Blind Faith (15 page)

'And that is what you do? You read books?'

'We study. We also organize secret seminars and lectures.

Each one of us is an intellectual revolutionary. By our very
existence we defy the forces of blind faith and ignorance.
Doggedly we piece together the science of the past, the
history of the past, and the imagination of the past.'

'The imagination of the past?'

'That which people in the past imagined. Literature,
fiction, glorious stories written in an age when a person's
mind could wander free . . .'

Trafford struggled to contain his mounting excitement.
He was among genuine heretics, freedom fighters of the
mind. He felt as if his whole life until this moment had
been on 'pause' and only now could he press 'play'.

'May I read something?' he asked.

The empty chair was beckoning him. The great piles of
books were calling.

'But of course. That's why we're here,' Cassius said
cheerfully. 'You must start by acquainting yourself with the
fundamentals of human understanding. Then, when you
are ready, it will be your duty as a Humanist to go out
and attempt to spread this knowledge even at the risk of
your life.'

Cassius handed Trafford a copy of an old and
battered book.

'This is where we all begin,' Cassius explained. 'You see
the title?
A Child's Guide to the Wonderful World of Science
and Nature
. It was published considerably over a hundred
years ago and it was intended for quite young children.
You will find almost everything in it complex and
completely new to you. Much of the natural world that it
describes has of course long since disappeared beneath the
waters of the flood, but the analysis of how our planet
works and its place within our galaxy remains entirely
relevant. When you have mastered the contents of this
book and explained them to me to my satisfaction, we will
progress to more adult texts.'

Trafford took his place and began to read. It was
extremely difficult at first. The text was so very dense and
Trafford found himself wondering how anything could be
so long-winded. Perhaps sensing his difficulty, Cassius
came over and poured Trafford a glass of wine.

'Stick with it,' he whispered. 'You'll soon get your eye in.'

And quite quickly, to Trafford's surprise he did.
Suddenly his eye was racing over the pages, absorbing
every word, luxuriating in the pleasure of looking through a
window of understanding, shining a light into the darkness
of his ignorance.

After two hours during which Trafford scarcely raised his
eyes from the pages, Cassius commented that he had a long
journey home and suggested it was time to leave. Before
Trafford could register his disappointment Cassius
produced the empty jacket of a self-help tome entitled
New
You: Twelve Steps to Inner Fulfilment and Material Success
.
Taking the copy of the book Trafford was reading from his
grasp, Cassius slipped it inside the pamphlet jacket.

'A simple subterfuge but effective,' he said. 'Be brazen. I
told you before, the fastest way to draw attention to yourself
is to look like you want to avoid it.'

Then Cassius took another book from the shelves. It had
a picture of a man smoking a pipe on the front and was
called
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
.

'For fun,' he said, putting it inside a manual that
promised better sex and a trimmer tummy through the
power of positive thinking. 'Bring them back in a week and
tell me how you get on.'

A week proved far too long. Trafford had devoured both
the science book and the stories Cassius had given him by
the following evening. He had even tried to read as he
cycled down from the library towards the Lake London
ferry, which nearly resulted in his being dunked in the
murky waters of the Kilburn High Road. Trafford loved
Sherlock Holmes
; he had never experienced proper narrative
before, stories that grew and developed instead of simply
repeating themselves like the computer fantasy games with
their endless cyclical destruction of digital enemies. His
education progressed quickly and within a few visits to the
library Cassius pronounced that it was time for him to
tackle Darwin's
Origin of Species.

'This,' Cassius explained, 'is the core Humanist text.
Nothing is more important to us; nothing is more hateful
to the Temple.'

'Because it denies God?' Trafford asked.

'No. It doesn't do that at all, although it certainly denies
that strange deity known as the Lord and the Love who is
supposedly represented here on Earth by your Confessor.
This book does not
disprove
the existence of a Divine
Creator, that was not Darwin's purpose. What this book
does do is prove beyond any reasonable doubt that,
however man was created, he did not emerge fully formed
in a single morning along with every other creature on
Earth a few thousand years ago.'

Cassius also gave Trafford a copy of a book called
Pride
and Prejudice
.

'This is by a once-celebrated female author,' he
explained. 'Read it and ask yourself how the fascinatingly
complex rituals of human courtship could have been
reduced to the brief preamble to sex that passes for a relationship
today.'

Cassius wrapped both books inside the cover of a gossip
magazine that promised to expose the acne and cellulite
that celebrities wished to hide.

'Remember,' Cassius said as Trafford mounted his
bicycle outside the shop, 'Darwin is the key. Evolution is
our only hope.'

The weeks went by and, as Trafford spent more and more
of his time reading, not surprisingly he and Chantorria
drifted further and further apart. They conversed little and
aside from the pantomime sex that had to be endured
occasionally for the benefit of neighbours there was no
longer any intimacy between them at all.

It was not just Trafford's never-ending reading and the
fact that his mind was clearly always elsewhere which
caused the tension. Trafford also knew that ever since
Chantorria had confronted him about reading Sandra
Dee's blog she had suspected him of having an affair.
Which, in a cerebral sort of way, he was doing, for the
only thing capable of supplanting his rapidly expanding
knowledge of history, science and literature was his
obsession with the secrets of Sandra Dee.

Gradually Trafford and Chantorria came to accept that
their marriage was drawing to its natural end. They had
nothing to be ashamed of: they had had an appropriate
run, two years was neither particularly long nor particularly
short for a marriage to last and the Temple would
view their divorce without censure. First, however, the
necessary public emoting and testification must be gone
through, for no partnership could end in private. Every
detail of the marriage, every reason for the separation,
must be announced at the Community Confession and
be duly cheered or booed by the congregation. The
proceedings must also be broadcast on the web, for
the benefit of those like Barbieheart who could not attend
the Confessions in person. After that the public would be
invited to log on with their comments about the success or
failure of the marriage, which could also be given a star
rating of one to five.

One day, therefore, Trafford and Chantorria went by
mutual agreement to see Confessor Bailey in order to ask
that the break-up banns be posted and that they be
allotted time at the following week's Confession to begin
the public parading of the dysfunctional nature of their
relationship. After this they could humbly request that in
due course, if the Confessor was satisfied that every option
for healing, growing and learning had been exhausted, he
might grant them a divorce.

Confessor Bailey received them in the airy splendour
of his Spirit House, a large converted pub which he and
his wives and servants had all to themselves. The
Confessor expressed (as convention required) great
sadness to see such a fine marriage come to an end and
made no secret of taking Chantorria's side. Nor did he
make any effort to disguise his attraction to her,
pronouncing himself amazed that Trafford could have
grown tired of having sex with such a fine-looking
woman who had been blessed with such impressive
natural breasts.

'You must be dead from the waist down, Trafford,' the
clergyman sneered. 'Barbieheart, your chat room moderator,
had of course informed me that you good people were
having trouble and she also Tubed me an edit of
Chantorria lingeing you up, Trafford.'

The Confessor touched a button and there on his
wallscreen appeared Chantorria standing behind Trafford
in her heels, cupless bra and chocolate G-string.

'Very nice. Very beautiful and pure,' Confessor Bailey
said, licking his big glossy lips. 'You're a credit to your sex,
Chantorria, and I'd be prepared to wager you won't stay
long on the shelf.'

'Thank you, Confessor Bailey,' Chantorria said, blushing,
'that's very kind.'

'I mean it. You mark my words. There'll be any number
of decent red-blooded boys of faith and good family
trying to get a piece of your big holy arse. In fact I should
like to see your breasts right now in the name of the
Love.'

Without a word Chantorria undid her bikini top and
stood topless before her Confessor.

'You're crazy, Trafford,' Bailey said, having feasted his
eyes. 'Still, we always knew you were a little touched.'

The Confessor then noted down the forthcoming
testification, entering the title of the dysfunction that
Trafford and Chantorria had agreed into the Order
of Service:

He won't sort me out and prefers to perv on other girls'
Tube diaries.

Trafford had been happy for Chantorria to be the
injured party. Indeed, he could think of nothing for which
to blame her and no good reason why the marriage should
be over. Nor could he confess to being in love with
someone else since his love was secret and therefore a sin.
It didn't matter: only one partner was required to be
injured and nobody would take much notice of an
insignificant couple like them anyway. Confessor Bailey
completed his paperwork and dismissed them.

The following Sunday Trafford and Chantorria went as
usual to the local youth centre where the Community
Confession was held. Both were a little sad, conscious that
this would be one of the last times they would attend
Confession together as a married couple.

Glancing through the itinerary as they took their seats,
Trafford could see that it was going to be a very busy
evening. The Confessor would have his work cut out to fit
everything in. Trafford was relieved that there was no
shortage of entertainment and so nobody would mind
very much if he and Chantorria simply went through the
motions.

Three couples were scheduled to confront their issues
before Trafford and Chantorria had their turn. None of
them were asking for divorce but instead for community
counselling in the hope that they might learn and grow
through their difficulties and in due course heal. Trafford
knew all three couples: they were local celebrities, people
who loved to confess, who gloried in the drama of it and
the parish notoriety that it brought them. He read the
three proclamations:

He hates my mum which I can't forgive but then he sorted her
out and also my sister although I blame her for that, the bitch.

My tarot reader says he's the wrong man but I love him. Should
I leave him? Who should I trust? My husband or my healer?

She won't let me give it to her from behind and I have to lie
when my mates talk about how much anal they get. Is she frigid?

The congregation screamed and stamped their feet as
Confessor Bailey took the stage to lead them in the
opening testification of faith before inviting the first
warring family to join him on stage.

'OK, we have a lot to get through,' he said. 'First up,
listen to this. How would you feel, girls, if your husband
had sex with your mum and also your sister? That's right!
Would you blame him? Would you blame them? Or
would you blame yourself? Would you fight to keep your
precious man in your loving home or would you let the
scheming love rat go? Let's find out how one family is
dealing with just these issues. Madonnatella, Angel
Delight, Heavenly Braveheart and Ninja, please join me on
stage and face your community!'

The cheering, whooping and shouting rose to fever
pitch as the four parties of dysfunctional testification
strutted arrogantly on to the stage, sneering and
grimacing at each other and at the congregation before
taking their seats.

'All right!' Confessor Bailey shouted above the din.
'Madonnatella, what's your beef? What's going on here?
Let's see if we can't sort this out right here, right now.'

Madonnatella rose and turned to look at the man sitting
on the furthest chair from her. Her big face, which had been
made lumpy and strange from too many cheap injections
and implants, was wound up into a grimace of fury.

'We live in a small flat, right?' Madonnatella said in
tones of righteous outrage. 'And ever since my mum got
dumped by my last stepdad she's lived with us, right?
Which I don't mind because I love her to bits and at the
end of the day she's my best mate, right, even if she is a
bitch. Well, one day I come home from shopping, right?
And him, right! Yeah, you, Ninja! You know who I'm
talking about.'

Ninja and the other two women on stage were already
vigorously shaking their heads in a furious pantomime of
denial and disbelief, even though as yet Madonnatella had
accused them of nothing.

'Yeah, you, Ninja, don't you shake your head cos you
know you done it. He was sorting out my sister on the
couch, right? And when I told him he was out of order and
that I felt uncomfortable and threatened by his behaviour
he told me he'd already done my mum!'

The chorus of boos that met this testimony was deafening.
Throughout it, Ninja, Angel Delight, who was the sister
concerned, and Heavenly Braveheart, the mother,
continued to shake their heads and make gestures of
defiance at the crowd.

Confessor Bailey turned to Ninja.

'Well, Ninja?' he asked. 'Is it true? Did you have sex with
your wife's mother and sister on the family couch while
she was at the shops?'

'She's always out at the shops,' Ninja protested, shaking
his big tattooed arm at Madonnatella.

'I am
so
not always out at the shops,' Madonnatella
replied, shaking her fist back.

'Answer the question, Ninja,' Confessor Bailey insisted
sternly. 'Did you sort out your own mother-in-law and
sister-in-law on your family sofa?'

'Well, maybe I did. I ain't perfect, I know that,' Ninja
said, 'but so what, big deal, move on. Madonnatella
should get over herself and find closure.'

Angel Delight and Heavenly Braveheart nodded
vigorously at this.

'Angel Delight,' Confessor Bailey said, turning to the
sister, struggling once more to force his voice above the
chorus of boos and cheers with which the crowd reacted to
Ninja's excuse. 'You gave a piece of your big arse to your
sister's husband. Doesn't that make you a wicked,
cheating, conniving, disgusting bitch?'

Angel Delight rose to her feet, her tattooed breasts
heaving as she stared down the baying crowd.

'Yes, yes, I am! I'm a bitch, all right? I know I'm a bitch
. . . but I am one
sexy
bitch, right!'

There were many whoops of appreciation for this
defiant stance, which Angel Delight acknowledged by
turning round, wiggling her bottom at the crowd and then
doing a little dance.

'And if my sister can't keep her husband interested,' she
went on, 'then I've got every right to get in there and sort
him out. He's fantastic and I love him and we have
amazing sex and he really understands the needs of a
woman and he's dead sensitive and caring and that and we
do everything together and he says I'm the best he's ever
had and he's never had nothing like it.'

This vigorous defence won Angel Delight a great deal of
support among the crowd and the mood of the room
began to shift against Madonnatella.

'OK. That worked. The people like that,' Confessor
Bailey shouted. 'The people like your pride, Angel Delight,
they like your sassy style. But what about Mum? We
haven't heard from Mum yet. OK, Heavenly Braveheart,
bottom line. Isn't sexing your own son-in-law the greatest
betrayal any mother could visit upon the daughter of
her womb?'

'I kept the family home together,' Heavenly Braveheart
protested. 'If me and Angel hadn't given Ninja what he
needed he would have gone and got it elsewhere. We kept
him in the family. I reckon we done Madonnatella a
good turn.'

This argument produced loud applause, not least from
Ninja himself. He sat clapping and nodding earnestly,
giving every impression that, if anything, he felt he was the
injured party.

'I hear you, Heavenly Braveheart. I hear you!' Confessor
Bailey shouted. 'Family matters! Family is important!
Nothing is more sacred in the eyes of the Lord than family.
And while the Temple cannot
condone
a man enjoying the
conjugal favours of his sister-in-law and his mother-in-law,
I say there are worse things in the eyes of the Lord and the
Love. Therefore I say to you, Madonnatella, the mote lies
in your eye, for were Ninja satisfied in the communion of
your loins he would not be seeking loinful communion
elsewhere in the loins of your sister and mother. Therefore
I say hug, make up, move on, find closure, get over
yourself and put your house in order.'