Mistification (Angry Robot)

by Kaaron Warren

  #

  "The importance of the city should never be disregarded," Marvo said. "Its existence is as necessary as the farms, the grassland, the sea. New York was the first city to be powered by electricity, and it hasn't slept since."

  The woman listened; she loved someone to talk to her.

  "It's good to listen," Marvo told her. "A story my grandmother told me was about another lady who listened, a relative from long ago."

  The Maidservant

  Her only mistake was to talk out loud. She was a low servant in the rich man's home and she had caught his son's eye more than once, but no interest had flared. She wanted to learn; as a woman her only chance at education was second hand – to absorb it from a male. The son went to the Lyceum and he spoke at meals of his learning.

  She wanted to marry him, to gain his knowledge. In her room, she prayed aloud to the gods for advancement, for the chance to make the son take her.

  The high servant heard and reported her. She was punished for her vanity, for believing she was good enough for the rich man's son.

  They marked her face to take away any attractiveness she may have had; thereon she wore a veil.

  It worked for her. She became less than visible, and could sit in the classes, or clean slowly where men talked of learning and she took her education that way.

  She listened all her life.

  #

  The woman, discarded by her husband as not attractive enough, said, "Thank you for the story, and for helping me with my ex-husband. He was always sure he had the power in the relationship because he's handsome and I'm ugly."

  "I think you're beautiful. I love your ears."

  "The things he used to say to me. He said no one would ever fall in love with me."

  "You should be kind, because kindness can sometimes be ignored, misunderstood or rejected, but it can also be returned twofold. You have great love, great depth, your looks will not concern the person who falls in love with you. Your looks will make him love you."

  She began a lecture circuit and talked about the beauty of a misty morning. This was good for Marvo because he wanted people to love the mist.

  Marvo was considered a character, even amongst the characters of the theatre. He was always talking, listening or reading; you could catch him with the Bible or Gray's Anatomy. He didn't seem to make a distinction.

  He studied science from a religious point of view, and religion from a scientific point of view. Magic he had; he could always turn to magic. Magic was with him always.

  On one memorable occasion, he spoke with a preacher on the street, a man with a new religion he was bringing to the people. Marvo, having heard this, said, "Do you realise that at the time of Valentinian, Christianity was the new religion, the sect? Conversion of heathen English to Christianity did not begin till 597, when the Roman missionary Augustine landed in Kent.

  "Magic was the respected, accepted religion. I often wonder what made the sect of Christianity grow. Perhaps because it was the first new religion to emerge for thousands of years, and people were looking for something new. No new religion has taken over so well. The Moonies are big, as are the Scientologists. Is it possible that these will be bigger than Christianity in a few hundred years, remembering that they are only decades old?"

  The man took strength from these words. He felt patient; he could wait three hundred years for his truth to be accepted. What's three hundred years as part of eternity? Marvo left the man feeling happy. The man's literature was dull and answered none of Marvo's questions. Marvo wanted more; he wanted to listen to stories until his ears bled. He wanted to know his future.

  Marvo's dream of the future, of the enormous house where all were welcome, didn't fade. It made him feel so powerful, so much in control, he wanted to know more, he wanted to know it all. His note told him You will know all with great sacrifice. Marvo had no concept of sacrifice. He took what was needed, was always comfortable, never sad. He became fascinated with all forms of sacrifice and gathered stories and information about the art. He found that in the ninth century, the Scandinavian pirate, Ragnar Hairy-Breeches, with one hundred and ten crewmen, sailed up the Seine and sacked Paris. He sacrificed one hundred prisoners to a Norse god to discourage Frankish counterattack (one would imagine the god did not need to intervene).

  It was around the thirteenth century that agriculture and religion with human sacrifice developed. As agriculture developed, so did religion, because people had time to think, and not everyone was needed in the fields, not everyone was needed to keep the clans alive, so some could spend time with learning and thinking.

  In 1803, Sir Arthur Wellesley forbade the sacrifice of children on Saugon Island.

  In 97 BC human sacrifice was forbidden by the Senate. Marvo wondered what greatness was lost with these endings.

  Aztec sacrifice was of course very interesting. His reading helped him to understand that the Aztecs didn't FEEL barbaric in their rites, and would be surprised to find their descendants were shocked.

  A female was sacrificed; her skin worn by the priest to assume the identity of the Earth Mother, Teteoinnan. Andra could tell him this was one of many examples; transfer of soul by contact with flesh and blood.

  The Aztec year was eighteen periods of twenty days, many coinciding with seasons, marked by rituals and ceremonies.

  In February, children were sacrificed to the god of rain to ward off drought.

  The blood of the children was moulded into Uitzilopochtli, maize dough. Their little hearts were given to the king, the rest of the sweet flesh divided between nobles.

  Totes, the moon god, required the sacrifice of a prisoner of war – the bravest caught. This was before sowing the first seed. The prisoner was spread-eagled on a frame of timber, then shot with arrows till he bled. If he bled well and didn't die, his heart was ripped out, his skin flayed and worn by a priest as the Earth Mother in new clothes – a new maize crop. They wore maize ears and leapt about, while the flesh of the sacrifice was given to the warriors who caught the prisoner.

  Obsidian, volcanic rock, dark and sharpened to razor edge, was used to cut out the heart.

  The skin of man, when worn, passed the soul on.

  Marvo took many notes.

  Greatest festival of the year:

  Toxcatl, on April 23rd, sun at its zenith.

  The victim was groomed for a year, housed in a temple, treated liked a god.

  Three weeks before Toxcatl, four young lovely brides attended him

  1. The goddess of flowers

  2. The goddess of young corn

  3. The goddess of our-mother-among-the-water

  4. The goddess of salt

  The sacrifice spent three weeks in a state of continuous sexual activity.

  He was killed (heart ripped out) as soon as his shadow reached the sacrificial temple, and the successor was taken straight to the home temple.

  Marvo visited a museum and came home with a piece of obsidian. He wondered at the sexuality of sacrifice, imagined a naked body painted with blood.

  The Pawnee Indians made April the 22nd and 23rd important as well.

  A teenaged girl was conducted from wigwam to wigwam in a procession led by chiefs and warriors. Each wigwam would give her a gift. After a few days, when she reached the last wigwam, she was painted black and red. Then she was placed over an open fire and roasted to death, while tribesman shot arrows and spilt her blood. At the right moment, the chief sacrificed her by tearing out her heart and eating it. The body was cut up, taken out into the maize fields and squeezed slowly to drip the warm blood into the newly planted grain. This revitalised the grain.

  Fijian chiefs used to have a meal of human flesh when they wanted a haircut.

  Once he felt he knew enough, that he knew what sacrifice meant, Marvo sought the perfect subject. He knew that the sacrifice would occur in his own way, that he was not a killer and that he hated the sight of blood.

  Andra held small meetings for women of her circle; hel
p meetings. They enjoyed these meetings and she did not charge; they talked about their experiences with other women and sometimes with men. Marvo sat in sometimes. He told the women his name was Dr Mee. They never questioned what sort of doctor he was; if they had, he would have confessed the DR stood for Don't Resist.

  Marvo didn't need to draw the mist in order to disappear in that room, sit and listen without them knowing. The more they talked, the more they forgot he was there. He could observe and take it all in. They told stories men don't usually hear. The naïve woman who thought she should understand more but not become a cynic, whose voice broke when she was nervous, told a story.

  The Girl Across the Street

  One time we sat on the trampoline, the girl from across the road, her friend from interstate and me. I was in grade four; they were in grade six. The friend started telling me stories about how the boys liked her and why. She said they respected her, opened the door for her. She put a star on her calendar, the one she had hanging on her bedroom door, every time she had sex.

  She had sex! She knew what it was like! Impossible! The girl across the road giggled; I asked questions. "What's it like? What do you do?" I believed everything she said. The more powerful my belief, the more ridiculous her stories – she said you could cut a muscle out of your bum without anaesthetic. I asked why and she said, "Because I can." The magic was that I believed every word, every story. She told me not to tell – as if I would! As if I would weaken the magic by telling the secret.

  As we sat there on the trampoline, we would take it in turns to sit folded on the backs of our legs and bounce the others gently, squeak SQUEAK, squeak SQUEAK.

  I had a sharp vision as we sat there, squeak SQUEAK. I saw that girl as a woman, old, and she was still seeking respect from men by having sex with them. The squeak SQUEAK came from her bed, the rhythm boring, boring her as she lay there waiting for him to drop exhausted onto her chest and tell her how much he loves her. It was vision born of jealousy, I suspect.

  #

  "Not only the wise can sense the future," Andra said. "You have taken her life in the direction you expect it to go; very reasonably."

  Marvo showed her that her belief in magic was soundly founded; he gave her an hour as a fly on the wall in that woman's bedroom. Her correct foretelling gave her confidence to continue; Andra had felt ugly, alone and stupid, unworthy of life. Now she could realise her potential, because she believed in herself and magic.

  It was a great gift for Marvo to give for such a mediocre story, but he was feeling benevolent. He had found his sacrifice. A young girl, almost silent, sat amongst the older women. She listened to their every word, her innocence, her high expectations very obvious. "Our little star," the others called her. "You wait. She'll be famous."

  She said, "I know another story, a bit like that." Her lips were always blue, she said, but she didn't think it was her heart.

  The Squeak Squeak

  I am blinded by mist; or I am blind. I walk alone, my feet tap tap on the road. There is no footpath. I think my thoughts, peaceful, think of being home.

  Squeak SQUEAK. Squeak SQUEAK. Behind me, rhythmically. Like someone without imagination jumping on a rusted trampoline or two people without imagination making love on a rusty spring bed. Squeak SQUEAK. Squeak SQUEAK. The noise approaches; it is louder. I can't turn to look – what if it's chasing me?

  The noise is louder. I walk faster. The squeaking quickens.

  Squeak SQUEAK. Squeak SQUEAK. Squeak SQUEAK, the rhythm faster now. Then louder; it passes me; then it stops. The noise has stopped ahead of me. I cannot see. I am blinded.

  Three steps ahead is a bicycle – an old bicycle. Set on its stand. No rider. I heard no running footsteps. I don't understand.

  #

  "When did this happen? " asked one of the other women.

  "It happens to me almost every day," said the girl. She was talking of the mist.

  Marvo emerged from his camouflage to say, "Your story ends in this way: You walk up to the bike, standing alone on the road. You take the handlebars in your hands, your palms resting sweetly against the soft rubber. The machine hums, hums music you remember from your childhood. You climb onto the bike, straddle it, and the seat nestles into you like a lover, like the lover you have dreamed of. You lift your feet onto the pedals and the bike takes you."

  "Where?" whispered the girl. The room was quiet, all imagining their own bikes, their own lovers. Marvo could tell the girl was right for him. She could see the mist but didn't understand what it was there for. That meant she could help him see the future without understanding why. She would help him.

  He whispered in her ear, "Come with me. I've transformed the cellar into a greenhouse full of orchids. Would you like to see it?"

  She shook her head.

  "It's a library full of rare books. Children's books. It's a library full of cookbooks."

  "I think I should stay with my friends," she whispered back. The other women in the room talked amongst themselves but watched carefully.

  "Don't you trust me? But I can heal you. In the cellar is a pharmacy established by my great-grandmother. She studied under Edward Bach, the founder of Bach flower remedies."

  He held out his hand and led the girl from the room. He did not look at Andra but he could see her; she was jealous. She did not want to be the sacrifice but she envied the one chosen.

  The girl said, "I saw one of your shows. You and Andra. I don't know how you did your tricks."

  "I can show you. In the cellar I have all my tricks laid out for rehearsal. Don't be greedy, though. You can pick just one."

  He had to get her into the cellar. It was the only place with a lock. He didn't want Andra walking in. And the cellar was dark. He remembered a cellar he'd entered when he first left the room, full of champagne and a clutching woman. He remembered the sense of surrender he'd felt; of weakness.

  He understood that Andra's feelings would be sacrificed, but that was all to the good. He would buy her a gift or steal one and show her the love she liked to see.

  They entered the cellar and he locked the door behind them. He drew the mist to give the girl a sense of euphoria and anticipation.

  "There is magic here; tricks," the girl said. "I know because I blink and things change. I feel like I can see germs in the air. It's damp. What if I catch something?"

  He said, "You can't catch magic. You can learn parts of it, you are born with some. Magic is not contagious, though its element is contagion. Some things can influence you long after you have stopped touching them. Some things will never stop touching you, even when they are long forgotten." His voice was so quiet it gave her comfort.

  Marvo touched her, tasted her, saw her. He said, "I give you seven senses. Flowers for hearing." He handed her a rose. "The West Wind gives you the sense of smell," and it came wafting over, a pleasant zephyr which made her dream of spring, walking to school on a spring day and it was only a half day at school so she would be home soon. "Fire for animation, for life." About her, flames. "earth, for touch." She could smell it, too, the under-the-house smell, making her think of childhood, hiding under the house to escape punishment, that deep earth smell meaning safety. "With water, I give you speech," and the flames were doused, the dryness of her throat soothed. "The air gives you taste." She opened her mouth to breath and she could taste hot peppermints, then pizza, then red wine. She became fearful. "And the mist for sight." The mist rose all about her; she watched pictures against its clouds.

  He kissed her so beautifully she cried. She believed in him, and that was enough. He added two years to their friendship of three hours.

  Marvo had learnt that a kiss is true seduction – a true and passionate kiss. He enjoyed a kiss, enjoyed its plunging headiness and the swooning feel after a really good one. He practised a lot with Andra.

  "I love you," he said, his hands hard on the girl's shoulders. This she believed. Wanted to believe.

  Marvo remembered the sacrifices another
man had made to be a father. That he had sacrificed his child's future to see his own. He had shaken and shaken his daughter until his future was clear.

  Marvo kept his hands on her shoulders and gave a shake. She gasped. He shook harder and she didn't resist, so he shook her so hard he felt the bones move under her jelly-like flesh. He shook her till she was a blur, till blood spattered onto his cheek.

  She was bleeding from the mouth.

  "Andra," he called, but she was locked out and he didn't want to draw attention to himself by going upstairs.

  He placed the girl on a pile of blankets in the corner. She shivered. He had seen this on TV a number of times: he showed her the beautiful life she could have had. He helped her live it; she lived it. Then he let the mist drop again and she felt the pain of her neck injury, the softness inside her head. He knew it was done, then. He had taken her fame, her possibilities.