The Cardinal was given a simple and improper burial. His body was dragged out deep into the woods and then dumped. There was no grave and there was no eulogy. He was tossed through the air like a piss-stained arm chair. Those who helped carry him had already turned back down the path before his body had even hit the ground.
And it was nice of all those people to help. Had he no choice, The Old Man would have done the job himself. It may have taken him longer and the body would have more than likely been left decomposing a lot closer to camp, but it would have disposed of nonetheless without a single gripe or complaint.
It was nice of them; especially considering half of them would end up dead before the month was out. But then they weren’t to know. The Old Man seemed completely genuine. All old men did. At worst maybe they expected some inappropriate groping or the odd racist opinion, but none of them would have ever pegged him for a serial killer. It’s not the kind of trait one expects in a ninety-two-year-old man. Shame really.
On the way out through the thick scrub, there was very little said. Aside from the whooshing of a machete and the cracking of branches, it was quiet and actually kind of relaxing. Because of his purple robes, The Cardinal was easy to carry and the scenery really was quite breathtaking, so it was easy to get distracted from the moral, and even the criminal aspect of it all.
But on the way back to camp, there was very little thought about morality. There were plenty of high fives and even a few cartwheels, but there was no moral discourse, there was no hiding of footsteps, and there was no thought of ever being caught. There was no guilt, no shame, and even less remorse. In fact, there was no assumption of any wrongdoing having been done, especially when everyone was feeling so damn good.
There was a real sense of cheer in the camp that hadn’t been expressed n months and it made none happier than Charisma. “Wow, you guys look awesome,” she said. “Go, you.” But she had no idea.
She pranced after them as they stumbled back into camp but for the most part, the group completely ignored her, laughing hysterically as they made their way back to their huts. Some of them made love while others worked on their pottery projects and rediscovered their love of simplicity.
As the group slipped past her, Charisma told herself that everything was ok. She tapped lightly on the back of her hand and she affirmed, over and over, that she was no better or worse a person because of how she felt.
It was hard, though, to hear the sniggering and to no assume it was because of something that was being said about her. It was hard too, to see such comradery and for her to not be at its centre. She wondered how the sun felt about the tides being so drawn to the moon.
By the evening, everyone was worn out. It had been so long since any of the natives had had a day like this. And yet all it took was the murder of an old pervert.
“We should do that again,” said The Nun.
She was still in her habit, but she was sprawled out on a bamboo mat, exhausted from all the sex and pottery. She wasn’t old by any regard but she was definitely no spring chicken. “I feel eighteen again,” she said, being handed back her knickers. “It was fun wasn’t it?”
It wasn’t clear if she was referring to the orgy or the murder. It didn’t matter, though, one probably wouldn’t have occurred without the other, and even if she was talking about the sex, everyone looked around the room thinking to themselves about who should be killed next.
“Definitely,” they all agreed.
“Hi, guys!”
Charisma burst into the hut. She looked composed and back to her usual spritely self. Her energy and mood were as they should be, just a notch or two above what would be acceptable in any normal setting. Her every word was loud and piercing, each sounding like a small rock, passing through a pane of glass.
“First of all, just…wow! Haven’t seen this kind of group interaction in…well…ever. It’s obvious the thoughts of gratefulness and loving kindness that we have been manifesting in our meets have really taken seed. I’m so happy for you all. And more so, I’m really happy for me too, not because it was all my work…”
She paused, half expecting to be told that I was.
“I’m just lost for words. You know me, guys, I am probably the most humble person in this room but oh my goshala, you make me feel so illuminated inside. And I can see myself in all of you. I can see how I first overcame my personal obstacles and set upon the path of…”
She might have told this story a hundred so far but that didn’t discourage her. In fact, she had told it a thousand fold more. But she still told it as if it were the first time – as if she just broken her spiritual drought. She spoke with such passion as if she had never felt this way before. She rattled on about every facet of her life as if it were of dire importance – as if she had earned that right.
“I do have to ask again, has anyone seen Snapping Turtle at all? We seem to be missing one or two others. I’m trying too…”
She scanned the group’s faces. It was poorly lit in the hut but still she did her best to see who was who, and who was missing. “We seem to be down three people,” she said, sounding more confused than worried.
The Old Man sat on his bamboo mat looking nonchalant. He was actually kind of pleased with himself. Not for his murdering, that was just something he did very well, no, he was pleased because finally, after all, this time, he could sit cross-legged. It wasn’t the lotus or anything showy like that, but compared to how he was sitting before, this was nothing short of enlightened.
“Geeze I hope they are ok but I feel they are, you know? I just feel it.”
“You’re probably right,” shouted The Old Man.
A young fella sniggered. He had been part of the group carrying the dead body. He was one of the first to get involved. He offered to take the lead and cut through the forest canopy, but in the end he settled for being a pallbearer. He was the most enthusiastic by far and it came as a surprise when, two weeks later, it was he who was being strangled and beaten to death with his body dragged blue and lifeless into the deepest part of the forest. For now, though, he was sniggering, and figuring everything was A-OK.
Charisma stared at the three empty mats. She hated having to stand, and having to be outside of the circle. How could she connect if their souls and atoms did not touch?
“I’ll borrow a mat, just for now,” she said, justifying her guilt to the group.
Nobody seemed to notice. Nobody even cared.
“So tonight is special…”
She started every night with the same passage.
“We are in the midst of a disseminating moon, so in that, I thought we could take this time to ground ourselves on what we have learned, accomplished and have still yet to achieve on this path towards spiritual equanimity. I want to first before we discuss the presence of fairies and mermaids, talk about the connectivity between our conscious waking selves, and not only nature – as in the trees, the wind and the moon – but also, in all that we cannot see. And here I want to really express what is absent in modern society which is, the relationship between science and spirituality. And when I say spirituality, I can be referring to nay belief in general that seeks and fulfils in illuminating one's internal self, but does not seek to marginalise any other human being or any other human experience for that matter.”
The Old Man could feel his urge growing once more.
“If you look at the true geniuses of our time, they could, on one hand, be all five tenets of knowledge and wisdom. Look at Da Vinci for example. He was just as much a scientist and mathematician as he was a faith seeker and inventor and…”
Her voice trailed off, not that any of the group were listening.
“And then we saw the segmentation of ideology. Science split from faith, and creativity became the vice of the jester or the playwright, hardly anyone of any real significant influence. And then those divisions divided even further until it was impossible to define one true faith just as it was, to agree on one working model
of the universe. And what came of that? Look where we are now. Their world and their city are in ruins and we are not. We have food and shelter for one and all.”
As she said so, she looked at the two empty mats and it was true, once again they had enough for everyone. There was a mat and a bed for every person, and not a single one would go without food.
“Equanimity,” she said, “depends on upon each working for the benefit of all. We have this. We have Heaven as it once was described. We have Utopia as it once was said could neither exist nor thrive. We are the better humans, though we are no better than anyone else. We are the enlightened, though we ourselves know that we are still infants, crawling about in the dark. And the reason we are so magnificent, the reason we continue to thrive,” she said, once again staring at the two empty mats, “is because we are the unification of all the great ideals. We are science crossed with spirituality. We are pride and humility fused to the end of the writer’s quill. We, as empaths, are bridges between what can be explained in nature, and what can only be explained by intuition. We are that bridge.”
The itch that The Old Man felt always came on like a bout of heartburn. He’d always have to let it stew somewhat to see whether he could make do with an antacid, or whether he’ have to go out and strangle someone. He could usually do both in the same run. But he was feeling that burn now, rising up in his chest. It might have been all the kale he had this afternoon, or then again, he might just be on the wings of a murderous binge.
“Quantum physics,” said Charisma.
Most of the group looked lost. Some of them had heard about this type of mad thinking, but neither had the expertise nor the basic insight to do anything other than follow along and try their hardest to understand. Charisma, though, she almost looked like every bit the expert.
“Now, I don’t know a lot about quantum physics, but I believe I did in a past life and that this natural knowledge is seeping through into my present day conscious state. Which is especially true for an intuitive like me, someone who has knowledge springs in their minds like flowers, or even how colour came from anywhere onto the earth – from like nowhere. That’s the kind of knowledge I have. It’s not studied or learned, it’s more classical than that. Mine is handed down – through past lives, and through spiritual and alien encounters. I’m very special, I’ll just say that, so……….”
She spent a good thirty minutes getting further and further from her point.
“What we give is what we get,” she said.
And that was when Greg came sneaking up to The Old Man. He wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible so he crouched in front of The Girl and made it seem that he was leering at her ample cleavage.
“Can we do my wife next?” he asked.
He was staring back over his shoulder trying to look as cool as possible. He gave his wife the thumbs up and hinted that he was doing his best, and she should fucking chill.
“I don’t have long,” he said. “What do you think?”
“Who’s we?” said The Old Man.
“Like before, but his time, my wife. Bu if it could be painless it would be best. I don’t want her to be hurt.”
“But you want to kill her?”
“Yeah, well no, but… I want her to no exist anymore, but I don’t want her to feel bad about it. I don’t want her to suffer or be in any pain. Just if you could do something really fast so she doesn’t even know, and she dies instantly.”
“Why do you want her dead?”
“I don’t really know. I thought of a hundred different things that I thought could happen but this was the only one that I couldn’t find one valid reason not to do it.”
“Because you love her,” said The Girl.
“Nah, that’s not a reason.”
“But do you?”
“Of course, that’s how I’m this mess. I wish I could just walk away. Believe me, I’ve tried, I’ve thought about it, but every time I do, I break down, I cry like a little bitch, I tell her I love her and we have dirty shameful sex.”
At this point, Greg knew his wife was getting suspicious. He would have to act fast, so he reached his hand onto the Girl’s knee first which she shook off, then he reached his hand to her breast.
“What the fuck?” she screamed, hitting his hand away.
“I’m sorry. I’m not actually like this.”
He looked back over his shoulder and his wife was smiling, urging him on.
Greg turned quickly to The Old Man. “Would you?” he asked, looking scared and desperate.
“We’ll see,” said The Old Man.
“Please, consider it. I have to get out. Whatever you want, it’s yours; you name it.”
Greg turned back to The Girl and she met his stare with a fiery vitriol.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “It’s her, not me, I promise.”
Greg snuck back to his spot in the hut, seated beside Hillary. As she cuddled up beside him, wrapping her arm around his like some strangling vine, he stared at The Old Man and he nodded surreptitiously. Inside his stomach, he could feel the knots of treason and treachery twisting and turning. His skin felt cold and shivery, and his mind felt light and dizzy. Were his head a balloon, it would surely rise right to the top of the hut, were its gangly strings not in Hillary’s dear clutches. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to run. He wanted to call the whole thing off. He wanted to say he was sorry, and he wanted to say that he loved her. Then he wanted to fuck her. And she could piss all over him, and he could piss all over her. And then they could eat popcorn and watch re-runs her favourite sitcoms. He wanted to say that he loved her, he did. This was half the reason that he felt sick. But more than that, he wanted her dead.
“So…” asked Hillary.
She held onto that one syllable for an inappropriate amount of time. When she was like this – inquisitive, impatient and horny – she got excited and she dragged her words out in this screeching tone that sounded like a scooter being manhandled in first gear.
Greg stared idly at The Old Man.
“Did she go for it? What did she say? Is she into it?”
He knew the answer. It involved grabbing her by the shoulders and while gently shaking her, shouting the words, “This is not the solution. This will not make us better.” He wanted to. He imagined himself doing it over and over in his head. He imagined this more than he did, any of the fantasies that Hillary dreamt up, no matter how many women, or what kinds of creams were involved. This was what he wanted most of all. He thought about when they made love, and he thought about it when they fucked. He thought about it whenever they kissed, and he thought about it whenever she sucked his cock. But he hadn’t the courage to say it. He hadn’t the nerve or the will to undress himself like that and be so blatantly honest.
“Well…….”
Again her voice rose.
“Did you do the move I told you?”
“Yes,” said Greg, wishing he were small enough to be blown into smithereens.
“And…….”
It was like she was riding up a very steep hill.
“Well……”
Aside from everything else, this might have been one of Greg’s greatest peeves.
“She told me to fuck off,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“You did it right, though, right? Did you do the reach around?”
“Yes.”
“And nothing?”
“No.”
“Really? I love that move. Who wouldn’t vibe on that? Says a lot, though.”
Greg let out a massive gasp.
“What’s the matter, babe?”
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t breathe like it was nothing. You seem off. Are you upset? Is that’s what’s wrong?”
“I was meditating.”
“Don’t worry about her, babe. We’ll find someone else, trust me. I am so set on this. What about you?”
The answer was ‘No’.
&n
bsp; “Yeah,” he said.
“Don’t worry. It’ll happen. We just have to will it? It’s like Charisma says when you focus on what you want it is naturally drawn to you. What do you think about her? She’s kind of sexy, in an open-minded, free-spirited, anything goes kind of way. I bet she’d like the move.”
Greg started to daydream of carrying her body through the scrub.
“It doesn’t have to be a girl either,” she said.
And now he dreamt of hacking her to pieces.
“Love is the most precious and sacred thing,” said Charisma, looking at Hilary and Greg, and at all the other couples in the camp. She wore a smile as if it were a diamond tiara. Hers had more shine and it was more eloquently pronounced than any of the others. It was the kind of smile that made one feel useless, insignificant and not nearly as arted or knowledgeable than one though they were. It was the kind of smile that wiped one’s slate clean.
“What?”
Greg looked and sounded like he had swallowed a bad egg.
“I’m not gay!”
“Well I know that,” giggled Hilary. “Not for you, for me.”
Was she hinting at this all along?
“And you can watch.”
“Hold on, did this all start with you saying you wanted to see me with another woman.”
The thought of him fucking some bare-bummed, busty blonde flood his mind.
“Yeah,” said Hillary, biting her finger. “I still want that. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t tell anyone?”
“he sounded fuddled and bemused.
“You bloody told everyone here. And my mum.”
“Make me feel dirty then.”
“Look I don’t want to make you feel dirty. Fantasies are normal. They’re important. I just. I don’t think they’re supposed to amount to anything, or else they wouldn’t be fantasies anymore now, would they? They’d be bloody plans.”
“Well if you don’t wanna do it…”
“I didn’t say that.”
He did want to do it – in theory.
“Well, then what then? I’m getting mixed signals.”
“Just… How did it go from you watching me fuck some… whore…”
London When it Rains Page 18
