It was a few minutes before he could carry on driving. The rest of the journey was uneventful
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Angel of Death
Paul pulled into the driveway of Malone’s bungalow. On an impulse he decided to call in to see his old friend on his way home from his meeting with Alan. He crunched over the gravel that surrounded the black and white timber framed, single- storey building. He walked around the side of the house then stopped and smiled.
Malone was mowing his large, flat lawn. He was naked. Paul leaned against the side of the house and watched him. As Malone reached the top of the lawn and turned for the return journey, he saw Paul and smiled.
“Wonderful,” he yelled. Malone was normally incapable of speaking quietly and was bellowing over the sound of the lawn mower motor. “How good to see you. I won’t be long. Isn’t this weather divine? I did some anal sunbathing earlier today. Kundalini was in ecstasy. I’ll make some tea in a minute unless you want some champagne. An old girlfriend of mine came over and brought half a dozen bottles of vintage Krug.” He paused temporarily in mid step. “Did you know, I’m sure I’ve told you before, that human sperm is nothing but solidified sunlight? It’s all to do with the basic as above so below formula. Isn’t mowing the lawn just a divine activity? It’s in little things like this that you experience the infinite.”
“You’re not going to point your rump at the sun now, are you?” Paul laughed.
“No, it’s too late now. The sun has to be at its zenith. Go inside. The champagne’s in the refrigerator. Bring us both a glass.” Malone carried on pushing his ancient motor mower in more or less straight lines, spraying fine grass cuttings to the left and right of him. Paul ambled inside to the small kitchen adorned everywhere with magazine cuttings of oddball photographs taking the place of wallpaper. There were copious shots of beautiful women, models, actresses, cartoon devas and a sequence of early Arnold Schwarzenegger bodybuilding publicity shots. It was like being surrounded by an art director’s studio. Paul found two wineglasses and the champagne, which he had to admit, was top-of-the-range. Lord knows how much this stuff cost, he thought.
By the time he sauntered back outside, Malone had put on a pair of cotton beach pants and a yellow tee shirt. He had opened the French windows into his living room cum den.
“Ah, delightful,” he crooned as Paul handed him his glass. “I do so detest cheap sparkling wine, don’t you? Do you know, I would rather serve a year in a Bangkok prison than be forced to drink that bubbly pop that calls itself wine. So good to see you. How are your metaphysical adventures progressing?”
“They’re getting serious,” Paul said then told Malone more or less what had been taking place and how the pendulum seemed to have opened some sort of gate into the cosmic unknown. He told him about the parallel life purporting to be him and the other unusual manifestations, including the vivid waking dreams or visions.
“Well, you’ve been chosen by angels have you? All I can say is it doesn’t happen to everyone m’darlin’ boy. Of course, angels are essentially energy forms with a window dressing of personality. I can quite understand how you must be feeling. Mind you, if you want to know more about angels, do you remember that old biddy we used to meet at that bar in town? She was an angel buff and had some books I had never seen before listing the name of every angel in the cosmos. And there are a lot of them. Maybe we should pop in and see her sometime? She’s always drinking in there.”
They had entered Malone’s living room which could almost have passed muster for a museum. There were strange and arcane objets d’art fighting for space with some of Malone’s own surrealist paintings, wallpaper comprising press cuttings, weird imagery from all kinds of sources, antiquarian books packed in dusty shelves, a hand-built table making do as a desk with a spotlight blazing, and stacks of Malone’s handwritten notes and scribbles for the book he was always writing. A pair of crossed swords dangled from the ceiling, as did wind chimes, origami shapes, old biscuit tins and old EP records. There were two enormous settees with quilts and pillows and numerous rugs from India and Afghanistan. Dominating the room was an enormous television and DVD player surrounded in turn by stacks of videos and DVDs. Malone slouched out towards the kitchen.
“I’ll bring the rest of the champagne,” he yelled.
He returned moments later with the bottle and refilled both their glasses.
“I don’t think any of these crazy spirits you’ve been getting will hang around too long so I wouldn’t worry about being committed to the funny farm just yet. We can’t know what they really are. They could all be one, single entity. As for the new messiah, well, it looks like the predictions are going to come true after all. And they told you this person had nothing to do with any particular religion? That’s right on the money then. Religions have served their purpose and been responsible for more suffering and death than all the wars put together. In fact, religion is usually at the heart of most wars in any case.”
“I just don’t get this being chosen business,” said Paul.” I mean, why me?”
“Why anyone?” Malone answered. “Why not you? Do you know who you really are? Does anyone? And it’s all going to happen over a period of time so nothing will happen maybe for years. I don’t know, my darlin’ boy. Some people worry about being a success at their careers, being good parents, being kind to animals, trying to understand the nature of life and existence and here’s you, being told you’ve been chosen to meet the spirit being in human form who is going to change the destiny of the human race. Wow, is all can say. That’s some career path. Fancy putting that on your resumé.”
“So you think it could be true and not some aberration?” Paul asked.
“I don’t think there is any sure way of knowing,” Malone replied. “You don’t seem as though you’re off the wall to me. What about your old lady and this other guy she was supposed to be getting it on with?”
“I don’t think there’s anything in it.”
Malone chuckled and cracked his knuckles. “But you were getting off on that image, weren’t you?”
Paul did not want to admit how potent he had found the idea. ”Well, maybe,” he said.
“It could be an indication that your marriage needs spicing up,” Malone suggested.” Maybe a threesome is just what you need.”
Paul said nothing. He didn’t want to go down that path, although he did experience a momentary flush of excitement.
“What do you say we amble over to that bar and see if auntie angel is around?” Malone said. “She might be able to shed some light.”
“She’s a crackpot from what I can remember,” said Paul.
“Even a crackpot makes sense sometimes. If she starts to ramble and touching us for free drinks all night, we can hit the road. Come on, I’ll put some decent clothes on.”
An hour later they had entered the cosy earthiness of the Halfway House bar. It was an ersatz old English pub with mock mahogany furniture and rustic decorations. This time of the evening it wasn’t full but there were a few in. Over in one corner, nursing an aniseed concoction, sat a tall, weather-beaten figure of indeterminate age dressed in worn tweeds, although she had to be well into her seventieth year. She had a lined, aristocratic face that had been bred by a good family that was clear. It was also obvious that she lived on a basic income, the way she nursed her drink, taking very small sips. She looked up as she recognized Paul and Malone.
“Good evening, boys,” she spoke with a slightly cracked and patchy voice which made her dentures clack on occasions.
“Lucy,” said Malone. “How lovely. You remember Paul, don’t you?”
“Paul,” smiled Lucy.
“Can I buy you a drink, Lucy?” asked Paul.
“Oh dear, oh no, I shouldn’t, but if you insist, I’d like a double Pernod on the rocks.”
Paul went to the bar and ordered two beers and a large Pernod with water and ice. By the time he returned, the Malone charm had already cranked up into to
p gear. Lucy was laughing like a schoolgirl. When Paul had sat down, Lucy took a good long look at him.
“Angels?” it was a question and a statement.
“I remember you had a book of angels,” said Paul.
“You have the mark upon you,” said Lucy.
Paul felt a tiny shiver of concern.
“The mark?”
“I told you she was in touch with the angels didn’t I?” said Malone with satisfaction.
Paul realized that he had not felt the familiar tremor in his guts that preceded some kind of spiritual contact for some time. Maybe Malone and now Lucy had inadvertently blocked such contact. If so, Paul had no idea how. It would have been a purely unconscious process.
“We borrowed the book once, Lucy. It was fascinating. I had no idea there were so many of them, angels. What mark do you mean?”
Lucy wagged her finger at him like a naughty puppy. “They’ve been to see you,” she said in a sing-song fashion. I can tell. You can always tell if someone else other than yourself has had contact.”
Paul thought then what this was that had attracted him to Lucy. She had the mark also. She had received a visit just as he had done. How he knew he could not tell, but he knew all right.
“Looks like you’re both part of a private club,” scowled Malone. “They haven’t been to see me. In any case, I am building a five millon year incarnatory light body so I don’t need any help from angels.”
“They told me I was a cherub,” Paul told Lucy. “Part of the cherubim and I’ve been chosen.”
“Chosen,” breathed Lucy. “That is remarkable. Yes, I can see. They are around you now keeping you safe from outside forces. That means it is serious.”
“I was wondering how I could get rid of them all and get back to normal,” said Paul.
Lucy was appalled.
“Get rid of them?” she snapped. “Don’t you realize how fortunate you are? There are universes of Yetzirah and Beriah in Kabbalah, the Malakut of Suhrawardi in Sufism, the Devachan of Theosophy, and the spiritual mental plane of Aurobindo forming a reality that is not so easy to grasp. This is because the higher up you go the more subtle become the worlds you experience. The spiritual or angelic worlds thus constitute a scaling down of existence from the divine plenitude. If the divine reality can be defined as the many existing within yet still subordinate to The One, the angelic reality involves the many existing in a multiplicity in unity: the supreme One and finite many being equally balanced.”
“I see,” said Paul.
“This is becoming interesting,” commented Malone.
“Archangels can be considered an order of existence higher than the beings of light, or angels, yet still secondary to the great gods of the divine hypostasis,” Lucy continued, pausing to drain her Pernod in one excited swallow. Noticing, Malone slipped to the bar and re-ordered. “The Seraphim are the closest to the light and are composed of fire. In Hebrew the word Seraphim means flaming. Cherubim are multi-eyed beings that radiate with their light the knowledge and wisdom of God. The Cherubim receive their energy from the Seraphim. Their light enlightens all those who search for God. The word Cherubim in Hebrew means great understanding or effusion of wisdom. Then there are Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangels and Angels.”
“So Cherubim are pretty high ranking?” said Paul.
“Yes,” replied Lucy. “And it means you are a bringer of wisdom or high powered spiritual information.”
Paul had not mentioned to Lucy the reason why he had been chosen. He glanced at Malone who shook his head.
“There will be dangers of course,” Lucy remarked.
“Dangers?” Paul paid particular attention.
“Well, isn’t it obvious,” Lucy replied tersely while nodding her thanks to her third or more Pernod. “We are only human beings after all. We cannot hope to defend ourselves from dark forces and dark forces will by their very magnetic nature, gravitate towards the active destruction of the light. It’s just a cyclical process and it is just the nature of things. It means that any human being who happens to be a physical manifestation of an angelic or spiritual force is open to attack. I do despair when I hear about all those pour souls locked up in mental institutions. I am convinced you know,” she leant forward with a whisper, “that many of them are just like you, Paul, and have discovered their true natures but been driven mad in the process.”
Paul was seriously disturbed by this and made no reply.
“Don’t worry, m’darlin’ boy,” laughed Malone. “I can’t see you ending up in the funny farm.”
“There are presences around you now,” said Lucy to Paul. “Something you have done recently or something you are about to do has let these spiritual forces in. It seems to me that there are several lines of contact in operation, not necessarily connected. One of them might be prophetic and yet mysterious and troublesome. Angels, of course, don’t need our permission to make contact and are not here to harm you.”
“I don’t think I want to be chosen. I think I was quite happy as I was,” Paul said bitterly.
“If you are chosen then that’s it. You’re dealing with powers an order of magnitude greater than any human being has ever possessed. It may not be a question of you having a choice in the matter. Now,” she paused, “the interesting bit is this. Do you know what you have been chosen for?”
“I’ve been told, Lucy but I have to keep it a secret for the time being.”
“Something important then,” she mused, and for a moment closed her eyes. “Whatever it is will involve considerable travel I know that. And it might last a long time. How exciting. How I wish I could be chosen.”
“I still find it hard to believe,” said Paul. “I keep thinking it will all just go away of its own accord.”
“Maybe it will,” said Malone. “We are the masters of our destiny not slaves. Will is all. With sheer willpower you could withstand whatever is happening and banish it.”
“Easier said than done,” commented Lucy. She paused and then said.
“Of course, if it involves the elevation of humanity to a higher plane then there will be a real battle to fight.”
Paul and Malone said nothing but waited.
“Yes, it might be that the Armageddon predicted in various holy books and by sages such as Nostradamus may have a very different character than we might imagine.”
“Go on,” said Paul.
“We are being influenced, suppressed, controlled and manipulated by powerful groups which, on the one hand can be seen as counter angelic, but also as perfectly natural opposing forces. I am talking about secret societies. Apart from Freemasonry’s Higher Arch, there is the Skull and Bones, of which George W Bush is a leading initiate, dedicated to a new world order – remember Hitler, boys? Then there is the Bilderberg group that groomed both Bill Clinton and Tony Blair before they became world leaders. George Bush is a member of this too, of course. They control the media under the power of David Rockefeller and are dedicated to creating power blocks and enslaved populations. There is the Bohemian Club with many of the same members and residues of the Illuminati and many others to contend with. They control wars and they control terrorism. It will be a fight to the death, I’m telling you.”
Feeling somewhat depressed, Paul stood up to leave, taking Lucy’s hand as he did so. Her grip was surprisingly strong and bird-like.
“I have to go, Lucy. It was good to talk to you. You’ve given me food for thought. I’m not sure I’m happy about it all but, there you go.” He glanced at Malone who drained his beer reluctantly. Once Malone was out and about it was a devil of a job to get him home. He stood up and ran his fingers through his spiky, straw-coloured hair.
“Au revoir, darling,” he said to Lucy. “Delightful to bump into you. You’ve been a mine of information.”
“Thank you both for the drinks,” she said. “It’s so lovely to have a serious conversation in here. It practically never happens, you know. And, Paul, do take
care. You are a special person. I can tell that even though you’ve been here only a short time. Learn what you can from the angels. It’s a wonderful opportunity, don’t squander it.”
Paul and Malone left the bar into the early evening light. Paul glanced at his watch.
“Don’t tell me, you have to get home,” complained Malone. “You’re always looking at your watch. Can’t you stay out for a change and have a few drinks?”
“It’s the drinking and driving, you know,” said Paul. “Besides, I’ve got some work to do. I’ve been neglecting it of late.”
“For those of us who no longer work, that is no excuse,” said Malone a little grandly.
“Come on,” said Paul, “I’ll drive you home.”
“No, don’t bother,” he said. “I’ll stay in town now I’m here. You never know who I might meet and where I might end up sleeping.”
Paul felt curiously alone and conspicuous as he drove back. It was almost as though the presence of Malone and Lucy had prevented any intrusions.
That evening he left the house to play his usual weekly game of basketball. He normally ate when he returned. He drove from home heading into the forest and along the lonely road to the sports centre in a nearby small town. His headlights picked out deer and rabbits amid the shapes of trees looming out from both sides of the road. It was a weekly mixed sex game without a referee. Tonight, under the arc lights at the sports hall, it was particularly fast and furious. Halfway through the final quarter, Paul began to feel the ominous approach of the dark feeling he had experienced earlier. He threw himself into the game, chasing everything in defence and charging full tilt in attack scoring some good baskets close in at the key. In the shower after the game, he had to battle to keep his mind on the locker room banter. It also made him mad. He deeply resented whatever it was having the seemingly easy job of causing his pulse to race and his stomach to flutter, not to mention the dark fear at the back of his mind that he could not grab hold of and which he had to fight to prevent bursting open into his conscious thoughts.
An Angel on My Shoulder Page 9
