Cowards. Useless goddamn cowards. She grabbed the page with Li Ku’s picture on it, held the paper away from the book. She should tear it out. Tear them out one by one, every useless page, crack the spine, break the cover. She dropped the book on the table. She pushed herself up, and with one hand on the small of her back she walked over to the stove and turned off the oven.
Excerpt from A TALE FOUND ON A FERRIS WHEEL
Too Pretty walked out into the country of the dead. While the advisers and congresses and speakers and ambassadors and generals and press agents all argued how to divide the Celestial Republic, the Blessed First Lady slid and crawled over arms and legs, over emptied out stomachs and lakes of blood. It had to be there, she told herself. No one could have lifted it. It belonged to her and it wouldn’t move for anyone else.
For in the short time since the President’s death the Blessed First Lady had convinced herself that she and He Who Runs Away had loved each other, that her years long spell had protected him from his enemies. And now that the spell had failed (she blamed herself for his defeat), now that their enemies had destroyed him, she believed that her husband wanted her to finish his work.
There wasn’t much time. Right now they were planning the funeral. The undertakers had gone out with their bright scarves over their faces and their red gloves that reached to the elbows, and they’d collected enough parts to put together a body. Right now they were sculpting the face, using putty and paint, working from coins and postage stamps. Soon they’d mount him on display, and while all the delegations shuffled past, the negotiations would solidify. And when they’d worked out some scheme and ordered the speakers to claim they had read it as a diagram in heaven, then someone would remember the First Lady. They would lock her back in her house, they would dismantle her mountain and flatten the Earth. But if she found it, the thing that belonged to her…
On the seventh day of the woman’s search the birds and the rats watched her pick up what looked like a misshapen head with a disfigured face. The Blessed First Lady raised the Head of His Father above her body. The sun recoiled in the sky.
Jennie arrived at Karen D’arcy’s house on a snowy Thursday evening. In the driveways along the street men in scarves and tree stump boots were shovelling away the first inches of snow. Inside the houses the children had retreated to their bedrooms, where they stripped naked, drew symbols on their chests and legs with non-toxic paint and then kneeled before their guardians to promise some penance or offering if only the Beings would keep it snowing long enough to cancel school. Walking through the untouched snow of Karen’s driveway, Jennie thought how she used to hate all these little family events. She hated getting out with a shovel when all the wives could send their husbands. It was one of the things that had drawn her and Karen together after Mike had left.
Karen took a long time to answer the bell. When she did, her ‘God, Jennie, what are you doing out on a night like this?’ sounded so rehearsed Jennie was sure Karen must have peeked through a window and debated whether or not she could safely pretend she wasn’t at home. Jennie said, ‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Come on. Just leave your boots by the door here.’ Jennie stepped into the small entrance area where she bent down to undo the laces holding her boots tight around her padded jeans. Karen said, ‘Those look great on you. I wish I could wear snug boots like that.’ When Jennie didn’t answer Karen reached for the plastic totebag Jennie had leaned against the door. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘let me put that somewhere for you.’ She laughed. ‘I hope you didn’t bring any cake. Or chocolate. I’m on my latest diet.’ Karen was wearing a loose purple jumpsuit gathered at the wrists and ankles. Jennie felt shapeless and slovenly in her jeans and overlarge sweatshirt.
‘No, give me that,’ Jennie said, and took the bag out of Karen’s hand.
‘Sure. Whatever you want.’ There was silence briefly, and then Karen said, ‘Sometimes I think there’s a special squad of Malignant Ones assigned to throw chocolate at me whenever I try to diet.’ Jennie took her coat off and shook the excess snow onto the plastic mat. At the sight of Jennie’s bulging middle Karen said, ‘Shit, there I go slamming my hoof in my mouth again. Just what you need to hear, huh? Diets? Putting on weight? Sorry, Jennie.’
‘It’s okay,’ Jennie said. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Well, I still could show a little tact.’
‘I said I don’t mind.’ She sat down on the couch, still holding the totebag in front of her. Calmly, she watched Karen look quickly from Jennie to the small stone guardian on its wooden platform by the entrance to the living room. When it was clear that Jennie didn’t intend to go back and touch it, Karen slid her own hand over the grey face. She did it quickly, as if she hoped Jennie wouldn’t notice, but she still closed her eyes and mouthed some formula—maybe protection against the accursed.
Karen sat down in a chair opposite the couch. A moment later she stood up again. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. You want some coffee?’
‘If you’re having some.’
‘Great.’ She hurried into the kitchen. ‘Sorry I can’t offer you anything,’ she called. ‘Only way I can diet. Empty out the whole house.’
Jennie didn’t answer. She leaned her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes.
Karen stayed in the kitchen the whole time the coffee was brewing. When she came back she set the cup down on the small square table at the end of the couch and touched a finger to Jennie’s knee. ‘Jennie?’ When Jennie opened her eyes, Karen jumped back. ‘I thought you’d fallen asleep,’ she said.
‘No, just resting.’
‘It’s tiring, huh? What is it now, almost the sixth month?’ Jennie nodded. There was silence a moment, then Karen said, ‘Hey, are you sure you should be drinking coffee? Great, huh? Now that I’ve gone and made it, I ask whether you really want it. But you know what I mean.’
Jennie smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Karen. Nothing could harm the baby.’
‘Oh. Well, there’s so many reports. I saw in the Holy Digest—not my usual magazine, but you know waiting rooms. Anyway, it said the soul needs “digestive serenity” when it’s forming the body around it. I love that phrase. “Digestive serenity.”’ She laughed. ‘I could use some of that myself.’
‘Believe me,’ Jennie said, ‘nothing could possibly confuse this soul from secreting whatever body it wants.’
‘I guess so,’ Karen said. The two of them sipped their coffee. ‘Remember that guy? The one I was hoping would call?’ She laughed and gave a little shrug. ‘I even checked with the phone company to make sure no Ferocious Ones were blocking my line. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. One of these days I’m going to get smart and give up men instead of chocolate.’
‘Karen…’ Jennie said. She stopped, made a face.
Karen leaned forward. She crossed her arms and held on to her elbows. ‘What is it?’ she said.
‘Karen, I want to give you something.’
‘Give me something? I don’t understand.’
Jennie said, ‘Several things, actually.’ With the totebag in her hands she hesitated, filled with a sadness that angered and confused her. This should be easy, she told herself. She didn’t want these things any more. They didn’t mean anything to her. She took out the Name beads first, holding them by the string so that the blue and gold stones dangled in front of her. ‘Here,’ she said, but Karen didn’t move. ‘Come on,’ Jennie said, ‘put out your hand.’
Karen obeyed. When Jennie dropped the beads in her hand she looked from them to Jennie and then laid them down on the table, careful not to twist them or let any overlap. ‘Why are you giving these to me? Have you gotten a new set? I thought you got these from your father.’
Jennie didn’t answer, but as she reached into the bag for the Squeaky Founder doll, she thought, It’s true, Jimmy gave me most of these things. That’s probably why I didn’t just burn them. She gave Karen the doll.
‘What are you doing?’
Karen said.
‘I don’t need these any more. I want you to have them.’
‘Jennie, why don’t you need them any more? Have you got new ones?’ When Jennie reached into the bag again Karen grabbed hold of her arm. ‘Please stop. I want you to tell me what you’re doing.’
‘Karen, I’m not a child. I just don’t want these any more. And I know you’ll appreciate them so I want you to have them. That’s all.’
‘That’s all.’ Karen sat back and watched as Jennie took out sanctified salve, a miniature Founder’s shirt, and several other small ceremonial objects. Karen said, ‘It looks like you’ve emptied out your whole house.’
‘I guess so,’ Jennie said, but she knew it wasn’t true. She’d kept the Revolution Mouse doll, the offering pin Mike had given her, and one thing more, the piece of Li Ku’s skin, which still hung around her neck.
After she’d emptied the totebag of all the smaller objects Jennie lifted out her copy of The Lives. ‘I’m not taking that,’ Karen said. She leaned back in her chair.
‘Please,’ Jennie said. ‘I don’t want—I can’t just get rid of it. I want you to have it.’
‘Why should you get rid of it?’
‘I can’t explain. It’s too difficult.’
‘I think you can’t explain because you don’t know. You need help, Jennie. Don’t you realise that?’
‘The only help I need is for you to take these things from me.’ She laid the book down with the rest.
‘This is what comes from not doing that banishment. That’s what started all this.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with it.’
‘Of course it has. You don’t really think you’re making any sense, do you?’
‘I don’t care if I’m making any sense. I didn’t come here to make sense. I just wanted to give you these things.’
‘Just wanted—What kind of an act is that, Jennie? Can’t you see there’s something deeply wrong with you? Oh God, I feel so responsible.’
Jennie laughed. ‘Where do you get that idea?’
‘I didn’t make sure you did the enactment. I knew I should have kept after you. I just knew it. And now look at this. It’s like you’re throwing away your—your soul.’
Only the decorations, Jennie thought. But then, No. No, these things are real. That was why she couldn’t burn them. Not just because Jimmy had given them to her…Because they were real and she loved them. But refusing them was real as well. An act all her own, as genuine as the interventions of the Agency. Out loud she said, ‘Believe me, Karen, doing that banishment couldn’t possibly have affected what I’m doing at all. You’ve just got to take my word for that.’
‘Your word? If only you could hear yourself. Really hear yourself. What exactly do you think your word is worth? When you’re trying to cut yourself loose from all the points that connect you—’
‘I’m just giving away a bunch of old—’ She stopped herself. This was no time for lies.
‘You know very well what you’re doing. This isn’t some sort of spring cleaning.’
‘All right, all right. I want to break my connections.’
‘And that’s sick.’
‘Maybe I want to make my own connections. Can you understand that?’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Well, ridiculous or not, it’s my decision.’
‘The very fact that you can say something like that—’
‘What? That I want to make my own decision?’
‘Yes! How can you make any decisions at all if you cut yourself off like that?’
‘I never thought you’d—you’d get so excited.’
‘Of course I’m excited. I care about you, Jennie. You’re my friend. We share the same pattern. If you rip yourself loose like this, don’t you think that does something to me?’
‘I’m sorry, Karen. I don’t want to hurt you, or upset you. Believe me, I don’t.’
‘Then get help. Go down to the Hospital of the Inner Spirit. Or go to a private healer. They can restore you. You’ve just got to give yourself to them.’
Jennie smiled. ‘I’ve given too much of myself already.’
‘Don’t think you can put me off with some stupid blasphemy. I just won’t listen. I want you to go see someone.’ Jennie said nothing. ‘Do you want me to find a name for you? My cousin went to somebody—’
‘Please, Karen. I just won’t go. You know I won’t.’
‘I’m going to get you help, Jennie. Trust me. I won’t let you destroy yourself.’
‘And there’s no way I could make you see I’m not doing that?’
Karen slowly shook her head. ‘No. Absolutely not.’
Jennie couldn’t think what to say. She finally managed, ‘I’ve got to go.’
Karen gathered the things from the table, ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Take these back with you.’
Jennie walked past her to the entrance mat. ‘You keep them. Please. I’ll just throw them away.’ She began lacing up her boots.
‘I’ll keep them,’ Karen told her. ‘For you.’
‘Fine.’ Jennie pulled her coat from the closet. With her hand on the door she said, ‘Oh, hell. Karen, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.’
‘You don’t have to apologise. You’re not responsible for what you do.’
‘The funny thing is,’ Jennie said, ‘that’s all I want.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘I just want to be responsible for what I do. I just want things to be my own decision.’
‘Then get help.’
‘I’m my own help.’
‘No, Jennie, you mustn’t talk like that. You’re never alone.’
Jennie kissed Karen on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you care so much about me.’
‘You’re my friend.’
Jennie remembered a poster her third grade teacher kept at the end of the blackboard. ‘God is your friend.’ Not true, she thought, not true. Karen D’arcy is my friend. She hugged Karen, then slid loose to open the door. The cold leaped in at them.
As Jennie stepped into the snow Karen said, ‘I’ll get help for you, Jennie. I promise.’
Jennie nodded. She put up her hood. When she stepped into the path leading to the driveway she noticed that most of the shovellers had given up and gone back inside. Behind her the door closed. Alone with the snow she set off for home.
The Meaning of a Story: A moment in the life of Valerie Mazdan
After the New York riots Courageous Wisdom vanished from public knowledge for several years. She left her College, she refused to speak at Recitals, and after the magazines and television networks stopped surrounding her she travelled under another name to some anonymous city where no one suspected their neighbour of fame.
Several years passed, and then on a certain Day of Truth a group of people gathered in the Fifth Avenue Picture Hall in New York City. They sat between the stained glass windows and listened to a Living Master tell the Picture of Chained Mother. They sat with eyes closed, and now and then a wavelike sensation would roll over their bodies. But these feelings always passed before they could take hold, leaving the listeners with a sense of something not quite awakened.
After she’d told the end of the Picture the Teller announced the formula, ‘And this is the Picture’s meaning.’ At that moment a wind blew open the high doors at the back of the hall. Everyone turned and there stood Valerie Mazdan in her famous coat of transparent pockets. She called out, ‘I will show you the meaning of a story.’
Everyone waited, frightened some raving horde of tattooed maniacs would sweep in and knock them to the ground. Nothing happened. They all turned to each other and laughed. When they looked again to the back Mazdan had gone. The embarrassed laughter blew into a gale as each one imagined she or he had survived some great danger. At such a moment no one wanted simply to go home. They wrote all their names and addresses on a list and swore to meet again the following year.
The yea
r passed and the people forgot their plan. The next year a small group sent out letters to organize a reunion, but when only a few people responded, the committee dropped the idea. Ten years passed and finally they all decided to meet. Now, some still lived in New York, but others had moved away so they decided to book space in a hotel and hire one of the hotel’s convention rooms. When they’d all assembled it looked at first as if half the group had stayed home. As they began talking, however, and each told about the ones he or she knew, they discovered that a large number had died in the past decade, some from disease, some from accidents or crime, some from suicide.
They enacted a brief memorial, in which one of the younger women, a diamond assayer from Sixth Avenue, acted the part of Courageous Wisdom. But when the assayer stood in the room’s doorway and shouted, ‘I will show you the meaning of a story,’ a bucket of cement, stored on a shelf above the door, fell down and killed her. The horrified witnesses decided to go on a pilgrimage. Otherwise the woman’s angry spirit might escape from the land of the dead and return to torment them.
They chose a certain holy pool of water in the dunes outside Amsterdam. According to accounts on television, immersing your face in the water restored lost memories and raised you up so refreshed that any beings stalking you would fail to recognize you. They filed their plans with the SDA and then they stood in a circle in Rainbow Square, with their hands on each other’s shoulders and pledged to help each other fulfil the pilgrimage.
Now, one of the group worked as a Speaker, and he gathered a coin from each of them, then tossed them all at the statue’s feet. By the pattern the coins formed he determined that they mustn’t travel by air. They chartered a boat, a small steamship specially fitted for pilgrimages, with penitence rooms and sanctified saunas. Once they reached the open seas, however, it turned out that the captain and crew planned to rob them and abandon ship. A fight broke out; several of the pilgrims died before the rest realised they had better surrender.
The crew left in a small boat which had pulled alongside. For days the steamship drifted, while the food and water ran out, and the Speaker studied the wave patterns for clues to their escape, or at least an explanation for the disastrous reading achieved in New York. Each dawn and twilight they cast more and more of their possessions as offerings into the sea. But instead of deliverance a storm rose up at them. By the time it had ended, twelve of them had died; some fell overboard, some died of exposure, and one man ruptured his stomach.
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