Unquenchable Fire

by Rachel Pollack

  Gloria said, ‘What about guardians?’

  ‘Of course,’ Joan said. ‘Guardians, fertility mothers, everything. I got one of those sets at the garden shop. You know, wood from each of the national parks, little boxes filled with seeds? Cost a fortune. We planted them all over. Nothing.’

  ‘I just asked,’ Gloria said. ‘There are some people who think they can flaunt the spirit and the grass will grow anyway.’ Her eyes darted at Jennie who pretended not to notice.

  ‘Listen,’ Joan said. ‘I’ve got so many little statues around my house Jimmy came in crying one day because he said there was no place he could play without violating a territory. And Earl’s mother actually tripped over a Dancer guardian I’d put at the bottom of the back steps. I was terrified she’d broken her leg and would end up staying for weeks.’

  Gloria said, ‘I don’t think you should call them statues.’

  ‘Come on, Gloria,’ Karen said, ‘what do you want her to call them?’

  ‘Their proper names. Guardians. Or Living Beings. That is what they are.’

  ‘And what’s going to happen if she calls them statues? Will they blast her kids at the bus stop?’

  ‘Karen!’ Gloria said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Karen told her, ‘but sometimes, Gloria…’

  Jennie said, imitating Gloria’s sugary tones, ‘The inner feeling is more important than the words, you know.’ Karen laughed. Joan looked embarrassed. Jennie thought that her mother would be proud of her.

  Gloria said, ‘But really, she did say her lawn refused to grow. Maybe if she didn’t speak that way—’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Joan said. ‘I think it’s something in the lawn. After the Recital last week I wondered if the real being I should pray to was He Who Runs Away. Or maybe Li Ku herself. That’s what my lawn’s like. It reminds me of the desert at the end of the Picture.’

  There was a silence and Jennie found herself wanting to run back in the house. Instead she said, ‘What did you think of the Recital?’

  ‘What did I think? It was very good. I guess.’ She looked down. ‘Well, it was—I don’t know, maybe—we discussed it in the block, the Squirrels…’ Her voice trailed off, and then she said, ‘What did you think of it?’

  ‘Me?’ Jennie said. She glanced at Karen, who was looking at the ground.

  ‘Yeah,’ Joan said. ‘I mean, you know, Allan Lightstorm coming and everything, and then doing—that story. Some of the people in our block felt sort of, not really angry, I mean, that would be a transgression, but sort of, like it wasn’t really fair. But what did you think of it?’

  She doesn’t know, Jennie realised. She looked at Karen who still stared at the grass, and Gloria, whose eyes moved back and forth from Joan to Jennie. They hadn’t told anyone. They didn’t want anyone to know. She said, ‘What can I say? It is one of the prime Pictures.’

  ‘Of course,’ Joan said. ‘Of course. But you’ve got to admit—’

  ‘I’d say the Recital had a powerful effect on me. It sort of took me into another world. A dream world.’

  Joan said, ‘I didn’t really find that. That’s what I expected. I figured, oh, Allan Lightstorm, he’ll really do it. But somehow…Anyway, to tell you the truth, I’m glad he didn’t do it to me. Like that, I mean. Weren’t you scared or anything?’

  ‘Actually, I didn’t get a chance to be scared. In fact—’

  Gloria broke in loudly, ‘I don’t think we should talk about the Recital. Outside our own blocks. Isn’t that what the blocks are for? You are a Squirrel, Joan, and we are Raccoons.’

  Jennie said, ‘Isn’t inter-block communication supposed to be good for the hive?’

  ‘Of course, Jennifer, of course. But there are some things that are meant just for the block. That’s the mystery of block unification. That we all join together into one experience.’

  ‘Well,’ Jennie said, ‘that’s something you probably know more about than me.’

  Joan said, ‘If you really think we shouldn’t talk about it—’

  Karen said ‘Anyway, we were talking about lawns. I once read that how a person’s lawn grows doesn’t depend on them. It has to do with the spirits of the people who occupied the land in earlier times. They come back in the grass or something.’

  Joan made a face. ‘Come back in the grass?’

  ‘You know,’ Karen pushed on, and Jennie was sure she was improvising. ‘Whether they did good things in their life. Whether they enjoyed it. Or maybe how they treated the land. Things like that.’

  ‘You mean dead spirits?’

  Jennie said, ‘Of course. You can’t ask living spirits to stay in the grass. They could always just move to another lawn.’

  Gloria said, ‘The people who left the Raccoon totem in my house are dead, but I’m sure the totem was meant for me. For me and Al.’

  ‘But Gloria,’ Jennie said, ‘That’s because Racy Raccoon is a being all by himself. Those people were just vehicles. To allow Racy Raccoon to reach you. Obviously you and Racy were intended to meet. That must be the reason those people lived there before you. So they could leave the totem for you. The blessed spirit was using them.’

  Gloria seemed to find this idea so appealing she didn’t want to believe Jennie was faking. ‘It is true,’ she said, ‘that people sometimes think they do something for their own reasons but actually the Living World is using them to manifest itself.’

  Karen said, ‘You sound like you’re reciting something.’

  ‘Well, it is true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Imagine,’ Jennie said. ‘Those people living here all that time, paying their mortgage, voting on taxes and school bonds, maybe arguing with each other or thinking when their kids grew up it was time to leave or something, and the whole time, even their getting married and having kids in the first place, even growing up and going to school or work or a baseball game or wherever they met each other, even their parents meeting each other, all that, just so they could leave that poster there, and Gloria and Al could move in with it.’

  Gloria’s face tightened, but before she could say anything Joan said, ‘I once left my Name beads on a plane. I always get scared on planes and like to count the Names, and anyway, when I left, I knew I’d left them but something stopped me from going back to get them, and I had the strangest feeling. Like someone, a cleaner or someone, was meant to find them. That maybe those beads had some special purpose for that person and I was meant to leave them there.’

  ‘I’m sure you were,’ Gloria said. ‘Some people might think such things are silly, but if you respect the spirit world—’

  ‘The spirit world respects you?’ Jennie said.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Joan laughed. ‘Then why doesn’t my lawn come up? Maybe the last person to live there was an axe murderer.’

  Karen said, ‘Or a hypocrite.’ She glanced at Gloria. ‘Remember what Adrienne Birth-of-Beauty said, “Hypocrisy is the lock that bolts shut the door.”’

  ‘I’ve always loved that one,’ Joan said. ‘The Shout, I mean.’ Jennie thought, me too. As a child she must have read the chapter on ‘The Shout From The Skyscraper’ thirty times. It still gave her shivers to think of the Founder clinging to the giant radio antenna, and her voice so strong everyone could see their bones under their skin.

  ‘Sometimes,’ Joan said, ‘I think about just that part of it too. The thing about hypocrisy. I mean, we’re all sort of hypocrites now, aren’t we.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Karen said.

  ‘Well, even the Tellers. They’re not—you know, they’re not like they used to be. Not like the Founders, anyway.’

  There was a silence, then Karen said, ‘I wonder what it was like to live then. With all the miracles.’

  Joan laughed. ‘I think it must have been very scary.’

  Karen sighed. ‘Maybe that’s why the miracles stopped.’

  Gloria said, ‘Maybe they stopped because of the transgressions of the worshippers.’

  ‘No,’
Jennie said. ‘It’s got nothing to do with that. Transgression.’

  Joan asked, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just—I don’t know.’

  For a moment they all stood there, then Joan said, ‘I guess I better get back to my transgressed lawn.’

  When Joan was safely around the corner Gloria turned on Jennie. ‘You’re really determined, aren’t you? You just want to ruin the whole block.’

  Karen said, ‘Gloria, stop exaggerating.’

  ‘You heard her. She was positively flaunting herself.’

  Jennie smiled. ‘I thought you loved me, Gloria.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘At the meeting. I wanted to go home and go to bed, but you wouldn’t let me. You told me how much you loved me.’

  ‘The hive. I said the hive loves you.’

  ‘Aren’t you part of the hive?’

  ‘Of course, of course. But—you’re the one who’s not part of the hive. Who just goes off and does what she wants. You’re just trying to twist the hive’s love. If you loved your block you would have gone to the Recital.’ She looked around to make sure no outsiders had been hiding when she’d said the forbidden words.

  ‘By the way,’ Jennie said. ‘I’d thank you for not telling the others, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t do it for my sake.’

  ‘It was a group decision,’ Gloria said.

  ‘Actually,’ Karen said. ‘Most of them just didn’t want anyone to know.’

  Gloria said, ‘Why should outsiders know? It’s bad enough you letting us down like that. Why should we broadcast it to everybody?’

  Jennie waved a hand. ‘I’ve got to go, ladies. Saturday’s my errand day.’

  ‘Sure,’ Gloria said. ‘Just traipse off like that. Just like you did at the Recital. And the meeting.’

  Karen said, ‘See you, Jennie.’

  Back in the house Jennie thought about the look on Gloria’s face when she’d said that about being transported to a ‘dream world’, or the part about Gloria loving her. She sat down on the couch in front of the picture window. Leaning back she remembered how she used to scold Mike for resting his head on the cushions. Without any conviction she reminded herself yet again to stop thinking about him. She laughed. Mike should have been there. He never could stand Gloria.

  She stretched out her legs and kicked off her sandals. She should turn on the air conditioner. And close the door. Bar the mugginess from the house. She smiled, remembering Gloria’s face when she’d realised Jennie was making fun of her.

  Why had she said that? About transgressions not mattering. What did she mean by that? It had something to do with the dream. In the dream the fish came and saved them and it didn’t matter whether they’d sinned or not. The fish didn’t care. And the end, when she—when the milk and all the creatures came out of her—it wouldn’t have mattered what sins she’d done—if she’d killed people, or burned all the guardians on the Main Mall, or maybe become a saint, stopping bombs in mid-air by the power of her holiness. The creatures didn’t care. They just wanted the milk.

  It’s like ‘The Place Inside’, she thought. At the end, the woman doesn’t deserve what happens to her. That’s the reason everyone gets so upset, it’s not just because it’s horrible, it’s because they think—she strained to catch hold of the idea before it slid away from her—it’s because she’s like them, an ordinary person, and then this thing happens to her. Something she doesn’t deserve.

  But none of us deserve it. None of us deserve anything that happens to us. Good things too.

  This was crazy. Soon she’d set up a box by the Founders’ Urinal and start preaching sermons.

  The Founders’ Urinal. The county offices building. Jennie put her sandals back on and went to the dinette for her bag. She checked to make sure she had her keys and then went outside and got in the car. As she started the engine she thought how she should have done this days ago. What else do you do when you get a strange dream, but check it in the catalogue?

  5

  She parked the car in her usual spot by the county offices building. With most of the agencies closed for the weekend the building was almost deserted. A couple of tourists were taking pictures of the Urinal, but there were no pilgrims. Outside the door a dog slept, his tongue hanging out before him.

  Inside the glass doors Jennie turned left to the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. The ground floor belonged to the Motor Vehicle Bureau, the second to the computers and file systems and giant bound books of the Records Office. On the third Jennie walked down a corridor with closed doors on either side until she came to a green metal door marked, ‘National Oneiric Registration Agency.’ Inside, a woman sat behind a wooden counter, reading a newspaper. ‘Good morning,’ Jennie said.

  The woman continued to read. Feeling silly, Jennie sat down on one of the two wooden chairs set against the wall. The woman’s stool must have been quite high because Jennie found herself looking up at her. After a while she said, ‘Excuse me, I’d like to do a dream search.’

  The woman sighed. ‘Obviously,’ she said, and tossed the paper on the counter. A thin woman, about twenty or a little older, with a slightly curved spine, she made a face and grunted softly as she tried to reach to the side for something. ‘Damn,’ she said finally, and got off the stool. She bent down, then came up with a long sheet of paper. ‘Fill this out,’ she said, and jumped back on her seat to pick up her newspaper.

  Jennie thought that that was why she hadn’t done a check before. Paperwork. Paperwork and the legendary courtesy of NORA officials. The questions, in green type, began with the usual, name, age, occupation, and went on to things like ‘date of last search’ (as if anyone could remember) and ‘spiritual training; give details.’ Certain she was getting everything wrong, Jennie filled it out by the counter and held it out to the clerk.

  ‘Relax,’ the woman said. ‘I’m sure your dream’s very important. But you’ve already had it, huh? It won’t go away.’

  ‘I might forget it.’

  ‘You didn’t write it down? Well, that’s your problem. Only, I hope you don’t fudge the details or you won’t get an accurate reading.’ She heaved herself off the stool like someone twice her age and size. Taking the form and her newspaper she walked through a door behind the counter. About five minutes passed, and Jennie wondered if the woman had gone for lunch. Finally she came back; she had a paperback novel in her hand.

  ‘Nothing much in the news?’ Jennie asked.

  ‘Nope,’ the woman said. ‘Same garbage as usual. The mayor claims Allan Lightstorm’s gonna come back next Recital. Claims he liked Poughkeepsie so much. That’s just what we need, to have some big New York name come tell us “The Place” once a year. Thanks a lot.’

  ‘I don’t think he tells the same Picture every recital.’

  ‘Once is enough.’ She waved a hand. ‘Go down to Room 5’

  Room 5, a couple of doors down, was a cubicle even smaller than the NORA office. The single chair filled almost the whole space before a light green wall containing a roughly nine-inch white square. Above the square was a pink light bulb. A sign next to it read, ‘Do not speak until the light goes on and you hear the buzzer. Recite your dream in clear even tones. Try to make the details precise and simple.’ Startled, Jennie realised she still expected to have to type it out onto a terminal. She knew they’d changed the system. She remembered all the stuff on TV about NORA’s new ‘voice registration software.’ Actually facing it, however, was something else.

  She wished she’d rehearsed at home, in front of a mirror or something. The light flashed on and a loud buzz made Jennie jump. She began speaking, too loud and too fast, about the river and the people shouting at her. She realised that that wasn’t the beginning and stopped. She took a breath. Hoping she hadn’t messed it up completely she said, ‘I’m starting again. Don’t count that other part.’ She added, ‘Sorry,’ then felt even more stupid, apologising to a computer. Sitting up straight she
began the dream again, very slowly, trying to get everything right. Finally she said, ‘That’s it,’ and stood up, wondering if the light would flash again or something. After a moment she grabbed her bag and returned to the office, where the woman sat curved over the counter, reading her book. Jennie asked, ‘How long will it take? Before I get a reading, I mean.’

  ‘The usual. Haven’t you ever done a search before?’

  ‘Sure,’ Jennie said. ‘But not in a while.’ She added, ‘I’ve never done it that way before. I mean, by voice.’

  ‘Makes no difference,’ the woman said. ‘Come back in about twenty minutes.’ Jennie nodded and went out. She crossed the street and walked half a block to the diner next to the old turreted armoury with its red brick walls and heavy arched door. The diner was long and narrow, a stuffy place with greasy food and good coffee. Sitting on a stool near the back she wished she’d brought a book or borrowed the clerk’s newspaper. All she could think of was the dream and the way it connected to Li Ku’s Picture.

  She heard a noise outside and walked with her coffee to a front booth where she could look. A marching band was coming up Market Street, drummers and brass in front followed by a whole line of high-stepping girls in fluorescent red boots. The girls looked beautiful, Jennie thought, with their bare breasts painted in Sun bursts and Moon phases, with stripes running down their arms to their fingertips, like rippling rivers ending in five bright tributaries. The oil on their arms (to prevent Malignant Ones fastening on to them) made the muscles flash.

  Jennie wished she could join them, with no worries other than remembering the ‘constellations.’ She knew that that was what the girls called the patterns made by the striped stick with the (plastic) skull of a small bird mounted on either end. You had to get the twirls just right or else the blessing on the street would go wrong and there’d be car crashes the following weeks. The girls didn’t seem to worry. As more and more people came to watch they stepped higher, grinning as the sweat and oil ran off them.