by Joseph Fink
8
“Yeah, that’s just offices,” Darryl said from the doorway of the congregation room. “Sorry about the noise. I was testing out the sound system for tonight with one of my favorite worship albums. Ten Instrumental Odes to a Smiling God, by Bono.”
“It’s no problem, I was only, it’s . . .” Nilanjana said, trying to find the heartbeat she had misplaced. “You startled me.”
“Wow, Nilanjana. You came to our church! So cool.”
Darryl grinned. It was stiff and practiced, yet he looked like a person you could tell things to. He looked like a person who would understand and do whatever he could to assist you.
Hypothesis: She could trust him.
He stood upright and casually. He did not keep his hands in his pockets or folded under his arms. His chin pressed outward, like he were getting a portrait made. He did not break eye contact. That odd smile though: His lips were pulled back and apart, exposing several bright teeth.
Alternate hypothesis: He’s a psychopathic cult member who knows how to manipulate people.
“There are no public services today. We have Senior Praise tonight at eight, but there’s a Young Professionals Mixer tomorrow night for prospective members,” he said. “That would be perfect for you. I’ll be there, too. There are so many great things about the Joyous Congregation, but the most important thing is the people. The people are what make this church work. Jeez. I’m just so excited you came. It’s really hard these days to convince people to join a religion, especially one that—”
“Darryl.” Nilanjana took a step toward him, one hand up.
Alternate alternate hypothesis: He’s a nervous dork.
“I’m just having a look around. Could I get a tour?”
“Oh sure,” he said, sounding sarcastic.
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I want to,” he said, hearing his tone and trying to adopt a more friendly demeanor. “But let’s start with the congregation room, not the church offices.”
“Are the offices off-limits?”
“They’re just boring. Who wants to look at offices?”
He stepped back and opened his arms.
“This is obviously the lobby. Nothing too interesting,” he said, and he was right. “Although we got this new attendance board.”
There was a wood sign on the wall that she hadn’t noticed when she came in. It read, REGISTER OF ATTENDANCE AND OFFERING. Below that was a series of changeable numbers in wood slots:
ATTENDANCE LAST WEEK 171
ATTENDANCE TODAY 175
NOT IN ATTENDANCE 7,853,875,811
“That’s cute. The world population joke.”
“That’s the number of souls we plan to win over,” he said.
“Ah.”
She still couldn’t tell if it was a joke. She was reminded of the sign out in front of the church, the one she had found funny until it had stopped seeming funny at all.
He led her through the open double doors into the congregation room. As she entered, she was surprised at how tall it was. There were stained-glass columns every few feet along the walls, including a large glass mural behind the makeshift stage at the front.
“Each of these stained-glass murals depicts one of the Eleven Stages of Human Education,” Darryl said. “We believe it is the Smiling God’s mission to find what it is that makes each of us good, to draw that out of us.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“The best plan! Here on the left are the first five stages. It starts with Birth.”
In the first column of stained glass, Nilanjana saw the moon against a deep violet sky, scattered with stars. In the center of the moon was a small tree.
“Earthly Nourishment.”
The next column showed a small fox devouring a rat.
“Divine Nourishment.”
The third column showed a slightly larger fox devouring itself.
“Friendship.”
Nilanjana could not discern whether the fourth column showed a fire or autumn shrubbery, but above it all was an airplane dropping either water or chemicals.
“Love.”
There were soldered seams in the glass forming some kind of image on the fifth column, but the glass was entirely clear. As best she could tell, the image was of several birds, likely doves, flying in a formation of interlocking triangles. But with the colorless glass, she mostly saw the parking lot.
“On the other side of the room, we have Passion.”
A fox stabbing a bear with a sword.
“Awareness.”
A sobbing fox standing over a headstone that had a large paw print on it.
“Family.”
On the eighth panel, the fox was lying flat on its belly, surrounded by a bunch of smaller foxes. Each was digging into the main fox’s back. The main fox was grimacing.
“Enlightenment.”
The ninth panel was a fox sleeping near a hearth. It was a comforting image—the first of the bunch Nilanjana felt some positive connection to. A furry animal curled up near a warm fire. In the background were books on shelves, and in the middle of the image was an open window and a night sky. In the upper right corner of the window, a thin crescent moon, waning. She guessed the moon represented the later stages of earthly life. And then some yellow stars. But not many. She noticed only two stars, near the bottom of the nighttime window. They were jaundiced and almond-shaped, just above the sill. They weren’t stars. They were eyes.
She hurried with Darryl to the next window, trying not to look back.
“Community.”
This was the same scene as Enlightenment, although there were now half a dozen sleeping foxes. Nilanjana thought they were sleeping. A few were lying on their backs, their legs crooked. One had a reddish shard of glass along his orange body. The fox from the Enlightenment mural had a toothy smile—or possible snarl?—in this one.
“I love the Community mural,” Darryl said, “because it is the story of the church. All of the other windows show solo moments or revelations. But here, our central figure has invited those around him to share the warmth of Divine love and grace.”
“It kind of looks like that fox killed those others?”
“That’s a theory held by some church scholars.”
“They look really dead.”
“Even so, it’s still a beautiful story: warming your dead by the fire.”
Nilanjana cringed.
“Metaphorically sharing Divine warmth even with those you have lost.”
Nilanjana nodded without conviction. Darryl moved them on to the final window, above the projection screen.
“And finally the eleventh stage of human education: the Devouring.”
In the central mural, which ran all the way up to the ceiling and about half the width of the wall, Nilanjana saw the stars against the dark purple void at the top. Below that the sun. Below that the thinnest wisp of a moon. Below that a layer of blue sky. Below that tall white clouds. Below that, flat gray clouds. Below that, rain. Below that trees. And in the center of the trees was a dark gray mound, with two jagged lines sticking out of its rounded top. The base of the mound extended like a tube, ending at a wooden door. Through the door, around the tube, there was a desert scene, with sand dunes and cacti.
Nilanjana stepped closer, studying the image. The mound and the long tube were a body, lined with two spiny rows of legs. It was like the iron insect handles on the church’s front door. A centipede. The window was a huge ornate image of a centipede.
“That’s the embodiment of the Smiling God. The Devouring is the Joyous Congregation’s parable for how, once our souls and our purposes are fully realized, the Smiling God will emerge from Heaven, where it lives, and devour our earthly bodies.”
“It’s so violent.”
“It’s a beautiful story,” Darryl said simultaneously. “Oh, sorry. I spoke over you. Did you say something?”
“It’s a beautiful story,” she agreed.
“The mos
t beautiful story ever told,” a cheerful voice boomed behind them. They turned to see a firm handshake of a man striding down the aisle.
“Nilanjana, this is Gordon.”
“Please,” he said, “call me Gordo.”
“Hello, . . . Gordo,” she said. His smile was broad and unhinged, but his eyes were flat. She found herself afraid of the man. “Are you the pastor here?”
He boomed a laugh directly into her face.
“Me? Oh no. I’m the assistant pastor. Pastor Munn is much too busy to deal with day-to-day details, so she sends me around to take care of them.”
“Do you think I could meet the pastor?”
Gordon frowned, and Darryl blanched.
“I’m afraid she’s much too busy,” Gordon said. “No, she doesn’t even have time to talk to members of the Congregation without an appointment made well in advance.”
“But that’s why there’s people like me to show you around,” Darryl offered quickly, trying to change the mood. “Which, I should keep doing. Next are the classrooms.”
Gordon held up his hand, and Darryl stopped talking.
“If the pastor needs a message delivered,” Gordon said quietly, “she sends me to deliver it. Likewise, if she has a question, she sends me to ask it. She knows what needs to be done. And then I make sure that it happens. And Pastor Munn has a question for you.”
“Absolutely, I have nothing to hide,” Nilanjana said, trying to hide the fact that she did.
“What, precisely, is your interest in our Congregation? We don’t get a lot of scientists around here.”
“What makes you think I’m a scientist?”
“You’re wearing a lab coat.”
Gordon was right. Like all scientists, all of her outfits were lab coats.
“Generally we find that your kind doesn’t have much interest in what we have to offer,” he said.
“That’s true,” said Nilanjana. “But . . . science isn’t everything, you know?” It is, she thought. Science is literally everything. “I felt like I needed more in my life. There was some kind of meaning missing.” If there was anything missing, it wouldn’t be found in your fairy tales, she thought.
Exactly, Darryl thought. She totally gets why what we do is so important.
Gordon nodded, expressionless, and then his smile reappeared a few moments later, like someone arriving late to a meeting.
“Fantastic,” he said without conviction. “Just fantastic. Well, I’m confident our Darryl will take good care of you. Darryl, I’ll let the pastor know what a great job you’re doing.”
“Uh, thanks, Gordon,” Darryl said, frowning at the mention of the pastor, then remembering himself and turning it into a toothy smile.
“Please, it’s Gordo,” Gordon said, his eyes narrow and smug.
“Sorry. Habit from when I was a kid.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nilanjana started, but Darryl was already pulling her through a side door into the children’s room. Gordon watched them go, his smile unchanged.
If Gordon acted as Pastor Munn’s mouthpiece in casual conversation with members of her own congregation, Nilanjana wondered, what other kind of communication did he perform in service of this church?
Hypothesis: Gordon was hiding something. A lot of things, probably.
Evidence: Everything about him.
The children’s room consisted mostly of toys and a few books. Things like wooden dolls with human faces painted on them, wooden cars with human faces painted on them, and candles. Lots of candles. Little kids love candles, and this church knew it. Most of the books seemed to be religious in nature: Felicia Finds an Obelisk and Smiley the Centipede Accidentally Swallows the Earth. There was a dry-erase board that read “What Is Divine Pain?,” which was clearly from their last prekindergarten-level class.
“You seemed a bit freaked out when you were talking about the pastor,” Nilanjana said.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Darryl said, with a voice full of false cheer that implied the opposite of whatever he was saying. “She’s a very important person. It intimidates me a bit, you know?”
Nilanjana thought again about the window showing “The Devouring.” She thought about the entrance to Heaven that the Smiling God was emerging from. There had been an odd detail to it that just then struck her.
“So Heaven . . .” she said. “It’s a desert?”
“Yes!” said Darryl, perking up at a question about the church’s beliefs. “You see, our prophet Kevin found an old oak door, and, when he went through it, he was in the desert of Heaven, and—”
“Hey there.” A friendly looking woman poked her head out from one of the classrooms. “I thought I heard your voice.”
“Jamillah! Oh, this is Nilanjana. Nilanjana, Jamillah.”
Jamillah switched the power drill to her left hand and extended her right hand to shake.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
“And behind her, that’s Stephanie,” Darryl said. “She teaches classes and conducts some sermons. We’ve been friends since we were kids. Hi, Stephanie!”
Nilanjana could see a young woman, holding up a large-screen television. She was clearly straining. She did not wave back so much as wiggle a couple of fingers.
“Yeah, I gotta do this,” Jamillah said, running back to Stephanie, who looked both relieved and irritated.
“We finally got licenses from the city to legally use computers here,” Darryl beamed. “Jamillah’s volunteering to set up our servers and monitors so we can show movies and presentations. It’s really exciting.”
Jamillah’s drill went off as Darryl spoke.
“Stephanie’s great,” he shouted over the noise. “She’s getting her degree in theology. She hopes to become a Church Elder at the Central Church of the Joyous Congregation someday.”
He looked at Stephanie with a relaxed, happy expression, and Nilanjana noted the difference between that and the forced, customer service friendliness he directed at her. It made sense. The two of them were part of the same community, and had known each other for years. He would of course prefer to be around someone he knew over an outsider, who lived in Night Vale but would never truly belong there. Not that any of that mattered. Darryl could prefer whomever he wanted. She was only being a good scientist, noticing small details and adding them to the data available to her. Nothing more.
Stephanie was busy keeping the large monitor stable as Jamillah bolted it into the wall. Nilanjana could see sweat on Stephanie’s brow, her hair pulled tightly back, her arm twitching a bit from the sustained weight of the screen. Stephanie’s eyes shifted to meet Nilanjana’s. Her eyes were not kind.
“You thinking of attending services?” Stephanie asked.
“I . . .” Nilanjana hesitated.
“Nilanjana was interested in learning more about the church.” Darryl jumped in, covering her awkward silence. “No need to rush her into anything else.”
There was one last roar of the drill. Jamillah patted her hands: “Ta-da!” Stephanie let go with a relieved groan.
Darryl tilted his head. “Oh, nice. Just a thought. What if it was like six inches to the left?”
“Darryl!” Jamillah snapped.
“I was just saying what if, not that you have to do it. Like if it’s a big deal, then fine. I’m only saying.”
Jamillah rolled her eyes and walked out of the room, taking her power drill with her.
Darryl touched Nilanjana’s shoulder.
“Stephanie has a lot of important work for the church to do. We should leave her to it.”
“Hope you enjoyed the tour,” said Stephanie, with the same flat eyes and lack of conviction that Gordon had, only without the smile. “Darryl’s a good recruiter.”
“Oh, I did,” Nilanjana said, matching Stephanie’s tone. “And Darryl’s been really welcoming.”
She placed her hand gently and unconsciously on Darryl’s arm. She quickly removed it as she became aware of the possessiveness of the gesture.
/> “Great!” Darryl said, looking at the part of his arm where her hand had been. He led Nilanjana back to the lobby. “Maybe I’ll see you at the Young Professionals Mixer?”
He didn’t seem like Nervous Dork now. She was back to the hypothesis of either Trustworthy and Sincere or Manipulative Psychopath.
Nilanjana imagined for a moment herself going to the Young Professionals Mixer. It would be some step toward getting to know others in her community. She hung out with Mark, of course, and Luisa and Carlos. They talked all the time. At the lab anyway. They made each other laugh, challenged each other. They had lunch together and worked on experiments together. But they didn’t go to concerts or fairs. They didn’t invite each other over for dinner or to watch big television events like the Oscars or the Oscars Preshow Commentary or the Next Morning Oscar Parties Roundup. And they were all outsiders, like her, scientists who had come to Night Vale in order to study it.
What was she thinking? She wasn’t here to become close with people in this congregation. She was here to find the Wordsmith, and she had some suspects: Stephanie, unfriendly, and deeply involved in the work of the church; the mysterious Pastor Munn, who communicated through intermediaries; and, then, there was . . .
“Absolutely, Nilanjana,” Gordon said. “Come to the mixer.”
He stood in the doorway to the offices, staring at her with the same strange smile he’d had before. He was hiding something huge, she decided.
“I’d love to, really, Gordon, but I’ve gotta work.” The friends she had were just fine.
“It’s Gordo,” he said, face unchanged.
“Sorry, I’m running some experiments out in the desert all day tomorrow. Thanks for your help,” she said to Darryl. “I’ll let you know if I have any more questions.”
“You can ask me anything,” said Darryl.
His lips were pulled back, exposing those teeth again. Then he did that fist-circling gesture in the air.
Hypothesis: Yep. Psychopath.
9
The helicopter didn’t arrive until 11:00 A.M.
“Glad you could make it to work today,” Nilanjana teased.