The Book of Strange New Things(176)

He took his stand behind the pulpit. He noted that the ????? had tidied his bed, washed and dried and folded the linen, cleaned the boots that Lover Five had sewn for him, and placed a mislaid pencil on the pillow where it could be admired as a sacred relic by future generations. Now, blessed with his miraculous return, they sat in rapt attention, Bible booklets at their side, awaiting the call to sing the first hymn, which might, according to custom, be ‘In The Garden’ or ‘For God Be The Glory’. He cleared his throat. He trusted, against hope, that inspiration would come from somewhere, as it always had before.

‘????????,’ he said. ‘?ss??. ???? ??? ????????t ?ur? ???????s ???ss??????.’

Some of the congregation made the shoulder-trembling motions he’d always interpreted as laughter. He hoped it was laughter, elicited by his clumsy pronunciation, but maybe he’d never really known what those motions meant after all.

‘???ss?? ???t? ??ss??? ??? Jesus ??????s,’ he continued. He could sense their bemusement at his strained and childish speech, so unnecessary when they were only too willing to listen to the holy language of James the King. But he wanted to address them, just once, in a way that they could fully understand. He owed them that much: their dignity at the expense of his own. ‘???ss Jesus ?????t ????? ??? ??? ??.’

He finished his exact tally of the worshippers, begun as a habitual reflex: fifty-two. He would never know how many more souls were concealed in the settlement, never know how far away he’d been from bringing the entire community to Christ. He only knew that he recognised each and every person here, and not just by the colours of their robes.

‘??? ??????ss ?????? ?ur? ???,’ he said, ‘?????ss ???????? the Book of Strange New Things.’ He extracted the King James Bible from his bag, and, instead of thumbing the gilt-edged pages to a selected passage for reading aloud, he stepped out from behind the pulpit and carried the book to the Jesus Lovers in the front pew. With fastidious gentleness – not because of reverence for the book, but because of concern for the fragile flesh before him – he handed it to Lover Seventeen, who cradled it in her lap.

He returned to the pulpit. ‘??? ????? ??? ???,’ he said, ‘??? ?ss? ??ss????? God. ??? God ??? ??? ????ss ?????? ???ss ??????.’

A thrill of consternation was passing through his flock. Heads tilted, hands agitated. Lover Fifteen uttered a cry.

‘????? ????ss ???ss ?? God ??? ??? ????? ???ss,’ he pressed on. ‘??? t??? ??? ?????? ??? ??????? ? ?????? ?ss?????ss Jesus Lover Five . . . ’ His voice broke, and he had to grip the wings of his pulpit to keep himself from trembling. ‘Jesus Lover Five ????? ??? ???l ???i? ?????? ?????t ?????. ??? ???? ?????? ?????? USIC.’ He took a deep, shuddering breath. ??????t?????? ?????? ????????? ??? ??????t ?ur?. ?? ?? ????? ???????? ??? Bea. ???t? ??? ??ss . . . ’

And that was it: he could go no further: the word he needed, the most crucial word, was one he didn’t know in the ????? language. He bowed his head, and took refuge, at the last, in his own foreign tongue.

‘ . . . forgive.’

He left the pulpit, picked up the canary-yellow boots, one in each hand, and walked stiffly down the aisle, towards the exit. For the first few seconds, which felt like minutes, he walked in silence, alone. Then the Jesus Lovers rose from their seats and gathered all around him, touching him tenderly on the shoulders, the back, the abdomen, the buttocks, the thighs, anywhere they could reach, while saying, in clear, unhampered voices, ‘Forgive.’

‘Forgive.’

‘Forgive.’

‘Forgive.’

‘Forgive.’

‘Forgive,’ each in their turn, until he blundered through the doors into the harsh sunlight.

On the way back to the settlement, as his flaccid, empty bag flapped against his waist, he looked around several times at his church silhouetted against the brilliant sky. No one had emerged from it but him. Belief was a place that people didn’t leave until they absolutely must. The ????? had been keen to follow him to the kingdom of Heaven, but they weren’t keen to follow him into the valley of doubt. He knew that one day – maybe very soon – they would have another pastor. They’d taken from him what they needed, and their search for salvation would go on when he was long gone. After all, their souls dreamt so ardently of a longer stay in the flesh, a longer spell of consciousness. It was natural: they were only human.

Back at the USIC jeep, things had moved on. Lover One was nowhere to be seen, the medicines had all been distributed, and the food was being loaded into the vehicle. More ????? than usual were involved, quite a crowd of them. Both Tuska and Flores were available to take hold of the tubs, sacks and tins brought out to them, but Peter noticed, even from a distance, that the ????? approached Flores first, and detoured to Tuska only when Flores already had her hands full. He figured it out at last: they liked her. Who would’ve thought it? They liked her.

‘Let me carry that,’ said Tuska, as Flores took charge of a particularly heavy bag of whiteflower dough.

‘I’m OK,’ said Flores. Her hair was plastered with sweat, emphasising the smallness of her skull, and blue veins stood out on her temples. Her whole torso was sodden. She was having a grand time.

A little while later, when the three of them were seated in the vehicle and Tuska was driving away from C-2, she said:

‘We’re going to crack them, Joe.’