Sprout Mask Replica (34 page)

24

THE
CHURCH OF THE CHOSEN ONE

THE WAY I SAW IT WAS THIS.
IF GOD
PUTS
AN IDEA INTO YOUR HEAD,
you’d be a
fool not to take advantage of it. I didn’t know for certain whether I’d
actually met God, or merely hallucinated the entire event. After I gave my
fingers a waggle and brought back the Holy Guardians, things got back to normal
in a big way. And fast too.

People
stopped hitting the beach and they all went back to work the next day. Within a
week the whole business had been forgotten. It was just as if it had never
happened.

And
perhaps it hadn’t.

But I
still wasn’t giving up. Even in the face of all the setbacks and chaos, I was
still absolutely determined to make this world a better place. But a bit at a
time, this time. Not over-extend myself Do the job properly. From the ground
up, but upon firm foundations.

And it
was so simple, I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it before. The first thing I
had to do was to ‘acquire’ about a hundred acres of prime beach-front property
in California. Because, let’s face it, if you’re thinking of setting yourself
up as the New Messiah, where better to do it than California?

I had
no problems whatsoever in ‘acquiring’ the land. I simply made a little wish and
moved two of my Asprey’s fountain pens from the left top pocket of my Savile
Row suit to the right, during the voyage over on the
QE2.
I had become
very much into the science of acquisition. I was careful, of course, nothing
flashy, nothing too big at the one time. Just a little twitch of a nostril to
make someone drop their wallet, a flick of the wrist to make a shopkeeper misread
my bus ticket and take it for an American Express gold card. No lasting harm
done to anyone. Not strictly honest perhaps, but all in a good cause.

The
lawyers were waiting for me as the ship docked. And the media. Who was this
unknown fellow from England to whom a hundred acres of valuable land had been
donated by a Wall Street consortium? they wanted to know.

Only
me.

But did
I say
only?

I don’t
know who the big limousine (much bigger than the one my Uncle Brian had once
hired) was
really
waiting for. I diddled with one of the mother-of-pearl
buttons on my handmade silk shirt and the chauffeur was sure it was
me.
We
drove west.

We
picked people up along the way. I talked to them in diners and donut houses,
McDonald’s and Jack in the Boxes, gin joints and go-go bars, lounges and Taco
Bells.

I sized
them up on a simple criteria. Marks out of ten for beauty. Anyone found scoring
less than nine was not in the running. I would smile and stare into their eyes
and shuffle two beer tops in my trouser pocket and make a little wish. It
worked every time. They followed me. By the time we swept across the state line
into good old Cal-if-orn-eye-ah, we had us a mighty convoy.

We had
some problems with the police. But each time I just gave them the smile and the
stare and shuffled the beer tops.

I was
getting it down to a fine art.

I soon
found that it was second nature to me. I didn’t have to think about it at all.
I recall an occasion in one of those lap-dancing clubs somewhere in the
mid-west. I spied out a particularly worthy-looking disciple. A young blond
woman of quite outstanding beauty and gymnastic capabilities. I was just
walking out of the door with her, when this bruiser, evidently her boyfriend,
laid most unfriendly hands upon me. I only gave him the look. If I did anything
else I was not aware of it. Just the look it was. He stuck his hand down his
throat, and, well, it wasn’t too pretty. My police escorts laughed though. One
of them called Joe Bob did it in a really high voice.

I got
to quite like Joe Bob. It was a shame the way he met his end.

Now,
the sun really knows how to shine in California. It’s not the same kind of sun
we have in England. Ours is a small-scale kind of sun, California’s is really
panoramic. Big time. The sea was very blue also. I suggested (without saying
anything, of course, just by winding my watch a couple of times) that everyone
take off all their clothes and go in for a swim. They readily obliged.

The
water was really warm. I made love to three women in that water. And that made
me so happy and contented that I plucked a hair from my right nipple and
everyone else made love too.

This
did cause a bit of trouble, what with all the media types who had followed us
down with the cameras and all. I had to get out of the water and flex my toes
in the sand.

The
media types came and joined us in the sea.

Food
and drink came in by truck and helicopter. I found that if I simply wished for
it before I turned in for the night with whichever disciple I’d chosen to
honour with my body, things would occur. Manifests became confused at depots,
delivery notes were misread, whatever I desired was delivered straight to the
door the next morning.

And I
did not have to wait too long for new disciples to appear. Word soon got
around. They arrived in campers and Volkswagens, bronzed young men and women,
eager to see what was on the go. And I told them what it was. ‘You can join me
and be happy,’ I said, ‘or you can go away and be miserable.’

Simple
choice, and I meant every word. Everyone who turned away was
very
miserable
later. I saw to that.

My
people were happy people. They smiled
all
the time. I imposed certain
penalties for not smiling, because not smiling has a tendency to spread, it’s
infectious. So not smiling was a punishable offence. People smiled a lot.

And
they went out of their way to please me, to do little things to make me happy.
Keep my white robes well ironed. Put out their hands to catch my cigarette ash.
Wipe my bum and pull the chain. As you would, for the Chosen One.

My, but
we all lived well.

Once in
a while some representative from the IRS or some state committee would appear
on the scene. But they were easy meat. I’d dispensed with the beer tops, I only
shuffled Kruger Rands now.

And
once in a while Barry would cut up really rough in my head, shouting that I was
taking advantage and being corrupt. But as I said to Barry, ‘Shut the F**k
[28]
up!’

When
the chaps came over from Hollywood to discuss the making of my life story as a
motion picture I entertained them royally. I had one hell of a party. Dwarves
with lines of cocaine on their shaven heads moving amongst the crowd, live
performances by specially favoured acolytes, the whole caboodle.

I
decided I would direct the picture myself.

And
after a shuffle of the old Kruger Rands they readily agreed.

It was
a very short step from there to politics. Of course, I knew that the picture
would be a success. I really wished hard that it would. And America is never
happier than when it has an ex-film star for a president.

My
campaign was as basic as could be. ‘Vote for me and be happy,’ I told the
people. ‘Don’t and then don’t.’

They
did.

I
enjoyed the campaign trail. I enjoyed all the motor cavalcades.

I
enjoyed the speeches and the interviews, I promoted certain soft drinks and
razors. Well, I owned the company. And when finally I sat down in the oval
office there was a big smile on my face.

‘Right
then, lads,’ I said. ‘So what needs sorting?’

‘Well,’
said senator someone or other — they all looked the same, just suits and bright
faces — ‘here’s the list,’ and he handed me a tome, big as a church Bible and
thicker than two short planks.

‘That’s
a
very
big list,’ I told him.

‘There’s
never any shortage in the supply of world crises,’ he replied.

‘And
that’s just what I’m here to deal with,’ I said. ‘So where should we start?’

‘Well,’
he said, ‘there’s welfare.’

‘What’s
that, exactly?’

‘The
budget for the poor and needy.

‘Give
the poor and needy everything they want.’

‘But we’d
have to cut down on other things then.’

‘So do
it.’

‘What
things, Mr President?’

‘What
things do you have?’

‘There’s
Arms.’

‘Cut
down on those. In fact, do away with those.’

‘But we
can’t do away with those.’

‘Look,’
I said, ‘I’m not going to declare war on anybody, dump the arms.’

‘But
you don’t understand, Mr President. One in twenty people in America work
directly or indirectly for the arms industry. After the illicit and illegal
sales of drugs, armaments are the biggest import/export industry in the world.’

‘Is
that right?’

‘Yes,
it’s right.’

‘Well,
we’d better not cut down on them, then. What else do you have?’

And he
told me what else he had. And every time I tried to take money from this and
put it into that, I kept being told that the books would not balance, that
people would be put out of work, that some dire consequence would arise.
Eventually, when it came right down to it and I was getting very fed up indeed,
I asked, ‘Well, what
can
I do?’

And he
said, ‘Nothing, Mr President. You can do absolutely nothing.’

‘Then
what exactly is the point of me being the President?’

And the
senator shrugged and all the other senators or whatever they were shrugged and
one of them said, ‘Well, the buck stops with you, sir.

‘What?’
I said.

‘Well,’
said the senator, ‘if you look at it this way, huge events occur all around the
world. No-one exactly knows why they occur. They build up, from little things.
Like the First World War being started by an assassination. And in order to
balance these huge events, certain people are chosen to compensate for them.
These people are Prime Ministers and Presidents, people like that. They don’t
actually cause anything to happen, they can’t, their hands are tied by the
sheer complexity of Government. But the world events reflect upon these leaders
of nations and they make speeches about how they have all the answers and such
like, but what they’re really there for is to act as scapegoats for the public.

‘They’re
there to blame. It’s a little like the mythical mystical butterfly of chaos
theory. But in reverse. And that’s your job, Mr President, and we’re really
pleased to have you on the team.’

25

FACING
THE FINAL CURTAIN

AND THAT WAS ALMOST IT FOR
ME. ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE. I QUIT
the White House. I
made my excuses and left. It seems strange to me now, when I watch some Prime
Minister on the TV that I should never have seen them before for what they
really are.

I
should have recognized the slightly out-of-kilter clothes, the curious
haircuts, the odd turns of phrase, the mispronunciations of simple words, the
flapping hands, the whole body language thing. Recognized them for what they
really are: compensators, just like I used to be.

As I
sit here now in my room at Hotel Jericho, writing in my red exercise books,
thirty lines to the page, twenty pages to the book, I look at it all and I don’t
feel bad.

Certainly
I failed to change the world for the better, I can hardly deny that. My every
attempt, no matter how well intentioned, was doomed to ultimate failure. But it
wasn’t my fault. I tried my best. Of course there are those who might consider
some of my motives questionable — all right, so I
did
enjoy all that
free love in California —    but I
did
have good intentions. I was a
good
person.

And so
before I sing ‘I Did It My Way’, take another tablet and slide off to my sorry
bed, I would just like to relate to you one final episode.

It is
an episode not without interest, and it does at least provide an explanation to
all that has gone before, while at the same time being an absolute joy to read.

Which
can’t be bad.

Can it?

SPROUT
MASK REPLICA

(At
last the truth.)

The black and unmarked
helicopter swept in low, searchlights dicing the night sky. With clattering
blades stirring dust clouds about, it settled into the compound. An electrified
perimeter fence had been raised around the area of devastation to discourage
the curious, and within armed guards stood at twelve-yard intervals, guns held
at the ready to reinforce this discouragement.