by Brian Smith
The Posters
The only time an unjust man
will scream against injustice
is when he is afraid someone
will practise it on him.
Plato, The Republic
The following day everyone in the temple felt elated. Breakfast was an even more cheerful affair than usual and there was no end of talk about the undeniable fact that the Lord had blessed their community with two miracles.
“Come, Sycko,” Jeremiah said after breakfast. “Let’s go and talk.”
They went to the grand hall and sat in the middle. Jeremiah put the sacred top hat on the floor between them. The shiny black hat contrasted beautifully with the white square it was on.
“Now then, Sycko,” Jeremiah said with a smile, “you have been with us as a novice for some time and you have made excellent progress, indeed I would say most excellent progress. There are, however, a few more things before you will be accepted as a full brother in our holy fraternity. Take this holy top hat for example. What does it mean to you?”
“Well, I’m not sure it means anything to me,” Sycko said with a blank expression on his face. “I guess it’s black and shiny.”
“Ah yes, quite right, how very clever of you. There is more to it though, than at first meets the eye. It could be said that by wearing this top hat the wearer’s head acquires a loftier position thus being brought into closer proximity to the divine.”
Sycko looked doubtful. “You mean if I wear it I’m closer to God?”
“Yes, yes, very good my friend. Now what I want you to do this morning is to take this top hat for a perambulation in the park and to reflect upon the divine in this hat.”
“A what?”
Ah, a perambulation, it means a walk. Go for a walk in the park and think about the hat and God. That’s simple enough, isn’t it?
“Oh sure, can I smoke while I’m enjoying the fresh air?”
“Yes, of course you may. One last thing, however. Do make sure you perambulate in a distinguished manner. An erect bearing and noble gait becoming of the sacred top hat are essential. You do follow, don’t you?”
“Yes, that sounds simple enough.”
“Very well, then. I’ll see you later.”
Sycko donned the top hat and wended his way to the nearby park. He looked at himself admiringly in the water and decided that together with his black suit and tie the top hat made him look most distinguished. It was a rather pleasant sensation he would not have thought himself possible of just a few weeks before when he used to wear ragged jeans and old T-shirts. He walked as upright as he could and drew some quizzical glances from others in the park. He put a fag in the corner of his mouth and slowly wandered around trying to think about the connection of top hat and God. He failed miserably.
“Oh what the heck,” he said to no one in particular. “This sure beats standing in a shop and working. And if I keep walking and smoking a divine inspiration will surely come to me.”
But if there was any divine intervention it came in a form very different from what he had expected or hoped for.
“Hey, Sycko, is that you?” a voice called from behind.
Sycko turned and found himself face to face with Judas.
“What the fuck happened to you, man?” Judas said. “What are you wearing that stuff for? You robbed a bank or something?”
Sycko looked surprised. “No, nothing like that. I’ve got a new life. I relax, smoke and drink every day now. At the moment I’m doing my work.”
“Your work? What are you doing?”
“I’m walking, smoking and thinking about this top hat and God.”
“That’s what you call work?”
“Why yes, certainly. Want a fag?”
“A fag?”
“A cigarette. Here have one of mine.” He held out the packet of Drivellers’ Fags and Judas took one. Judas lit his fag, inhaled deeply and squinted at Sycko.
“You’ll have to tell me all about it, pal. No way you get away till I know it all.”
They walked, talked and smoked and Sycko related what had happened to him since the night they parted in the park.
“I don’t know,” Judas said at last. “My old man always used to say there’s no such thing as a free meal in life and you seem to have been getting far too many already. It’s all going to come back to you one day, mark my words.”
“Oh nonsense. Why don’t you come with me and meet Jeremiah? He’s the nicest, most kind-hearted bloke you could imagine.”
“Really,” Judas said doubtfully. “I guess having a look won’t do any harm. I’m curious about that outfit of yours anyway. Let’s go.”
Sycko led the way to the temple where he found that Jeremiah was waiting for him already.
“Ah, there you are Sycko, excellent. How did it go?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I was thinking and praying to God for inspiration regarding the top hat but instead He chose to put me in the way of an old friend. This is Judas.”
Jeremiah frowned. “How very interesting and unexpected,” he said and held out his hand to Judas. “Jeremiah, Master of the Holy Dryvellist Temple. Glad to make your acquaintance. Are you in any way familiar with the lore of top hats or Dryvellism?”
“Hi,” Judas said feeling a bit embarrassed. “Can’t say I know anything about them except for what Sycko told me.”
“I see,” Jeremiah said, “or rather I don’t see. It’s all rather mysterious. Why did the Lord send you? It’s a mystery we shall have to explore.”
“No one sent me. I just took a short cut through the park and ran into Sycko. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. Just a chance meeting. There’s your mystery explained.”
“Nay, nay, young man,” Jeremiah chuckled. “Things don’t just happen by chance. There’s a higher purpose behind everything, a divine plan. Oh, I know, I know, it can be very hard to understand at times, but always remember that the Lord works in mysterious ways. It is not always for us to understand everything. We must content ourselves to play the parts we are given. But come, I’ll show you something.”
They went into the grand hall and sat down on cushions in the very middle as always. Jeremiah put the sacred top hat between them.
“Now then, young man,” he said to Judas. “I invite you to share with us a unique experience. Let us contemplate the sacred top hat and drivel together to come together in holy communion with the Lord.”
Jeremiah and Sycko immediately started drooling and soon saliva was running down their chins and dripping onto their shirts. Judas looked on aghast.
“Yuck,” Judas said at last. “You’re spitting all over your shirts. That’s gross man. I mean, it’s like you’re six months old or something.”
Jeremiah was outraged. “How dare you insult me to my face like that! Don’t you know who I am and where you are?”
Judas was taken aback by the vehemence of the outburst. “Hey, no offence mister, but I ain’t see nothing wrong with calling a spade a spade.”
Jeremiah took a deep breath and fought to regain his composure. “Oh well, young man, I suppose it is not your fault since you are not acquainted with the facts. It is the government who is really to blame for so shamefully neglecting the most important part of your education. After all we are all Dryvellers from the moment we are born.”
“What do you mean we are all Dryvellers? I ain’t a Dryveller. There are so many people who believe nothing, and what about the other religions? You can’t call all those folks Dryvellers.”
“But they are, they are. Observe how an infant from the day it is born drivels. We are all born this way. Of course I understand that all too many of us are led astray, are told lies and are kept in the dark by evil conniving forces who exploit them. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t Dryvellers. Once a Dryveller, always a Dryveller. It may be said that those poor souls who are held in ignorance could still have a chance of finding forgiveness, but anyone wilfully denying the truth of Dryvellism is in a sta
te of revolt against the Lord and without any doubt an abomination in the eyes of God.”
“Are you calling me an abomination just because I don’t want to join you in spitting on my shirt?”
“Oh Judas,” Sycko interrupted. “If only you had been here last night. It was wonderful. The Lord himself performed miracles. Two poor exiles were healed in front of my very eyes. I swear to you it’s the truth.”
Judas laughed. “Yea, I’ve heard about that already. Hardly a miracle. I know those two. They ain’t exiles and they’re quite healthy. Fraudula and Mendax have been acting in plenty of cheap performances in places I like to go to. How much did you pay them to come here?”
Jeremiah went bright red in the face. “Never in my life have I been so vilely insulted! How dare you! I… I, you, out, be gone, get out of the house of God. You have no right to insult our sacred beliefs. How dare you drag my good name in the dirt with your filthy lies!”
Jeremiah was on his feet in a trice and chased after Judas who beat a hasty retreat out of the temple. Still fuming Jeremiah came back into the hall where Sycko was sitting mortified.
“Hatred,” Jeremiah called out. “Do you see the hatred that we Dryvellers come face to face with? My dear Sycko, I am sorry I lost my temper, I do apologize. But to think how much those poor refugees had to suffer in their young lives just to be branded liars and insulted in the house of God. It was too much. I could not contain myself any longer. I know I sinned but I’m sure I will find forgiveness. And to think that you brought that villain here with the best of intentions. You wanted to help him revert to Dryvellism. And did he submit himself to the truth? No! He turned out to be a traitor, a venomous serpent that would strike even at one he called friend. Let this be a lesson to you, my poor Sycko. There are many evils in the world and we must never let our guard down. Hatred and Dryvellophobia may come in many guises. But let us think no more of the matter. Let us focus on the good, on the things that we can still achieve. In any case it is almost noonday. I propose that we continue our conversation after lunch.”
Jeremiah picked up the top hat and walked away without waiting for a reply.
But if the forenoon had proved to be unpleasant, lunch was even worse. They had scarcely been seated when a cry came from the main entrance. “Master! Master Jeremiah! Come quickly!”
Jeremiah ran out of the dining hall followed by the others. The front door was wide open and one of the delivery men, a devoted Dryveller himself, stood there visibly shaken.
“What is it man?” Jeremiah asked. “Speak up.”
Unable to say a word the man just pointed at two posters hanging beside the entrance.
Becoming Offended –
The last Refuge of a Scoundrel:
When caught in an unethical action,
a scoundrel will often feign offence.
It puts the accuser on the defensive
and it often works like magic in derailing a confrontation.
