TH02 - The Priest of Evil (11 page)

‘Mikko,’ she whispered, like an agreed signal. Mikko propped himself up on his elbows; their lips met and they kissed, rapidly, over and over, as if they were tasting one another, and he slipped his free hand beneath her blouse until he felt her bra strap.

What happened after that was the most beautiful thing he knew. It wasn’t simply a physical act – sex, a shag, a fuck – it was a gift, an act of giving and receiving, between two people who trusted each other so much that they were prepared to share something of the utmost intimacy, bringing each other the pleasure and fulfilment that alone they would be unable to experience.

There were fourteen objects in total, and although in a mysterious way they were all very important to Matti and had been for several weeks, what was most important was that they were in the correct order. He had only realised this a couple of nights ago; this and the entire process for that matter.

From the left, in a row, there stood a spruce-green glass ball the size of a fist, tiny air bubbles trapped inside forming a universe all of their own.
Beside that was a bicycle reflector, the old kind set in a tin cup with no room for a real lamp, and next to that stood a lion carved from stone somewhere in Africa. Then there was an open pine cone, and next to that a fluorescent elephant that glowed in the dark. The elephant’s trunk reached out towards a pure white shell that was full of brightly glowing red glass beads, each like a droplet of blood.

The shell was followed by a rock, sparkling with amethyst crystals, then a small skull – presumably this had originally been intended as an ashtray, but despite its size it looked so genuine that anyone looking at it would have felt the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end, with a shiver of mortal fear. Next in line was a green porcelain hand holding an almost
life-sized
alabaster egg, while beside that crouched a goblin made of black clay, its mouth in a grimace and its arms outstretched. The bear’s hand just reached the next object: a small round stone, like the earth seen from deep in space, that looked as though it could well have been spun at the bottom of a giant’s cauldron. The stone was followed by a brass owl, barely the size of a thumb, while the owl was joined by a titmouse ruffling its feathers. Finally, on the far right-hand side, was a sacred white scarab made of stone, a beetle whose job it seemed was to keep the whole throng in tow.

Matti was lying on the floor, his hands propping up his chin, and from that perspective everything looked rather different from the way it looked crouching down or from above. He was wearing a large set of headphones, the kind that kept both the high and the low notes in perfect balance, allowing him to concentrate solely on the objects in front of him. In this precise order they formed a symphony of their own; not any old symphony, but one that didn’t yet appear on any recordings, one that nobody had ever heard, and though at times it seemed to include parts of the alternating horn theme from
Sibelius’ Fifth
, it was otherwise entirely his own composition.

When he first looked at the glass ball, the lower strings began to stir gently somewhere deep within the earth. Then a pair of tubas joined in, followed immediately by the timpani sounding a warning of their imminent arrival:
tu-rum, tu-rum.
The purring of the strings grew, rising from the depths beneath the floorboards. Finally the violas tentatively
joined the choir of voices and, as if pulled by a set of ropes, he rose up to his knees and his hands floated up into the air with his fingers loosely spread out. He began conducting, beckoning new voices and instruments, calling them to join the music, the notes all the time rising higher and louder. He moved his hand towards the reflector and the oboes softly joined in. It was the third time he had conducted that same symphony and by changing the position of the objects he could create an array of different variations.

Once the music was in full swing he picked up the smooth stone and felt the rumble of the instruments flowing through it, in unison. At this he began to make out the end of the piece: it would be a bit like
Sibelius’ Seventh
, the music rising to a crescendo, then thinning and drifting away at the end.

Sibelius’ works seemed like rock and roll, like real heavy metal – at that point he was thundering his way through
En Saga
and the
First Symphony
. When he thought about this he felt at once shy and embarrassed, as if one day he would be able to achieve the same, or at least something similar, and that all he needed was a little support – then suddenly everything was blown to pieces. His ears burned as if someone were trying to rip them from his head. The music died away and now all he could hear was the babbling of the television and the shuddering of the washing machine. Startled, he spun around and sat there, resting on his hands like a child.

His mother stood in front of him, her hands on her hips, Matti’s headphones dangling from one hand, and an expression like sour milk on her face. He knew what it meant. He was in for another lecture, complete with examples of what a little shit he was and how he was going out of his way to ruin her relationship with Roo.

‘You could at least knock,’ he said sullenly, amazed at his boldness.

‘Oh, so now I didn’t knock? You just couldn’t be bothered to answer, I was imagining all sorts.’

‘Maybe the music was up too loud…’

‘Music? What bloody music? Don’t think you can pull that same madman act like your father. You’re just as screwed up as he is.’

‘Dad’s not a…’

‘Quiet! I’m not interested in that good-for-nothing. I am interested in who’s been eating Kari’s sausage? I’ve told you a thousand times that the sausages and the whole milk are for him only. Don’t touch them again!’

‘I haven’t.’

‘Yes you have! You bit off a chunk, I can see the teeth marks. Kari had to throw the whole thing out and now he’s so angry he won’t even talk to me. You should be ashamed!’

‘
You
should be ashamed, you shit-head,’ he whispered, to his own surprise. Perhaps he only found the courage because his voice and lips were quivering, just as they had done that afternoon in the playground before he’d started to cry.

His mother lunged forward and stood, her legs apart, towering like a giant above him. Matti saw her raise the headphones above her head like a whip, but she didn’t strike him.

‘You’d better watch your mouth, my boy,’ she shouted. ‘Your father wants a settlement, which means selling this house. And that means Kari and I are going to have to move into a smaller flat. And do you know what
that
means?’

‘No…’

‘It means there will be no room for you! That’s how much your father cares about you, he’s prepared to make you homeless. He rang you again this afternoon by the way. I can’t stand the way he forces his way into this house. I’m going to have that phone cut off.’

‘Fucking arseholes…’

‘What did you say?’ She leapt at him. The headphones clattered to the floor somewhere in the background, and she started grabbing at his hair with both hands. It hurt, burning as though someone had poured boiling water over his head. There was nothing he could do but try and prise her fingers off him, but he couldn’t. He tried to hit back, and may have even struck her.

‘Kari!’ she shrieked. ‘Kari, help! He’s hitting me! Help!’

Suddenly she let go of him and quickly messed up her hair; then she gripped her cheek firmly between her knuckles and twisted it, leaving a glowing red mark on the skin. Matti could hear the thud of footsteps as Roo
came bounding out of the living room and into the hallway, the thud becoming louder and louder, like a stable full of horses galloping towards him.

‘Kari, help!’ she cried, though for no reason whatsoever. Kari strode past her with one enormous step. He only had to kick once and the entire symphony was gone, destroyed. Its different elements flew into the air and the flute – the small ruffled titmouse – lost first its beak and finally its whole head.

‘
Enuresis nocturno
,’ he thought. He was so used to talking to himself in the safety of Maammo’s temple that his lips moved now too, though he was around other people. They moved very slightly, as though he were sucking on something, a pastille perhaps, yet no one paid him any attention as he rode upon the great Orange Apostle – an underground train, as the heathens called it. It seemed an unspoken law that people should look around them but see nothing, only emptiness, the same emptiness that filled their mindless souls. Only he, the earth spirit, knew why this was so: the Apostle had silenced them and, unbeknownst to them, was drawing their attention and shaping their minds.

He was thinking of other things too. He was thinking of so many things at once that his mind resembled a coil of different coloured cables, almost like the one beneath his bedside table, but far more tangled and twisted. In a way his thoughts and deeds were like a fuse; above all he recalled the vermilion swirl and how he had succeeded in pleasing Maammo by carrying out her will, and a fond tingling warmed his breast. His thoughts turned instinctively to the new Big Bang. It would be similar to the swirl, yet a million times more powerful, and his function was to precipitate its coming. He thought too of the chubby girl and the compass mosaic, and the sound the Apostle made as it came to a halt:
phiuu-phiuu
. There came a whole series of these sounds, and as the Apostle jolted into motion again there came another series, only this time the sounds rose towards the end:
phuii-phuii
. It was a song of exaltation, a holy psalm chanted by the Orange Apostle to the glory of Maammo.

His mind was also filled with the revelation he had experienced earlier that day about the child disciple and the sacrifice, and now he realised that it would be better after all if the disciple were a boy; he could adopt the boy straight away by sacrificing three pigeons, at least one of which had to be a web-footed pigeon. To sacrifice his own son – that, if anything, would prove the extent of his devotion, and in return he would without a doubt be allowed to merge with Maammo and perhaps even to spend eternity as her all-seeing eye. He did not know any boys; yet the boy would surely cross his path if this were Maammo’s will.

Nonetheless he still examined and considered the woman standing in front of him: this one he would mark out as his own. She would have been particularly suitable, though she was rather on the young side. She was carrying a backpack too, and perhaps she was suitable precisely because of her age: beneath her tight jeans stood her pert behind, and something wet and seething hidden beneath its folds. Her breasts were crammed inside a bra embroidered with floral patterns or lace – he noted this as she stepped on board. All this was sinful and offended Maammo. Above all it represented greed in its most obscene and grotesque form. Her entire being greedily craved men, the feel of their paws upon her breasts and their pricks inside her. This in turn awoke greed in men too: the desire to take this vamp to their beds, to embrace her soft flesh and suckle on her nipples, and finally to shove their pricks into her depths.

‘
Esox lucius
,’ his lips stirred quickly. They stirred out of a profound disgust, for this represented the base greed of all people; that which made them yearn for more and more, better and better. It was with this greed that the human race defiled Maammo, raped her: chopping forests from her surface, drying up lakes and rivers, melting the polar icecaps, eating away like a cancer at the atmosphere. For this reason alone the coming of the new Big Bang was essential. It would destroy the human race, burn that army of lice to nothing, and thus open the path to the Truth and victory of the kingdom of Maammo.

‘
Ea lesum cum sabateum
!’ A torrent of holy words gushed through his mind and suddenly he felt the power and the grace of Maammo’s hallowed touch. His whole body seemed flooded with light, the fine green light
emanated by Maammo herself, and he was once again certain that he was indeed her most beloved, the holiest of her earth spirits, and this in turn meant that he was like a nail thrust into a stick of dynamite. The explosion he would cause could set the process in motion and lead ultimately to the realisation of the Truth.

‘
Faustus dies
,’ he murmured to himself as he quietly wiped away a tear that had crept its way from beneath his glasses and down his cheek; at the same time he clasped his other hand tighter around the scalpel. However, this was no ordinary surgical knife, but a stamp blessed with the holy marks of Maammo. It was unique in that he had first snapped it in two almost halfway down and filed its jagged edges smooth so that it fitted better into the palm of his hand, ensuring that no one would notice it. He slid the knife down several centimetres, between his thumb and first finger, and removed its protective plastic cap, revealing the razor-sharp blade. How he wished to sink it deep into that woman’s pert, rounded buttock! How she would squeal! Oh and the burning pain she would feel in the very part of her body that most strongly radiated her greed for flesh – and which awoke that same greed in others!

He swallowed many times, forcefully, a bobbing motion showing on his throat. Naturally he managed to control his urge because this was not Maammo’s will – it came from him, from the human within him – and he could only control that urge because he was also an earth spirit. As such his purpose was to carry out Maammo’s bidding, and her bidding was not – on this occasion – to make that woman squeal and cry for her wickedness, but to slice a hole in her clothes or backpack between five and ten centimetres long. This was enough, for it worked in two ways: it opened a channel through which the greed could flow out of that sinful being while at the same time it allowed the power of the Orange Apostle to work its way inside the wretched woman’s thoughts.

Phiuu-phiuu
, chanted the Apostle as he began to slow his speed. He noticed this himself – it was as if a great force were pulling his entire body forwards; people began moving, the hastiest amongst them standing up. His woman moved towards the door; he would have to move quickly and press himself against her. But the moment was not yet right; not until the doors
had opened - when everyone was looking at the ground, at their feet, watching their step. That was the right moment.