The Hanging Girl (33 page)

“Yes, that’s it. And if we look at another common denominator in these different religions, the cross and the crucifixion, again we must turn our attention to astronomical explanations. On December 22nd, 23rd, and 24th, the sun is, as most people would know, at its absolutely lowest point in the year. Particularly we up here in the north know that, because these days are the darkest of the year, and in olden times they were experienced as death itself, because it wasn’t known if the sun would ever rise again. At the same time, on December 22nd, the constellation Crux would be extremely clear in the sky about two thousand years ago, and after three days of watching that constellation, the sun—it’s tempting to say thank God—would once again start moving north. So, the sun, the very symbol of the divine, has been hanging for three days under Crux, the cross, after which it is resurrected. Our Jesus Christ shares this fate with most other sun gods.”

“Is this something that’s being discussed openly at faculties of theology?” asked Carl.

Johannes Tausen did a slight wave with his best hand. “Of course, most of it is well-known, but comprehensive astronomical interpretations like this have no place in theological studies.”

“Very strange,” said Carl, not knowing what to do with this knowledge. Perhaps it could’ve been funny to dish it out in his confirmation class, but the vicar probably wouldn’t have thanked him for it.

“There are many other phenomena that suggest a correlation between the celestial bodies and the stories we know from the Bible and lots of other religions. But I promise to stop soon,” said Tausen, closing his eyes as if to make sure he’d remembered the most important facts.

“I can only say that if you look at Jesus on a general level as the giver of life itself, as the son of the sun here on Earth,” he continued, his eyes
still closed, “then that idea has been passed on figuratively from ancient times in the sense that Jesus’ head, with the corona around it and the cross behind it, precisely resembles the sun cross of the zodiac. Jesus is the son of God, the light of the world, fighting against the dark forces. And if you want to go into detail, the crown of thorns is merely the shadow that appears when the sun shines through treetops.” He turned to face them directly. “I can understand if this is difficult to take in. In fact, it is for me, too, and as a theologian and a man of faith, I will admit that in many respects it’s a hard pill to swallow. But that said, this is only a concentrate of a series of lectures, and maybe it all became too concentrated for the occasion.”

Assad kept a straight face, but that’s how it was with skepticism—it had many faces.

“This all sounds completely . . . unbelievable,” said Carl quietly. “These theories must have the potential to shake the foundations of almost any religious group.”

The old professor smiled. “Not at all. You can also choose to say that this is the only narrative of any significance to mankind. The fact that it is repeated over and over is completely natural, given that mankind has always been in need of a savior and reconciler. And that is how I look at it, too. A really good and in many respects well-founded story for all times.”

“And that’s how Frank thought as well, I would imagine. Don’t you think so?” asked Assad.

“Yes, absolutely, and that is in fact the essence. When so many known religions are based on astronomical phenomena such as the sun and the stars, following their patterns, it’s probably because all life on Earth and in the universe is the result of these constellations, and that this in turn provides us with an explanation for the existence of everything—even the Lord himself, you could say.”

He stared into space for a minute, as if his last sentence had led to a minor epiphany. “Now that we’re talking, I actually believe I remember some of the things he said to me the last time we spoke.”

Carl held his breath.

“He said something along the lines of:
If you want to worship everything that’s divine at once, everything you can’t understand, you’ll have to give in to the only thing we know for certain: that the sun was given to us in the form of life, and that nature was given to us in the form of bread. Horus was the first sun god in the world, and therefore Horus is also the name of the primal instinct in man, commanding us to worship both the sun and nature with respect and care. All the things we don’t do today but ought to start doing.
And then I believe he added:
And as soon as possible.
”

“And that’s the last thing he said?” asked Carl, slightly disappointed.

“Yes, and then of course he thanked me.”

“Do you think it made him neo-religious?” asked Assad.

“Why, yes, it’s very likely.”

Assad turned toward Carl. “That’s several times we’ve heard that, Carl.”

He nodded. People on Bornholm had seen signs everywhere. The man who found sunstones. And the blind woman Beate Vismut had sensed it, too.

“What was it Beate Vismut told Rose about it, do you remember, Assad?”

He leafed through his notebook for half a minute, the professor and Carl watching. “Here it is. She said that Frank ‘was a genuine crystal,’ and that he’d seen the true light and reflected himself in it, unable from then on to live without.”

“There you are,” said the professor, nodding his head. “You should look for a man who lives like that. A man who worships the sun and nature, and Horus as the symbol.”

“We began with the question of what he wanted to do with his life before your fascinating account. Do you think the answer is that he might have wanted to become a new messiah, and that he found the tool through your lectures? Is that a possibility?” asked Carl.

The old man frowned. “I doubt it,” he said. “But you never know, do you?”

Sunday, May 11th, 2014

When Pirjo woke up,
her body was quivering with an unpleasant sensation, like the kind you get before an exam you hadn’t prepared for, or the morning after a quarrel you couldn’t resolve.

She looked at the clock, aware that she might as well get out of bed and get it over with. In less than one minute the alarm would go off anyway. It was 3:59
A.M.
, forty-five minutes before sunrise.

She heard Atu’s footsteps in the hall, heading as always for the beach, where he’d greet the first rays of the sun with prayers, despite the presence of clouds pregnant with rain.

Like him, Pirjo also had her routines.

To begin with, she needed to wake up the newly arrived course members, and then under the showers in the central courtyard to perform the usual personal cleansing process with communal wash-down and subsequent drying-off on the porch, gazing at the aura of the sun as it slowly edged its way up over the horizon.

After this, the new course members would go back to their cabins to perform a brief, silent exercise of chanting to the Celestial Sphere.

The permanent residents and temporary assistants were already working in their respective quarters, and now it was Pirjo’s task to go from house to house and check that all residents were ready. From time to time, someone overslept, and sometimes someone was sick. If Pirjo wasn’t there to check and help, the hour of awakening was at risk of being disturbed by latecomers who would suddenly turn up during the ritual.
Atu had impressed on them that culprits who were late would have to find something else to do, but sometimes it happened anyway.

This morning, three people were sick. They’d been vomiting all night, and the air in their rooms was thick with the smell of sick and fumes from upset stomachs. Pirjo fetched herbal tea for two of them and let the third one sleep, which was often the best cure. Understandably behind in her routine, Pirjo stepped out into the hallway connecting the small cabins. Normally she’d be on her way down to the timber circle by this time, so she accidentally overheard a conversation that wasn’t meant for her ears.

The men were out in good time before the assembly, and therefore they were shuffling slowly through the hallway. The light was still dim, but she recognized the footsteps and voices of two of the oldest disciples: one who looked after the crops in the greenhouses, and another who was helping to build a new timber circle to the north. A long, hard day’s work ahead of them, it was understandable that they were taking it easy.

“Should we take this to Atu?” asked one of them.

“I don’t know,” said the figure next to him.

“We can’t take it to Pirjo. That would be like taking sides in advance.”

“But if things keep happening that shouldn’t, and that Pirjo has some part in it, then where will we find inner peace?”

“I don’t think Pirjo has any part in it. It’s Shirley who’s ruining the harmony of this place, not Pirjo.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. So you don’t think we should go to Atu and ask him to stop the gossip?”

“No, why? Shirley doesn’t fit in here. So it’ll solve itself when she’s gone.”

Pirjo stopped so they wouldn’t see her when they turned the corner by the exit door.

“It’ll solve itself when she’s gone,” they’d said. The way Pirjo looked at it, that couldn’t happen soon enough.

She turned off toward her office, walked past the door to Atu’s quarters, and opened instead the next door that led to the solar power system control room.

It took her only a couple of minutes to remove the cover plates to the junction box and the inverter, laying bare all the cables.

So, she had paid attention after all.

*   *   *

The morning had been foggy, but just before the sun showed above the horizon, the clouds dispersed and everything suddenly became immensely beautiful.

Atu was waiting as usual, elevated seven meters on the platform in the timber circle, his hair glistening wet, his eyes turned to the sunrise in the east, consumed with the glow above the sea.

His hair was shining like gold, and his yellow robe was waving in the morning breeze. He was beautiful like a god.

He turned toward them, and everything went quiet.

“Let us greet the sun with upward-stretched arms,” he said.

Thirty-five pairs of arms stretched out toward the sea, and they remained motionless like that until he told them to breathe deeply twelve times, and then let their hands glide down over their bodies so that all the dormant energy of the night would be activated.

“I feel you, and I see you. Abanshamash, Abanshamash,” he whispered, stretching his arms out in front of his body, causing the yellow sleeves to flap. “I see you,” he whispered. “I see you, and your souls are beckoning to me. You are ready.

“Today is the one hundred and thirty-first day of the year, and it has increased by nine hours and twenty-two minutes. Three days from now, the full moon will rise, and the sun will gain strength through its arrival. Helianthemum, the flower of the sun, is in bloom everywhere, alongside potentillas and orchids. Just now, our greenhouses are bursting with green beans, onions, and cucumbers. New potatoes and asparagus will soon fill our dining tables. Let us give thanks.”

“Horus, Horus, blessed by the star, infused by the sun,” exclaimed the assembly with one voice. “Allow us to be your servants, and bear witness to the power you bestow on us. Allow us to follow your path and worship it, so that our descendants may find comfort in your bosom. Let
us be prepared when you go into hibernation, and let us never forget the reason for your presence.”

They stopped just as suddenly as they’d started, the same way they always did.

Atu stretched his arms out toward them. “Let us remember that a guiding star is something we follow, and let us at the same time beware of bestowing on the gods a so-called existence. Let us live instead in eternal knowledge of our own ignorance regarding the universal, and care for our immediate surroundings. Let us, instead of always demanding, concentrate on learning and settling for less. Merely feel nature and give in to it. Merely realize that man is but an insignificant part of everything, and that the individual is only significant in terms of their humility in the company of others.”

He laid his eyes directly upon them.

When his gaze met Pirjo’s, it was full of tenderness, and she put her hands under her pregnant stomach, knowing that she should feel happy. Instead, she had a sense of despair and unease. Something she had never before experienced during their assemblies.

If she didn’t act soon, she’d lose her grip.

She mustered the newly arrived, one by one. All these trusting people who’d begin from the very first assembly to breathe deeper, simply because Atu spoke to them and because it felt so precious. Their faith and respect mustn’t suffer. When she stood here in six months with Atu’s baby in her arms, she still had to be as she was now, irreproachable, and yes, like an icon. The mother of Atu’s child, the redeemer’s son.

Now Atu was smiling up there, like a father at his children.

“To those of you who are new, let me tell you that you’ve reached the point where together we will go through a series of nature absorption exercises. And when we are finished with that, I’ll ask you to come up here to me together with your tutors. You’ve probably already sensed that the spiritual paths many of you have chosen throughout your lives have no significance in this place. You have not come to engage in your own understanding of self, or to focus on what other spiritual movements focus on. You aren’t here to concentrate on your own soul and
consciousness, or to indulge in dogma or creeds. You’re here for the sole purpose of learning to
be.
To us, Horus is everything, but not only because Horus in many respects represents millennia of different clever people’s interpretations of, and wonderment at, the questions of where we come from and, especially, why. You may think that there is as much mysticism and hocus-pocus going on here as in other circles, but remember that what we are going through on a daily basis are merely rituals. It is our task here at the center to ensure that you can achieve the required peace of mind with simple, durable means, and nothing else. By using the name of Horus we merely express our thanks for the gifts of life and nature, and that they are enough in themselves. If you can devote yourselves fully to this, you’ll also reach a stage where you possess all the human characteristics that serve you best: compassion, love of your fellow human beings, and peace of mind to assess tomorrow’s path and power to analyze yesterday without regret and despair.”

Then he asked them all to sit down on the ground.

“All science builds on comparison of the known and the unknown, so therefore . . . ,” he began.

*   *   *

Pirjo pulled Valentina aside when this part of the séance was over and the newly arrived were ascending the stairs to the timber circle platform, their faces expectant, while the permanent residents went to perform their daily tasks.

“Yes,” said Valentina, apparently not intending to allow Pirjo to drag her away.

“I have good news, Valentina. We’ve heard from Malena.”

Valentina’s lips opened slightly; her hand moved up toward her chest.

“Malena?” she said, disbelief painted across her face.

“Yes, she called this morning, just before the assembly. I don’t think she’d considered what time it was here on Öland, but never mind. She’s in Canada, in a town called Dutton, she said. A small place in Ontario with a main street and an old provisions shop where she can buy all the French specialties she enjoys so much. She’s still travelling from place to
place, making a living by writing texts for people. She just wanted to let us know she’s doing well. She did sound happy.”

“Really?” exclaimed Valentina. She had clearly been hoping for more than that. A personal message, perhaps.

“I can see what you’re thinking.” Pirjo smiled. “And she did actually have a personal message for you, Valentina. She wanted to thank you for your friendship and everything you’ve taught her. She asked me to let you know. She’s very happy now, she said, and wanted you in particular to know that.”

“Friendship, did she use that word?”

“Yes, and her voice sounded very warm when she said it.”

Finally the woman smiled. “Will she be coming back?”

“I didn’t ask. Maybe, if she feels the need. I believe we’ll hear from her again, when she needs to talk.”

For a moment Valentina stood staring into space, trying to replace her excitement with relief. “Even though I don’t really mean it, even if I never see her again, I guess it’s for the best, as long as she’s all right, isn’t it?”

Pirjo took her arm. Now she’d captured her confidence and attention. Five minutes’ research last night on some random French-speaking town far, far away had paid off.

“I have more good news for you,” she said.

Valentina touched her neck. Could there really be more?

“We have an assignment for you. You’re going on a journey.”

*   *   *

“Would you come with me for a minute, Shirley? I’d really like to have a word with you. I think we’ve reached a point where we need to talk about the future, don’t you think?”

The woman straightened her robe over her stomach and down the sides. It was a movement she’d carried with her from her former life, when she was still making an effort to look presentable despite her weight.

“That sounds . . . interesting,” she said.

She could bet it was going to be interesting, thought Pirjo, looking around her. The hallway down to the office was empty, as was the adjacent office. Even better, the rays of the sun were now streaming sideways in through the windows.

Wondering how long it would take, she thought it was best to let Shirley go in first. If she was paralyzed by the first shock and fell on the floor, Pirjo wouldn’t be able to lift her up again. But then she could get the cable kit in the garage and hook her up to it. That ought to do the trick, she thought, suddenly doubtful. Perhaps the fuses would blow, or something would short-circuit.

She hesitated and decided to walk more slowly. This suddenly seemed insane, but what other options did she have? The woman had to go.

“Come with me into the office, Shirley, then I’ll tell you what we had in mind. Yes, you go first.”

She pointed at a chair on the other side of the desk, just next to the open door to the passage and the solar power control room.

“Oh, someone has forgotten to shut the door again—that’s where that noise is coming from. Would you mind shutting it, Shirley?”

“What’s in there?” she asked, her eyebrows lowered. A sign of mistrust or curiosity?

“Oh, it’s just the control room for our solar power system.”

“Really?” said Shirley, letting go of the chair she’d been about to sit down on.

Pirjo waited a moment before following her. “If you like, I can show you what it’s all about,” she said, pulling a rubber glove over one hand, while Shirley stepped into the control room.

Pirjo checked the effect gauge. Even though it was still early in the day, the production of power was steadily increasing. The sky had also started to look brighter and bluer through the skylight, she noticed.

“I must admit, it’s a bit of a mess. Our electrician has removed the cover plates from the junction boxes, so we have to be careful,” she warned, getting ready to push Shirley’s hand into the snake’s nest of wires.

“Nothing much would happen,” answered Shirley, unimpressed. “The
effect isn’t very high, and it would be very difficult to be killed by direct current. You’d have to be unconscious and have one negative and one positive wire attached to each side of your body. Then your insides would be more or less boiled. Like being inside a microwave.”

She said that in the very moment Pirjo stretched her arm forward, getting ready to press Shirley’s hand into the trap.

So she let her hand drop. Unconscious, she said? Wires on each side of the body?

Shirley looked at her authoritatively. “Didn’t you know that the first electric chair was supposed to have used direct current, but that Thomas Edison guy warned the authorities, telling them that direct current wouldn’t kill without excessively prolonged torture? He was the one who suggested alternating current instead. Crazy, isn’t it? Edison himself! No, this direct current would only sting a little. Perhaps it’d be different later in the day, when the sun was at its strongest, but not now. Shouldn’t I screw those cover plates back on for you, by the way? After all, it isn’t completely safe if worse comes to worst.”