsettled Charlie more than anything else. His own son could lie here and laugh because he had said something stupid; when all the time he was volunteering to commit suicide, slowly and ritualistically and obscenely.

  Charlie grabbed hold of Martin’s wrists and tried to wrench him off the bed. But Martin twisted away from him, and kicked him in the ribs with his bare foot, and then seized the rails at the head of the bed and glared at Charlie defiantly.

  ‘Dad, this is my life and this is my decision.’

  Charlie turned on Mme Musette again. ‘You’ve hypnotized him, right? Is that it? Am I right? You’ve hypnotized him!’

  Mme Musette was holding the hand of the Latin-looking girl in order to restrain her. The girl was obviously distressed, and kept tugging at her hair and mewling. ‘There is no question of drugs or hypnosis or any artificial stimulant,’ Mme Musette said. ‘We believe in the sanctity of the body, we believe in its purity. We would never allow anything to taint the flesh which we ourselves must eat.’

  ‘Martin, come with me!’ Charlie ordered him, but Martin’s hands remained clenched on the rails at the head of the bed, and he shook his head in adamant refusal.

  Charlie took a deep breath. He looked at his son and could see by the expression on his face that, for now, the Musettes had won. He couldn’t pick Martin up bodily and carry him out of Le Reposoir, he simply wasn’t strong enough. And that was supposing M. Musette and his staff would allow him to carry Martin out of the house without any opposition at all.

  ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘I’m going to leave you for now. But let me tell you right here and now that the first stop I’m going to be making is the county sheriff’s office, and if necessary I’m going to inform the FBI, too. Then we’ll see who makes a meal out of whom.’