"Wait a minute," I said. "Don't you remember it was you who told me to do something when she was worried about her sins. Weren't you the hypocrite? You weren't concerned about forgiveness, but you obviously wanted me to pretend her sins were forgiven."
She covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "It was all so real at the time, and yet you've explained it all away."
"If I hadn't explained it away, I'd be in hot water with Satan."
"So that's your reason. You wouldn't dare to think whether Mrs Brown knew something you don't know."
I stared at her in amazement. "That's dangerous talk on Priam, Kathleen. I'd advise you to dismiss it from your mind. If you're thinking of becoming a Christian, you'll be in danger. Don't forget that there's always one of Satan's servants listening. I'd hate anything to happen to you."
"Do you really mean that?" she said, searching my face.
"Of course I do. We're working together, and your advice can be useful to me.'
"Oh, is that all."
Suddenly I saw Kathleen in a new way. She was wanting me for herself, and as our eyes met I knew I wanted her. Satan had said that I could marry her, but I'd not taken his permission seriously. The prospect of marriage was something I'd quickly dismissed. But now, as I looked at Kathleen, marriage with her took on a new meaning.
We reached across, and our hands met.
"No, Kathleen," I said, "that isn't all. It's only the beginning."
I knew it was a strange sort of proposal, but we both understood. She came across to me, and I held her in my arms for a long time. We didn't say much, but my thoughts were travelling back over the times we had been together before, and I knew that even then there were the beginnings of an unrecognised love.
I remember we talked of future plans, and I remember we agreed to say nothing at present about our sudden engagement. It was only after Kathleen had left that I was struck by a frightening thought: was Kathleen on the way to becoming a Christian? Would this cause our first quarrel?
That night I dreamt, not of Kathleen, but of Agnes Brown.
CHAPTER 21
The next few days were trying. First, there was the funeral of Agnes Brown. I was not too happy with my address at Bill Stuckey's funeral, and I saw no point in speaking at this one. One or two asked me what I intended to do, and I told them there would be a simple burial without any address.
Then, when I saw Mrs Davis, who had taken on the children, she said that a funeral couldn't possibly take place without an address. She, as one of the literature group, would like to recite two verses that she remembered from one of Longfellow's poems. She was sure that these would be appreciated as a tribute to Agnes.
I asked Mrs Davis to let me hear the verses so that I could judge whether they were suitable. So she drew herself up, and said in a confident voice:
"There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair!
The air is full of farewells of the dying,
And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!"
"Is that all?" I asked, somewhat relieved at this solution to what could be a problem.
"That's all I remember."
"Then it will do very well. Thank you for the suggestion."
About an hour later, two women came to complain about the doctor's choice of Mrs Higgins and Mrs Davis.
"Is it true Mrs Davis wants to say something at the funeral?"
"Not exactly say something. She's going to recite a tribute to Agnes Brown."
"You mean she wants to show off. We told you she belongs to the fancy literature group."
"Then what do you suggest? Do either of you want to say something? You've very welcome to take part."
"We're no speakers. But it isn't fair you chose her. She's no better than anyone else."
I had some difficulty in getting rid of them, after explaining that no one else had come forward, and the words were very suitable.
So in due course the funeral took place outside the village, beside Bill Stuckey's grave. However, there had been a further upset about this, since Stuckey had a bad reputation, and one or two didn't want to see Agnes buried near him.
I felt exhausted after the funeral, and was settled in my armchair when Kathleen opened the door and came in. I greeted her, and she came over and kissed me before sitting down opposite. She came straight to the point.
"That poem. I recognised it. We had to learn it by heart at school, and it all came back to me."
"Well," I said, "I thought the two verses were very suitable."
"But if she'd recited the whole poem, you wouldn't have thought it was suitable."
"What does it say?"
She began to recite:
"She is not dead -- the child of our affection --
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule."
"I'm glad she didn't remember that verse," I said, biting my lip. "I was rather afraid when she mentioned Longfellow, because I knew that he was a Christian."
"I suppose Longfellow couldn't have been right in that verse, could he?" she said softly.
I felt angry. "Kathleen, we've only just come to know each other, and you're trying to spoil it all."
"Why me? Suppose Longfellow's right."
"Look here!" I answered her. "You've probably never thought out your position. I didn't throw over my Christianity easily. I weighed up all the arguments, and reached a firm decision. There is no God, and Jesus Christ was no more than a good man."
She murmured something under her breath.
"What's that you're saying?" I demanded.
"Just back at school again. I was remembering some lines from Robert Browning's poem, Bishop Blougram's Apology. The bishop was an intellectualist like yourself, arguing over his doubts. Listen:
"The gain? How can we guard our unbelief,
Make it bear fruit to us? -- the problem here.
Just when we are safest, there's a sunset-touch,
A fancy from a flower-bell, someone's death,
A chorus-ending from Euripides,
And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears
As old and new at once as Nature's self,
To rap and knock and enter in our soul."
I heard her through. Then I said, "It doesn't work like that when you've been into everything. You can be certain.'
She quoted again, "A fancy from a flower-bell, someone's death."
"I see. You've got that woman's death on your mind."
"Maybe I have. It moved me at the time, and it's haunted me since."
"Kathleen, emotion is not the way to discover truth."
"I was hoping it discovered true love for us, John."
"That's different. You can't go on talking like this. You know as well as I do that we're all here to demonstrate that a community can be happy and successful without being governed by ideas of God."
She looked so serious. "John, are we demonstrating it? We're no better than we were on earth. I think we're all getting worse. It's so gradual that we don't realise it. We're more and more living for ourselves. I see it in talking to people in the library. Everyone's wanting to be top dog, to have more and more. I'm all right Jack -- that's it."
I was astonished at her outburst. But worse was to come.
"I don't think it's done you any good, John, since Satan took you up."
"Kathleen, I love you. But if we go on talking like this, we shall spoil everything. I'll be frank with you. If you're serious about Christianity, I can't marry you."
"Exactly," she said. "That's what I mean. You wouldn't marry me because then you'd lose your position. I'm all right Jack, and Kathleen's all wrong."
I controlled my anger, but I didn't k
iss her as she left.
Next day I had a visit from the doctor.
"I don't know whether you are aware," he began, "that Jeremy Jenkins is holding healing meetings in his front room on Thursday evenings."
I told him this was news to me, and asked how long it had been going on. He told me that several times patients had told him that Jenkins had come in and laid his hands on them.
"Did they get better?" I asked.
"They all got better, but I was treating them too."
"So nothing miraculous?"
"Well, there have been three or four cases where a patient has recovered immediately after Jenkins' visit, when I would have expected him or her to take longer."
"And you say he's now taking healing sessions for anyone who cares to come on Thursdays."
"Yes, I don't suppose it matters, but I thought you ought to know."
"Many thanks. I think I'll have a word with him and find out just what's happening."
Secretly I was afraid that Jeremy Jenkins might be psychic, and become a third one in the secret of Priam. I knew Jenkins as a small, mild and insignificant man, whom I had judged to be an introvert type. I had known nothing of his healing powers, but since he had been on Priam he had caused something of a sensation by bringing in from the woods a yellow doglike animal that he called a doggo. It had black stripes, and he tamed it very quickly, and trained to do tricks. He actually called it Doggo as its name, and he used to give demonstrations on the green with this creature when the children came out of school.
He also was remarkably successful with his garden, and produced fine results, with vegetables at the back and flowers in the front. He had ordered seeds through the shop, but had also gathered some from the fields. On Priam, plants grew very quickly. I walked up and called on him. A handwritten notice in the window advertised the healing session on the coming Thursday, and private appointments if desired.
Jeremy Jenkins seemed surprised to see me, but welcomed me in. "Good morning, Mr Longstone. I take it you haven't come for healing."
"That's what I want to see you about."
His face tightened. "There's nothing wrong with offering healing. You can't stop me."
"I'm not trying to stop you. I'm interested in your gift. Would you say you were psychic?"
He brightened up at the opportunity of talking to someone who seemed to understand. "I know what you mean. I suppose healing is psychic, but I haven't any other psychic gifts, unless you count an ability to make friends with animals and birds. And I've got what they call green fingers for the garden."
"But no gifts of clairvoyance, or seeing the future?"
He shook his head, and I felt that the secret was still safe.
"Then, when did you discover your gift of healing?"
"When I was quite young, I felt prompted to put my hands on people who were suffering, and they told me they felt better, and some felt a warmth flowing into them from my hands."
"Then you never felt you were guided or inspired by spirits?"
"I don't believe in spirits. The power is in me."
"The doctor tells me you've been helping some of his patients here."
"Yes, but there are others the doctor doesn't know about. That's why I'm holding my own surgery."
"You never told me you were a healer when I interviewed you to come here."
"I didn't advertise it on earth. I only healed when I felt there was someone I could help. I healed two cases of cancer, but told them not to say anything about me. But up here -- just look at me!"
He rose from his chair, and drew himself up to his full, small height. "Now look at me. They think I'm not much of a man."
He wasn't.
"Not much of a man," he went on. "No woman would look at me twice. But I can show them. I've got what they haven't got. I'm a healer. I'm the only one who's been able to tame a doggo. And my garden is the best in the village."
I was somewhat taken aback. "Certainly," I said, "you have great gifts."
"Gifts, you say? But they're my gifts, for me to use, and I've used them to put me on top."
There was little more that I could add, so I assured Jeremy Jenkins that I was most interested. His doggo got up from somewhere in the background, and watched me leave.
This desire to be top was brought home to me again that afternoon when I walked up to the level patch outside the village which was used as a football field. Soon after our arrival there was naturally a wish for football. Although I'm not a player, I encouraged it, and arranged for balls and posts to be teleported. It is true that Satan's servants made the mistake of sending up rugby balls, but the mistake was quickly put right, and games began.
They started simply as kickabouts, but very soon we found that the numbers who wanted to play came equally from both sides of the long village street. There were not enough to form two teams of eleven, but it was possible to pick two reasonably good teams of seven from each side of the street, with one or two extras if they were needed. Quite a number of the villagers turned out to support what was literally their side -- their side of the street.
At first the matches were friendly affairs, played in good part, without even a referee. But by degrees a thirst for victory seemed to grow at all costs, and a ref had to try to control some nasty incidents.
This afternoon I could see that feelings were running high. I had been watching one player who looked rather better than the rest, when it dawned on me that he was on the wrong side. He belonged to the opposite side of the street. I spoke to a young man who was standing by me.
"We've bought him," he said. "We had a whip round, and paid him the tokens he wanted, more than the other side could manage. Good, isn't it!"
I felt sad as I turned away and went home. I hadn't expected that Priam would follow major football teams back home, who for decades had hired mercenaries to play the game in place of the local lads.
There were several injuries for the doctor to treat after the match. When the Prince of Priam opened the hot line, I asked what he could do about this thing that was spoiling the harmony of the community. He indicated that there was no solution short of direct interference, such as banning football altogether, or removing the ball.
"We can muddle the minds of the players, but that's a poor sort of solution. Unfortunately we can't change their hearts, which would give a permanent result."
When Kathleen looked in, I told her.
"Yes," she said, "a new heart. I've heard that somewhere. But I've thought about what I said. Our love is too precious to spoil. I'll go along with what you believe."
This time I kissed her when she left. But you know how it is when someone capitulates, and you've won your argument. You suddenly feel more lenient, no longer needing to stand up for yourself. You can think of your opponent's points in a more relaxed way. Kathleen had surrendered her questioning beliefs to the love we felt for each other. But had she a right to do so?
After dark, I went out into the garden and looked up into the sky. There were more stars than I had ever seen on earth, and Priam's mini-moon was climbing the sky.
"Who made all these?"
My question, spoken aloud to no one but myself, startled me. I closed my mind to all the arguments I had once known, that creation implies God as creator. But was Satan the creator? I wouldn't dare to ask him.
CHAPTER 22
A few days later Satan's deputy, the Prince of Priam, told me that he was handing me back to his master. This information he communicated in the usual way by what I've described as the telepathic hot line. I thanked the deputy aloud for the help he had given, knowing he could somehow hear me. But I sensed some embarrassment.
"I don't want thanks. I can only do my duty."
"You say 'can' only do your duty. Don't you want to do what you're doing?"
"I don't choose what I want. I hold my power because my mind is one with my master."
"So there is something that you want for yourself. Power at the top? And you choose to ke
ep in your place by obedience?"
"Obedience is the only way."
"Aren't all your master's servants obedient?"
"Some of them on earth go out on their own."
"How do you mean?"
"They find someone with a surplus of psychic energy, and use this to become poltergeists. Or they fake messages through mediums. Or perhaps they look for humans who are experimenting with things like Ouija boards and table rapping, and when the group has generated enough psychic energy they sense it, and impersonate a real or fictitious character."
"But you wouldn't do that?"
"I am a higher power. I was given the position of Prince, to guide your community into obedience to my master, so that he can possess a kingdom of perfect harmony where human behaviour tallies with submission to his wishes."
"Thank you for talking so frankly," I said aloud, knowing he could hear. Then I couldn't resist adding, "I hope you haven't chosen to speak too much on your own initiative."
"All I have said has been for the good of the plan. John Longstone, you are not a Prince, but you are my master's human deputy here, and much that applies to me applies to you also. Do not step out of line with Kathleen. I bid you goodbye."
The line closed.
* * *
Early next morning, a hammering on the door woke me from a restless sleep. It was just after six o'clock, and the noise went on at intervals until I had put on my dressing gown and opened the door. Jeremy Jenkins, the healer, was jumping about on the doorstep, his face contorted with crying.
"What on earth has happened?" I asked.
I couldn't hear what he was trying to say, so I put out my hand and led him into the house. "Tell me what it is!" I demanded, as he sank down in the armchair.
He drew his hand across his face. "He's killed my Doggo, my lovely Doggo, and ruined my garden."
"Who are you talking about? Who's done it?"
"That Harry Haskins. He's had it in for me for weeks."
"Tell me. What's he done?"
With more tears, the story gradually came out. Harry Haskins lived two houses away. He too was a gardener, and the two were rivals. Lately, Jeremy Jenkins' garden was so much ahead of his rival's that neighbours were making comparisons. A week ago Harry Haskins had cut his leg badly, and although the doctor had treated it, his leg had swollen up.
"He knew I was a healer, and he came round to ask me to help him. The trouble is that I haven't the power to heal everybody. Generally, I can sense beforehand whether I can or not. I knew I couldn't heal Harry Haskin's leg, and I told him so. He got angry, and demanded that I should try. So in the end I laid my hands on him, but nothing happened, and he came back yesterday to tell me he was even worse. He accused me of refusing to heal him, out of spite."
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