Seven at Two Past Five

by Tara Basi

  An icy sensation slithers up my back and enfolds my scalp. I try to swallow and discover it is difficult. “Does this examination not involve simulating death and then actual death if no soul is detected?”

  “That’s very unlikely. It’s perfectly safe. Please, Abi, lie down.”

  “Priest, if I may, I should like to consult with my appeals process administrator before proceeding. It should only take a very short while.”

  “As I’ve explained, Abi, this is not a matter for the justice system. The test must proceed now.”

  I will not argue with the priest. Instead, I shall ignore him and return to Zero and seek his counsel, though I am not confident that Zero will have anything useful to say.

  I turn around and am shocked to find the three black and white Marys standing behind me. Immediately, I scan the room for the dreaded Mary M, but she is nowhere to be seen.

  “Please stand aside,” I say. “I wish to consult with Zero before proceeding.”

  In response, the Marys leap forward and seize me. They are far too strong and I am far too frail to resist. The horrible creatures hold me aloft and sweep me towards the trolley. Before I am fully aware of what is happening, I am chained down and the dirty glass cylinder is closed. The confined space is filled with a strange hissing noise.

  “This is intolerable. Release me immediately. This behaviour is un …” I cannot finish my sentence; my thinking is slowing.

  The Marys and the priest gather around the trolley, impossibly slowly, as if they are moving through water. I cannot stay awake. A great blackness descends upon me.

  And, instantly, the blackness departs. I feel a little lightheaded but otherwise uninjured. I am still shackled and have limited movement. The demeanour of the priest and the Marys has completely changed. The priest is sitting on the floor with his arms tightly wrapped around his knees and is rocking back and forth in a pitiful manner. The Marys are huddled together and wailing loudly. Their behaviour is impossible to understand, and I am in no mood to discover the cause of it.

  “Release me immediately,” I say.

  My outburst has a startling effect. The Marys run wailing from the room. The priest rises unsteadily to his feet, and he makes a strange gesture with his finger, up, down and across his chest.

  “Whore!” he screams at me, his voice crackling with fear and fervour.

  His appalling accusation strikes me like a boot to the stomach. “What? Release me! Now! Please!”

  Priest presses his back against the wall as if he means to push his way through it and escape. His quivering hands clutch at his hood. He whimpers, “No! No!”

  My heart is drumming, and I am finding each breath is too shallow for my needs. “And why ever not? I must assume I have passed your ridiculous and abhorrent test, otherwise I would be deceased. Release me immediately. My appeal is pending and I expect I still have much to do.”

  Priest whispers, “You are not soulless.”

  Immediately, I feel lighter and my breathing is easier. “Then our business is concluded and I wish to depart.”

  Priest extends a trembling limb and points at me. “You have stolen them all.”

  “All? Speak clearly, Priest. I have little patience after such awful treatment.”

  The priest’s voice rises to a screech and he shakes his fist at me. “All the souls, you have all souls, all the souls that have departed and all the souls that will ever be. They are all held captive by you.”

  “That is a ridiculous assertion. Are you deranged? How could such a thing even be possible if the soul is the essence of a person? How is it that you then exist and are here to accuse me if I possess your soul?”

  “You have stolen God’s gift from me, and that is why terrible doubt plagues me and the great space above is always empty.”

  “Doubt? Regarding what exactly? And you must be aware that the darkness outside is very sparsely populated, though not as sparsely as I would like. So, it is very unlikely that the enormous space above our heads could ever be fully populated. Now, untie me immediately.”

  I observe that Priest is trying to steady himself and control his obvious dread. His fear infects me. Will he attempt to incinerate me? Weakly, I thrash around, pulling at my chains. It’s to no avail.

  Priest peels himself away from the wall and, with timid, small steps, comes a little closer. “I know who you are, Seven. Who you really are. You haven’t fooled my miasma detector with your old-woman-making-buttons deception.”

  Some part of me wants to hear what Priest has to say. It might explain everything. Yet I know he is mad. “You called me a whore. Is that your idiot revelation?”

  “It’s in your name, in your time. I was blind, but now I see.”

  “It is in my name? Abi? And what is in my time, Two Past Five, I suppose?”

  “Seven! Seven! You are not a whore.”

  “Of course, I am not. It is a shocking thing to suggest. Now let me up. These metal cuffs are painful. Why are you frightening me?”

  “You are the Whore. Babylon the Great, the Mother of Prostitutes and Abominations of the Earth.”

  I resume my thrashing. Priest has clearly lost his mind. I must escape. I yell as loudly as I can, “Zero! Zero!”

  “You are the great idolatress, the great corruptor. I don’t know how you escaped the Terrors, but to the Terrors you will be returned. I am too weak to banish you, and Man’s justice is blind to your true nature. I will assemble the army of one hundred and forty-four thousand and we will defeat you on the day of your trial. My Judgement of Abominable Soul Eater will unleash the wrath of the surreal secular and the feckless faithful. Then will the misery and suffering of the wavering wretched host be ended.”

  With a breaking voice, I can only repeat the words that hurt so much. “Misery and suffering?”

  Priest throws a small bunch of keys at me and flies out of the room, yelling as he goes, “Get behind me, Seven! We shall meet again at your Final Judgment.”

  I am alone with an accusatory silence. A great sob escapes my chest and cracks the quiet. Weakly, I whisper, “I am an old woman who makes buttons. That is all I am.” My declaration lacks conviction. If that is all I am, what explanation is there for this day’s events? My mind is churning. At this moment, I cannot think clearly. In frustration, I rattle my chains. With little excitement, I notice that Priest’s keys are lying on my chest and within easy reach. Am I the Whore Priest spoke of? How is it that I do not know? I lay back and lie still. After many moments of mental thrashing, I am decided. I unlock my wrists and ankles and slowly climb down from the trolley.

  Still stiff after my ordeal, I hobble towards the door and sluggishly make my way along the dismal corridor, leaning against the wall for support. I feel nauseous. There is a bitter taste in my mouth.

  So many have accused me. It is hard to convince myself that they are all wrong. My utter belief in my innocence is crumbling. My howls and sobs echo down the hall and are pitiful to hear.

  Chapter Eight – Sentence

  Zero is not waiting for me beyond the mirrored doors of the great cylinder. A splinter of glass has lodged in my heart. Zero has abandoned me. Was he even here when I cried out in desperation, in very fear of my life? In truth, I am too distraught, too crushed and humiliated, too overcome with doubt and guilt by the morning’s events, to worry overmuch about Zero’s absence or my next destination. I blindly follow the lights wherever I am led.

  I suffer as if I am burdened with a bulging sack of rubble that bends my back. Every small stone is a Judgement, every shard an accusation. Have I really trapped all the souls, threatened the existence of all the universes, accumulated all wealth and denied all satisfaction? The rubble in my sack turns to bricks. The priest’s revelation weighs more heavily than any other, more heavily than any Judgement. He labelled me ‘Whore’. And with such dread and disgust. Whore. The boxes overflow with repulsive and sickening images every time I recall that word, and I cannot stop remembering it.

&nbs
p; My mind is filled with muddled thoughts that spin and spiral. They clash and spark and whirl away only to fly back, and nothing comes of it, only greater disorder and a growing ache deep inside my skull. I am overwhelmed by the possibility that everything I have been told is true and that my victims are countless and their suffering is unimaginable. The bricks have become slabs of masonry.

  My spine buckles and my head drops lower. I have found a deep despair, so deep that the shifting shadow that has appeared ahead leaves me unmoved. The vague shape is familiar. It is the mysterious figure in the dark Encounter gown with the misshapen shoulders. She sang nonsense to me just before my first Encounter with the baby Zero. One line from the song I immediately recall: Get back to where you once belonged. Perhaps it wasn’t such foolish advice, given the heartache that I have suffered since leaving my bunk-bed-tower this morning.

  Wearily, I study the unmoving shadow of the disfigured gown. It is standing to one side. My way ahead is clear. More out of a morose lethargy than curiosity, I wait to see if she has any new advice to offer. The young woman sings for me again, with the same sweet voice that I remember from our last meeting. As the words reach my ears, they are accompanied by a foul odour that reminds me of singeing hair.

  Pleased to find you, hope you’ll remember our names,

  But what’s puzzling you is the nature of our game.

  Appeals and Judgements and Marys ain’t it,

  Button-making and bunk-bed-coffins ain’t it,

  Zero is damn sure not it,

  Seven ain’t it,

  Holidays ain’t it,

  Get on down with that old-time tribulation,

  That’s most certainly it,

  If you’ve got any sympathy for me.

  Before I have the opportunity to interrogate the songstress, just as before, she vanishes, taking her awful stench with her. It is of no importance. I have neither the strength nor the will to try and understand her bizarre refrain. At least I am no more distraught than before I heard her song. It seems I have reached the limits of my wretchedness. On I march, looking only for an end to this terrible torture.

  Through a curtain of tears, I arrive at my ladder. I pass immediately through the Odd door to seek out Zero. I must be free of this unbearable responsibility and by whatever means necessary.

  He is standing in the cave outside my workhouse. Thankfully, his stature is unchanged. It is a little less weight in my sack.

  “You left me,” I say. “Priest threatened to burn me.” There is more pleading in my voice than I would like.

  “Sorry, Ma. So sorry. I had to come back here. I had to, Ma.”

  I cannot argue. Zero is of little practical use, but he is my only friend. All I have.

  “Zero, I cannot carry the burden of these endless Judgements and accusations any longer. I shall accept my black mark, write my apology and make every effort to bring back the Terrors.”

  “Oh, wow! Really, Ma? I thought we were appealing?”

  “No. No longer. A black mark is such a small matter compared to everything I have been told and all the allegations I have heard.”

  “Are you sure, Ma? I think maybe, you know, it’s maybe not a black mark anymore.”

  “What do you mean? For pity’s sake, speak plainly.”

  “Well, Ma, be cool, but the black mark was for your, like, first Judgement.”

  Zero’s revelation is not entirely a surprise. Nonetheless, however much this outcome might have been expected, hearing Zero say the words cuts me. The judge, Mary M, had warned me that greater criminality would attract ever harsher consequences.

  “I understand. All I want is to end all of this and end it immediately. I shall accept my punishments. Can you please tell me what they will be?”

  “Sure, Ma, we need to call the assistant clerk of the court. He’s a cool dude; he’ll tell us.”

  “Then, please call, yell or shout as needed and find out exactly what punishments I will face when I abandon my appeal.”

  “Sure, Ma. I’ll call him on the red phone.”

  Mention of the red telephone causes me to shudder. “The red phone in my workhouse?”

  “Yeah, Ma. We’ll call together. I’ll put it on speaker.”

  I am not sure I entirely understand what Zero is saying, but I follow him into my workhouse. Zero casually lifts the red receiver and places it on my workbench. He presses a small button on the telephonic handset that I had never previously noticed, and it begins to make a loud bell-like noise. Zero puts his finger to his hooded lips, which I assume is an instruction for me to be quiet. I am more than happy to be silent. After a moment of further ringing, a stern male voice bursts out of the red telephone.

  “Assistant Clerk of the Court. State your business with utmost alacrity and brevity.”

  “Zero, appeals process administrator for Seven at Two Past Five. How you doing, dude? Long time, no see. What’s up, my man?”

  “Hey, man, is that really you? What’s your admin password?”

  “Wow, man, a password? Really?”

  “Password confirmed. What can I do you for, buddy boy?”

  “My man, how’s my client doing, dude, like Judgement-wise?”

  “Checking … checking … checking … completed. Sorry, man, got to get all formal with this stuff. Like, there’s a lot of Judgements. You sure it’s one client?”

  “Yeah, she’s a bit … fiery.”

  Fiery? Maybe once, an hour or two ago, when I first set out. Now any flame I had, any burning desire to prove my innocence, has been extinguished.

  “White hot, man. White hot. They’ve lumped it all together and it’ll kick off tonight at nine past nine.”

  “You’re, like, such an extremely efficient assistant clerk of the court.”

  I am not sure that Zero needs to be quite so obsequious. My arms are tightly crossed and I am tapping one foot very rapidly. They talk of my destiny as though I am not here, as though my concerns, my desperation, my clamour to know my fate is as a dead leaf carried by an uncaring wind.

  “That’s so cool. I mean no one usually gives a shit, man. I’m, like, touched. Really.”

  “I’m telling it like it is, and we got to keep that good vibe going. Right?”

  Ignoring Zero’s instructions to be silent, I lose all patience and shout, “Can we please know what the actual sentence is?”

  Zero gesticulates wildly. I suspect he is a little displeased at my intervention.

  The voice emanating from the telephone becomes agitated. “Who is that? Who is speaking? This is a privileged conversation between authorised officers of the court. Identify yourself and prepare to receive a Judgement.”

  I am startled by the clerk’s unexpected reaction. Zero vigorously waves me away. I clench my jaw, embrace myself even more tightly and take a step back.

  Zero answers, “Quite right too, my man. Outrageous. This is so not cool. Like, we were having a really heavy conversation. They at your end?”

  “No man, not my end.”

  “I think it was a crossed line. Can’t hear anything now.”

  “Rude, man! Some people are just not cool.”

  “So, what is this, like, lumped-together punishment going to be?”

  “Yeah, the punishment. It’s ten thousand nights.”

  I ensure Zero knows that the sentence is meaningless to me and we need to know more by clasping my hands together and holding them up. One tiny new revelation after another is unbearable.

  “Yeah, heavy. Ten thousand nights? Wow! So, how’s that, like, work exactly?”

  “Its real bad, man. You sure you want to know?”

  “Yeah, it’s like a professional thing. I kinda need to know.”

  “Okay. Well, they’re gonna nail her sorry ass inside her bunk-bed-coffin in a permanent Terror for the whole time.”

  I hear the words. I do not understand. I do not want to understand. Even under the cover of his gown, I can see that Zero is shaking, even if his voice is steady.

>   “Whole time? I mean, how’s that work, man? She has to eat, right?”

  “Oh no, man, she’ll be in limbo. The whole time. Nothing bodily going on; just them Terrors.”

  “Limbo?”

  “Grosses me out, man. And then, afterwards, they’ve got her cleaning chamber pots. Her button-making days are well and truly over.”

  My eye is fixed on a shiny, silver button on Zero’s gown. It is so lovely. It glistens and twinkles at me as though it remembers me, its maker. Every thought I have is about this button. Nothing else can intrude.

  “Wow! Heavy! I’d just like to thank you again, dude, for being so super cool and, like, helpful. Bye, man.” Zero replaces the red telephone.

  My brow has tightened to such an extent that I feel my skin will split and peel away from my skull. And it would be a relief to release the pressure. All I want to do is gaze on my beautiful silver button. Something odd occurs to me. “What did he mean by ‘sorry ass’? I do not understand. I do not possess a pet, let alone a melancholy donkey.”

  “He means you, Ma, your sorry ass. Sorry, Ma.”

  The allure of the tiny, shiny button is eclipsed by a darker reality. The understanding of my fate slowly takes hold of my very core, and, with full realisation, my innards are squeezed with such brutality that my legs give way, and I cannot stop myself from falling towards the floor. Zero catches me in his arms and holds me tight to his chest. It is an unusual and unique sensation. I can feel and hear our hearts beating, and mine is beating so very much faster. While it provides a speck of comfort, it does not stop an eruption of tears or my hacking sobs. Zero gently leads me to my stool and helps me sit. I slump across my workbench, and my wailing only grows louder. I am drowning in my own tears. I have lost all hope and am unable to think on anything but my terrible punishment. Zero is slowly patting my back. I do not know why, but I find the sensation reassuring, at least until he starts to speak.

  “That sentence is, like, really harsh, but I guess they know what they’re doing, Ma. They’re, like, the professionals and we’re kinda like the stupid little people. So, we sort of have to do what they say because they’re, like, always right about this kinda stuff. Right, Ma?”