The Temple

by Brian Smith

In his anger Jeremiah forgot about Sycko and the museum. He left his mansion in a hurry and returned to the temple where he paced up and down the grand hall for more than an hour. One by one the brethren gathered aghast by the entrance to the hall and watched the Master of the Temple. They had never seen Master Jeremiah so agitated before and could not imagine what had gone awry. The only thing they could think of was that there was a serious problem with the new museum. It was the day before the grand opening after all. While they were gathering and talking in subdued voices Jeremiah seemed oblivious to their presence. At last one of the older brothers could bear the uncertainty no longer and stepped up to Jeremiah.

  “Master Jeremiah,” he said to no apparent effect. “Master Jeremiah,” he said more loudly and stepped right in front of him. “What ails you, Master Jeremiah? Is there anything wrong at the museum?”

  “Hm, what? The museum? No, no, everything’s all right there,” Jeremiah said and noticed the gathered brethren for the first time. “I left Sycko there in any case, or rather I forgot him there, but it’s quite all right. We’ll be opening tomorrow.” He noticed a pack of Dryvellers’ Fags that Sycko had left lying by the weeping Diana and decided that a smoke was the very thing he needed to calm his nerves. He took one out and lit it. He inhaled deeply and spat it out the next moment cursing. “Pox and pestilence, what’s this?” he said in disgust.

  “But Master Jeremiah,” the brother near him said. “You lit the wrong end. You burnt the filter.”

  Jeremiah looked confused and when he realized what he’d done he started walking down the hall again in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

  Exasperated the old brother followed him and said loudly “But Master Jeremiah, what ever is the matter?”

  Finally Jeremiah understood what was expected from him. He stopped walking and looked at the brethren.

  “Alas, my dear brothers, this is a sad day. Have I not always been like a father to you all? Have I not guided you and helped you all where I could bringing you nearer to the light of the Lord and eternal salvation? Have I not always been fair and square and on the level with all of you? And now this! What have I done to deserve this? Stabbed in the back! I would never have thought it possible…”

  The brethren looked horrified. “But what has happened, Master Jeremiah? We don’t understand,” several of them called out.

  “You don’t understand, no, of course you don’t understand. At least I hope you don’t understand. How could you, after all? Oh, the treacherous serpent. The vile knave! Perfidious cur to bite his master’s hand! The hand that fed him, clothed him and was always there when he needed it. I’m talking of Brother James. How can I call him brother. Brother he is no more than the worst of our enemies, and to think that I trusted him and loved him. And now that villainous traitor wants to betray our holy and sacred temple! He wants to stab us in the back. That enemy of God has decided to sell his soul for money. Yes, my dear brethren, it breaks my heart to say it, but James is taking money to betray Dryvellism!”

  For a moment there was stunned silence. Then everyone talked at once. Excited by the unheard of news the brethren talked, argued and shouted and worked up a most unholy rage at the evil James.

  Then Master Jeremiah’s mobile phone rang.

  He answered and recognized the voice immediately, it was James. As Jeremiah listened he went purple in the face until he could contain himself no longer. In a fit of fury he flung the phone against the wall and shouted “What miserable drones and traitors have I nourished and brought up in my temple, who let their master be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born guttersnipe?”

  The brethren were appalled. “Master Jeremiah! Speak not so. Tell us what has happened!”

  “What has happened?” he yelled shaking with rage. “I’ll tell you what has happened. That infernal rat has gone to Judas. He’s making common cause with our enemy and spreading the most infernal lies. Not only is he dragging Dryvellism through the mud, not only is he besmirching God’s name, no, he is even denouncing ME as an impostor, as a fraudster and cheater who is cozening the public! Oh, the shameless liar, the ignominy of being befouled and defiled by that scum of the world. And you, brethren, standing here, doing nothing but asking me questions. What are you asking and chattering so uselessly? Remember the laws of the Lord, I tell you, remember.”

  “But what do you want us to do, Master Jeremiah?” they asked timidly.

  “Questions again, you useless wimps. Will no one rid me of this vile rat?” he yelled and stormed out of the hall.

  The brethren resumed their chattering, talking about what might be done or could be done or should be done. Unnoticed by the rest four of the younger brothers slipped away from the group and left the building.

  When James left Jeremiah’s house he was sure that his scheme of blackmailing Jeremiah would work. “Let the old bastard calm down a bit and he’ll see reason,” he thought. “Why should he risk everything just because of a bit of money? He can make plenty more the way he just did.” And so, confident of the riches coming to him, James walked along the road thinking about what to do. “I can’t very well go back to the temple now,” he muttered. “But I’ll need a place to stay for the night.” Without any money of his own that was a problem. He turned the matter over in his mind for a while when he remembered Judas. It would mean sharing some of the money with him but there was no one else he knew outside the temple and Judas was perfect. Since the affair of the weeping Diana everyone knew about Judas and James was sure he would jump at the opportunity to have revenge against Jeremiah. He knew from Sycko where Judas lived and set off for his home. When he arrived at the address he stood in front of an old squalid building. “Looks like his home matches his character,” James said to no one in particular as he looked at the grimy building. The front door wasn’t locked and he stepped in. There was no lift. He had to walk upstairs to the third floor where Judas lived. The doorbell was out of order so he knocked at the door. He knocked several times but there was no answer. Impatient he banged the door with his fist. Finally he heard some noises behind the door. A few moments later the door was carefully opened and a sleepy Judas with deep shadows under his eyes peered at him suspiciously. “You’re one of the Dryvellist brothers,” he said when he recognized the clothes. “What do you want here? Tell your master to leave me alone or there’ll be trouble…”

  “No, no, you don’t understand,” James said hastily. “Jeremiah hasn’t sent me. I’m here on my own. I need your help.”

  “My help? Are you kidding? I’m not helping your lot,” he said and started to close the door.

  James quickly put his foot in the door. “Wait, listen to me. I’m not with the brothers any more. I need your help to fight Jeremiah. There’s a lot of money in it,” he added quickly seeing the doubt in Judas’ face.

  “All right then, come in. But I warn you, if you’re trying to pull a fast one on me there’ll be hell to pay for it.”

  They sat down on a shabby old sofa and James explained how Jeremiah had fooled everyone into believing he had special powers from God, how he got millions from the TV coverage, and how James had asked for a share of the money for his help in the scam.

  “I see,” Judas said sardonically. “And now you want me to help you get at the cash. Why me?”

  “Well, you already know people in the media, you’ve got contacts, you’ve already fought with Jeremiah and honestly I haven’t got anywhere to stay.” James fingered the buttons on his black jacket nervously. “So I thought if you let me stay here for the night and I can threaten Jeremiah with having your help he’ll have no choice but to pay up.”

  “That’s what you thought, is it? And did you think about what’s in it for me? Why should I help you get rich?”

  “We’ll share the money, of course. I’ll give you ten percent.”

  Judas laughed. “Ten what? You’re not serious. If I help you to blackmail Jeremiah I’m getting fifty percent.”

  James looked sho
cked. “But I did all the work helping Jeremiah to get the info on the people and I’m bringing this to you…”

  “Hey, the first thing is between you and Jeremiah. I don’t care. If I’m helping you with this business I want half. There’s no way I’m taking less. Why, I’m taking as much risk as you, James. Blackmail is blackmail if the police catch us. You’d better be fair and square with me,” he added threateningly.

  James hesitated. “All right, half. “

  Judas grinned and shook his hand. “Here’s to a good partnership. Let’s work together on this and there’ll be nothing Jeremiah can do about it. Anyway, here’s the phone. We might as well start now.”

  An hour later James was alone. Judas was out to meet a journalist. James sat on the old sofa dreaming about his new life. The opulent mansion Jeremiah had bought with the money of so many gullible believers was etched into his mind and had swept away years of religious teachings and abstention. If anything, James discovered that he held some very deep cravings for luxury and enjoyment of life that did not include prayers, drooling or slaving away for the master of the temple. Like someone who has just crossed a desert he had a strong thirst for all the things he had denied himself for so long. He imagined himself the proud owner of a large villa with a vast garden and pool, or even better a seaside mansion with its own pier at which his private yacht lay waiting for him, how he would be surrounded by friends and beautiful women eager for his attention. In fact, the wishes in his reverie were getting so big and extravagant that even years of defrauding gullible believers wouldn’t have been enough to pay for everything.

  The doorbell rang.

  James glanced at his watch. “That was quick,” he said. “I thought Judas would take longer. Maybe he forgot his keys…”

  He went to open the door. The moment he opened it he was pushed back violently and the four young brethren who had left the temple a bit earlier rushed inside.

  “You filthy traitor,” one of them yelled when the door was shut again and punched James in the face. James fell backwards and hit the floor hard.

  “You got it all wrong,” James called. “It’s Jeremiah. He’s cheating and…”

  A savage kick at his head made him curl up. Blows and kicks landed thick and heavy as he tried to protect his head by wrapping his arms around it. While James suffered on the floor one of the brethren made a quick search of the flat. In the kitchen his eye fell on the very thing he needed – a large chopper. He grabbed it and dashed to James. In a blind fury he yanked James’ head back and began chopping at his neck. James yelled in agony. Several strokes later his head was severed. The young brother lifted it up triumphantly and looked at the face. The eyes and mouth were wide open in horror.

  “A traitor’s death for a vile rat,” he said with a grim satisfaction. He tossed the head on the floor and the four brethren walked away. The body on the floor twitched a few times and then lay still. Only the bright red blood kept gushing out. The gory stain on the carpet spread out in all directions.

  When the four brethren returned to the temple they went straight to Jeremiah’s office and told him what they had done. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “At least there’s someone I can trust,” he said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the country for a while. The police are bound to come here when they investigate and it’s better if they can’t question you or check your clothes for blood stains.”

  He pulled open a drawer in his desk and took out a thick wad of banknotes. “Here, take this. It’s plenty to get you to Syldavia. I’ll make sure you’ll get a warm welcome at our temple there. But now get going. You must leave before the police are on the case.”

  The next day the gruesome murder was headline news. The first reports suggested that Brother James was the victim of a Dryvellophobic hate crime. This was a view Master Jeremiah was all too happy to support in interviews, but it didn’t take long till Judas presented his side of the story. While the police pursued their investigations the press not only began to dig for information about Jeremiah and the temple but also presented every shred of new information together with a good dose of speculation to the public.

  After seeing headlines such as Dryvellism a Fraud? and Master Jeremiah Fraudster and Murderer? Jeremiah had had enough. He called a press conference and responded in typical fashion. TV crews, reporters and cameramen gathered in the grand hall. Jeremiah, dressed in his best clothes, stepped in front of them and was almost swept away by a barrage of questions.

  He lifted his hands and called “Please, please, not everyone at once. I will talk to you but no one can answer all questions at once.”

  “We thought you had special powers from God,” someone called.

  Everyone laughed.

  Jeremiah went red in the face but decided to ignore the remark. When the hall was quiet he said “First I want to make a statement and then I’ll be at your service to answer any remaining questions. I must tell you that The League against anti-Dryvellism has filed a complaint with the state prosecutor, to condemn a veritable day of hate. The baseless and hate-filled slander and libel directed at our peaceful temple and brethren are an outrage. Shame! Shame on all those who participated! How can the media repeat or even make up stories designed to incite hatred against our community? Poor Brother James is already dead. How many more must die? Have we not the right to live in peace and safety? Must we live in fear because some would repeat the lies uttered by Dryvellophobic hatemongers?”

  “We have a witness statement that Brother James was going to reveal evidence of fraud in the temple and that his murder…”

  “Lies,” Jeremiah almost shouted. “Outrageous lies whose sole purpose it is to drag our holy community through the dirt. Poor James has for many years been an outstanding member of our community and defender of the faith. Is it not enough that he died for his beliefs? Hearing these vile lies about James is sickening and fills me with disgust.”

  “Then you accuse the witness of being deliberately untruthful?”

  “What witness? There is no witness. The person you’re alluding to is a well-known hater who has tried to incite the public against us in the past. He is an intolerant bigot who should have been prosecuted long ago. I must ask the authorities why such a person is permitted to continue spewing out his hatred. Without people like him Brother James would still be alive.”

  After a number of other questions that Master Jeremiah skilfully turned to his advantage the press conference was over and a much chastised press corps filed out of the hall. The hostile tone in news reports vanished and in the absence of any new evidence or information the story faded away.

  The police were unable to locate the intruders into Judas’ flat and as there was no other connection to the temple the police investigation ran into a dead end. The murder case remained open officially but the officers were taken off the case and reassigned to more urgent or promising cases.

  The Dryvellist Hospital