To his chagrin, the pamphlet was entitled:
DE OCULO HOOR
Class A Publication
Hermetic Order of the G∴D∴
Sir John retired to the library to read this with considerable curiosity. It said:
1. This is the Book of the Opening of the Eye of Horus, of which the symbol in the profane world is the eye in the triangle, and of which the meaning is Illumination.
2. Thou who readest this doth not read; thou who seeketh shall not attain; thou who understandeth doth not understand. For attainment and understanding cometh only when thou art not thou, yea, when thou art nothing.
3. Once there was a monk, a disciple of that great Magus of our Order whom men name the Buddha which signifieth He Who Is Awake. For men asked the Lord Gotama, Are you a God? And he answered, No. And they asked again, Are you a saint? And he answered again, No. And they asked then, What are you? And he answered: I am awake. Thence is he known as the Buddha, the Awakened One.
4. And the monk, in order to awaken himself, practised the Art of Meditation as taught by Buddha, which in its original form before being distorted by False Imaginings and Elaborations of Theologians, was but this: To look upon all incidents and events and Remember to Say Unto Thine Soul of each: This is transitory.
5. And the monk looked upon all incidents and events, Reminding himself always: This is transitory.
6. And the monk came close to Awakening, and therefore was he in great peril, for The Lord of the Abyss of Hallucinations, whom Buddhists call Mara, the Tempter, cometh quickly to one near Awakening, to hypnotize him again into the Sleep of Fools which is the ordinary consciousness of Men.
7. And Mara did sorely afflict the monk with death of offspring, and insanity of loved ones, and eye-troubles, and slander, and malice, and the great curse of Law Suits, and diverse sufferings; but the monk thought only: This is transitory. And he was closer to Awakening.
8. And Mara, the Lord of the Abyss of Hallucinations, then caused the monk to die and reincarnate as an almost Mindless creature, a Parrot, which flitted from tree to tree deep in the jungle; and Mara thought, Now he has no chance of Awakening.
9. But a brother Monk of the Buddhist order came one day through the jungle, chanting the Teachings, and the Parrot heard, and repeated the one phrase over and over: This is transitory.
10. And Mental Activity began in the Parrot, and the memories of his past life came to him, and the meaning of the teaching, This is transitory; and Mara cursed horribly in frustration, and caused him to die again and reincarnate as an Elephant, even deeper in the jungle and further from the languages of men.
11. And many years passed, and there seemed no chance of Awakening for that soul; but the effects of good karma, like those of bad, continueth forever; and eventually Men came to the jungle, and took the Elephant captive, to sell him to a great Rajah.
12. And the Elephant lived in the courtyard of the Rajah, and many years passed.
13. And another monk of the Ruddhist order came to the Rajah, and taught in the courtyard, and his teaching was: This is transitory. And memories awoke in the Elephant, and meaning was understood in the memories, and Awakening again came close.
14. And Mara cursed wrathfully, and caused the Elephant to die; and this time Mara took good care that reincarnation would recur at the furthest possible remove from all chance of Awakening, for Mara caused that the monk be reborn this time as an American Evangelist.
15. And the Evangelist was of the Moral Majority [bocca grande giganticus] and he journeyed across the American nation, North and South and East and West, preaching that all were in danger of hellfire, and that there was only One Path to Salvation, and that this Path lay in believing All he Said and doing All he Demanded.
16. And he enslaved many, who became mental Automatons, and these Automatons went about crying, Hallelujah, We Are Saved.
17. And Mara was gleeful, for now the soul of the monk was further from Illumination than ever; for previously he had been a Subjectively Hopeless Idiot—id est, one who is aware of his own hopeless idiocy—but now he was an Objectively Hopeless Idiot—id est, one who Thinks that he Knows when in fact he doth Know Nothing.
18. But the Evangelist met with others of the Clergy to discuss sending Missionaries to the Heathen of the East; and there One spoke of the superstitions of the Orient, and he mentioned the Buddhist teaching that All is transitory.
19. And Mental Activity began in the Evangelist, and memories of Past Incarnations stirred; and Mara, in bitter frustration, attempted the Last Trap of All, and caused the Evangelist to become Mahabrahma, Lord of Lords, God of all possible Universes.
20. And Mahabrahma abode in Divine Bliss for billions of billions of years, creating many lesser Brahmas who created Their own universes and were Gods to them; and Mahabrahma watched all this Activity and rejoiced in it with High Indifference; for Mahabrahma was Consciousness Without Desire.
21. And the monk now seemed at last cut off from Illumination forever.
22. But finally Mahabrahma observed, after watching many Gods come and go, and all Their universes grow and flourish and perish, that the great Law of Laws is that All is transitory.
23. And Mahabrahma realized that He, too, was transitory.
24. And Mahabrahma achieved Illumination.
25. And Mahabrahma came back to ordinary consciousness in the mind of the monk practising the Buddhist meditation of looking on all things and thinking, This is transitory.
26. And the monk did not know if he was a monk imagining he had been Mahabrahma or Mahabrahma playing at being a monk; and thus was his Illumination perfected.
DE FRATRIBUS NIGRIS, FILIIS INIQUITATIS
The next day brought another letter from Verey, and Sir John’s heart sank when he saw that the handwriting on the envelope was now visibly shaky and erratic. He tore it open prepared for almost anything.
Dear Sir John,
The forces invoked by my wicked young brother Arthur and the accursed Lola are more terrible than I had ever imagined. I realize now—at last—that I have never really taken Holy Writ [especially the Book of Revelations] literally enough. The “principalities and powers” of Hell are no figure of speech.
“Woe to them who believe not, for they are damned already.”
To come to the point: I have reached the climax of the horrors.
ACTION SOUND
EXTERIOR. OUTSIDE VEREY’S CHURCH, EVENING.
SUBJECTIVE SHOT: VEREY’S VIEWPOINT
CAMERA tracks toward door of church. Verey’s voice [over]: “Last Saturday night, before retiring, I locked up the church as usual and noticed …”
EXTERIOR, SAME. CLOSE-UP: THE DOOR LOCK.
SUBJECTIVE SHOT: VEREY’S VIEWPOINT
CAMERA closes on the rusty dcor lock. Verey’s voice [over]: “… that the huge, old-fashioned door lock was becoming rusty and might need oil. It was extremely hard to turn the key, and I even wondered if it would be harder to open the door for services the following morning.”
EXTERIOR, SAME. SUBJECTIVE
TRACKING SHOT: VEREYS VIEWPOINT
CAMERA pans around church to woodshed. Verey’s voice [over]: “I looked about for some machine oil …”
EXTERIOR, SAME. SUBJECTIVE CLOSE-UP:
VEREYS VIEWPOINT
VEREYS hand holding up a long-nosed can of oil, tilts can—no oil flows. Verey’s voice [over]: “… but found my supply exhausted and made a mental note to buy some on my next visit to town.”
EXTERIOR, SAME. SUBJECTIVE
PAN: VEREY’S VIEWPOINT
CAMERA pans back to look up at church and then closes in on the window at the top of the building. Verey’s voice [over]: “Let me add that the church has only one window, high above the altar, and that this window is built into the wall, so that it neither opens inward nor upward; in fact, it does not move at all.”
EXTERIOR, NIGHT SKY. LONG SHOT.
Black clouds rolling across the sky. Thunder.
&
nbsp; EXTERIOR, NIGHT. LONG SHOT.
THE VEREY FARM.
Rain pouring down on the Verey farm. We see the church, the house and the barn, at least. Verey’s voice [over]: “It rained that night, quite heavily.”
EXTERIOR, DAWN. LONG SHOT.
THE VEREY FARM.
The rain has stopped. We see puddles everywhere.
EXTERIOR, DAWN, CLOSE-UP.
ROOSTER IN CHICKEN YARD.
The rooster crows. Rooster: “The crew! The crew! The crew!”
INTERIOR, VEREYS BEDROOM.
SUBJECTIVE SHOT: VEREY’S VIEWPOINT
CAMERA “sits up in bed” and looks at the window, through which sunlight pours. Verey’s voice [over]: “I woke in the morning, thinking at once that this torrential downpour might have contributed even further to the rusting of the door lock of the church.”
EXTERIOR, THE FARMYARD.
SUBJECTIVE TRACKING SHOT: VEREY’S VIEWPOINT
CAMERA moves toward the door of the church. Verey’s voice [over]: “I went out to check the lock….”
EXTERIOR, CHURCH DOOR, CLOSE-UP.
SUBJECTIVE SHOT: VEREY’S VIEWPOINT
The lock even more rusted than before. Key is thrust in but will not turn. Verey’s voice [over]: “I found, as I had feared, that it was now so totally rusted that it would not turn for the key and I was, in effect, locked out of my own church.
Key stuck in lock. “This was most annoying, since worshippers were due within the hour for morning services.”
EXTERIOR, THE FARM.
SUBJECTIVE TRACKING SHOT: VEREY’S VIEWPOINT
CAMERA tracks to the toolshed. Verey’s voice [over]: “I resorted to brute force …”
Very faint violin: the Merry Widow Waltz.
EXTERIOR, THE FARM, CLOSE-UP.
Verey’s hand grabbing hammer. Verey’s voice [over]: “… and fetched a hammer …”
EXTERIOR, CHURCH DOOR, CLOSE-UP.
Hammer pounding lock. Verey’s voice [over]: “… with which I smashed the lock.”
Merry Widow Waltz rising slightly; sound of hammering.
INTERIOR, CHURCH.
SUBJECTIVE TRACKING SHOT: VEREY’S VIEWPOINT
CAMERA tracks forward to altar, where we find a cat sacrificed within a pentagram. CAMERA picks up each detail as Verey’s voice describes it. Verey’s voice [over]: “The scene that greeted my eyes was unspeakable. Upon the altar was the body of a dead cat, strangled with a blue garter and impaled by a dirk or Oriental dagger, within a pentagram.
A blood-splattered Bible, open to the Epistle of Jude. “Bloodstains had even splattered the Bible. God will judge the wretches who do such foulness.”
Merry Widow Waltz rising to peak of shrill intensity.
The blasphemous horror of that sight still haunts my imagination, but even worse is the fact that I have been able to conceive of no way mere human servitors of the Demon could have accomplished this atrocity. The window [which, I remind you, does not open] was unbroken, and the rusted door could not have been passed by any other means than the hammering apart of the lock which I myself employed—yet the lock was undamaged, save for the rust, when I found it.
Naturally, I removed the cat, cleaned up the blood and erased the pentagram before the worshippers arrived [so as to avoid spreading further fear among the countryfolk], but my wife came upon me in the midst of this gruesome operation and I had no choice but to admit what had happened. She has lived in anxiety for this day week, and wishes more fervently to leave this lonely place. Yet I am attached to these fair hills and glens, as I have said before, and I really do not know that we would be safer anywhere else.
I have, incidentally, attempted to arrive at an explanation of this mystery in purely human terms. To hire a debased Oriental for any evil business is easy. To dress a dwarf in a weird costume, even to unleash an unusually large bird, and to count on fear and superstition to magnify all this into a reign of terror—all that would be possible to malignantly disposed humans. Then, I ask myself: Could not somebody have surreptitiously entered my house that Saturday night after I was asleep and borrowed the church key, using it before the rain caused further rust and made the lock into a hermetic seal? Alas, that explanation will not hold water. I keep the key on a small chain attached to a bracelet on my wrist, and the chain was unbroken in the morning. It is preposterous to imagine an intruder breaking the chain, doing the disgusting deed in the church, then returning to my room to solder the chain together, in the dark, without waking me.
I can only conclude that we are dealing with an entity that can pass through solid walls.
May the protection of the Lord be upon all of us.
Sincerely,
Rev. C. Verey
“A duplicate key,” said Albert Einstein.
Joyce raised dim eyes behind thick glasses, a slow smile dawning. “How alike we are,” he said. “That was my first thought, also.”
“It is a fairly easy process,” Einstein went on. “You wish to terrorize an aging religious fanatic such as the Reverend Verey. Obtain a few assistants and props—the dwarf, the Oriental confederate, the hypothetical bird of unusual size [which might even be a cardboard kite or a machine of some sort]; the stage is set for the wildest imaginings. Then, one dark night, very quietly, simply go to the church and pour hot wax into the lock. In a few moments, the wax has solidified. You carefully slide it out and you have a model of the key. You then take this to any competent locksmith and he will provide you with a duplicate. The stage is set for your miracle.”
Joyce, rolling a cigarette, grinned at Babcock. “Well, Sir John?”
“Well, in fact,” Sir John said, “although my beliefs are admittedly more mystical than those of you gentlemen, I am not without intelligence of my own. I also thought of the duplicate key explanation and wrote at once to suggest it to poor old Verey.”
Einstein relit his pipe, frowning thoughtfully. “Tell me his reply.”
“Well,” Sir John said carefully, “the objections are as follows. First, the Verey property includes the church, the house and a small pasture where goats, pigs and the family horse are kept. Nobody has ever approached that establishment after dark, Verey says, without alerting the dogs, whose barking generally sets off all the other animals and creates a sufficient racket to wake the whole family—Verey, his wife, Annie, and his older brother, Bertrán.
“Now, gentlemen, stretch your imaginations to the ultimate and conceive of a professional cat-burglar so adroit that he moves with the legendary silence of the American Apache Indians. He gets through the pasture to the church and makes his wax model, as you have suggested. He is very light-footed, indeed; but I will stipulate that such an improbably skillful burglar might exist.
“Very well, then,” Babcock went on. “Our man has his duplicate key. He returns on that rainy Saturday night and again manages to get by all the animals without arousing a stir. He enters the church and does his blasphemous and brutal deed. Then he leaves. Very good. The only trouble is that Reverend Verey noted, as soon as he discovered the horror on the altar, that his own were the only tracks in the mud approaching the church door. It appears that our super-housebreaker not only moved through a lively farm without waking any of the animals, on two separate nights—when he made his model and when he returned for his Satanic sacrifice—but also, on the second occasion, crossed the yard without leaving footprints in the mud.” Sir John smiled thinly. “How does Free Thought explain this, my skeptical friends?”
ACTION SOUND
INTERIOR, VEREY’S CHURCH, DAY.
SUBJECTIVE TRACKING SHOT.
CAMERA moves jerkily toward the door. Heavy breathing.
DOOR OF VEREY’S CHURCH, LOOKING OUT.
SUBJECTIVE LONG SHOT.
VEREY’S view: the yard, with one set of footprints—his—coming to the door Voodoo drums.
Einstein examined his pipe thoughtfully and then began with careful fingers cleaning it. His face was impassive.
“
This older brother, Bertrán,” he said, peering into the pipe ash like Sherlock Holmes looking for a clue, “all he is, so far, is a name. We know nothing of him at all.”
“Ah,” Joyce said, “you are looking for a confederate of the conspirators within the household itself. Very keen, Professor. If one brother in three may be a renegade, why not two? Reminds me of my theory of Hamlet, which I must tell you sometime. I can even see a possible scenario, if the house and the church are close enough to each other. The sinister Bertrán, like a Highlands d’Artagnan, crosses the roof of the house, leaps to the roof of the church, then lowers himself head downward to the door. Very athletic for the older brother of Reverend Verey, who is himself, we have heard, sixty-two years old. Implausible, but not impossible, and as Holmes himself often reminds us: ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ I must sadly inform you, Professor, that I can’t believe it for a moment.”
“A balloon,” Einstein said thoughtfully, rummaging about for fresh tobacco. [A nine-pipe case, Joyce thought.] “A small balloon, filled with helium, with a carriage for one or two passengers, such as one sees at fairs. No,” he added, “don’t bother mocking me. I am, at this point, grasping at straws. The balloon is possible, but I actually find it harder to believe our intruder descended from the sky that way, without alarming all the animals, than to believe he walked through a solid wall. I begin to realize that we are dealing with some diabolically clever conspirators here. Getting to the bottom of this will test all my powers of analysis.”
“If,” Joyce added morosely, “we ever do get to the bottom of it.”
“On with the narrative,” Einstein said. “We need more facts before we can form any conclusion.”
The vicar said “Gracious/If’s Brother Ignatius.” Yes: I’m getting it finally. Ed eran duo in uno. Yes.
“By all means—on with the story,” Joyce said, smiling privately.
DE SAPIENTIA ET STULTITIA
Masks of the Illuminati Page 17
