The Temple (6 page)

“I don’t really understand. Why
do you want to do this?”

“Well it’s obvious really. I
will fill a red liquid into the cavity and when our Diana is in the
grand hall and people come to worship they will discover Diana
crying tears of blood. It will be miraculous.”

Sycko looked shocked. “But isn’t
that a fraud?”

“A fraud? A fraud you say! Nay,
but I don’t know what to say. If it were not you saying such an
outrageous thing I would demand you leave this holy place at
once.”

“I’m sorry…” Sycko
stuttered.

“And sorry you ought to be. Oh
God almighty give me the strength to be patient. A fraud he says.
Of course this is not a fraud. A fraud is when someone deceives,
cheats, cozens, tries to make people believe something that is not
true in order to derive some sort of gain. We are not making people
believe something that isn’t true. What we are doing is technically
known as a pious fraud, but that is something altogether different
from a base deception. We are simply helping them to become
stronger in their beliefs. We are helping them to have confidence
in the power and might of the Lord. And is there anything wrong in
helping people? Is there, I ask you?”

“No, of course not, Master
Jeremiah.”

“There you go, my young friend.
You must learn to think before you speak rashly. A rashly spoken
word may haunt you for a long time and it is impossible to make
unsaid.”

Sycko was crestfallen. “I’m very
sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you in any way. I just didn’t
understand.”

“Now, now, my young friend, it
is just another lesson learnt and I do hope you have learnt it
well. Now cast aside that woebegone expression on your face and be
of good cheer again. Here, take my hand and let’s shake on
friendship.”

A few days later Jeremiah and
Sycko put up a little shrine at one end of the great hall. Unlike
the hall, which was all in black and white, the shrine was painted
in garish colours and caught anyone’s eye who came in. The shrine
stood a head taller than Sycko. It had glass on the front and
sides, and at its heart was the statue of Diana. To be accurate, it
wasn’t a statue of the whole goddess. Only her head and shoulders
were there, more like a bust than a statue, but Jeremiah liked to
call her a statue. There was a gentle smile on her rubicund lips,
her eyes were light brown and on her forehead was a crescent moon
that contrasted with her dark hair.

News of the goddess spread
quickly and soon a steady stream of Dryvellers visited the new
attraction. None of the Dryvellers had heard of Diana before and it
fell to Sycko to explain her significance in Dryvellism. For
reasons Sycko didn’t understand Jeremiah seemed reluctant to face
the visitors and talk about Diana. He had made some vague excuses
and asked Sycko to stand in. Sycko wasn’t very keen on the idea of
standing near Diana all day and repeating the same thing over and
over again, not least because it gave him the feeling of being at
work again, but Jeremiah allowed him to smoke and sit so he agreed.
After repeating the story about Diana for the hundredth time it had
become part of himself and he would have been hard put to remember
a time when the Goddess Diana had not played an important part in
his life.

A fortnight went by and the
congregation were getting used to the new addition in their temple.
Jeremiah had cleverly incorporated Diana into the weekly service on
Mondays and if the truth be said most Dryvellers were happy to see
a bit of colour in the grand though rather austere hall.

Then, one day it happened. A
group of Dryvellers had come to pay their respects to the Goddess
of the moon when a woman suddenly screamed.

“Her eyes! Look at her eyes! She
is crying!”

For a moment there was silence
as everyone looked. Then everyone talked at the same time. There
was a call for Master Jeremiah to come or rather everyone was
clamouring for him to come.

When Jeremiah came and was told
about the weeping statue he was horrified. “Tears of blood,” he
cried, and indeed the tears that slowly ran down her cheeks were a
deep red colour. “Tears of blood,” he repeated. “An ill omen.
Alack, what evil has befallen us if even the Goddess Diana is
crying tears of blood. It is a miracle but I wish it wasn’t so. How
can this be, I ask you?”

He looked around but no one
answered him.

“I know why,” he said. “It is
because of the haters. Have we not heard how Dryvellers are
persecuted in countries such as Syldavia? Has not our own community
here been the victim of a vicious hate crime? Dryvellophobia is all
around us and now see what things have come to. Even the Goddess
herself is wounded in her heart. Alas, alas, that I should live to
see this day.” At this he bent his head and covered his face with
his hands. The people around him heard sobbing sounds. Sycko took a
frail looking Master Jeremiah back to his room where he lay down
and the visitors to the temple left in a hurry to tell others about
what had happened.

It wasn’t long till a steady
stream of visitors came to see the weeping Diana. Then pilgrims
started arriving and as the days went by the steady stream had
turned into huge crowds. They came and they came and the
inconsolable Diana kept weeping. The crowds attracted some
reporters and then TV crews arrived to film the miracle. The temple
had made it onto the evening news.

There was a collection box at
the entrance that visitors had to pass to enter the temple. Another
box stood beside the weeping Diana, and yet another collection box
was on the way out next to a souvenir stand where images of the
Goddess, little trinkets, postcards and the like could be
purchased.

And yet, whenever Jeremiah
appeared in public he wore a mournful expression on his face. He
shook hands with some visitors and lamented the terrible omen that
was occurring due to Dryvellophobia and the hatred that his
community faced. “Support us in our hour of need,” he kept
repeating. “We need your help if we are to survive as a community
in this country.” And more often than not visitors donated
generously and gave all the help and support that Jeremiah
wanted.

In the evenings Jeremiah now
preferred to be alone. He didn’t seek out the company of any of the
brethren any more as he was wont to. Instead he locked himself in
his study and worked. That is, to be precise, he emptied the
collection boxes and counted the money. When he was alone he looked
far from unhappy. Quite the contrary! His eyes shone with glee and
he enjoyed every moment.

But if there was one thing
Master Jeremiah had forgotten it was that all things must come to
an end. He was so preoccupied with the success of his miracle that
he didn’t consider there might be people who would not accept it at
face value. One such person was Judas. One day he mingled with the
crowds and managed to conceal a tiny spy camera in the shrine that
was fitted with remote access. Every night when the temple closed
its doors to the crowds Judas sat at home and whatever he was doing
he was always careful to keep an eye on the screen where he could
see Diana in her shrine.

Late one night he saw the side
window of the shrine being opened. Judas started recording. A
syringe with a needle appeared in the picture. Then a hand
scratched off something on Diana’s head, inserted the needle and
slowly injected a red liquid. The syringe was removed, the opening
in the head filled in and the side window was closed again. All
that Judas caught on camera.

First thing next morning Judas
contacted the media and offered his film for sale to the highest
bidder. “If that scoundrel Jeremiah made so much from a fraud, why
shouldn’t I profit a little too?” he said to himself. A purchaser
was soon found and the recording changed hands in return for a nice
little sum. A private TV station had made the scoop of the year and
soon Jeremiah’s shame was all over the news. That day the temple
doors stayed closed.

The day after the temple was
besieged by dozens of TV crews and journalists. They didn’t have to
wait long. Jeremiah had breakfast in silence. No one dared breach
the topic with him. Everyone looked at their plates as though
crockery had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the
world. At last Jeremiah put his knife down with a loud clang that
made everyone jump. “Ha,” he said. So the haters think they’re
going to win. Not with me, dear brethren, not with me.” He stood up
and walked to the temple’s main entrance to face the media. He
stepped outside and was assailed by a tempest of flashes and
questions. He held up his hand and waited. The reporters quickly
became quiet.

“A fraud has been committed,”
Jeremiah said. “A most shameful and terrible fraud. Terrible
allegations have been made against our community that are
completely untrue.”

“Do you deny injecting a red
liquid into the statue?” a reporter shouted.

“Do I deny it? Why of course it
isn’t true. The Goddess Diana is guarded day and night by temple
staff. No one could possibly inject anything into her. It is an
accusation that is as preposterous as it is insulting and hate
filled. The only fraud that has been committed is against you.
Whoever gave you that short film must also be the person who
injected a liquid into a copy of our statue. It is an outrage. How
could you show such a scandalous and defamatory film to the public
without giving us the opportunity to respond and to tell the truth
in this matter? This film is just the latest in a series of hate
crimes committed against our community. I am appalled that the
media would lend itself to hate propaganda against an innocent and
peaceful religious community. Dryvellophobia is despicable but
unfortunately on the rise and a blight on our society. The shame, I
tell you! Is it not enough that people have come into our temple
threatening to spit at me? Is it not enough that hate propaganda is
posted to our walls? Do people now have to be incited to hatred
against us by the entire nation’s media? Why should we face
persecution here? Have we not as much a right to live in peace as
anyone else? Please don’t give haters a platform to spew out their
poisonous messages. Yes, I say poisonous because this sort of
propaganda is designed to be divisive. We must not allow such
things. We must stick together as a community and we will overcome
the hatred. Thank you.”

Before any of the surprised
reporters had time to ask another question Jeremiah was back in the
temple with the main door firmly shut.

Later that day, when the throngs
of reporters had left, the temple opened its doors to visitors
again. The grand hall looked eerily empty without the huge crowds
they had all grown accustomed to, but after a day or two occasional
visitors became a steady stream again. Master Jeremiah lost no
opportunity to rail against Dryvellophobia, against haters, and
against hate crimes committed against the temple. In time the film
showing how someone injected a red liquid into Diana became
forgotten. What people really remembered was that the Dryvellers,
the temple and indeed Dryvellism itself were the victims of hate
crimes and persecution. What exactly these were even the members of
the temple would have been hard pressed to say but oddly enough no
one seemed to enquire.

The Discalceation
Ceremony

No one is free,

who is not master of
himself.

Pythagoras

One day Jeremiah bade Sycko
follow him into his private study. They sat down and Jeremiah
frowned and stared at the table. It was apparent he had something
very important on his mind and Sycko was beginning to feel uneasy
as to what it could be.

“Now then, Sycko,” he said and
paused. “I am delighted to say that you have made excellent
progress in our community. It is as I first thought when I saw you
drivelling naturally. This is your place, it’s where you were meant
to be. You’ve been a novice for quite some time and now, I am glad
to say, the time has come for you to be accepted into our
fraternity as a full brother.”

Sycko’s heart leapt for joy.
“That’s wonderful,” he said joyfully.”

“I knew you would take it that
way. To become a brother there is a ceremony which will officially
introduce you to the fraternity. It’s known as the discalceation
ceremony.”

“Discalce…?”

“Discalceation. It means taking
off a shoe. It’s a highly symbolic act. By taking off your shoes
and standing barefoot on consecrated ground you are showing the
proper respect and reverence due. To be quite accurate, I will be
taking off your shoes.”

“You?”

“Yes, you are standing in front
of the assembled brothers and sisters. Then I take off the holy top
hat and hand it to you. You hold the hat while I kneel in front of
you and take off your shoes. In this way I am showing my humility
and respect to one seeking truth and willing to join the sacred
brotherhood.”

The day for the holy ceremony
was approaching rapidly and the brethren were busy preparing
everything. The most important thing was the decoration in the
grand hall where the ceremony was to take place. Waxing, waning and
full moons were cut out of various materials and in sundry colours.
There were hundreds of moons all around the hall symbolizing not
only the sacred unity of the Lord and Diana, but also aspects of
lunar influence on human life such as fertility. Others were making
a large wreath of holy oak leaves which was to be suspended from
the ceiling in the spot the new brother would be welcomed into the
fraternity. When all was done the hall looked spectacular. There
were daily choir practices where different songs for various stages
in the ceremony were prepared. Sycko was truly touched by all the
activity, all the work and effort others were making for him. Not
that he was doing much work himself. He confined himself to walking
along the way he would have to go on the morning of the ceremony
and to practise standing under the oak wreath.