The Temple (3 page)

He left his room and was
surprised to find everyone else up too.

“Awake already,” a voice behind
him said. He turned round and saw Jeremiah.

“Excellent,” Jeremiah said. “I
trust you had a good night and you’ve found your new clothes.
Splendid, new clothes for a new life.”

“Good morning,” Sycko said.

“And a good morning to you, my
friend, though around here we prefer to say ‘Good morrow’. But
let’s not stand around here. It’s time for breakfast. I trust you
have a good appetite after such a long sleep. There’s nothing like
a hearty breakfast to start the day. Eat well and live well is what
we say, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sycko consented eagerly and
followed Jeremiah to the common dining hall. There was a long black
table with chairs all around it. At the far end was a chair with a
much higher back than the others had. Jeremiah headed for this
chair and motioned Sycko to take a chair to his right. There was
absolute silence in the hall even though there was someone standing
in front of every chair.

“Good morrow, brethren,”
Jeremiah said loudly.

“Good morrow, Master Jeremiah,”
the reply came.

“Pray be seated,” Jeremiah said.
When everyone was firmly ensconced in their seats Jeremiah looked
each one of them in the eye, one by one. “As you know we have a
newcomer in our midst, my young friend Sycko here,” he said patting
him on the shoulder. “I bid you all to be warm and welcoming to our
new friend. He is here to learn our ways and to begin a new life.
When the slate is wiped clean and we can start all over again it is
a tremendous opportunity as well as a responsibility and I ask each
of you to shoulder your part of that responsibility.”

“Hear, hear,” the reply
came.

“Excellent,” Jeremiah said. “Now
let us thank the Lord for the bounty of the land that He has so
magnanimously bestowed upon us. Let us pray and drivel.”

They said a short prayer in
silence and then pushed saliva out of a corner of the mouth till it
was drooling down onto their white shirts. Sycko felt rather silly
doing this but decided he had to join in. He didn’t want to stand
out and not doing so might have been seen as being ungrateful.

Jeremiah noted how fast Sycko
joined in the drivelling and was satisfied. When everyone had a wet
stain on their shirts Jeremiah gave the signal to start eating and
soon the room was filled with quiet voices and the clanking of
cutlery on crockery.

After breakfast Jeremiah
beckoned Sycko to follow him. They went to the grand hall and sat
down on two large cushions in the middle. There was no one else
there and every little noise they made echoed off the walls. Sycko
took a packet of cigarettes out. “Do you mind…?”

“Oh, but those won’t do at all,
my friend, they won’t do at all. There now, let me have those and
wait for me.”

Sycko watched him disappear with
the only cigarettes he had left. “Oops, shouldn’t have said that, I
guess. No smoking in the temple, at least not in this hall.” He
waited wondering if Jeremiah would be annoyed when he came back,
but he needn’t have worried.

“My dear young friend,” Jeremiah
called as he came back into the hall. “I’m so sorry, I must
apologize for this oversight. I should have told you before, but
then there are always so many things to think of and to do, one
can’t always remember everything. I do hope you don’t mind.”

“Hey no, that’s all right, I
understand” Sycko said surprised by the verbose apology.

Jeremiah held out a black and
white packet to him. “Have these,” he said. “You’re one of us now
so I really must ask you to smoke these only like everyone else
here.”

Sycko took the packet. It said
Drivellers’ Fags in large white letters on a black background.

“Fags?” he said even more
surprised.

“Yes,” Jeremiah said. “Fags
meaning cigarettes. You’ve heard the demotic usage, I’m sure?”

“Eh, yes. I’m sorry, I was just
surprised to see it used like this. I thought you’d be cross with
me for wanting to smoke in here, or something.”

Jeremiah laughed. “No, no, how
could I be cross with you. We have no objections to smoking as long
as you light up drivellers’ fags. Do light up, I pray you, and
relax. I’m sure you’ll find them to be much more, how shall I say,
energizing and invigorating than mere cigarettes you buy in a
shop.”

Sycko opened the packet and
slowly took out a cigarette. Jeremiah held out a lighter and the
little flame soon left a narrow trail of smoke rising up into the
air. Sycko inhaled deeply and then blew a cloud of smoke towards
the ceiling.

Seeing Sycko comfortable and
settled Jeremiah began to write the word ‘level’ on the slate he
had prepared.

“In here, my young friend, we
meet upon the level. In our language meeting upon the level means
that we are equal. That I am a Master Driveller in this temple and
you are as yet a novice is of no significance here. Now that we are
upon the level I would ask you for a little help. Nothing much, I
assure you, and quite easy.”

Sycko nodded.

“But wait,” Jeremiah said. “On
the level I must be fair to you. It is not fair that I should ask
you to agree to something, and be it ever so small a matter,
without first informing you to the full extent what it is you are
being asked to do.”

Sycko smiled in admiration.
“You’re a really nice and decent bloke, you know Jeremiah.” For the
first time in his life he felt the wish of wanting to do something
for another person. It was a new sensation and he didn’t quite know
what to make of it, though it didn’t feel unpleasant in any
way.

“How can I help you?” he
said.

Jeremiah beamed. “Ah, my friend.
I’m glad to hear you say so, it warms my heart. I’m sure we’re
going to get along brilliantly together. What I really need your
help with is that you help me to let you relax. You’ve got your
fags, I’ll bring you something to drink and then I want you to sit
here and relax. Just contemplate your surrounding, that’s all. Oh,
and we’ll be playing some music. You don’t mind music, do you?”

Sycko was flabbergasted. “I sit
here, I smoke, drink, look at the room and listen to music. That’s
it?”

“Why yes, certainly. Is anything
wrong?”

“Wrong? This is the closest
thing to paradise I could imagine.”

“Splendid,” Jeremiah said,
“splendid. I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll be back to pick you up
for lunch. I only ask you to stay here and relax until then.”

“Suits me fine,” Sycko said.
“See you then.”

Jeremiah brought him a large
bottle of whiskey and left.

Sycko lit up another fag and
poured himself a drink. “Now that’s what I call life,” he said. I
help Jeremiah by smoking, boozing and relaxing. This is just
fab!”

Moments later music filled the
air. It was Handel’s Sarabande. The slow rhythmical music and the
beating of the drum combined with the whiskey to slowly induce
something similar to trance in his mind. The same piece was played
over and over again without interruption while Sycko kept smoking
and drinking. The hours passed by. Sycko looked at the chess board
floor. At first there were only black squares and white squares but
later his mind began to fill some of the squares with other things.
Images came to his mind. His childhood and how his parents were
yelling and fighting at home. His teacher at school furious with
him for being disruptive. There was a square with Sycko shoplifting
and another square showed him being fired. There was a square with
the police, a square with his first fight and a square with his
first sexual adventure. Soon all the squares were brimming with
images of his life, his former life, his brain corrected. And still
the music droned on mercilessly cleansing his soul, extirpating
every last vestige of his former self. He drank and smoked and
listened and his head spun round. Hours later the bottle was empty
and all that remained of his fags was a pile of ash and cigarette
butts on the floor. He put his head on the cushion and listened to
the music till his mind drifted off and he was asleep.

Just before noon Jeremiah
returned. He switched on exhaust fans to air the hall. There was no
more music. Everything was quiet and he noted with satisfaction
that Sycko was asleep. “You have relaxed very well, my friend,” he
said to himself. “Let’s hope your journey to the realm of dreams
was a productive one.”

He gently woke up Sycko and took
him to the dining hall for lunch. Sycko was silent. The experience
of lunch was similar to breakfast and he found himself fast getting
accustomed to things. When everyone drivelled he just joined in as
though he had been doing it all his life.

After lunch Jeremiah invited
Sycko for a walk in the park. “Nothing like some fresh air to clear
the mind,” he said. Let’s go and have a chat.”

Sycko happily assented. He had
almost worried Jeremiah would ask him for an afternoon of
relaxation similar to his morning session. A walk in the park
offered a pleasant alternative.

While they wandered about the
park Sycko told Jeremiah about how his morning had gone and the
impressions on his mind. Jeremiah nodded and listened but said
remarkably little. On their way back to the temple a crow flew by
on Sycko’s left side. “Odd bird,” he said. “Just like the one that
woke me up yesterday.”

The following days passed in a
similar vein. From breakfast to lunch Sycko spent his time
‘relaxing’ with a strong drink, drivellers’ fags and repetitive
music. Only the music changed from day to day. The second day he
spent listening to Al Bowly singing ‘All of me’ and on the third
day Mike Landau kept repeating ‘Deep Night’ for hours on end. Sycko
did wonder why Jeremiah kept choosing obscure and old music but
then it seemed to have the desired effect. Every day his visions
changed and he began to incorporate more and more of his new life
at the temple into them while images of his previous existence
slowly waned. Sycko even began reading in the copy of The Holy
Drivel that was in his bedside table, not much at first but it was
the first time in his life he had read in a book without being made
to do so.

Monday Service

Hope is the Dream

of a waking man.

Aristotle

It was Monday evening and the
grand hall in the temple was crowded. Sycko had been to a driveller
service before but Jeremiah had hinted that this service would be
something special and so Sycko was eager to attend. The
congregation was assembled and the entrance doors closed, the clank
of the heavy doors being as always the signal to commence divine
service. In the grand hall all those attending met upon the level,
which meant that there was no raised altar or platform from where
the master would speak. While the congregation were seated on
cushions, anyone who had the word simply stood up. When the doors
fell shut a hush of silence pervaded the hall. Then Jeremiah arose.
He stood in silence for some moments until he felt a thousand eyes
gazing upon him eagerly. As Temple Master he was permitted to wear
the sacred top hat which gave him a highly distinguished appearance
along with a black suit, a white stud collar shirt and a white
bowtie.

“Monday,” Jeremiah said in a
stentorian voice that rang clearly across the entire hall. “It is
Monday, our holy day, the day of the moon which has since time
immemorial been the symbol of our Lord God the most high,
omniscient, almighty, infallible and divine.”

“Our wise master,” a voice
called out to a round of applause at the words of wisdom that had
come from Master Jeremiah’s lips.

Jeremiah raised his right hand
commanding silence. “It is now time,” he said, “to renew the sacred
bond that exists between us Dryvellers and our Lord. Let us
drivel!”

With mucho gusto the entire
congregation began to push saliva out of the corners of their
mouths gladly renewing the bond with God.

“Rejoice, brethren, rejoice for
you are now one with the Lord!” Jeremiah called out ecstatically.
This was followed by loud cheers and calls for a hymn to be
sung.

Sycko leapt to his feet. “Master
Jeremiah, with your permission I would sing ‘Onward drooling
Dryvellers’.”

“An excellent choice,” Jeremiah
responded and sat down. Now Sycko was standing and led the
congregation in singing the rousing hymn.

Onward drooling Dryvellers, as
in days of yore,

With our Lord the moon, going on
before.

Our master drivels, speaks
against the foe;

Forward gormless sheep, let us
all now go!

There were ten verses in all and
when the hall fell silent again Sycko sat down to allow Jeremiah to
continue the service.

“Wonderful,” Jeremiah said,
“wonderful, splendid, oh how I can feel the power of the Lord
reverberate through every last inch of myself. What a rousing hymn
you have chosen, Sycko. Thank you for this excellent choice. Now,
before we continue I would invite you to share our burden. As you
all know freedom isn’t free and having the freedom to gather here
in the eyes of our Lord means that we have burdens to shoulder and
to put it in a nutshell it is time for a donation to the house of
God.”

Suddenly thick black cloth bags
appeared at the sides of the hall which were passed along from one
Dryveller to another. The sound of many coins being dropped in the
bags filled the hall with a myriad of little clanks that was music
to Jeremiah’s ears. At last all the bags had passed through the
crowd and were taken away by a number of temple assistants.

Jeremiah smiled and turned all
around so that every single person in the crowd felt that Master
Jeremiah’s gaze and smile was a personal token of gratitude.