Seven at Two Past Five

by Tara Basi

  “These babies love chips, so they do. Anyway, she steps outside for a quick ciggie and gets to thinking about how looking after all the babies is such a burden, it’s relentless and how much she’d like a little break. So, she goes down to the beach for a quick donkey ride. That’s her favourite thing.”

  “A donkey ride? She sounds a bit touched to me.”

  “She’s enjoying her donkey ride so much she forgets all about her kids and the chip pan and just keeps trotting around in circles.”

  “That doesn’t sound good, not at all.”

  “You see now, Mary M, that’s our problem; we have to get her back so she can sort out tea for her kids and before the chip pan explodes and kills all the babies.”

  “Why can’t we just turn off the chip pan and give the kiddies ketchup sandwiches?”

  “It’s a special chip pan; only she can turn it off. And, anyway, she’s locked up the house and we don’t have a key.”

  “I think I prefer the babysitter story.”

  “If I said it was a father, not a mother, does that help?”

  “If I punched your lights out, would that help?”

  “Mary M, you have to have some faith. We all do. It’s not about knowing what’s going on; it’s about doing what we must.”

  “And what exactly is that, Mary J?”

  “Well, it’s the Terrors, Mary M. We’ve got to get them back or that chip pan’s going to explode.”

  “What fecking chip pan, you idiot? And what the feck are the Terrors anyway?”

  “You’ll do as you’re told, Mary M, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “I can’t be doing with this anymore, Mary J.”

  With that final outburst, Mary-of-the-Zips storms off, following the curve of the outermost benches. Thankfully, not in my direction. And I now know that Mary M is the Mary-of-the-Zips and my judge. She is being pursued by the other Marys, who are wildly waving their arms above their heads and calling after her in sad, pleading tones, though I cannot make out the words. I resolve never ever to eavesdrop on the Marys again. Their conversations provide no more intelligence on the Judgements or the Terrors than the darkness that lies outside.

  At the centrepiece of the great space, I see a figure moving. I crouch as low as I am able and head along the nearest aisle towards the centre and hope that the Marys are too distracted by their lunatic chase to notice me. They do not and, as I near the giant t, the figure beckons me on. The place is so large that it takes me some minutes to reach my destination. My progress is not helped by the need to keep low and out of sight of the Marys. Finally, I arrive.

  “That’s very respectful of you, Seven at Two Past Five, but there’s really no need. We’re all very informal here.”

  I stand up straight, assuming I am too far away for the Marys to see me, and stretch. My back is quite sore. The figure who greets me has a male voice. His Encounter gown is black except for a narrow band of white around the base of his hood. His embroidery reads Priest. My eye is drawn to the great t, and I follow the vertical spar up to the ceiling and along the horizontal arms that stretch almost as far as the cylindrical glass walls. It is so impossibly high and wide that it is disorientating and I feel a little dizzy.

  “May I sit?” I say.

  “Of course.”

  Priest gestures towards the innermost circle of benches. Gratefully, I sit down and Priest joins me rather more closely than I am comfortable with. I slide away to maintain a respectable distance. Thankfully, Priest does not try to re-establish the original gap.

  I am curious and decide to ask, “Does it stand for trouble?”

  “Trouble? What?”

  “That,” I reply, pointing to the giant t.

  “Only for evildoers.”

  “And the Marys?”

  “The Marys?”

  I turn and make to point at the crazy women racing around the back of the space, but they are gone. “It is of no importance. I am here to further my appeal, and I require you to confirm that I am not soulless, though I am unclear of exactly what that means. And my name is Abi.”

  “Of course. First, a few preliminaries. Are you religious, Abi?”

  “What is the meaning of ‘religious’?”

  “Child, has no one ever explained the meaning and purpose and beauty of religion to you?”

  “Such a term does not exist in my boxes. And I am most certainly not a child. I am old, very old.”

  “Boxes? Never mind. What guides your life, Abi? What do you believe in?”

  “I am not conscious of believing in anything.”

  “You must believe in something.”

  “The boxes serve up all the facts that I require to live my life. There is no requirement for belief.”

  “Surely, not everything can be explained by facts? Isn’t that when we turn to faith?”

  “Faith?”

  “Yes, when facts alone are not enough. When we choose to believe in something despite the absence of facts. And, most profoundly, when we believe, despite the facts, especially when they contradict our beliefs.”

  “In my experience, everything can be explained logically with reference to facts. Although…”

  “Although?”

  “Recent events have been illogical and inexplicable. I believe that this is because those involved are deranged and wilfully choose to ignore the facts. However, I would admit that there are, sometimes, gaps between the facts. Or …”

  “Or?”

  “The hierarchy of facts leading to a proof cannot always be followed as meticulously as I would like because of their intricacy. I am, therefore, obliged to accept conclusions without necessarily having a full understanding of all the underlying concepts. In this respect, that manner of thinking could be labelled as belief or the faith that you have alluded to.”

  “Exactly so, Abi. And isn’t there one great belief in our hearts we know to be true and we all yearn to understand?”

  “There is?”

  “Listen to your heart, Abi. Don’t you feel that there is a unifying force, which we cannot hope to fully comprehend, that is responsible for the existence of everything?”

  “As I have recently discovered, that certainly appears to be true.”

  “And though we might never comprehend this omniscient power, shouldn’t we be respectful and seek its guidance in how we conduct our lives?”

  “I might use different words, but it seems that I do believe in a power that is currently beyond my full understanding and without which nothing would exist.”

  “And so, should we not give this wonderful force for good a name?”

  “It has a name.”

  “Abi, the veneration of God is the purpose of religion.”

  “What is ‘God’?”

  “The great power that created creation.”

  “I was referring to gravity.”

  “Really? Well, God has many names. Through religion and the revelations of its prophets, we seek to live our lives by God’s commandments.”

  “I certainly cannot escape gravity’s commandments. Attempting to communicate with gravity seems altogether pointless. What leads you to conclude that gravity is sentient and is at all interested in what I may have to say to it?”

  “Abi, we’re not talking about gravity.”

  “Even if we suppose that it was attentive, what would gravity possibly have in common with myself?”

  “Abi, we’re discussing God, in whose image we’re made.”

  “God is an old woman who lives in a bunk-bed-coffin and makes buttons?”

  “No, Abi, no, definitely not. You see that, don’t you, Abi?”

  I do not see, but I am so close to qualifying for my appeal that it seems unwise to antagonise Priest. I nod vigorously so that my affirmation cannot be dampened by my hood and misunderstood.

  “Abi, it is only through knowing God that our souls can be saved.”

  “My boxes have led me to understand that the exact nature of gravity is a matter
of some speculation. There is also good reason to believe that gravity is not actually a force at all but is a consequence of the curvature of space-time caused by the uneven distribution of mass and energy. How, then, are we to come to know gravity if there is every possibility that it does not exist? And does it, therefore, follow that my soul is beyond salvation?”

  “God, Abi, we’re talking about God. Not gravity. Forget gravity. Gravity is completely irrelevant. Completely. You do understand, Abi? This is very important.”

  I struggle with the concept that gravity, whatever its exact nature, can be ignored or described as irrelevant. I am tempted to ask Priest to conduct an experiment that would involve him exiting my bunk-bed-coffin without the assistance of a ladder and thereby demonstrate the irrelevance of gravity. The tension in Priest’s voice persuades me otherwise. I keep my silence and nod with animated enthusiasm.

  “Very good, Abi. Now, regarding your soul, which you most certainly have, we just need to carry out a few simple tests.”

  “And what do these tests entail?”

  “Trivial really, they measure your ability to determine right from wrong and, thus, prove that you have a soul.”

  I am unconvinced that any test devised by the justice system will be simple. “And if, theoretically, I am unable to tell right from wrong, how would we then proceed?”

  “Well, Abi, in that very unlikely event, we would simulate a near-death experience and see if your soul tries to depart. If we catch sight of it, then you obviously have one.”

  “And again, theoretically, if you do not catch sight of my soul?”

  “Really, Abi, the situation is so unlikely it isn’t worth discussing.”

  “I should like to discuss it.”

  “Well, in that very, very unlikely circumstance, you would be declared an abomination.”

  “I would receive a Judgement of Being an Abomination?”

  “Oh no, Abi, such an unspeakable thing is beyond the remit of the justice system. Your near-death experience would immediately be converted into an actual-death experience.”

  “Actual death?”

  “Yes, Abi, you’d be incinerated. Now, let’s not dwell on such morbid matters. As I said, it’s just not likely.”

  My stomach tightens and my bones feel brittle. I should not like to be incinerated. It behoves me to focus on the simple test and ensure that I am well able to determine right from wrong, which I am quite sure that I can, although I should confirm my assumptions.

  “On what basis of law or ethics is right and wrong to be judged? I have been confounded by the sense of justice behind the many Judgements I have received this day.”

  “Abi, the rights and wrongs we speak of lie beyond and above any system of justice devised by man.”

  “Are there, then, rules and protocols that I should be made aware of before we start the test?”

  “Abi, we’ll be testing the innate sense of right and wrong that was placed in your soul by God. Your soul knows. Listen to it and always keep in mind the great guiding question: WWJD?”

  “WWJD?”

  “What Would Jesus Do? Now, let’s begin. I will show you two wooden panels, one after the other. You need only tell me which panel depicts a great right.”

  My palms dampen. I have no comprehension of who, or what, a Jesus might be.

  “Before we begin, might you give me one example of a rule or law pertaining to the soul and the WWJD system of justice?”

  “Thou shalt not kill. Now, Abi, we must get on.”

  The tension slips from my shoulders; it seems to me to be a sensible and ethical law. I sit up straight and furrow my brow. This is my very last test before my qualification is concluded. I shall not fail, not after having come so far and through such terrible trials.

  Priest pulls out a wooden box from under the bench, places it on the seat between us and opens the lid towards me so I cannot see the contents. “The first pair, Abi. Tell me which is right: the first or the second?”

  He shows me the first wooden panel on which are painted a sequence of two images. The images are at first fuzzy and indecipherable until my boxes provide the facts that I require to make an interpretation. The left image shows a man and woman; their sex is rather more obvious than I am entirely comfortable with as both are naked. They are standing under an apple tree. One red apple is particularly large and is hanging invitingly just above the woman’s head. A pretty green snake, obviously harmless, has wound itself around the trunk of the apple tree and is looking in the woman’s direction. The scene is tranquil. The image on the right is not. The woman has torn the lovely snake from the tree and is stamping on its head. Blood splatters everywhere. The man is unmoved. I am most certain that this cannot be right, particularly given Priest’s example of the WWJD laws.

  Priest places the first panel on the floor and shows me a second panel, which, again, has two images. The first image, on the left, is identical to that depicted on the first panel. In the second image, the woman has plucked the apple and is presenting it to the man. The snake is unhurt and is still happily curled around the tree trunk. It is a delightful scene and makes me wish that I might one day see a tree, from where so much of my button-making material comes, though I would certainly not want to make a long journey or have my day overly disrupted, and it should certainly not involve any Encounters.

  “Now, Abi, which panel depicted the right action? The first or second panel?”

  With great confidence, I answer, “It is quite obvious that the second panel depicts two caring individuals in harmonious relationship with nature, and the woman is displaying the generous spirit of giving towards the man. The first panel is a savage display of ignorance and fear that breaks the very law you gave me as an example of the WWJD justice system.”

  Priest does not answer. He bows his head, which I take to be a positive indication that I have chosen correctly.

  “Let’s try another two panels, Abi.”

  “How many such panel pairs am I to be tested on?”

  “There are only two more, Abi. Please concentrate and think carefully.”

  This process is proceeding much more rapidly than I had anticipated. I am looking forward to attending to my toilet and my napkin-wrapped lunch, which is waiting for me back at the workhouse.

  Priest holds up the first panel of the second pair. There is a single image. There is a large number of people in a beautiful pastoral setting, wearing very few clothes and headdresses sporting horns. They are engaged in various animalistic acts of which I am aware of in theory through excessive factual exposition by my boxes. While they are not acts which I find appealing, the participants in the image appear to be having a lovely time based on their facial expressions. There are also copious amounts of food and other beverages on display. In the second panel, the image is of an enormous wooden barge that is afloat on an empty ocean. I note the heads of many different animals protruding from openings in the lower decks. On the bow of the ship, a dour group of people, dressed in skins and with their heads on fire, are gathered around a large man holding down a poor lamb. He has a vicious knife at its throat, and a growing pool of blood is staining the deck. His head is burning more brightly than any of the others. It is a terrible image, and I can see no connection between the panels. The second clearly depicts a wrongful act of barbarity against a defenceless animal, and I assume all the others on the barge are to be similarly slaughtered in the same ritualistic fashion. In the first panel, everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves, and no individual or animal is being harmed or threatened with harm. I so inform Priest, who gently shakes his hooded head, no doubt in surprise at my exemplary performance.

  “This is the last part of the test, Abi. Please try very hard to concentrate and consider your answer carefully. There’s no rush.”

  Perhaps not for Priest. I am most certainly in a great hurry. It will soon be noon; the day is slipping away.

  Priest holds up the first panel. It depicts a gold t against a whi
te background. It is an image that immediately conjures up one thought: trouble. The second panel is entirely black. I find it soothing. It reminds me of when the darkness held nothing more than more darkness, and there were no oppressive lights leading me on hurtful journeys. I inform Priest of my conclusion and his reaction is odd. He drops the panels, which clatter to the floor, and cradles his hooded head in his hands. It seems likely that Priest is overcome with joy at my success.

  “Abi, please follow me.” Priest rises and walks towards the base of the great t. I assume he is about to declare that I have a soul, and so I follow with a spring in my step. Priest climbs onto the raised dais that surrounds the great t and then, unexpectedly, begins to shorten in stature. As I follow, I see that there is a door-sized opening in the floor of the dais, and he is descending a previously hidden stairway. The bottom of the stairway is poorly illuminated and uninviting. Priest urges me to follow on. Slowly and carefully, I descend the stairs. Priest is no longer visible. At the bottom, I find a long, narrow corridor with a low ceiling stretching ahead. The lighting is harsh and flickers. It is quite unlike the warm light of the candles in the great space. The walls are rough and scarred. The smells I can readily detect are of damp and decay. There is also another faint smell of burning. The little hairs on my neck snap to attention. I do not like this place.

  Priest stands at a door at the very end of the passage. As I approach, Priest swings open the door and invites me to step inside. I will do as I am commanded. I must obtain my qualification so that my appeal can proceed. Inside the dimly lit room there is only one object: a trolley topped with a strange half-cylinder of glass that is scorched black and brown in places. The half-cylinder is hinged along its length and is standing open. The trolley is affixed with a number of rusty chains.

  “What is this?”

  “It is an electromagnetic miasma detector that will prove that you have a soul.”

  “Has my exceptional performance in your panel pair test not already demonstrated unequivocally that I have a soul?”

  “Unfortunately not. You have nothing to fear. I am quite sure you are an innocent, only lacking in religious education, and that explains your test results. Please lie down on this trolley and I will begin the trial.”