Unquenchable Fire

by Rachel Pollack

  Mike said, ‘We’re here for the inspection. We’re hoping, we’re planning to buy a house here.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Adlebury said, still with his back to them. ‘I got a call. I just—’ He reached out for the mask and held it in his hands. ‘I’m not supposed to look at you until I got this thing on. Fact is, I’m supposed to wear the damn thing all the time.’ He put it on. When he spoke again his voice sounded slightly muffled. ‘That’s better, I guess.’ The stone grunted as he stood up. He turned around.

  Nothing in Jennie’s life could have prepared her for that onslaught. Even before the mask faced her she could feel them swarming together. The very act of the stone standing up and turning his head took with it a huge weight, as if a fisherman had attached his net to his face and now swung it up packed with squirming fish. The hive-souls moved in and out of each other, they banged together and slid apart in all the ways of their relationships. Jennie was choking. All those people—all of them staring at her.

  She didn’t actually see them. She didn’t see anything but the doll face imprisoning Adlebury. And yet they were there, sliding in and out of each other, hundreds of voices babbling, arguing, laughing, complaining. Jennie gagged. She stumbled, falling against a half-finished desk. ‘Hey,’ Adlebury said, ‘you okay?’

  ‘What?’ Jennie said. As she looked up the touchstone once again became a bored elderly carpenter with his face covered in a painted helmet. She let her breath out and found herself shaking.

  ‘Honey,’ Mike said, ‘what’s the matter?’ He put his arms around her.

  He didn’t see it, Jennie realised. For Mike it was just a formality.

  And for the touchstone as well. Embarrassed, and a little annoyed by Jennie’s distress, he said, ‘Welcome to the hive.’

  Hours later, after they’d signed the papers in the bank and then the estate agent’s office, after they’d eaten the steaks Jennie had grilled as a celebration, after Mike had run back to ‘the place’ for some paperwork he’d forgotten, after TV and late night ice cream and coffee, after Jennie had got into her nightgown and Mike into his pyjamas, Jennie asked casually, ‘You know that—that thing today? The introduction? I know it’s just a formality, but a formality for what?’

  ‘Huh?’

  Jennie snuggled up against his chest. He put an arm around her. She said, ‘I mean, what’s supposed to happen? Theoretically, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t know, the hive’s supposed to look us over, I guess. See if we fit in.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Through the touchstone. He represents everybody, so he makes the decision.’

  ‘But that’s so symbolic’

  ‘Sure it is. That’s the idea.’

  Jennie pressed against him. ‘Honey,’ she said, ‘let’s celebrate.’ She kissed his ear, then his neck.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Mike said. ‘I’ve got to get to the place early tomorrow. I want to set up some new displays before we open. If we’re going to pay for our new house I’ve got to start putting in some hours.’ He turned on his side and closed his eyes.

  5

  It took Jennie months to admit that something had happened between her and Mike. They were both overworked, she told herself, or, the house was taking all their attention. It wasn’t just that they made love less frequently, or only seemed to talk about their jobs or the lawn or their neighbours. It was as if her husband did everything normally, but only with an effort. As if he had to push himself against some barrier. As if she repelled him and he kept battling to hide it. But why? She could stare in the mirror and tell herself she’d lost her looks, but somehow she knew her appearance, her body, had nothing to do with it.

  On the night of Founder’s Day, a little over a year after they’d moved into the hive, Jennie and Mike went to a Raccoon block party to watch the fireworks. At home, drunk, Mike began to stroke and kiss her. Jennie removed her clothes so fast she fell on the bed, laughing. Mike joined her and they began to make love half dressed.

  Suddenly Jennie jumped up. Mike floated an arm after her. ‘Where are you going?’ he said. ‘Come back.’

  ‘You’ll see.’ She ran into the den to the altar shelf above the television. She came back with the velvet case containing the offering pin.

  ‘Ta da,’ she announced, holding it up. ‘Remember that first night we got it? How we used it—ahem—for other purposes?’ She didn’t finish her proposal. Mike had stiffened all over, except for his erection.

  Jennie stood there, clogged with tears. ‘What’s wrong?’ she said. ‘What did I do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, then burst out, ‘What did you have to bring that thing for?’

  ‘But it’s our offering pin.’

  ‘I know the fuck what it is.’ Jennie began to cry. ‘Oh shit,’ Mike said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Jennie snapped shut the case and threw it at him. ‘I don’t want your sorry. I want you. What are you doing to me?’

  ‘I just don’t want to make an offering. What’s the big deal?’

  ‘But why?’ Jennie grabbed the bathrobe off the chair by the bed and threw it over her open blouse and pantihose. ‘You gave me that pin. So we could have it forever, you said. You were the one to—you know.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s just not safe.’

  ‘Not safe?’

  ‘Who knows what the blood will attract.’

  ‘Mike, what are you talking about?’

  He wouldn’t look at her. ‘Didn’t you read about that woman in Texas?’

  ‘What woman?’ She thought she could start screaming at any moment.

  ‘She did her finger for an offering. At a Recital. At sunset. And it opened a channel. All her blood got sucked out. Boiled off right into the Living World. By the time they got her to the hospital she was dead.’

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ Jennie said. ‘You think that’s what’s going to happen to you?’

  He mumbled, ‘Not to me.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’ He shook his head. Jennie punched his shoulder. ‘What do you mean?’

  He shoved her away. ‘Will you stop it?’

  ‘Do you mean me? Do you think my blood’ll get sucked out if I make an offering?’

  ‘Who knows? Who knows what can happen with you?’

  ‘Great Mother,’ she said. ‘Mike, I’ve been drop offerings all my life.’ She grabbed the case from the floor, sterilized the needle in the alcohol, and jabbed her finger. Shaking the blood loose she said, ‘We remember the Founder. There. See? One drop. That’s all.’

  ‘This time.’

  ‘This time? Mike, where did you get this idea?’ He looked at the wall. She knew. She remembered exactly when the chill had come. ‘The touchstone,’ she said. ‘It’s because of what happened. It was supposed to be a formality and it wasn’t. I saw them. The souls of the hive. And you knew. You knew all along and you didn’t say anything. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  He got up. ‘I’ve got to go piss.’

  She tried to grab his arm but he yanked it loose. She called after him, ‘I’m right, aren’t I? If that could happen anything could happen, is that it?’ She heard the toilet flush, and then Mike came back, only to grab his pillow and the extra blanket. ‘I’m going to go sleep in the den,’ he said.

  ‘Where it’s safe? Where I can’t suck all your blood away?’ She made a loud slurping noise. Mike said nothing. A moment later, Jennie heard the door to the den slam. Exhausted, she lay down and pulled the quilt over her. She expected to cry, to hit the pillow. Instead, she fell asleep. When she woke up, groggy, a little dizzy, the Sun was up and Mike was gone.

  That evening Mike told her he was leaving the following morning on a two week hotel tour of Quebec province, getting firsthand knowledge before the season started. He promised to talk when he got back.

  For the first week of Mike’s absence Jennie tried to act normally. She chose her clothes carefully and put on make-up every morning. At night she cooked herself complete dinners, trying out
new recipes and logging them in a notebook for when Mike returned. Then she would sit on Mike’s recliner chair and watch television until she was sure she would sleep.

  On the Monday of the second week Jennie went up to Maria after the schedule meeting and told her she was too sick to work that day. Silently she endured Maria’s anger and the groans of the other servers who not only would have to work harder but would have to sit through the meeting all over again. When she got outside she found her hands trembling.

  Jennie drove south on the Highway of the Nine Wonders until she came to a small store all by itself on the side of the highway, south of Fishkill. Many years ago, before the Revolution, this store had sold fishing equipment, lures, and especially trout flies. Even through the destruction of the Old World fishermen from as far away as Germany and Israel continued to order their colour catalogue. Today the small blonde who ran the shop continued the family business. All day she would sit by a large scarred wood table and glue together bits of plastic, feathers, gauze, holy words written on tiny specks of parchment, and barbed metal.

  But now the shop was even more renowned for something else. On the day that the Army of the Saints sailed upriver from New York the current owner’s great grandfather had gone fishing. Something snagged his line, and when he reeled it in he found a shirt, as dry as if it had laid in the Sun. The shirt had belonged to Miguel Miracle of the Green Earth, and had been used as a banner to rally the faithful in the Battle of Chicago. The next year the fisherman returned to the same spot at the same time and caught the green and gold box from which Mirando Glowwood had drawn forth the Miracle of the Chocolates.

  As Jennie pulled into the small parking lot someone roared onto the highway, spraying the side of her car with gravel. ‘Hey!’ Jennie shouted as if he could hear her. Some way to act in a sacred shrine, she thought. Not that the place looked very sacred. She’d expected signs, or statues. Instead, the small wooden building might have been the home of a retired fisherman.

  Inside, Jennie pretended to look around at the strange equipment until she realised how silly that was. She walked to the back to stand over a fair-haired woman tying coloured feathers to a black metal hook. The woman wore an old grey shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons. ‘Excuse me,’ Jennie said finally.

  The woman set the fly down carefully on the table before looking up at Jennie. ‘Can I help you?’ she said.

  ‘I’m looking—I’d like—Do you have anything from Ingrid Burning Snake?’

  The woman made a noise, then looked at the window. When she turned her gaze back to Jennie she asked. ‘Why would I have anything to do with Ingrid Burning Snake?’

  ‘What? Isn’t this—’

  ‘Do you really think I would just have something from Burning Snake or anyone else just sitting here? And you could just walk in and order it? Like a piece of cheese?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jennie said. ‘I’m sorry.’ She was about to leave when the woman stood up.

  ‘No, wait a minute,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’re—I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t work here. I just get tired of people making the same stupid mistake over and over. Did you see that guy who was just here?’ Jennie nodded. ‘He wanted Janet Artwing’s shoes. Claimed I was “holding out” on him. As if I had something like that just lying around the shop.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Jennie said. She felt like she was back in Professor Hate-hour’s True History class.

  ‘Just think a moment. Once a year, every year, something comes to us from the river. I’ll bet you think that’s a blessing.’ Jennie didn’t answer. ‘Well, it is, of course it is, but it’s also…How long do you think those things would last if we sold them in this store? Or anywhere? Even if things came to us every day, how long would they last? How long would this building last if we sold those things here? Do you know what happened when Adrienne Birth-of-Beauty died?’

  ‘They had to guard her body.’

  ‘Right. With machine guns. Even before she was actually dead. Everyone wanted a piece of her clothes. Or a piece of her.’

  ‘But what happens—’

  ‘To the relics? The government takes them. What do you think? We give them over to the SDA which puts them in a vault. They get taken out once a year, for the Founders’ Day Parade. And you wouldn’t believe that security.’

  Jennie said, ‘It seems, it seems wrong somehow. Aren’t the relics supposed to help people?’ The woman didn’t answer. ‘I guess I must seem pretty dumb to you.’

  ‘The SDA does its best to get the message across. For instance, it’s illegal to print any reference to us without saying explicitly that we don’t sell relics, the store has nothing to do with them. But people just keep coming.’

  ‘Do you—do you catch them yourself?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I knew you’d get to that one. I could just guess. Think a moment. Try to think. If I caught them do you think I could just sit here? Do you know how many people would come and want me to touch them? My uncle does it. He lives on an estate surrounded by an electrical fence. I haven’t seen him in ten years, not since he became Fisher King. That’s the proper term, by the way. Official SDA title. I’ll bet you didn’t know that either.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘My grandfather died from some disease caught from a woman who broke into his house and forced him to make love to her. She had a gun. She’d been some kind of agent or something and knew how to get past the security. She thought sex with my grandfather would cure her? Isn’t that something? They both died.’

  ‘God,’ Jennie said, ‘I’m sorry.’ A moment later she added, ‘I guess that means you can’t give me anything.’

  The woman laughed so loud Jennie stepped back. The laughter stopped as abruptly as it started. An odd look passed through the woman’s face. She stood there, squinting at Jennie, and then she said, ‘Stay here.’ She went through a white door. When she returned she held her hand out. In the palm rested a small brass box. ‘Take this,’ she said, ‘and don’t ever tell anyone where you got it.’

  Jennie grabbed the box and opened it. Inside, on a red cushion, lay a blackened strip of skin, about an inch across.

  ‘What is this?’ Jennie asked. The woman stood there. Jennie said, ‘Oh my God. It’s her. It’s Li Ku. It’s from when she came down off the ferris wheel. It’s the piece of skin that stuck to the metal.’

  ‘A little piece of the piece. When my grandfather gave it to the government he cut off a few little bits and hid them.’

  Jennie looked at the relic. The box felt cold. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t know? You don’t know? I’m giving you this and you…Don’t you understand? This is her body. It’s not a shirt, or a plastic pen used to sign some announcement. It’s a piece of her body.’

  Jennie started to cry. ‘It’s just—you know, it’s her. Li Ku. I wanted something, I wanted Ingrid Burning Snake. It’s—it’s for, it’s because of my husband. My marriage.’

  ‘Take it,’ the woman said. ‘Li Ku is the truth.’

  Jennie looked at the piece of skin. When she closed the box and put it in her bag the woman let out a breath. Jennie asked how much she owed her.

  The woman laughed even louder than before. ‘Do you think you could possibly pay me enough for something like that?’

  ‘You’re giving it to me?’ The woman nodded. ‘Why?’

  She shook her head. The messy blonde hair swung back and forth. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I just—Please,’ she said, ‘just get out of here. Okay? In a little while I’m going to be very angry at myself. So please, go.’

  Jennie half ran to her car.

  That night, and every night until Mike returned, Jennie stripped naked, put on her reddest lipstick, then used her tweezers to pluck the piece of skin and set it down on the living room floor. With the gold offering pin she pricked her finger, then waved her hand to scat
ter the drops of blood through the air. ‘In the name of Li Ku Unquenchable Fire. In beauty and truth lives her name forever.’ And then, ‘Please help me. Please let me keep my husband. I just want a normal life.’

  Mike came home around eleven at night, with a peck on the lips and an announcement that he’d eaten, and was so tired he just wanted to have a shower and go to bed. Jennie listened to him shower, and when he lay in bed she stood in the doorway, her own arms full of his dirty laundry from his suitcase. She told herself how much she loved him, how they would work it out, how she would do anything to keep him.

  THE CONCEALMENT

  When a baby enters its mother’s womb it first swims through the River of Forgetfulness. Only the Founders escaped this immersion. As they travelled to their mothers they floated above the water, in the silver air of truth.

  If the Founders always knew reality, why did they wait to begin the Revolution? The answer to this question is: even the Founders (in beauty and truth live their names forever) must wait for the proper moment. The Revolution could only begin in its correct place, Anaheim, California, and only at the correct time, the Parade of the Animals. Before that moment the Founders knew they must not reveal themselves. They lived normal lives, going to school, working, living with their families and friends. And they made sure never to meet each other. For if only two Founders were to stand in the same room, or sit on the same bus, or even work for the same company or shop in the same department store, the light would leap from one to the other, blinding anyone who stood between them.

  It happened once that a certain woman received a vision of the Revolution. She learned that the Founders existed, that one day they would join together and create the world. Now, this woman had suffered greatly in her life. Her father had died in a plane crash. Her mother had become an alcoholic and a thief. Her lover had left her for someone else. Two of her best friends had committed suicide, while another had contracted a terrible disease that destroys the body. And every day in the woman’s city people were beaten and murdered.