by V. Cobe
CHAPTER 5
Heart of Carmel
“What an absurdity!” exclaimed Zalmon in the back seat of the armored car. “It’s been almost ten years since you’ve attended mass!”
“I have to explain what happened. Maybe then the bishop might understand.”
I had to make up a story. I had to say that a group, which I described as Defectio without ever mentioning their name, had been chasing us since the baptism for reasons I did not know.
“Maybe it was business with Irá,” I lied. “I ran as quickly as I could, bishop.”
“But why didn’t you come to me? I would have protected you.”
“I couldn’t get separated from Alem.”
The Brigades are aware of Defectio; Defectio makes sure of that. Its interest in children is also no secret to anybody. The Institution would believe my story – it was almost true anyway.
“We’ll talk more when we get there.”
“Where are you taking us?”
“To the monastery, of course. That was why I came to get you in person. Your beliefs are dubious, but I’m still Alem’s godfather. This will be taken care of discretely.” He looked through the car’s window. “I cannot save you. You’ll have to go to a Correction Center and be at the mercy of the Brigades. But Alem stays with me.”
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. If there was a place where Umbra did not get in, not even Defectio, it was the monastery of Zalmon, the famous Heart of Carmel. The non-official residence of the bishop—but where he stayed most of the year—was guarded by Brigades twenty-four hours a day, with the help of sophisticated security technologies that only the Institution possessed.
With scarlet planted on top of his head, it wouldn’t take long for Defectio to discover Alem, but they wouldn’t be able to enter.
I was in a worse situation. Going to a Correction Center was one of those things one avoided at all costs. Corruption centers, as the umbriferos called them, were buried in secrets, but people whispered they were places where ancient torture techniques were still practiced.
Well, I was going to find out just that.
We arrived in Carmel early in the night, two hours before curfew.
I bristled when, between huge iron gates, I caught sight of the monastery building located atop one of the two hills that delimited Carmel and isolated from the rest of the city, with nothing around for a few kilometers.
Two Brigade guards showed up from the side, their red and fitted uniforms flaunting the golden cross on their chests.
Our car approached them, and the bishop asked them through the open window, “Is everything calm?”
“Everything in order, Your Excellency,” answered the guard, straight as a good soldier.
During those seconds, he never looked at the bishop’s company, probably following orders established a long time ago. But as soon as the car resumed its march and the window was winding up, he didn’t resist peeking at Alem, probably attracted by the red, which despite the dimness inside the car, stood out on the top of his head. He blessed himself immediately after.
We passed by several meters of almost total murk. I was able to spot grass, a few pine and oak trees and a white marble fountain. There were a few small lamps spread around everywhere, placed on the floor and emitting a ghostly light.
After a left turn, I could see the colossal building, illuminated from bottom to top by weak spotlights. We skirted it and stopped at the back.
Holding hands, Alem and I followed the bishop through a stone door and a dark corridor that went up in circles to a big but cozy hall filled with red and gold carpets with religious motifs hanging from the walls or laid bare on the ground. Two large wooden doors opened to the sides like magic when Zalmon approached them.
It was my first time there. I only knew the bishop’s city house and his offices at the Fortress of Faith, the headquarters of the Ministry of the Institution, but I recognized his style.
We entered the monastery’s central pier, a pillar as thick as the area of the Mansion of Frogs, and the tallest of the entire building. A white marble floor spanned the entire hall. At the back was a staircase branching right and left after about ten steps. At the right was an ajar door leading to a small office, which we entered in silence.
A chandelier, studded with precious stones that resembled diamonds, hung from the ceiling and illuminated the room. A few shelves were packed with books behind a desk, in front of which two red and uninviting armchairs relaxed.
“You’re going to have to be arrested, Bethel,” repeated the bishop, so I wouldn’t forget.
Well, at least he didn’t mention execution.
“But I can pull some strings so that you’ll spend only a few nights there. It’s the most I can do for you.”
He didn’t look at me with sympathy.
“You must be crazy. If Irá were here…,” he wondered.
I sighed and grabbed the glass of water he offered me. Alem, next to me, picked up his glass and looked at me, drinking only after seeing me do it.
“You should sit down, bishop,” I suggested.
His tired and goggled eyes looked at me unpreoccupied. He made a gesture with his hand suggesting that it wasn’t necessary. He walked around the room and lighted candles despite the huge chandelier.
“I don’t want to tell you anything you don’t want to hear, so I’ll be succinct. It all started with the baptism—”
“I don’t want to hear it. I brought you here to tell you that what you’ll say to the Brigades when they interrogate you is precisely what you said in the car on our way here. Don’t get into detail. You won’t be asked to.”
“But… don’t you want to know—”
“Ten years have passed. If you were chased or anything like that, it doesn’t matter to me anymore, nor does it matter to the Institution. The important thing is that you’re here now. The important thing is that Alem is here.” He looked at him, pensive.
“Am I gonna stay here?”
“Yes, from today,” answered the bishop. “There’s a vacancy that’s been reserved for you since you were born. You got here just in time. The other kids start arriving tomorrow. Classes are about to start.”
Alem looked at me and I nodded. I was going to have to leave him.
Zalmon went in front of us and lighted another candle on the desk.
“What do you know about God, Alem?”
He looked at the candle, serene, and then answered, in a phrase he’d heard so many times from Reuel’s mouth, “I know a lot about Him. But even so, I only know a part.”
“Smart boy. Let’s see to it that these years at the monastery get you closer to knowing everything. But God is something very complex…. Do you think you can unfold all of His veils, solve all of His mysteries, things most people don’t even know exist…?”
“That is my will.”
“Good. Here you’ll find what you need to accomplish that.” He turned to me. “When you leave the Correction Center, see that you make the mansion safe again. He stays here until you take care of that.” He paused and stared at me without blinking. “And don’t disappear again.”
I nodded, lowering my head.
“Promise me you won’t get into trouble, Bethel.”
“I promise,” I replied, and took another big gulp of water.
We descended spiraling stairs and passed a few dim corridors until we reached two red doors, with golden crosses painted at the center, leading to the monastery’s church. The bishop opened them so that we could see it. It wasn’t as big as the Cathedral of Carmel but it was still huge. At that hour of night, it was lighted by hundreds of candles spread across the aisles. All around it was a stone wall a few meters from the bottom, like a second floor in an opera house. The aisle ended in an elevated wooden altar, on which rested a long table covered with a red and gold cloth. Behind it, a gigantic black organ sprouted from the floor nearly touching the ceiling. Two halves of the same stained glass window, depicting friars, were at its sides.
“Just look at this beauty, Alem,” said the bishop.
As astonishing as it may seem, the darkness of Umbra’s sewers didn’t look as frightening as the heavy and guilty light of that church.
Zalmon closed the door and guided us to a wide but cozy room covered in a dark red carpet.
“I asked Mother Superior to come here so that you can meet. Who knows when you’ll be able to visit again.”
A door opened at the back of the room, and three nuns emerged, dressed in the red canonicals of the Education branch. They approached us and stopped with a slight bow.
The bishop introduced them. The oldest one was around fifty years old and had an austere look. She was the Mother Superior. Her face exhibited a tough expression, like a mix between confidence and arrogance, typical of someone who doesn’t like to waste time on formalities and would rather get straight to what is necessary. The part of her garment that covered her head was completely gold, unlike the other two nuns, whose calash was red like the rest of their attire. Her name was Zilá.
Sara, the nun next to her, must have been ten years younger than her superior. Her blue eyes were somewhat shy, and a blonde tuft of hair peaked from her calash at the left side of her forehead.
The last one was Ada, the youngest of the three. She smiled openly and sometimes jerked her arm or neck, a tic that gave her a sort of unstable appearance. She resembled Sister Sara, but the truth was they all looked alike, as if they were siblings, or mothers and daughters.
“Under my orders, they are the ones who run the monastery. Other nuns work below them preparing meals, cleaning and teaching, but those are organized by these three. There are also men, but they don’t stay in the monastery, and obviously, obey only me.”
I smiled at them.
The bishop looked at his watch.
“You have to go. There’s a Brigade car waiting outside. I’ll give you tonight at home so that you can rest because we know each other from a long time, but as soon as the bells chime tomorrow morning, someone will show up to take you to a Center. Don’t do anything unwise.”
“Thank you, bishop.”
“Now go. The warning bells have rung and not even you can wander around the streets after curfew.”
I nodded. I couldn’t really ask for more. I said goodbye with a bow and got dragged by the bishop out of the room with Alem at my side.
I looked back at the nuns. On the red vestment of sister Ada, around the area below her belly, a few darker red dots were gradually growing in size, as if the canonical was wet with something.
I was about to comment on it, but the Mother Superior smiled and said, “Don’t worry and go at ease. Alem is going to be well taken care of.”
We went out to the gardens, and I immediately forgot the matter, with the perspective of goodbyes.
I kneeled and grabbed Alem’s hand.
“Mom has to go now.”
He looked at his feet.
“You’re going to have a new kind of life now, and I promise you’ll like it very much.”
He looked at me. His eyes were filled with tears. Never, in almost ten years, had we been separated, not even for one day.
“You’re safe here. You’re going to have a lot of friends and learn a lot of things.”
“Can’t you stay also?” he pleaded.
Tears came rolling down his face.
“I can’t, son…. But I’ll come pick you up every weekend. I promise. We can take walks and play the whole weekend.”
“But I don’t understand….”
I hugged him and cried. I wanted it to go away, wanted to calm down, but it wouldn’t go and I couldn’t relax, so I extended the hug.
“Mom has to go. You be good, like you always are, and do everything the nuns tell you to, okay?”
His eyes and mouth were slightly sagging, his red hair was unkempt. But he had no fear on his face, only sadness.
I turned to the bishop.
“Once again, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll return so that we can arrange the details of his enrollment.”
He nodded and pointed to the monastery gates where two Brigade guards awaited next to a car with its headlights on.
I had to go. I had to do what was best for my son, and that was it. I turned my back and walked through the garden to the gates, sobbing. At the exit I looked back and waved goodbye to the lit entrance of the main building. I thought he wouldn’t be able to see me in the middle of all those shadows, but he waved back.
The sudden realization that Alem was no longer within my reach terrified me. I could only hope Defectio would at least take a long time to find him.
Sitting in the back seat of the car, going downhill fast, I realized my hands were shaking.
I wouldn’t let myself be fooled by the apparent sympathy of the bishop or his disinterest. My story would be investigated, yes. I could only pray he didn’t find anything. If only I prayed.
I arrived home a few minutes before curfew. At that hour, the streets were empty and practically the same as when I left them.
I entered through the small rusty gate, went up the stairs to the entrance and stopped. It was a strange feeling to be back after so long. I took the key from my purse and entered with no problem. There were no big security barriers to go through: everything was shut off, probably for years.
I headed for the living room, lighting a few candles on the way.
Everything was chaotic. Several objects had fallen on the floor, glass was broken and doors were split. No one might have been there since the Investigation Brigade, since Alem and I had run away. Even so, a Defectio mask was there, left behind. The Brigades hadn’t even taken that.
I tried the phone. To my surprise, the line was still working, probably because I was still paying for it. I dialed Rhode’s number to tell her I was back. Maybe she could comfort me somehow.
“Bethel? The Bethel? Oh my God, I can’t believe it!” She called Ezekiel, incredulously. “Where are you? What happened to you? I thought….” She shushed.
“We were found. Alem’s gonna stay at Heart of Carmel.”
“At the monastery? But are you okay? Where have you been? It’s been so many years….”
“We’re fine. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
“But are you back at Carmel?”
“I’m calling you from home.”
“In Carmel?”
Something was wrong.
“Oh Bethel…! No, no, this is not good.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You have to leave. You cannot stay here.”
“What’s the matter?”
“You… you are everywhere.”
I waited for her to continue. My heart was pounding fast.
“A few years ago… a few years ago, they put your face everywhere.”
“What are you talking about? Who put my face where?”
“They put posters of your face in the sewers.”
“Defectio?” I asked, without minding codes. “And the Conclave let them?”
“No, Bethel. It was the Conclave that put them up.”
I swallowed. I figured that would happen, that in a matter of time it wouldn’t only be Defectio after Alem, it would be the Conclave of Umbra as well. But I had hoped it wouldn’t be that soon.
“We shouldn’t be talking about this over the phone. Bethel, don’t descend again. I don’t know how you can solve this. All I know is that they won’t stop until they get what they want from you. Or from Alem. They’re probably listening to this conversation. I still see them sometimes, the suited men, haunting the house.”
I hung up and looked around. I picked up the Defectio mask. It wasn’t worth it to continue that flight. It was pointless to trying hide.
I took the mask along with a candle to the backyard. I sat on the porch with the mask in my hands.
The yard was abandoned, but the palm trees were resilient. The empty swimming pool’s tiles had stained and was su
rrounded by weed that grew without discretion. In my lap, the mask smiled at me diabolically.
The first time I saw that image I was sixteen and had Umbra’s dream in front of me. The mask was nailed to a wall of the Contradictor. Its faces were not as realistic yet—they looked more like archaic drawings—but it was the same smiling demon.
“You don’t know what this is?” asked an intellectualis friend when I asked him what it was. “Pff, typical.”
He took the mask off the wall and handed it to me.
“This, my friend, is terror itself!”
“The devil is terror?” I asked sarcastically. “You don’t say.”
“It’s not that. This mask is a symbol of Defectio. You’ve heard of them, right?”
I nodded.
“They were a niche until the Conclave expelled them. Like the rest of Umbra, they fought against the Institution but started to depart from the rules imposed by the Conclave. They started implementing more radical practices, methods the other niches didn’t accept. Nowadays, as you probably know, they kill a lot of innocents, in not so discreet ways.”
“Even children, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes, especially children, even though that’s just a part of the group, but the main one.”
I didn’t understand right away why they had to attack children to fight the Institution, but I let him continue.
“After the expulsion, the group didn’t dissolve. Now they’re a clandestine niche. Umbra’s black sheep.”
“And the Conclave doesn’t do anything?”
“No. The Conclave doesn’t want to start a war inside Umbra because that would only harm us. Each thing at its time.”
“Then why doesn’t the Conclave unite with Defectio in the fight against the Institution and then after that solve their divergences?”
“Because what Defectio does is too horrible. Let me give you an example. I won’t need more. Last week, those criminals kidnapped dozens of children with ages raging from six to ten years old from an elementary school in the east zone. Two days later, all of them were found cut to pieces and decapitated.”
I let out a gasp.
He nodded, happy with the success of his argument.
“How terrible…. But why? And why children? What do children have to do with the fight against the Institution?”
He leaned closer and whispered, “Have you heard of the Great Superstition?”
“I don’t think so… or yes, I think I’ve heard my parents talk about a big superstition,” I replied, confused. “I mean, I know what a superstition is but—”
“No,” he interrupted. “The Great Superstition, not any superstition. It is said to have existed long before Umbra was even born.”
He leaned even closer to my ear, as if we were touching a forbidden subject, something I thought only existed in the world above, and whispered, “It’s a kind of prophecy. It has a lot of advocates, especially within the Mysticismi niche. Everyone talks about the Great Superstition, but no one knows exactly what it is. But Defectio became obsessed. People say they know more.”
“But what is it?” I asked, goose bumps forming on my neck.
“Weren’t you listening? No one knows what it is! That’s the weirdest part. Or if they know, they aren’t saying anything. It prophesizes something horrible for the world, especially for the umbriferos. And to avoid it, one child needs to be found. A child with the mark of a serpent on their back. But then no one knows anything else. That’s why they call it a superstition.”
“I think it’s just folklore. But people like to believe these things, so it has been passed on from mouth to mouth. As you can imagine, in Intellectus we don’t believe in this mummery. Umbriferos should care about important stuff, like law reform, for instance, instead of wasting time with superstitions.”
Years later, sitting on my abandoned porch, I realized I had known nothing at the time.
I placed the mask above the candle until it caught alight. When it became too hot to hold, I dropped it and watched it burn in front of me.
It was time to go back. To return to Umbra.