by Iain Banks
I swallowed. 'They surely cannot change to the extent that we join the Benighted in their fear of love!' I cried.
'No,' he told me. 'That's not what I meant.' He sighed, then nodded at my glass. 'Drink up; we'll find the truth of this yet.'
I drank, gulping the whisky down and almost gagging. Was this some strange new ceremony? Did we now believe that one could find the truth at the bottom of a bottle? What was going on? What was he talking about? He refilled our glasses again. He set the bottle down with a thump on the shelf between two heavy, flickering candles.
'Isis,' he said, and his voice was suddenly small and almost plaintive. His eyes glittered. 'Isis; is any of this true?'
'All of it, Grandfather!' I said, leaning forward. He reached out and took my free hand, holding it.
He shook his head in an angry, frustrated way, gulped some whisky down and said, 'I don't know, Isis; I don't know.' There were tears in his eyes. 'I'm told one thing, I'm told another thing; I don't know who to believe, who's telling the truth.' He drank some more. 'I know I'm old; I'm not young any more, but I'm not confused; I'm made confused, you see? I hear people say things and I wonder if they can be true, and I listen to the Voice of God and I wonder sometimes if what They say can be right, though I know it must, so I wonder is it something in me? But I know it can't be; after all these years… I just know, you see. Do you see, child?'
'I think so, Grandfather.'
He squeezed my hand, which he still held, on the covers.
'Good girl. Good girl.' He drained his glass, shook his head and gave a watery smile. 'You and me, Isis; we're the ones, aren't we? You are my grandchild, but you are the Elect, special like me; aren't you?'
I nodded hesitantly. 'By the grace of God and by your teaching, yes, I believe so, of course.'
'You believe in God, you believe in the Voice?' he said anxiously, urgently, squeezing my hand even tighter. It was starting to hurt.
'Yes,' I said. 'Yes, of course.'
'You believe in what is said, what is heard, what I am told?'
'With all my heart and soul,' I assured him, trying to flex the hand he gripped.
'Then why are you lying to me?' he roared, throwing his glass to one side and throwing himself at me. I fell back, toppling over as he thumped into me and pushed me down, pinning me down by the shoulders, my still-crossed legs pressed up into my chest by his belly; I had to put my hand holding the whisky glass out to one side to avoid spilling it, while my other hand lay on my chest, clutching involuntarily at the neck of my shirt. I stared up at my Grandfather's furiously livid face.
'I'm not lying!' I cried.
'You are, child! Admit you are! Open your soul! Let out this poison!' His body pressed down on mine, forcing my knees into my chest. He shook me by the shoulders; I felt whisky slop out of my glass onto my hand, chilling it. I felt around, trying to find anywhere I could leave the glass without it tipping over and spilling its contents, so I could have two hands free, but all I could feel was rumpled bedclothes, nowhere firm.
'What poison?' I gasped, breathless from the pressure on my chest. 'There is no poison! My conscience is clear!'
'Don't lie to me, Isis!'
'I'm not lying!' I shouted again. 'It is all true!'
'Why persist?' he roared, shaking me again. 'Why add to your sin?' His breath was warm and smelled of whisky.
'I am not! There is no sin to add to!'
'You took that sacrament! You stole it!'
'No! No! Why should I?'
'Because you hate me!' he yelled.
'I don't!' I gasped painfully. 'I don't; I love you! Grandfather, why are you doing this? Please get off me!'
He slid off me to one side, falling against the bottom of the tumbled slope of pillows and cushions, lying on his side next to me, staring at me, eyes still wet with tears. 'You don't love me,' he said, his voice hoarse. 'You want me dead, out of the way. You want everything for yourself now.'
I struggled upright onto my knees, put the whisky glass on the shelf at last and kneeled by him, my hand on his shoulder as he lay there, wheezing, staring away at the far wall.
'Don't love me,' he mumbled. 'You don't love me…'
'Grandfather, I love you for yourself, for all you've done for me, the way you've looked after Allan and me as though we were your own children, but I love you doubly; I love you as our Faith's Founder, too. I can't imagine ever loving anybody half as much, not ever; not a quarter as much!' I lowered my face until it was beside his. 'Please; you must believe me. You're the most important person there will ever be in my life! No matter what happens! I love you beyond… everything!'
He turned his face from me, into the bedclothes. 'No,' he said, his voice muffled but steady and calm. 'No, I don't believe that is so; I have listened to God's Voice and They have given me the measure of your love for me. It has been beyond everything but it is not now… though I think it is beyond you, indeed.'
I didn't understand. 'Grandfather; you are everything to all of us. You are our light, our guide, our OverSeer! We rely on you. Without you we shall all be orphans, but with your teachings, with your Orthography and your example we shall at least have hope, no matter what the future holds. I know I can never be you and never equal you; I would never even attempt to do so, but perhaps, as the Elect, and as your son's daughter, I can reflect some part of your glory without disgracing it, and, with your teachings as my guide, eventually grow to be a fit leader of the Order. That is my-'
He turned his head to look at me, eyes bright with tears in the soft yellow candlelight. 'These are fine words, Isis, but you have known an easy life. We have kept you away from the harshness of it, from sacrifice and doubt and pain.'
'I am ready for all of them, for my Faith!'
His eyes searched mine. 'I doubt it,' he said, giving the smallest shake of his head. 'You say so, but… I doubt it. You only think you have faith.'
'I do have faith!'
'Untested, Isis. Mine has been tested, yours-'
'Test mine, then!'
'I cannot,' he said. 'God can, and would do, through me, but I'd risk losing you.'
'What?' I cried, pressing closer to him. 'What have They said?'
He looked away again, face in the bedclothes. 'Do you trust me?'
'With my life!' I said, hugging him fiercely.
He turned to me again. 'Do you trust me?'
'I do.'
His gaze shifted across my eyes. 'Isis,' he said. He seemed to hesitate.
'What?' I said, hugging him.
'Will you trust me?' he whispered.
'I will trust you.'
'Will you believe me?'
'I will believe you.'
He gave a deep, deep sigh, and rose slowly, almost painfully up from the bed covers. I helped him up and he nodded in thanks. He stood facing the shelf where the whisky bottle sat between the scented candles and the joss-sticks burned in their brassy holders. Standing there on that unsteady, shifting surface with him, my head was filled with the intoxicating warmth of the perfumed room. He took a step forward and blew out several candles, leaving one burning by the whisky bottle. He stepped to one side, and blew out more of the candles, dimming the room. He went along the wall, blowing out all but one other candle, then started blowing out the candles on the shelf beside the door to the sitting room beyond. I turned, watching him, wondering. He blew out all but two candles on the far wall, beneath the heavily curtained windows. By the door to the bathroom, he paused, his back to me. 'We must disrobe,' he said.
'Disrobe?' I asked.
He nodded. 'Disrobe,' he said, and leaning forward, blew out another candle.
I swallowed. I could barely think. What else was I to do? I had said I believed, I had said that I trusted. I did not know what it might be Grandfather had in mind, what he had been told to do by God, but I knew that it must be holy and blessed and - to my shame I thought of it, I confess - at least I knew that it could not be what the most prurient minds might imagine,
for that was banned by the Orthography.
'Of course,' I said. I took off my jacket and placed it folded on the bed at my feet. I began to undo my shirt buttons. Grandfather took a deep breath and blew out another line of candles, not looking at me as I took off my shirt and then undid the button and zip on my leather trousers. He extinguished a last couple of candles. There were only half a dozen left burning round the walls of the whole large room now, their frugal light reducing everything, so that where there had been soft light there was now shadow, and where there had been shadows there was now darkness.
My mouth was dry as I slid my trousers off and placed them with my shirt and jacket. Grandfather faced away from me, turned towards the huge pile of pillows. He crossed his arms, reached down to his waist and with a grunt, and a slight stagger, pulled his robe up over his head. Underneath, he was quite naked. I had taken off my socks and now wore only my knickers. Seen from behind, Grandfather's body was bulky and solid; not as fat and soft as I'd thought. Certainly it was an old man's waist, bowing out, not narrowing, but there was a bull-like flatness across the small of his back that I doubted many men his age could boast. 'We must be quite naked,' he said quietly, still facing away from me, addressing the wall.
I felt my heart thud in my chest. My hands were shaking as I slipped off my undergarments.
He looked upwards, as if inspecting the room's ornate plaster frieze.
'The Creator's ways are many and strange,' he said, as though talking to the shelf. 'We question, we think, and we question our thinking, trying to determine what is right, what is true and what is false, what is given from above and beyond and what comes from within.' I saw him shake his head, slowly. 'We cannot ever know completely, and eventually we have to stop questioning.' He fell silent. He stood for a while, then nodded, again slowly. His shoulders quivered, and he put his hands up to his eyes. 'Oh, Isis,' he said, his voice breaking. 'Is God always right? I have always believed that They are, but…' His head bowed and his shoulders shook.
I stood and watched for a moment, then stepped forward, terribly aware of my nakedness, and stretched out my arms to put my hands on his shoulders. He clamped his hands on mine, then turned quickly and faced me, pulling me closer until his full belly touched my flat one. 'We are wisps, Isis,' he hissed, taking me by the shoulders and gripping me tightly. 'We are reeds caught in the storm, pulled away by the flood; who are we to stand in Their way?'
I shook my head, hoping that my eyes weren't too wide. 'I don't know,' I said, for want of anything better.
He looked down in between us and nodded vigorously. 'Let us sit, Isis,' he said.
We sat; I in the lotus position, he on his haunches with his arms resting on his knees. He looked me up and down, and I felt good and fine and pure and brazen at the same time, flushed with alcohol and God knows what. He shook his head. 'Ah, Isis; you are the very vision!' he breathed.
'I am God's image, as are we all, in our own fashion,' I replied, my voice shaking.
'No, no; more than that,' he said breathlessly, still staring at my body. 'What God has said…' He looked up into my eyes and slowly spread his arms wide. 'Isis,' he said thickly, 'come to me…'
I parted from my lotus position and kneeled forward, tentatively extending my arms. He took my hands in his and pulled me forward to him, enfolding me in his warmth and pushing my arms out above and to the side.
'Isis, Isis,' he said, burying his head between my breasts, breathing in hard.
'Grandfather,' I said into the clearing in the thicket of his hair that was his bald patch. 'What has God said?'
'Isis!' he said again, raising his head to mine and hugging me tighter so that I could feel each fold and roll of fat on his torso as I was pulled into him. 'Isis!' he said, rubbing his head from side to side between my breasts. 'We are in Their power, under Their control! We must do as They say!'
His hands cupped my buttocks, kneading them. He raised his head and brought his face up to mine. 'We must join our souls, child. We must commune together!' He pushed his mouth towards mine.
'What?' I yelped, bringing my arms up to his shoulders to try and push him away. 'But, Grandfather!'
'I know!' he cried hoarsely, as his head turned this way and that, trying to bring our lips together. 'I know it seems wrong, but I hear Their voice!'
'But it's forbidden!' I said, straining at his shoulders, still trying to push him back. He was forcing me over and down now, onto the bed beneath. 'We are two generations apart!'
'It was forbidden; it isn't any more. That was a mistake. The Voice was clear about that.' He pushed me down so that my back thumped onto the bed; I managed to wriggle my legs to one side so that I was half on my side to him. He held me tightly round the waist, still trying to kiss me. 'Don't you see, Isis? This is meant. We are the Elect; the chosen ones. The rules are different for us. This is holy; this is ordained by God.'
'But you're my Grandfather!' I cried, bringing one hand up to my face to push his seeking, probing lips away. One of his hands was trying to push down to my belly; I held it with my other hand.
'Isis! We don't have to take any notice of the Unsaved's stupid rules! We're marked out, we're special, we can do what we want and what God decrees! What have their stupid rules and regulations got to do with our Holy Purpose?'
I was still wrestling with his hand as it tried to push down to my groin; his bearded face was panting and sweating above me; he kissed my lips for a moment but I twisted my head away.
'But I don't want to do this!' I wailed.
'Want?' he laughed bitterly. 'What has what either of us want got to do with this? We do what God tells us to do! We both have to submit to Their will, Isis! We both have to submit! We both have to trust; trust and believe! You promised to trust; you promised to trust and believe, remember?'
'But not this!'
'Is your love of God conditional then, Isis?' he asked breathlessly, still trying to work his sweat-slicked hand between my legs. His breathing was very quick and urgent now and his face was bright red. 'Do you only do what God insists you do when it suits you? Is that it? Is it?'
'No!' I spluttered, my own breathing becoming difficult as his weight bore down on me. 'But this must be a false signal! God would not demand this!'
'What? An act of love? What is that to demand? Did Buddha hesitate to renounce all his worldly goods? Did Mohammed hesitate to take up arms and make war? Did Abraham not take his son to the mountain to kill him, because God demanded it? Would he not have done so if God had not stopped him? All They demand here is an act of love, Isis; an act of love, to prove we are both true! We both must submit!' He gave a grunt and twisted his hand free of mine; it dived between my tightly clenched legs, trying to finger my sex; I heaved and wriggled out from underneath him, rolling away over the bed; he grabbed at me, catching my ankle as I tried to stand, bringing me down on all fours. 'Submit, Isis, submit! Prove your love for God!' He tried to mount me from behind but I wrestled him off.
'This is not you!' I shouted, and scuttled away, grabbing up my clothes as I stood on the bed's unsteady surface. 'God could not ask this!'
My Grandfather kneeled on the bed, his engorged manhood poking up at the underside of his belly like a supporting strut. His face set into an expression I had never seen before: a look of furious, seething loathing that produced a terrible feeling of emptiness and sickness in me.
'You would deny God then, Isis?' he said thickly. I backed into a closed door; it was the one to the bathroom, not the exit to the sitting room; he was between me and it. He spread his arms wide. 'You would deny the sacrament that is the holy joy of souls' communion.''
I leaned back against the door and pulled on one leg of my trousers. 'If God wanted this They would have spoken to me as well,' I said.
'They spoke to me!' he roared, thumping himself on his chest with one fist. He lunged at me as I stood on one leg to put my other leg in the trousers. I'd half expected he would, and so was ready for him. I jumped to one sid
e and escaped him but dropped my jacket and socks onto the bed. I hopped across the bed, dragging on the trousers and pulling them up, my shirt wedged under one armpit. I had a clear run at the door to the outside now. I stood there, breathing hard and looking at him as he stood up by the bathroom door, a pale shadow in the flickering candlelight; his chest and belly heaved with every breath. His penis had gone limp now. He wiped his face with one hand.
'You Judas,' he breathed.
'Grandfather, please-' I began, pulling on my shirt.
'You heathen!' he rasped, a tiny fleck of spittle arcing through the air caught in the candlelight. 'Apostate! Infidel! Misbeliever! You Unsaved wretch!'
'This is not fair, Grandfather,' I said, my voice almost breaking. I tucked in my shirt tails. 'You are-'
'Fair?' he said, grimacing, loading the word with sarcasm. 'What is fair? God does not deal in fairness; God commands. You have no right to deny Them.'
'I do not believe I am,' I said, trying not to cry.
'You do not believe me,' he whispered.
'I believe you have been… misled,' I said, biting my lip.
'Oh, you do, do you? You're barely more than a child; what do you know of God's Word?'
'Enough to know They would not ask this, not without telling me as well as you.'
'You vain child, Isis. You have sinned against God and against your own Faith.' He shook his head and padded across the bed to where his robe lay. While he slipped it on over his head I retrieved my socks, knickers and jacket.
'I think we ought to forget this, Grandfather,' I said, putting on my socks. He looked about, then picked up the glass he had thrown across the bed. He poured himself another whisky.
'I can't forget this,' he said. 'God can't, either. I don't know if this can ever be forgiven or forgotten.'
I put on my jacket. 'Well, I think it would be for the best if we both forgot what's happened here.'
'You are a thief and a misbeliever, child,' he said calmly, not looking at me but studying his whisky glass critically. 'It is not in my power to forgive you.'
'I am not a thief; I am not a misbeliever,' I said, and then, despite myself, started to weep. The tears stung my eyes and flowed down my hot, flushed cheeks. I was furious at myself for behaving so girlishly. 'You are the one in the wrong; not me,' I said angrily, speaking through my sobs. 'I have done nothing; nothing wrong. I am falsely accused and all you can do is try to… to have your way with your own grand-daughter!'