The Temple (14 page)

“Look!” he shouted. “They’re
coming for us.”

They looked outside and saw a
huge crowd gathered below. An angry crowd surging against the walls
of the temple like the tide running up against coastal defences in
a storm surge.

“And call the police, too!”
Jeremiah shouted after Sycko.

“Just as well the temple doors
are a stout, massive affair,” Jeremiah thought.

Some of the horrified brethren
stared out of the window at the angry mob below, but seeing faces
at the window merely enraged the crowd even more. An angry roar
erupted and various objects came flying towards the window. The
brethren withdrew from the window in a hurry and pulled their
fallen brother along the floor into the next room to safety.

Jeremiah peered into the
breakfast room. Broken glass lay on the floor and the table, a
bright red smear led from the table through the doorway to where
they were now, the table was in a state never seen before. He shook
his head in disbelief. “So much hatred,” he muttered. “Oh Lord, let
the haters feel thy wrath and fury. Let thy will be done and let
thy vengeance smite the unbelievers.”

His fists were clenched tightly
and he felt his hands shaking.

“Master Jeremiah, you’re
bleeding,” a brother told him.

“Eh, what?”

“Your hand, you’re
bleeding.”

He gazed down at his tightly
clenched fists and only then felt the pain of his fingernails
digging into his skin. He opened his hands and saw the deep tears
his fingernails had made in his left hand.

Later that day things had calmed
down again. After the arrival of the police the noisy and violent
demonstration outside the temple was dispersed and the injured
brother taken to hospital, a public hospital – not the Dryvellist
Hospital. The brethren set about cleaning up the mess in the temple
and then uneasily assembled in the grand hall under Diana’s
lachrymose eyes. After a brief talk by Jeremiah in which he
denounced and condemned Dryvellophobia and hatemongers in his usual
vein an embarrassed silence fell over the assembly. They sat
together for some time avoiding each other’s eyes when for want of
any better idea Jeremiah brought a small TV set from his office and
stood it on a chair. He switched it on.

“…and we are here reporting live
from the Dryvellist Hospital where police yesterday rescued a large
number of desperate patients kept in appalling conditions. We have
learned today that criminal charges are being made by the state
prosecution against the hospital and its administration who are
denying any wrongdoing. In a dramatic turn of events Director Lee,
who is in charge of the hospital, was spotted on the roof of the
hospital in what appears to be a suicide attempt. The picture here
in the studio of what is going on is still sketchy so we’re going
live to our correspondent Cecilia Hopewell who is at the Dryvellist
Hospital. Cecilia, can you tell us what’s going on?”

“Hi Harold. Well, as you can see
behind me Director Lee is standing at the very edge of the roof and
there is a real danger she may lose her balance and fall even if
she doesn’t want to jump. Rescue services arrived here a few
minutes ago and as you can see firefighters are desperately trying
to inflate an airbed below where Director Lee is standing, to catch
her should she fall. I am also informed by a police source that a
negotiator is on her way to the rooftop. All we can do now is wait
and hope that the negotiator will be able to talk to Director Lee
and convince her to step back from the abyss she faces.”

“Now what about these charges
brought against the hospital and, I understand, Director Lee by the
prosecutor. I suppose they would have had a huge impact on her
state of mind and might have pushed her to take this desperate
step.”

“I spoke to the prosecutor
earlier today and he told me that among the charges being brought
are abuse, wilful neglect and murder. I don’t know if there’s a
warrant for the arrest of Director Lee yet, but if she’s heard of
the charges brought against the hospital and herself then it’s
entirely probable that that pushed her over the edge, eh, no pun
intended there, Harold. I wanted to say that such news could have
put so much pressure on her that she decided to go on the roof.
Whether she’s really intent on killing herself or whether this is a
dramatic cry for help we cannot say.”

“I can see some activity there
behind you on the rooftop. Can you tell us what is going on?”

“Ah, yes Harold. The police
negotiator seems to have arrived and we can see her talking to
Director Lee. From her gestures we can guess that she’s trying to
calm down Director Lee, trying to deescalate the situation, but of
course we don’t know what exactly is being said. What I can tell
you is what a police source on the ground told me a few minutes
ago, that this is still an ongoing investigation, they’re not even
sure if any murder has been committed and given this the charges
brought by the state prosecutor may seem somewhat rash, though, of
course, we don’t know his reasoning. All this should become clearer
in the coming days. So what the police here are stressing, and I’m
sure this will be an important part of what the negotiator will try
to bring across to Director Lee, is that she will be given a fair
chance to defend herself and that at the moment it isn’t even clear
whether she will have to defend herself in a court of law. Given
these uncertainties there is no real reason why Director Lee should
take her own life, we can only hope that the negotiator will be
able to reason with her and persuade her to come away from the edge
of the rooftop.”

“How are the firefighters doing?
Have they managed to inflate the airbed yet?”

“Again I have not had any
official word, but yes, it looks like it's ready, so even if
Director Lee falls off the roof she should be safe.”

“What’s going on now, Cecilia? I
can make out movement on the roof.”

“Indeed, Harold, I can see
Director Lee stepping away from the edge and the negotiator is
holding out her hands towards Director Lee in what looks like the
end of the immediate crisis here. Director Lee has now taken
another step towards the negotiator and she is cautiously lifting a
hand, her right hand I think, towards her. This does look like the
end of the drama here, an end that has come, I think we’re all
relieved to see, without any bloodshed.”

“I can hear shouts behind you,
Cecilia. What’s happening?”

“Oh my god, Harold. Things were
just going fine a moment ago, but then Director Lee suddenly yanked
her hand away from the negotiator. The negotiator tried to grab her
but she jumped away. Now she’s running across the roof. She’s
running at the very edge of the rooftop and she’s quickly getting
away from the area made safe by the airbed. The negotiator is
several steps behind her and we can see her calling to Director
Lee. Now Director Lee is turning back towards the negotiator, we
can only hope that this is another chance for…oh my god, she’s
fallen. Director Lee stumbled and has fallen off the roof. As I can
see she fell onto the ground below headfirst. That is a solid
concrete ground where she has fallen and I think it is very
unlikely anyone could have survived such a fall. The roof stands
several storeys above ground. Paramedics are running towards the
scene and an ambulance is on its way too. I have no official word
yet but barring a miracle I think we must assume that Director Lee
is dead. Back to you in the studio.”

“That is a terrible turn of
events, Cecilia. Thank you. For our viewers who have just
joined…”

Jeremiah jumped up in a fury and
switched the TV off.

“Murderers!” he yelled his face
turning crimson. “Filthy vile murderers. Did you see, my brothers?
Did you see how the haters drove Director Lee to her death? How
they persecuted her up to the very roof of her own hospital? The
outrage, the terror! Can we Dryvellers find nowhere to live in
peace?” He sighed and looked to the floor. “Let us pray, brothers.
Let us pray to the Lord for His guidance.”

The brethren knelt on the floor
facing Jeremiah and began to drool. With saliva running down their
faces Jeremiah lifted his hands up.

“Mighty Lord,” he said. “We
implore you for your strength and wisdom in these trying times. See
how your poor servants are persecuted unto death. Behold the
suffering at the hands of those who would destroy thy humble
servants. We beseech thee, smite thy foes, cast them into the
eternal hell fires, let them suffer in perpetuity for they have
sinned against us, thy loyal and obedient followers. Oh Lord, we
who believe in thee, we who recognize the holy bond of drivel, beg
thee for thy aid and succour. Drivel, drivel, drivel.”

All the brethren said ‘drivel’
thrice to mark the end of the prayer and then rose to their
feet.

“Well said, Master Jeremiah,”
one of them said and shook his hand.

Sycko smiled. “An excellent
prayer, Jeremiah. With God on our side, what have we to fear? The
Lord will punish them!”

“Hear, hear,” Jeremiah said.
“Brother Sycko is entirely right. God will punish the vile
unbelievers, may they rot in hell. And we who are the Lord’s humble
servants will do our duty to the Lord. Is it not our duty in this
hour of need to assist the Lord in His fight against the
enemy?”

There were some assenting voices
and cheers.

“And I ask you this,” Jeremiah
went on. “How are we to help God in His fight against the foe? Does
God want us to simply stay in His temple and keep begging for help?
Not so, I say. God wants us Dryvellers to go out there and do what
we can to thwart our opponents. I ask each and every one of you to
bring to your mind the laws of the Lord, those golden rules that
fill our lives with meaning and peace. Do those laws not command us
to bring eternal peace to the enemies of God so that we Dryvellers
may live in peace?”

A resounding cheer rang out.

“Hooray for Master Jeremiah,”
one voice shouted.

“Death to the unbelievers,”
someone called.

“Dryvellism will rule the
world,” a brother yelled.

Satisfied with the result
Jeremiah looked at the infuriated brethren. How easy it was to
incite them, he thought.

“What we need now,” Jeremiah
said, “is a volunteer. A brother willing to do his duty to God and
fulfil the oath he has sworn. A man glad to accept the Lord’s kind
promise of superparadise and the 99 trillion virgins. In one word,
a pukka Dryveller. Is there amongst you anyone worthy of the name
Dryveller?”

The whole crowd eagerly surged
forward to volunteer, waving their hands, shouting their names and
doing everything to get Jeremiah’s attention. Yet one man in
particular managed to shout louder than anyone, managed to push
everyone else aside and was the undisputed winner in this contest
for martyrdom – Sycko.

Jeremiah, Master of the Temple,
looked at him approvingly. “Very good, Brother Sycko. I always knew
I could count on you. My loyal friend, how I envy you for this
wonderful step you’re taking. If only I was free to do so, I would
be the very first to go, but alas, my duties to the Lord keep me
bound to the temple so that His will may be done.”

He pressed his lips together and
slightly lowered his head to let everyone see how upset he was at
not being able to take Sycko’s place. The brethren quickly rallied
around him sympathizing with his plight.

“We understand, Jeremiah,” Sycko
said. I’m sure the Lord will not hold it against you that you are
so loyal to Him in doing your duties. This should not distress you.
But I by no means want to take something that should rightfully be
yours. If you think it better I’m sure you could take my place and
we who are left behind here will manage even without you. It may be
hard, but…”

“Oh no, no, no,” Jeremiah
quickly said. “That wouldn’t do at all.”

The brethren looked at him
feeling slightly surprised at his quick rejection of Sycko’s kind
offer.

Jeremiah felt the blood going
into his face. “Eh, erm, the thing is, well, to tell you the truth
it is the Lord himself who commanded me to remain at my post, so
you see, tempting as Sycko’s offer may be, it is quite out of the
question for me to accept it.”

He put his hand on Sycko’s
arm.

“Nevertheless, my dear Sycko, I
would like to thank you for your kindness. It has truly touched my
heart how you would put me before yourself. Such selfless
dedication is the true mark of friendship and loyalty and we would
all do well to remember it.”

He embraced Sycko and then took
his hand while the brethren around them started singing ‘For he’s a
jolly good Dryveller’.

The
Martyr

Death is an evil;

the Gods have so decided.

Had death been good,

Gods would also die.

Sappho

A blood red moon slowly rose
above the horizon. Jeremiah and Sycko stood on a hilltop outside
town. The night sky above them was ablaze with myriads of stars not
unlike a dark road covered in glass splinters. Jeremiah pointed at
the moon. “Behold Diana’s wrath,” he said darkly. “The Goddess of
the Hunt has risen, risen to take you by the hand on your journey,
and to go hunting with you. Now kneel, my friend, and implore her
blessings.”

Sycko knelt facing the moon and
lifted his hands towards Diana in supplication.

“Now bite your tongue,” Jeremiah
said. “Bite it hard so that your gory drivel may be the sacrifice
you make to Diana. Prove to Her your fortitude, your iron will and
unwavering determination to accompany Her on the hunt.”

Sycko held his breath in
anticipation of the pain and bit hard. He could taste the blood in
his mouth and began to drool. The blood dripped onto his white
shirt and the blood moon saw. Jeremiah also saw the blood stain and
the tears of pain running down Sycko’s face.