The Temple (10 page)

Then Master Jeremiah’s mobile
phone rang.

He answered and recognized the
voice immediately, it was James. As Jeremiah listened he went
purple in the face until he could contain himself no longer. In a
fit of fury he flung the phone against the wall and shouted “What
miserable drones and traitors have I nourished and brought up in my
temple, who let their master be treated with such shameful contempt
by a low-born guttersnipe?”

The brethren were appalled.
“Master Jeremiah! Speak not so. Tell us what has happened!”

“What has happened?” he yelled
shaking with rage. “I’ll tell you what has happened. That infernal
rat has gone to Judas. He’s making common cause with our enemy and
spreading the most infernal lies. Not only is he dragging
Dryvellism through the mud, not only is he besmirching God’s name,
no, he is even denouncing ME as an impostor, as a fraudster and
cheater who is cozening the public! Oh, the shameless liar, the
ignominy of being befouled and defiled by that scum of the world.
And you, brethren, standing here, doing nothing but asking me
questions. What are you asking and chattering so uselessly?
Remember the laws of the Lord, I tell you, remember.”

“But what do you want us to do,
Master Jeremiah?” they asked timidly.

“Questions again, you useless
wimps. Will no one rid me of this vile rat?” he yelled and stormed
out of the hall.

The brethren resumed their
chattering, talking about what might be done or could be done or
should be done. Unnoticed by the rest four of the younger brothers
slipped away from the group and left the building.

When James left Jeremiah’s house
he was sure that his scheme of blackmailing Jeremiah would work.
“Let the old bastard calm down a bit and he’ll see reason,” he
thought. “Why should he risk everything just because of a bit of
money? He can make plenty more the way he just did.” And so,
confident of the riches coming to him, James walked along the road
thinking about what to do. “I can’t very well go back to the temple
now,” he muttered. “But I’ll need a place to stay for the night.”
Without any money of his own that was a problem. He turned the
matter over in his mind for a while when he remembered Judas. It
would mean sharing some of the money with him but there was no one
else he knew outside the temple and Judas was perfect. Since the
affair of the weeping Diana everyone knew about Judas and James was
sure he would jump at the opportunity to have revenge against
Jeremiah. He knew from Sycko where Judas lived and set off for his
home. When he arrived at the address he stood in front of an old
squalid building. “Looks like his home matches his character,”
James said to no one in particular as he looked at the grimy
building. The front door wasn’t locked and he stepped in. There was
no lift. He had to walk upstairs to the third floor where Judas
lived. The doorbell was out of order so he knocked at the door. He
knocked several times but there was no answer. Impatient he banged
the door with his fist. Finally he heard some noises behind the
door. A few moments later the door was carefully opened and a
sleepy Judas with deep shadows under his eyes peered at him
suspiciously. “You’re one of the Dryvellist brothers,” he said when
he recognized the clothes. “What do you want here? Tell your master
to leave me alone or there’ll be trouble…”

“No, no, you don’t understand,”
James said hastily. “Jeremiah hasn’t sent me. I’m here on my own. I
need your help.”

“My help? Are you kidding? I’m
not helping your lot,” he said and started to close the door.

James quickly put his foot in
the door. “Wait, listen to me. I’m not with the brothers any more.
I need your help to fight Jeremiah. There’s a lot of money in it,”
he added quickly seeing the doubt in Judas’ face.

“All right then, come in. But I
warn you, if you’re trying to pull a fast one on me there’ll be
hell to pay for it.”

They sat down on a shabby old
sofa and James explained how Jeremiah had fooled everyone into
believing he had special powers from God, how he got millions from
the TV coverage, and how James had asked for a share of the money
for his help in the scam.

“I see,” Judas said
sardonically. “And now you want me to help you get at the cash. Why
me?”

“Well, you already know people
in the media, you’ve got contacts, you’ve already fought with
Jeremiah and honestly I haven’t got anywhere to stay.” James
fingered the buttons on his black jacket nervously. “So I thought
if you let me stay here for the night and I can threaten Jeremiah
with having your help he’ll have no choice but to pay up.”

“That’s what you thought, is it?
And did you think about what’s in it for me? Why should I help you
get rich?”

“We’ll share the money, of
course. I’ll give you ten percent.”

Judas laughed. “Ten what? You’re
not serious. If I help you to blackmail Jeremiah I’m getting fifty
percent.”

James looked shocked. “But I did
all the work helping Jeremiah to get the info on the people and I’m
bringing this to you…”

“Hey, the first thing is between
you and Jeremiah. I don’t care. If I’m helping you with this
business I want half. There’s no way I’m taking less. Why, I’m
taking as much risk as you, James. Blackmail is blackmail if the
police catch us. You’d better be fair and square with me,” he added
threateningly.

James hesitated. “All right,
half. “

Judas grinned and shook his
hand. “Here’s to a good partnership. Let’s work together on this
and there’ll be nothing Jeremiah can do about it. Anyway, here’s
the phone. We might as well start now.”

An hour later James was alone.
Judas was out to meet a journalist. James sat on the old sofa
dreaming about his new life. The opulent mansion Jeremiah had
bought with the money of so many gullible believers was etched into
his mind and had swept away years of religious teachings and
abstention. If anything, James discovered that he held some very
deep cravings for luxury and enjoyment of life that did not include
prayers, drooling or slaving away for the master of the temple.
Like someone who has just crossed a desert he had a strong thirst
for all the things he had denied himself for so long. He imagined
himself the proud owner of a large villa with a vast garden and
pool, or even better a seaside mansion with its own pier at which
his private yacht lay waiting for him, how he would be surrounded
by friends and beautiful women eager for his attention. In fact,
the wishes in his reverie were getting so big and extravagant that
even years of defrauding gullible believers wouldn’t have been
enough to pay for everything.

The doorbell rang.

James glanced at his watch.
“That was quick,” he said. “I thought Judas would take longer.
Maybe he forgot his keys…”

He went to open the door. The
moment he opened it he was pushed back violently and the four young
brethren who had left the temple a bit earlier rushed inside.

“You filthy traitor,” one of
them yelled when the door was shut again and punched James in the
face. James fell backwards and hit the floor hard.

“You got it all wrong,” James
called. “It’s Jeremiah. He’s cheating and…”

A savage kick at his head made
him curl up. Blows and kicks landed thick and heavy as he tried to
protect his head by wrapping his arms around it. While James
suffered on the floor one of the brethren made a quick search of
the flat. In the kitchen his eye fell on the very thing he needed –
a large chopper. He grabbed it and dashed to James. In a blind fury
he yanked James’ head back and began chopping at his neck. James
yelled in agony. Several strokes later his head was severed. The
young brother lifted it up triumphantly and looked at the face. The
eyes and mouth were wide open in horror.

“A traitor’s death for a vile
rat,” he said with a grim satisfaction. He tossed the head on the
floor and the four brethren walked away. The body on the floor
twitched a few times and then lay still. Only the bright red blood
kept gushing out. The gory stain on the carpet spread out in all
directions.

When the four brethren returned
to the temple they went straight to Jeremiah’s office and told him
what they had done. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“At least there’s someone I can
trust,” he said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the country
for a while. The police are bound to come here when they
investigate and it’s better if they can’t question you or check
your clothes for blood stains.”

He pulled open a drawer in his
desk and took out a thick wad of banknotes. “Here, take this. It’s
plenty to get you to Syldavia. I’ll make sure you’ll get a warm
welcome at our temple there. But now get going. You must leave
before the police are on the case.”

The next day the gruesome murder
was headline news. The first reports suggested that Brother James
was the victim of a Dryvellophobic hate crime. This was a view
Master Jeremiah was all too happy to support in interviews, but it
didn’t take long till Judas presented his side of the story. While
the police pursued their investigations the press not only began to
dig for information about Jeremiah and the temple but also
presented every shred of new information together with a good dose
of speculation to the public.

After seeing headlines such as
Dryvellism a Fraud? and Master Jeremiah Fraudster and Murderer?
Jeremiah had had enough. He called a press conference and responded
in typical fashion. TV crews, reporters and cameramen gathered in
the grand hall. Jeremiah, dressed in his best clothes, stepped in
front of them and was almost swept away by a barrage of
questions.

He lifted his hands and called
“Please, please, not everyone at once. I will talk to you but no
one can answer all questions at once.”

“We thought you had special
powers from God,” someone called.

Everyone laughed.

Jeremiah went red in the face
but decided to ignore the remark. When the hall was quiet he said
“First I want to make a statement and then I’ll be at your service
to answer any remaining questions. I must tell you that The League
against anti-Dryvellism has filed a complaint with the state
prosecutor, to condemn a veritable day of hate. The baseless and
hate-filled slander and libel directed at our peaceful temple and
brethren are an outrage. Shame! Shame on all those who
participated! How can the media repeat or even make up stories
designed to incite hatred against our community? Poor Brother James
is already dead. How many more must die? Have we not the right to
live in peace and safety? Must we live in fear because some would
repeat the lies uttered by Dryvellophobic hatemongers?”

“We have a witness statement
that Brother James was going to reveal evidence of fraud in the
temple and that his murder…”

“Lies,” Jeremiah almost shouted.
“Outrageous lies whose sole purpose it is to drag our holy
community through the dirt. Poor James has for many years been an
outstanding member of our community and defender of the faith. Is
it not enough that he died for his beliefs? Hearing these vile lies
about James is sickening and fills me with disgust.”

“Then you accuse the witness of
being deliberately untruthful?”

“What witness? There is no
witness. The person you’re alluding to is a well-known hater who
has tried to incite the public against us in the past. He is an
intolerant bigot who should have been prosecuted long ago. I must
ask the authorities why such a person is permitted to continue
spewing out his hatred. Without people like him Brother James would
still be alive.”

After a number of other
questions that Master Jeremiah skilfully turned to his advantage
the press conference was over and a much chastised press corps
filed out of the hall. The hostile tone in news reports vanished
and in the absence of any new evidence or information the story
faded away.

The police were unable to locate
the intruders into Judas’ flat and as there was no other connection
to the temple the police investigation ran into a dead end. The
murder case remained open officially but the officers were taken
off the case and reassigned to more urgent or promising cases.

The Dryvellist Hospital

A wise doctor does not mutter
incantations

over a sore that needs the
knife.

Sophocles, Ajax

It was Tuesday morning and
Master Jeremiah was in an exuberant mood. The problems of the
previous weeks had receded, the new museum was a success and
brought in a steady stream of new converts, and Mondays had never
been more profitable before. He decided it was time to direct his
attention to another project that had long been in the making – a
hospital. Not just any hospital, it was a Dryvellist Hospital. A
hospital run by the ideas and ideals of Dryvellism. A hospital that
integrated holy beliefs and practices into the care of its
patients. In short, a hospital where the belief in God and prayer
were paramount.

He left his mansion some two
hours after the brethren had finished their breakfast, got into his
new black limousine and drove to the temple. He came into the hall
where he found Sycko sitting beside the weeping Diana enjoying a
fag and a drink.

“Good morrow, Sycko,” he said
cheerfully.

Sycko glanced at his watch.
“Good morrow, Jeremiah. I’m afraid breakfast is already finished,
but you’re still in time for lunch.”

Jeremiah chuckled. “Come with
me, Sycko. We have an interesting day ahead of us.”

“Where are we going?” Sycko said
without making any attempt to move.

“Come, come, now. I’ll explain
on the way. I’m sure you’ll find it most enjoyable and also quite
enlightening. In fact, I can promise you it’ll be every bit as
interesting as your first visit to the museum,” he added knowing
how keen Sycko was on the Museum of Creationism.