Infernal Revolutions (52 page)

As the horse came into view I saw that it was finding the going as heavy as ours had done, for though the track appeared less muddy than the one Sophie and I had been following, the advantage in terrain was offset by the fact that it was carrying two riders, both of whom were so heavily wrapped up against the rain that at first I could detect neither their sex nor their age. I would not have done so ever had not a large dog come barking and bounding towards me, intent on flushing me out for the benefit of his owners. Finding my attempts to pacify the beast to no avail, I peeked around the tree and saw the two cowled heads turned in my direction.

‘Samson, off!' cried one girlish voice.

‘Heel, Samson, Heel!' cried another.

Cocky with success, Samson did as he was told, leaving me dripping with slobber and squirming with embarrassment. Taking a deep breath, grateful at least that the travellers were female and did not seem to be part of a train, I stepped fully into view and advanced towards them.

‘Good God, he has a pistol!'

‘And a knife!'

‘He is a highwayman! Gee up, Titus, oh Gee up.'

‘We are done for, O Sister!'

Startled by this response, I looked down at my hands like an idiot, and saw that I was indeed still in possession of my weapons, and I supposed I might have resembled, to active imaginations, a footpad starved of love and money. Seeking to reassure them that this was not the case, I immediately threw down the offending items and stood passive before them, palms open and a look of soft amiability on my face.

‘Who are you, Sir, and what do you want?'

‘My name is Harry Oysterman, and believe it or not I am lost in the woods.'

‘Where are you trying to get to?' asked one of them sceptically.

‘Philadelphia, to start a new career there as a merchant. Perhaps you are going there yourselves?'

The girls, who I now noticed were exceedingly attractive, seemed to recoil in horror.

‘We would not go to that Sodom if you paid us!'

I pricked up my ears. This was a most curious response. I sought enlightenment.

‘'Tis the City Of Light, so I hear.'

‘The City Of Outer Light, perhaps, Mr Oysterman, but most assuredly not the City Of Inner Light.'

‘The light shineth in the darkness,' said the other traveller, looking up to the treetops and smacking her lips, ‘and the darkness comprehended it not.'

I must have looked as puzzled as I felt, for the words ‘John, Chapter One, Verse Five' were spat out at me with an anger that made the girl's beauty vanish. ‘Do you not read your Bible?'

‘No I don't,' I stated bluntly. ‘I am confused enough already.'

‘The Good Book would make everything clear.'

‘Until the next distraction comes along perhaps.'

‘You are hardened in your sin, Sir. I can tell from the surly tone of your replies.'

Hackles rising enjoyably, I obliged with my best wall-eyed stare.

‘I feel sorry for you,' she added angrily. ‘Your heart must be black to its very core.'

‘It has certainly gone into eclipse since meeting you.'

‘What you need,' said the other girl, pushing her cowl back to reveal lovely blonde hair, ‘is someone to show you the way.'

‘Indeed I do, Madam. As I said, I am lost in the wood.'

‘You know very well I am not speaking literally, so why pretend that I am?'

‘It amuses me to do so.'

The girl snorted indignantly, and ploughed on.

‘You need someone to show you the way, as I say. Someone to open your eyes to the glory and beauty of the world; someone who can bring the Good Book alive for you.'

‘You have someone in mind?'

‘The man we are going to see.'

Immediately I became suspicious.

‘Man? What man?'

‘A great preacher, in the tradition of Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield. Not, I suppose, that you know who they are.'

‘Oh yes, I've heard of them. But what is the name of this one?'

‘This one, as you so cynically term him – seeming to imply that you think there will be many more – is called Gadarene Rush. And not only is he a great preacher, he is the last descendant of the lost tribe of Walthamstow.'

‘The lost tribe of where?' I said, astonished.

‘I think you heard, Sir. Repeating the name will not serve any purpose.'

I could hardly contain my joyous incredulity. Could this be Dick, the only Walthamstowian I knew, comically converted?

‘At what time does this man preach?'

‘At one o'clock, in Dean's Clearing.'

‘And is that far from here?'

‘About a mile and a half.'

‘Then I will come with you, if I may.'

‘Hallelujah! You will not regret it, Brother. I see you are excited already; your eyes are shining with excitement.'

Pausing only to retrieve my weapons (an action of which the girls did not approve) and score a large cross in the nearest tree (an action of which they did), I was soon squelching along in front of them, leading their horse by the reins to the Promised Land of Gadarene Lickley. A Christian going to meet the Messiah could not have been more excited than I.

The forest became less dense as we neared the clearing, and between the trees I began to glimpse distant movements. These, I deduced, were other celebrants arriving from different directions, and soon the excited chatter of their voices became audible. I could not help but notice that nearly all of the voices belonged to young women.

‘Are there not many male followers of Gadarene Rush then?' I turned and asked the girls, noticing with surprise that they had uncovered their heads, and were looking absolutely radiant.

‘There are a few, but none compare with Gad.'

I felt some Devil's advocate mood come over me, and blurted out:

‘Perhaps he does not have many male disciples because of the war. Most men have more pressing matters to attend to in times like these.'

‘There are no more pressing matters than the salvation of people's souls, the war in Heaven against Evil, and the search for the Promised Land,' I was informed, starry-eyed. ‘Women understand that better than Men.'

Put in my earthly place, I shrugged my shoulders and decided further conversation with the ethereal pair would be futile. Now that we had reached the clearing, I concentrated my attention instead on the scene that was building around me. At the far end of the clearing, above the heads of the swelling congregation, I could just make out a long wooden platform with a giant pulpit in the centre. To the sides of the platform canvas sheets had been rigged up on poles, perhaps to prevent unauthorized peeking into the workings of the High Priesthood. Gad was near, and my excitement rose at the prospect of seeing him; would it really be Dick after all? And if it was, what would he look like? What would he speak about? How could he, the most Heathen person I had ever known, suddenly acquire biblical knowledge and spout it persuasively? Was he being serious, or just larking around?

I could not wait to find out, so, expressing unacknowledged thanks to the girls, I parted from them in order to seek out a prime position in front of the stage. Purely by coincidence, I ended up next to a particularly buxom beauty who was breast-feeding an infant as goggle-eyed as I, and I passed the time until one o'clock in a very agreeable manner. But while my eyes feasted, my ears could not help but take in the conversation around me.

‘They say the authorities are on the tail of Gad.'

‘They will not catch him, Sister, never fear. Besides, what is wrong with a man who uses his God-given gifts to lead us to the Promised Land?'

There was no answer but a strange barking noise. I looked around and saw that a young woman was jerking her head up and down so quickly that her face was a blur amidst a mass of whirling hair. Unsettled, I returned to my nature watch.

‘Gad
is
God,' objected another fanatic. ‘His penis is the sword of Christ.'

I was right to fear the impact of such an inflammatory remark, for moments later a girl next to me suddenly issued a piercing scream, dropped like a log to the ground, and stayed down as if dead. Vaguely concerned, I thought about going to her assistance, but soon saw that none was required; other worshippers were looking down at her with envy, and asking each other in awed tones if this was a Sign.

‘He is the best preacher I have ever seen, and I have seen them all,' boasted another. ‘Lorenzo Dow, Neeson Krick, Olway Barrett, Tubal Westlake. None of them, I say none of them, are a patch on Gad.'

This eulogy coincided with a general chanting of Gad's name.

‘Gad! Gad! Gad! Gad! Gad! Gad!'

‘But shhh…'tis near one o'clock….the drum will sound any minute, and he will be with us.'

But it didn't, and he wasn't, and the silent expectation that fell over the packed crowd turned into something like fearful frenzy. The minutes passed agonizingly: what if he wasn't here after all? There were several cries of ‘Gad, where are you?' and there was a commotion near the stage caused, word came back to us, by an angel descending. Rumours spread that Gad was dead, which prompted some to declare that if the story were true, then they would hang themselves in sympathy, for life no longer had meaning without his physical presence. Surely, I thought again, it could not be earthy Dick Lickley causing all this madness. Then a drum went off, and the crowd surged to the stage screaming. But ‘twas only a false alarm, and the agonized frenzy was raised to a new pitch. The stupified baby next to me was raised in the air by its lovely mother, and pointed towards the stage, as though being held aloft as a sacrifice to the Divine Presence behind the canvas screen. But still Gad would not come out. Every call and gesture was hopeless, and ‘twas not until the gathering was collectively weeping and whimpering that, at around two o'clock, the canvas gave an insignificant twitch. Then, suddenly, a man stepped out who must have been Gad, for a surprised wail of such intensity went up that a huge flock of birds suddenly shot out of the trees in panic.

Finding myself swept forward by the rush to the stage, I clutched for support at the nearest thing to hand, which just happened to be the bosom of the young mother who in turn had been pushed in front of me. Reluctantly I prepared to apologize and disengage my hands, but as the woman then started to rub my groin with her tail – as though she had been waiting for me to make the first move all along – I decided instead to keep them where they were. Comfy beyond belief, I scrutinized from between the baby's dangling legs the scruffy, bearded figure that had shambled on stage.

It was Dick all right, immediately identifiable in spite of his beard and Messianic garb of smock and sandals. As he raised his arms in benediction, I wanted to shout out joyously obscene catcalls to him, and give everyone a good laugh. Fearing a lynching if I did, however, I solaced my existence by giving the bosom a lusty squeeze, and rutting at the warm poop with shameless vigour. Quite contented, I waited for the words of inspiration that would lift me to a higher spiritual plane.

Motioning us all to silence with his hands, Dick climbed into the pulpit, raised his face to the heavens, and suddenly wailed in a strangely sepulchral voice:

‘I have stopped the rain!'

A huge cheer went up. I squeezed again. My groin was rubbed harder. This was heaven. Dick requested silence again. He got it immediately.

‘Sisters! Brothers! Last night…I had a Vision!'

‘Praise be!' I heard a voice murmur. ‘Thank God!' sobbed another. A young girl diagonally in front of me began to shake. I squeezed again for comfort.

‘I SAY A VISION!!'

‘No! No!' cried some, as if pleading for mercy.

‘And in this vision I saw great and terrible armies clashing in the night. They tore mercilessly at each other until there was just one clear victor in possession of the field. And then the men, nay the devils of that army, turned their hard glittering eyes to the spoils of war. They looked upon the corn safely stored for the winter; they looked upon the warm well-built homesteads; they looked upon the fresh innocent faces of the women and children, and they thought YES!'

This was similar to what I was thinking, as my rutting reached explosive levels.

‘As they went about their evil business, destroying everything in their sight, and taking their pleasure in the foulest of ways, I saw other visions, visions of terrible terrible depravity.'

‘Tell us what they were, Gad! Tell us what they were. Oh, please, please, please, Gad, tell us!'

‘At first I saw hot stallions riding mares in their stables…then I was forced to see things no man should have to see….I saw mothers being ridden by sons…I saw daughters being enjoyed by fathers…..I saw blood spraying from soft bellies that had been penetrated by instruments of war….I saw the whole sexual anarchy of the smoking earth…'

‘Oh God, Gad!' went up a few desperate pants. ‘God!'

Dick's weird sing-song delivery now became even more urgent.

‘Then I saw a scroll flying over the battlefield…and on the scroll were the names of many people…at first I wondered who these people were, and why their names were being given to me…but then a new vision came along and I knew instantly….these were the names of the people in Hell, and I saw them….I SAY I SAW THEM!!…writhing in agony, full of the seed of lustful Devils, being tortured hideously and forever…'

Gasps of horror emanated from all corners of the clearing. Dick paused to survey his trembling audience with soul-penetrating sweeps of his eyes, and then added in a slow, deep, menacing voice:

‘I took note of the names on the scroll.'

‘Was I on it, Gad?' screamed a few despairing souls.

‘I cannot reveal the names now…you must come and see me in person if you want to know them, in case I spread alarm unnecessarily…but I can reveal that the Lord was very angry with the people named…and that makes me very angry with you, because some of those names were YOURS…YES, YOURS!…and so you have displeased ME!…You have committed evil behind my back…'

‘Oh Gad, Gad! Save us! We didn't mean it!'

‘But do not despair. I love you. I alone love you, though to the rest of the world you are irredeemably evil at heart. You will be prosperous again…but only if you follow me…follow ME, unto the ends of the earth!!'

‘We will follow you, Gad! We will, we will! Take us. Take us anywhere!'

The urgency was now at fever pitch. Dick's voice was getting louder and faster; girls were screaming and shouting their heads off all around me; I was grasping hold of the baby-wielding mother like a randy dog on the back of a bucking horse.

‘Heaven, as I have told you before, lies six miles vertically upwards. Six miles! Some of you have travelled further than that today to get here. So close, if you would only see the error of your ways. So far, if you persist in your sin! And ‘tis sin, believe me, to repress the natural desires that God has put in you. ‘Tis sin to feel guilty. ‘Tis sin to feel fear. ‘Tis sin to feel hope. But worst of all, ‘tis sin to feel sin!'

‘Then what are we to feel, Gad? Tell us!' cried one addled soul in absolute anguish. ‘Tell us, for Christ's sake!'

Dick, by now gesticulating and sweating like a Bedlamite, obliged.

‘Just
feel
, sister. Feel each other. Forget the future, forget the past, live now, for the present. Live for your neighbour. Love giving. Live for love. Give love. Give it openly and selflessly and joyously. And most of all, give it to the last disciples of the Lost Tribe of Walthamstow. Only by spreading the seed of the Walthamstowians can the line be perpetuated till Judgement Day. Remember, O my sisters, there is no greater glory ON THIS EARTH than being a handmaiden to a Walthamstowian. For only they, and they alone, can show you how to keep on giving love till the end of your days. They, and only they, can get you into Heaven. They, and only they, have a lineage that can be traced back directly to Christ. Only they know exactly what He said, and only they have carried that information down through the centuries without spilling a drop. So give us your love, Sisters, give it to us till you can give no more!!'

And with that injunction ringing in our ears, Dick was down from the pulpit and tearing off his smock to wild screams of abandon. Hairy bollocks aswing, he danced around the stage like a drunken monkey for several seconds, before blessing us one final time and diving behind the canvas sacking, leaving two hundred or so agitated worshippers in his wake. ‘Twas utter chaos. The stage was besieged with young girls shouting obscenities and trying to clamber up, but burly henchmen had suddenly appeared to hold them back. Nearer me, several girls were lying supine, shaking and twitching, and looking through spyglasses at the sky. Others gabbled utter nonsense, or foamed at the mouth, while some openly used dildoes to relieve the tension. I, meanwhile, coming to my senses, found myself rutting to a climax as the baby above me kicked and screamed to be let down. Soon, we had all tumbled down into the mud together, where my temporary mate turned and started to rip my clothes off for a real session. Spent, however, I was having none of it, so I pushed her off and staggered and slid gasping to my feet.

‘No, madam. No more. I am not an exhibitionist, and besides, I am afraid I have already shot my stuff.'

‘What!' shrieked the woman, who, I now noticed with horror, had the most disturbingly wild eyes I had ever seen, ‘You have committed the Sin of Onan on me?'

‘Now, remember, sister,' I said, starting to back away, ‘anger is a sin too, according to Gad.'

‘I don't care! I have allowed you to handle me all through the sermon on the tacit understanding that your seed will mine when I ask for it. And I am asking for it now. I want your seed and I intend to have it!'

Reduced to the level of a mechanical seed sower, I turned my back and ran. I kept running, elbowing my way past the maddened shriekers and jumping over prostrate bodies, until I felt ‘twas safe to stop and look behind. Panting, I saw that the woman had run into one of the few other males in the audience, and was busy draining him of seed while other women held him down. Mightily relieved, I made what repairs I could to my sorry jelly-and-mud-splattered state, and went in search of the initiator of all this mayhem.

I found him, after outflanking the toughs who were trying to hold back the horde of demented girls, reclining on a pallet in the back of a wagon, smoking a pipe and swigging from a bottle of brandy. His body was robed once more, and he was gazing vacantly at a map of New Jersey that was spread out over his knees. He jumped up when he saw me.

‘Harry!' he spluttered, wide-eyed with surprise. ‘I am truly astonished to see you.'

‘Not half as astonished as I am to see you!'

We laughed, shook hands and embraced warmly. He offered me a swig of his bottle, which I accepted.

‘'Tis a rich vein of madness I see you have tapped here, you rogue.'

‘Aye, and the rich vein of cunnikin that goes with it. Not bad for five minutes' work.'