Farmer, Philip Jose - Father Carmody 00.3 Read online

  He picked up the bag and held it in both hands so it streamed out like a flag in the breeze. Carmody saw that there was now not only the face itself, but the scalp was complete and the front of the neck and part of the shoulders were there. Moreover, many long blond hairs floated like spider webs from the scalp, and the first layer of the eyeball itself had formed beneath the eyelids.

  "You are beginning to get the hang of it," said Tand.

  "I? I'm not doing that; I don't even know what's going on."

  Tand touched his head and heart. "These know." He wadded the tissue in his fist and dropped it in a trashbasket on the porch.

  "Ashes to ashes," said Carmody.

  "We shall see," replied Tand again.

  By this time scattered clouds had appeared, one of which masked the sun. The light that filtered through made everything gray, ghostly. Inside the house the effect was even worse. It was a group of phantoms that greeted them as they entered the dining room. Mother Kri, a Vegan named Aps, and two Earthmen, all sitting at a round table in a great darkened room flickeringly lit with seven candles set in a candelabrum. Behind the hostess was an altar and a stone carving of the Mother Goddess holding in her arms Yess and Algul as twin babies, Yess placidly sucking upon her right nipple, Algul biting down upon the left and scratching the breast with unbaby-like claws, the Mother Boonta regarding both impartially with a beatific smile. On the table itself, dominating the candelabrum and the plates and goblets, were the symbols of Boonta: the cornucopia, the flaming sword, the wheel.

  Mother Kri, short, fat, large-bosomed, smiled at them. Her blue teeth looked black in the duskiness.

  "Welcome, gentlemen. You are just in time for the Last Supper."

  "The Last Supper," Carmody called on his way to the washroom. "Hah? I'll be my namesake, good old John. But who plays Judas?"

  He heard Father Skelder snort with indignation and Father Ralloux's booming, "There's a little Judas in all of us."

  Carmody could not resist stopping and saying, "Are you pregnant, too, dearie?" and then he walked away, laughing uproariously to himself. When he came back and sat down at the table, Carmody submitted with a smile to Skelder's saying grace and Mother Kri's asking for a blessing. It was easier to sit silent for a moment than to make trouble by insisting on the food being passed at once.

  "When in Rome. . ." he said to Skelder and smiled to himself at the monk's puzzlement. "Pass the salt, please," he continued, "but don't spill it."

  Then he burst into a roar of laughter as Skelder did exactly that. "Judas come back to life!"

  The monk's face flushed, and he scowled. "With your attitude, Mr. Carmody, I doubt very much if you'll get through the Chance."

  "Worry about yourself," said Carmody. "As for me, I intend to find some goodlooking female and concentrate so much on her I'll not notice until long after that the seven days are up. You ought to try it, Prior."

  Skelder tightened his lips. His long thin face was built for showing disapproval; the many deep lines in forehead and cheeks, the bony angles of cheek and jaw, the downward slant of the long meaty nose, the pattern of straight lines and whorls, these made up the blueprint of the stem judge, showed the fingerprints of a Maker who had squeezed out of this putty flesh an image of the righteous, then set the putty in a freezing blast to harden into stone.

  The stone just now showed signs of being human, for it was distended and crimsoned with hot blood flooding beneath the skin. The pale blue-gray eyes glared from beneath pale gold eyebrows.

  Father Ralloux's gentle voice fell like a benediction upon the room.

  "Anger is not exactly one of the virtues."

  He was a strange-looking man, this priest with his face made up of such contradictory features, the big pitcher-handle ears, red hair, pug nose, and broad smiling lips of the cartoon Irishman, all repudiated by the large dark eyes with their long feminine lashes. His shoulders were broad and his neck was thickly muscled, but his powerful arms ended in delicate and beautiful woman's hands. The soft liquid eyes looked gravely and honestly at you, yet you got the impression that there was something troubled in them.

  Carmody had wondered why the fellow was Skelder's partner, for he was not at all well known, as the older man was. But he had learned that Ralloux had a fine reputation in anthropological circles. In fact, he was placed on a higher plane than his superior, but Skelder was in charge of the expedition because of his prominence in other fields. The lean monk was head of the conservative faction in the Church that was trying to reform the current morality of the laity; his taped image and voice had appeared upon every Federation planet that owned a caster; he had thundered forth a denunciation of nudity in the private home and on the public beach, of brief-contract marital relations, of polymorphous-perverse sexual attitudes, of all that had once been forbidden by Western Terrestrial society and especially by the Church but was now tolerated, if not condoned, among the laymen because it was socially acceptable. He wanted to use the Church's strongest weapons in enforcing a return to former standards; when the liberals and moderates in the Church accused him of being Victorian, he gladly adopted the title, declaring that that age was the one to which he desired they turn back. It was this background that was responsible now for the furious look he was giving Father Ralloux.

  " Our Lord became angry when the occasion demanded! Remember the money-changers and the fig tree!" He pointed a long finger at his companion. "It is a misconception to think of Him as the gentle Jesus! One merely has to take the trouble to read the Gospels to perceive at once that He was a hard man in many respects, that --"

  "My God, I'm hungry," said Carmody loudly, interjecting not only to stop the tirade but because he was famished. It seemed to him he'd never been so empty.

  Tand said, "You'll find you'll have to eat enormous quantities of food during the next seven days. Your energy will be drained out as fast as it's put in."

  Mother Kri went out of the room and quickly returned carrying a plate full of cakes "There are seven pieces, gentlemen, each baked in the likeness of one of the Seven Fathers of Yess. These are always baked for certain religious feasts, one of which is the Last Supper before the Sleep. I hope you gentlemen do not mind partaking. A bit from each cake and a sip of wine with each is customary. This communion symbolizes not only that you are partaking of the flesh and blood of Yess but that you are given the power to create your own god, as the Seven did."

  "Ralloux and I cannot do that," replied Skelder. "We would be committing a sacrilege."

  Mrs. Kri looked disappointed but brightened when Carmody and Aps, the Vegan, said they would participate. Carmody thought it would be politic in case he wished to use Mrs. Kri later on.

  "I do not think," said the woman, "that you would mind, Father Skelder, if you knew the story of the Seven."

  "I do know," he said. "I made a study of your religion before I came here. I do not allow myself to remain ignorant on any subject if I can help it. As I understand it, the myth goes that in the beginning of time the goddess Boonta had two sons, self-conceived. Upon reaching manhood, one of the sons, the evil one, slew the other, cut him into seven pieces and buried them in widely separated places, so that his mother would not be able to gather them together and bring him back to life. The evil son, or Algul as you call him, ruled the world, restrained only by his mother from destroying humanity altogether. Wickedness was everywhere; men were thoroughly rotten, as in the time of our Noah. Those few good people who did pray to the Mother to restore her good son, Yess, were told that if seven good men could be found in one place and at one time, her son would be resurrected. Volunteers came forth and tried to raise Yess, but never were enough qualified so that seven good men existed on this world at one time. Seven centuries went by and the world became more evil.

  "Then, one day, seven men gathered together, seven good men, and Algul, the wicked son, in an effort to frustrate them, put everybody to sleep except seven of his most wicked worshippers. But the good seven fought off the
Sleep, had a mystical union, a sort of psychical intercourse with the Mother" -- Skelder's face twisted with distaste -- "each of them becoming her lover, and the seven pieces of the son Yess were pulled together, reunited, and became alive. The evil seven turned into all sorts of monsters and the seven good became minor gods, consorts of the Mother. Yess restored the world to its former state. His twin brother was torn into seven pieces, and these were buried at different places over the planet. Since then, good has dominated evil, but there is still much evil left in the world, and the legend goes that if seven absolutely wicked men can gather together during the time of the Sleep, they will be able to resurrect Algul."

  He paused, smiled as if in quiet mockery of this myth, then said, "There are other aspects, but that is the essence. Obviously, a symbolical story of the conflict between good and evil in this universe: many of its features are universal; they may be found in almost every religion of the Galaxy."

  "Symbolism or not, universal or not," said Mrs. Kri, "the fact remains that seven men did create their god Yess. I know because I have seen him walking the streets of Kareen, have touched him, have seen him perform his miracles, though he does not like to do them. And I know that during the Sleep there are evil men who gather to create Algul. For they know that if he comes to life, then they, according to ancient promise, will rule this world and have all they desire."

  "Oh, come now, Mrs. Kri. I do not want to decry your religion, but how do you know this man who claims to be Yess is he?" said Skelder. "And how could mere men fashion a god out of thin air?"

  "I know because I know," she said, giving the age-old and unarguable answer of the believer. She touched her huge bosom. "Something in here tells me it is so."

  Carmody gave his long, high-pitched irritating laughter.

  "She's got you there, Skelder. Hoist by your own petard. Isn't that the ultimate defense of your own Church when every other has crumbled?"

  "No," replied Skelder coldly, "it is not. For one thing, not one of our so-called defenses crumbles. All remain rockfast, impervious to the jeerings of petty atheists or the hammerblows of organized governments. The Church is imperishable, and so are its teachings; its logic is irrefutable; the Truth is its possession."

  Carmody smirked but refused to talk any more about it. After all, what difference did it make what Skelder or anybody else thought? The thing he wanted now was action; he was tired of fruitless words.

  Mrs. Kri had risen from the table and was clearing up the dishes. Carmody, wishing to get more information out of her, and also wanting the others unable to hear him, said that he would help her clean up. Mrs. Kri was charmed; she liked Carmody very much because he was always doing little things for her and giving her little compliments now and then. Astute enough to see that he had a purpose behind this, she still liked what he did.

  In the kitchen, he said. "Come on, Mother Kri, tell me the truth. Have you actually seen Yess? Just as you've seen me?"

  She handed him a wet dish to dry.

  "I've seen him more times than I have you. I had him in for dinner once."

  Carmody had difficulty swallowing this prosaic contact with divinity. "Oh, really?"

  "Really."

  "And did he go to the bathroom afterwards?" he asked, thinking that this was the ultimate test, the basic distinction between man and god. You could think of a deity eating, perhaps to render his presence easier to his worshippers, perhaps also to enjoy the good things of life, but excretion seemed so unnecessary, so undivine that, well. . .

  "Of course," said Mrs. Kri. "Does Yess not have blood and bowels as you and I?"

  Skelder walked in at that moment, ostensibly for a drink of water but actually, thought Carmody, to overhear them.

  "Of course he does," the monk said. "Do not all men? Tell me, Mrs. Kri, how long have you known Yess?"

  "Since I was a child. I am fifty now."

  "And he has not aged a bit, has always remained youthful, untouched by time?" said Skelder, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

  "Oh, no. He is an old man now. He may die at any time."

  The Earthmen raised their eyebrows.

  "Perhaps there is some misunderstanding here," said Skelder, speaking so swiftly as to give the impression of swooping down vulturelike upon Mrs. Kri. "Some difference in definition, or in language, perhaps. A god, as we understand the term, does not die."

  Tand, who had come into the kitchen in time to catch the last few words, said, "Was not your god slain upon a cross?"

  Skelder bit his lip, then smiled, and said, "I must ask you to forgive me. And I must confess that I have been guilty of a lapse of memory, guilty because I allowed a second of anger to cloud my thinking. I forgot for the moment the distinction between the Human and the Divine Nature of Christ. I was thinking in purely pagan terms, and even there I was wrong because the pagans' gods died. Perhaps you Kareenans made the same distinction between the human and the divine nature of your god Yess. I do not know. I have not been on this planet long enough to determine that; there was so much else to assimilate before I could study the finer points of your theology."

  He stopped, sucked in a deep breath, then, as if he were getting ready to dive into the sea, he thrust his head forward, hunched his bony shoulders, and said, "I still think that there is a vast difference between your conception of Yess and ours of Christ. Christ was resurrected and then went to Heaven to rejoin His Father. Moreover, His death was necessary if He was to take on the sins of the world and save mankind."

  "If Yess dies, he will someday be born again."

  "You do not understand. There is the very important difference that --"

  "That your story is true and ours false, a pagan myth?" replied Tand, smiling. "Who may say what is fact, what is myth, or whether or not a myth is not as much fact as, say, this table here? Whatever operates to bring about action in this world is fact, and if a myth engenders action, then is it not a fact? The words spoken here and now will die out in ever-weakening vibrations, but who knows what undying effect they may cause?"

  Suddenly the room darkened, and everybody in it clutched for some hold, the top of a chair, the edge of a table, anything to keep oneself steady. Carmody felt that wave of heat sweep through him and saw the air before him harden, seeming to become glass.

  Blood burst out of the mirror, shot as if from a hose nozzle into his face, blinded him, drenched him, filled his open mouth, drove its salty taste down his throat.

  There was a scream, not from him but someone beside him. He jumped back, pulled his handkerchief out, wiped away the blood from his eyes, saw that the glassiness was gone and with it the spurt of blood, but that the table and the floor beside it were filmed in crimson. There must have been at least ten quarts of it, he thought, just what you would expect from a woman weighing one hundred pounds.

  There was no chance to follow that up for he had to skip to one side to avoid Skelder and Mrs. Kri, who were wrestling across the kitchen, Mrs. Kri doing the pushing because she was heavier and, perhaps, stronger. Certainly, she was the more aggressive, for she was doing her best to strangle the monk. He was clutching at the hands around his neck and screaming, "Take your filthy hands off me, you. . . you female!"

  Carmody roared with laughter, and the sound seemed to break the maniacal spell possessing Mrs. Kri. As if she were waking from a sleep, she stopped, blinked her eyes, dropped her hands, and said, "What was I doing?"

  "You were choking the life out of me!" shouted Skelder. "What is the matter with you?"

  "Oh, my," she said to no one in particular. "It's getting later than I thought. I'd better get to sleep at once. All at once it seemed to me that you were the most hateful man in the world, because of what you said about Yess, and I wanted to kill you. Really, I do get a little irked at what you say but not that much."

  Tand said, "Apparently, your anger is much deeper than you thought, Mrs. Kri. You'd driven it into your unconscious, wouldn't admit it to yourself, and so --"

  He didn
't get to finish. She had turned to look at Carmody and had seen for the first time that blood covered him and was everywhere in the kitchen. She screamed.

  "Shut your damn mouth!" said Carmody, quite passionlessly, and he struck her across the lips. She stopped screaming, blinked again, and said, in a quivering voice, "Well, I'd better clean up this mess. I'd hate to wake up and try to scrub off this stuff after it's dried. You're sure you're not hurt?"

  He didn't answer her but instead walked out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room, where he began to take off the wet clothing. Ralloux, who had followed him, said, "I am beginning to get scared. If such things can happen, and they obviously are not hallucinations, then who knows what will become of us?"

  "I thought we had a little device that would make us quite safe?" said Carmody, peeling off the last of his sticky clothes and heading for the shower. "Or are you not sure of it?" He laughed at Ralloux's expression of despair and spoke from behind the veil of hot water hurtling over his head. "What's the matter? You really scared?"

  "Yes, I am. Aren't you?"

  "I, frightened? No, I have never been afraid of anything in my whole life. I'm not saying that to cover up, either. I don't really know what it is to feel fear."

  "I strongly suspect you don't know what it is to feel anything," said Ralloux."I wonder sometimes if you do have a soul. It must be there somewhere but thrust down so deep that nobody, including yourself, can see it. Otherwise. . ."

  Carmody laughed and began soaping his hair.

  "The headthumper at Johns Hopkins said I was a congenital psychopath, that I was born incapable of even understanding a moral code, I was beyond guilt, beyond virtue, not born with an illness of the mind, you understand, just lacking something, whatever it is that makes a human being human. He made no bones about telling me that I was one of those rare birds before which the science of the Year of Our Lord 2256 is completely helpless. He was sorry, he said, but I would have to be committed for the rest of my life, probably kept under mild sedation so I would be harmless and cooperative, and undoubtedly would be the subject of thousands of experiments in order to determine what it is that makes a constitutional psychopath."