League of Lilith, The: A thriller with soul

by Sugrue, Rosalie

  Know this, Connected Ones, you have been enabled to experience genuine connection while living in the dream-state. When your illusion ends you will be safe in the bosom of One-Soul, contributing to the well being of the Universe.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Jen checks her list. Wilkin says he is delighted about the baby, and she knows he is, but why doesn’t he make time for baby preparations? Tomorrow he’s off to Timaru for a regional work meeting, two nights away. The baby’s room is incomplete. She has been making small purchases for the past 20 weeks. Christmas brought lots of goodies from the family but they must buy a pram and a bassinette. Jen goes online to check the baby fund they established a year before she left work. It was dipped into last year to redecorate the bedroom next to theirs in colours and fabrics suitable for an infant but there must be a comfortable sum still sitting there.

  She can’t believe what her computer reveals: less than $1000! There is a $10,000 withdrawal. It must be a mistake. She checks all of their accounts and finds no trace of the missing money.

  As soon as Wilkin returns she blurts out the money mystery. He isn’t surprised or fazed. “I needed it,” he said. “I’ll pay it back but not this month. Right now I need a shower,” and with that he disappears to the bathroom.

  Jen sinks into the nearest chair. He needed it? What for? Not that it matters, what matters is he didn’t consult her. She feels hollow. Does she know this man she has been living with for 14 years? What secret debt could he possibly have? A gambling debt is all she can think of, but Wilkin doesn’t gamble. He has various evening meetings, often goes back to work and sometimes stays late. There was a time when he was out every Monday night — a business dinner. What if it wasn’t?

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  28 — Journeys

  Friday, 15 January

  Wilkin has little space for baby thoughts. Work issues are saturating his thinking cells and sapping all available energy. The 23 members of the Smith, Upson and Stopforth head office are gathering in Timaru with the nine staff from Dunedin and seven from Timaru. The five from Nelson are flying down. It is a pep meeting to bolster confidence and reassure the stakeholders that SUS are strong enough to survive any recession. It was Wilkin’s idea to begin the new working year with the gathering, and the old man had given warm support.

  As he drives the two-hour trip from Christchurch to Timaru he reviews his situation. SUS is struggling, but what company isn’t in the present climate? It is a temporary world glitch. It will come right. His position is under threat, but there is no serious contender to topple him. Short of a major catastrophe he is safe, and he has the ability to turn SUS around. He will win back every doubter that raised an eyebrow. Win them back or kick them out, Wilkin tells the grey sheep in the scorched fields.

  Two or three of the younger intellectuals on the University Council are positioning him as a zealot of fundamentalism, a flat earth idiot — they will get their comeuppance! New Zealand might be the global capital of political correctness, but in the Canterbury heartland people still have values and morals. His position on Sarai and other abominations emerging in university life will be vindicated. The people will speak, in fact they will sing and it will be from his hymn book.

  Wilkin loosens his shoulders and realises he is enjoying the drive. It is giving him space for personal thinking, something he hasn’t had in a long time.

  Ticking through his predicaments only one disturbs. It is the itch, that damnable flicker in the back of his eyes, the silent wolf that howls when his nostrils flare in a sigh. Amber! Well, not Amber, she is just a whore. It is his lust for domination, rough sex, dirty sex, with dirty women.

  He is a pious man. There is no complexity to this equation. He is moral and godly, he works hard and succeeds. He contributes to the community. This need, or maybe gift, to dominate whores sexually is a God-given right — his right, his reward, almost his responsibility to be that man. Women like Amber need men like him. It is the balance of the universe, he states, as another giant horticultural irrigation system goes pissing past.

  He has modelled Amber to his liking. They have evolved their experience of B&D together. She is his Pygmalion. It is the most exciting and satisfying journey of his life. Now it is over. Ruined! Her type shouldn’t get pregnant. But, he recalls, with moral fairness, he had wondered if his own wife was infertile, and it may have been God’s will that he have a son by a surrogate. Not using a condom was intentional.

  But his wife isn’t infertile and there is no place for an illegitimate half sibling. A woman of Amber’s profession should simply take care of such things. How did old man Stopforth get to hear of it? Photographic evidence is bizarre! Was Ralph having him followed? He wouldn’t put it past him. That good humour and expansive waistline hides the cunning of a satanic fox. But then again, Ralph had come to the party over Iain. Someone must have tipped him off. The mystery isn’t worth worrying about. It’s over. The whore has been paid off.

  He has challenges, he has problems … but they are insignificant. His wife is carrying his child. In a few short weeks he will be a father. He will be a great father.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Pauline transfers the bottle of champagne to her left hand and tries the door. It is locked. She knocks again and calls his name then looks at the window. There must be some mistake! The building Fish took ownership of yesterday has a new For sale sign in the window. Where is Fish? He isn’t answering his mobile. She hasn’t seen him in days.

  She drives home with stomach churning. A call to the estate agent confirms Fish never showed to sign the final papers, and the deposit is lost.

  “What a fool I’ve been, an absolute total nincompoop idiot,” she confides to Familiar. She strokes his fur and feels his hot weight on her lap. “No matter how fantastic and fabulous the physicality of sex, without trust the act is inadequate — but I did trust him, and I loved him. We had mutuality of understanding.” Familiar gives a growl. He doesn’t like her tone. “I don’t expect you to understand, it’s different with cats.” That’s all Fish is, a tomcat. This thought she keeps to herself.

  There is a sense of overwhelming shame. Nausea threatens. The shame bites at her stomach, grief seeps from her heart. She recalls a documentary showing the spread of cancerous cells. The grief expanding from her heart reminds her of that terrible illustration. The grief expands through her whole body, it swallows the shame and it swallows the anger. All that remains is loss.

  She has no way to check his bank account but in her heart she knows what he has done. Fish used her like he has always used women. He has done a runner and taken the money with him. She is degraded, debased, and unsure which hurts the most: the theft of money or the theft of relationship. True, she is comfortable and asset-rich with her home and property, but what she lent Fish was her savings, her security. She wants to cry. She pushes the oppressive weight of Familiar from her lap and goes upstairs. Only when she has shut her bedroom door and flung herself on the bed does she let the tears come. He felt nothing for her.

  Pauline learnt many verses of scripture as a child. They still come to her when needed. Her mother’s voice unites with her own inner voice … Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

  Pauline’s life is good and she has no need to lay up treasures upon earth. She gets up, splashes cold water over her face and takes a refreshing walk in her garden.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  29 — Revelation, Sarai’s

  Saturday, 16 January

  Sarai and Jen are so troubled they can’t comfort each other. It is terrible not knowing Kat’s situation. They get a measure of reprieve with the appearance of the junior midwife. “She’s OK,” are the first words. It doesn’t feel OK. She has lost such a lot of bl
ood. The baby isn’t due for another week. “If she was in labour she isn’t now. We will do a caesarean today. We don’t want to take unnecessary risks at this point.”

  Sarai prepares to speak and thinks better of it. Jen jumps in. “Can we see her?”

  “In a few minutes. The anaesthetist is with her at the moment. I’ll let you know when she’s finished.”

  The nurse retreats down the corridor. “Hullo Jen,” hails an excited voice. “I’m a grandmother!” The friends look up to see a plump woman with shining eyes. “My Sally produced a boy two hours ago. I’ve just seen him. He’s perfect. I counted his fingers and toes myself. He’s got dark hair like mine. I’ve had a cuddle and all … But listen to me going on. Why are you here, Jen? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Mabel, I’m fine. I came with a friend who had an emergency but she’s going to be OK. How lovely that Sally has a little boy. Congratulations on reaching grandmother status.” Jen stands and gives Mabel a hug then turns to Sarai. “Sarai this is Mabel, my wonderful cleaning lady. Mabel, this is Sarai,” she smiles, “my wonderful teacher.”

  As Mabel bounces to the exit, Sarai comments, “That’s the nearest thing I’ve seen to walking on air.”

  The nurse returns. “You two are looking happier, that’s good. Kat could do with some cheerful faces. You can see her now,” she tells them. “This way, I’m afraid we’re rather short-staffed at present. It’s going to be an hour or so before we can get Kat into pre-op. If you can keep her company that will be wonderful. Nothing is happening at present and nothing is likely to happen for quite a while.”

  Sarai is deep in thought. This is it. The time has come! Both her novices are pregnant. She has felt for a long time that pregnancy is significant, along with a niggle that the deliveries might not go well. Whatever the outcome of the next few hours, this is an auspicious moment.

  Kat is looking pale, but apart from a drip in her arm nothing is visually disturbing. They pass shared love through hugs and sense the transition from scared to cheered. Sarai shuts the door. The room is small. Jen huddles the chairs into the bed. Kat smiles her thanks, then sees Sarai is going into her la-la state.

  “My wonderful friends,” Sarai says with an air of grandeur. She looks into each woman’s eyes. “It is good that we are here to support each other, but there is another reason why we are all here.” They return her intensity with blankness. “This is the chosen time. This is the chosen place. You are my novices. I must share the great secrets with you.”

  Now! The younger women can think of no less appropriate time. Kat’s baby is stressed and Kat is about to undergo a caesarean. This is crazy mad!

  “Thank you for your patience and tenacity in gleaning knowledge from me. You are blessed women. I am called to share with you both my understanding of the Deep Wisdom; to let you glimpse what it means to be a member of the League of Lilith. One of you will take up my mantle and continue the journey.”

  Yeah, like I’m going anywhere, thinks Kat.

  League of Lilith? Jen feels unease.

  “The journey will be …” Sarai searches for words and, despite their innate opposition, the young women both feel they are sliding into her realm. Perhaps she is able to cast spells, thinks Jen. I’m full of drugs, Kat reminds herself. “… perfect, the journey will be perfect, nothing will be asked of you that is not achievable. Listen with your hearts, minds, and souls. But first I have a gift for each of you. She takes from her bag two small tissue-wrapped items. “I would be grateful if you would wear them. The girls unwrap identical silver pendants crafted to the form of an attractive winged woman with long hair.

  “A guardian angel,” says Kat. “It’s lovely, Sarai. Thank you.”

  Jen is about to speak but Sarai holds up a finger. “My pleasure. The chains are long enough to slip over your heads, that’s right. Now, recall your former instruction: attune yourselves to humanity and know this physical planet has chosen a male path.” Jen softly rubs the pendant between thumb and fingers. The sensation is lovely to her, Sarai’s voice is lovely as well. She forces herself to focus on the cryptic words. Sarai holds her arms out. The young women feel caught in her symbolic embrace. “Our sphere of being is orientated to the illusion of self.” Sarai’s voice rises, giving her the air of an Old Testament prophet. At last she is going to sweep back the Red Sea and let the Chosen pass to the other side. Jen is swimming in thoughts and questions. Kat calmly believes that for the first time in her life she is to be privy to something truly significant. Both acknowledge a nagging knot in their stomachs, the knot of fear. Do I deserve this? comes a voice to Jen. Will I be able to understand this? comes a voice to Kat. Self-doubt uncoils to a slithering snake.

  Sarai sees and understands the forces present in her novices. The moment of truth has arrived and true to the nature of the Masculine World it came under stress. A child is waiting to be born, terrible pressures are about to manifest, pain and suffering are imminent. But, Sarai reminds herself, they are illusions, distractions from a far greater crisis. She wonders how she can impart 40 years of evolved wisdom in 30 minutes. Her novices appear frozen. She must plough forward.

  “What defines us as masculine is our separateness.” The young women gaze at Sarai, unblinking, waiting for guidance and explanation. “The physical world is lost in separateness. We humans are addicted to our identities. We believe the sum of our knowledge — bodies, experience, memories, and our personal perception of the world — is reality. This is not reality.” The words are enormous, they swallow understanding. Kat lies half-sitting and completely mystified. Jen recognises themes vaguely understood during a teenage foray into Buddhism. They give nothing to hold on to. Sarai sees all.

  “I cannot tell you this with words, my precious friends, it is beyond word understanding. The Deep Wisdom cannot be understood, it can only be experienced. Your bodies will not let the information cross through if your minds can’t be at peace with what I am saying.”

  She has lost it, thinks Jen. This is the proof I hoped wouldn’t come. She is actually mad.

  Sarai knows every mystic of every age was presumed crazy. She is taking her novices beyond the perception of their planet. They will assume her insane. Their masculine programming requires such assumption. She pushes on.

  “In pre-history the individual had no importance other than being part of the tribe and the Great Goddess was honoured naturally. Much later Moses meets God in the desert and dares ask the deity his name. It is recorded that God replies “I Am”. A truer translation indicates the meaning to be I Am what I Am Becoming — and how true that was for all humankin. The myth records a great truth, from that period on humans lived in the world of I. Modern humans define existence through physical perception. We seek to hear, smell, taste, see, and touch the world. We require physical proof to validate everything. That proof is perceived by the individual, by the I. The God of the Hebrew Scriptures is separate from us. He sees with his own eyes and perceives the world in his own unique experience. God is a unique and separate individual, therefore all those ‘made in his image’ are separate and individual.”

  Sarai senses they are open to her understanding and knows she now doesn’t matter — she isn’t teacher, crone, guru or angel. She is merely the instrument of the passing. The wisdom will pass.

  “The physical world is the masculine world,” Sarai continues calmly. “This is easy to grasp, but also masculine is the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual world, as far as modernity perceives it. The spiritual element of reality exists, but only as a shadow of the true spiritual nature of all things. The religions of the world call to a spiritual mother who was lost before birth. All religions give some direction to look beyond self and teach that we are part of the Sacred. In this they are true, but thousands of years of masculine enculturation have left us unable to let go of self and experience our true spiritual nature, the true nature of our cosmos.”

  Kat and Jen are floating on a sea of words channelled by Sarai’s voice. “
Our Source and Nature are one Spiritual Energy. At our soul we are not individuals, we are not ‘I’, we are not even ‘We’. The individual we recognise as self was meant to be a physical expression the soul could inhabit to experience the physical realm. Our spiritual nature is the same being as the universe. Spiritually we are one, a whole, full, connected one-ness. There is no separation at Soul level.

  “The One-Soul has no needs, no enemies and no defences. One-Soul has no gender. If the human existence and all physical phenomena from our world disappeared it would be of little consequence to the world. However, if all humans disappear we deplete One-Soul, the Source. Humankin will have committed a wholly unnatural act that will harm the universe. I cannot allow it. To my knowledge I am the only earthly human who is knowingly in communion with One-Soul.”

  Jen and Kat exchange raised eyebrows.

  “Spiritual people arise from all faiths. Mystics of all cultures find ways to the One-Soul. I know you both resonate with the soul energy; it flows so fluidly around you. I perceived it when I first met you. I have waited years to find such women. Since then it has been a matter of time — and that time is now. We are going to commune — you may think of it as meditating. In so doing we will release our intellect and our identity, shed these worldly bodies, and be reunited with the Great Source, the Tao, the One-Soul. You are about to encounter the true nature of everything.”

  Jen feels a surge of elation as she passes through emotional over-load to a state of stillness. Kat observes a docile peace on Jen’s face — a goofy expression of childlike enthusiasm, and wonders if she is wearing the right expression herself. She is jolted out of this ego management by the arrival of a nurse.

  “You OK in here, love? Oh, hello, ladies, how’s she doing? Nothing happening?” Her conviviality is greeted with blankness. Jen rouses first. “We’re all great, thanks. Kat is fine, aren’t you, love?” Before Kat can offer agreement the nurse asks them to move away from the bed. She turns down the sheet. “Glad to hear it, always good to have your family around you in here. You’re lucky,” she says to Kat, “Could be another hour before we get you to theatre. I’ll just listen to baby’s heart.” There is a brief silence. “Baby is doing well, you’re fine, and you’re with family. The kitchen is just two doors down if you want a cup of tea,” and she bustles away to more urgent priorities.