She rushed to the door, and was delighted that our business meeting had gone well, and even more delighted when I asked for seconds on the lemon pie.
~
It was all too easy. I ate and thought.
He ate and smiled.
'What did you want your bag for?' I finally asked.
'I thought you could push him into it.'
'And then what?'
'I didn't know. It all depended on you.'
'And now all my dreams are coming true. And yours.'
'Mm,' he said, missing the irony.
'Why don't I feel it?'
'You should be beginning to, but there is more to come.'
He smiled with a smile that could melt glaciers, in normal conditions.
'Ready, my dear?'
'Ready,' I said, wondering.
—44—
I drove the scenic route back to Wooronga Station, which would take the rest of the afternoon. This gave me time to ask questions in a place where we wouldn't be disturbed.
I left him to his happiness for a while, as I needed to collect my thoughts.
On a long, straight stretch of tarred road, I began. 'Why did he look like that?'
'Who?'
'Don't owl me.'
'He is what you make him. You never valued him,. You disparaged his appearance, so—'
'Whoah!'
I pulled over on the verge.
'You mean I killed
my
Omniscient? Me, who never believed in a
Him
in the first place?'
'Why yes. Of course!'
'You ... stupid!'
I opened the door and slammed it behind me, and began to walk. He rushed up behind me.
'What?'
I rounded on him. 'You idiot! I didn't kill anything. There's still your whole system up there, or down there, or wherever the fuck you come from. I don't care. I feel exactly the same as before, and you're a goddamn
fake
.'
'Angela!'
'Don't—'
I began to run, and he ran after me. A ball of paper sailed over my head.
'Pick it up!' he yelled.
I would have had to climb through a barbed wire fence if I ran any further.
I opened the ball. Every bit of both sides was covered in Brett's crabby hand. The ground was stones or tussocks. I bent a tussock, and sat to read:
Oyah! Oyah!
People of the world, Hear me. He whom you call by many names is Dead.
His Kingdom that you have for many of your years,
lived and killed for, is No More.
I shall repeat, because it is often so that you do not Listen.
Pay attention Well.
He, Known by various names such as
He Whose Name Shall Not Be Uttered, and
God (by many names and faces
) is No More.
His Firmament has been Rent Asunder. It is No More.
Ye shall not evermore be living your lives
for what comes After, for the After is
Here, and Now, to Every One of You, just as to the little Ants,
Every one of Them, upon this Earth.
From Conjuance, you were Born, so make that Conjuance: Love.
To Earth, you shall return, to nourish it. And Nothing More.
Wheels and Ladders are only that.
I have gazed into the eyes of the Alligator!
Yeah, Treat your Donkey Well, and Listen to your Dog.
Dig deeply your Wells of Love
And Remember: The Love of a Dog is still Deeper!
'Crikey! Have you?' I looked up, and couldn't see him.
His footsteps crunched the tussocks as he walked back to me. 'What?'
'Seen into the eyes of an alligator?'
'Of course not! I've only seen them in books. How about you?'
'Why did you write this?'
He squatted near me. 'Isn't it obvious?'
Nothing was obvious! I shook my head.
'Poetic license! It
sounds
better. "Yeah, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow—"'
'Yea, not Yeah.'
'Isn't Yea a little fuddy-duddy?'
'Shut up and let me read!'
Ye shall not live to worry if you will Fry in Hell,
nor to rejoice at your Wings to Come.
Your movements after Death will be of Worms,
and then, of other
Things.
Ye shall not live to hope your enemies will Fry in Hell,
nor to help them Hellward.
For there is no Hell but what you make on Earth.
And Ye shall not hold out some Future Joy
to those who slave for You, for the Wings
are not for your Species, during your breathing,
nor your Afterlife, which is, I say
Again, mere Sustenance to Others.
Live well, and Love All, which includes the other Animals,
who you so easily Scorn.
I glanced around. Brett had settled down in my shadow. He was pulling the insides out of grass stems, and chewing on the juicy flesh.
And the Vegetables upon the earth,
which, as with the Animals, were not put there, for You,
but for Themselves. And
each Lives as it needs to, and takes what it needs,
and so You Shall, with
Nothing More Unless.
Unless You Overstep.
For the One you call the All-Seeing is Dead.
The One you called the Merciful, is Slayed, because He Wasn't,
and
Because too many of you Slayed Each other On His Behalf,
and AND (I say) because you made the Evilest Construct:
Your Hells and Heavens,
so that so many of your kind, so undeserving,
fried or flew, according to
your often SO WRONG Judgements.
Now, because you must Live with No Afterlife,
Your Hell away from Home (your Earthly space,
your Earthly lives) has been
returned to you, as has your Heaven (open your eyes, to recognize), and Live,
You Must, OR ELSE.
For Angela has Slayed
the one you called the Merciful,
the Omniscient, God, etc.
And If you Disbelieve me, bitterly shall you laugh.
I wanted to laugh, too. And the thing hadn't ended yet. Brett was still engaged in his Walt Whitman imitation, bogging into more grass even as the pile of chewed ends piled up beside him. I dropped my head to read to the bitter end.
By many
Signs, shall you know the Truth
.
The signs of Angela are Everywhere.
If you look.
8
The signs of this Truth will be many, and the Truth shall reign FOREVERMORE.
For I was
the Devil, the very
Satan himself
,
and now, she has made me one of You.
I, who was the King of the Underworld, and
am now a mere sojourner on the loveliness of earth.
She has Saved Me by her pity, and
Slayed the Arrogant. Angela!
She will have no Servants carrying out her wishes.
She will have no Seers, interpreting her wishes. She is Angela,
and Orders you to
Love one Another, and the creatures of your World
.
For I say again, THERE IS NO OTHER FOR YOU
.
Oyah! Oyah!
If you Slay for Her, or
Persecute in her good Name,
She will Hunt you Out, and the
Whole World shall Know.
Angela!
8
I sat so long with the paper on my knees that I forgot where I was, till a flock of gang-gangs screeched overhead. I straightened my back, but what could I say—
You write like a tourist to earth?
He had finished chewing and was now just watching me.
'What is this?' I asked.
'It's all around the world today.'
I was a bit slow off the mark, probably 'staring stupidly'.
'I sent it everywhere,' he explained.
'Every—'
'Almost. Five hundred and seventy-two languages. Newspapers, of course, but virtually everywhere. If you got mail—'
'And what is this supposed to do?' I asked, amazing myself with my calmness.
'It's a notice. A verse. A statement. A manifesto, if you will.'
Blood burbled in my veins. I could
feel
it running—hot lava, ready to spew.
'Politely speaking,' I kept my voice under control. 'This a
rave
. As in raving mad. Bonkers.'
He regarded me with benign tolerance.
'This is your plan?' I threw the piece of paper as far as I could. Its all-elbows crumpled mass boomeranged in a wind caprice, and hit me in the face. Which reminded me.
'And what's the eight for?'
'Resonance, Angela. Resonance.'
Soon, night would fall.
I walked back to the ute. He followed.
—45—
Kangaroos can kill you. The problem is, they're like starlets. Attracted to the bright lights, they stand still, staring at you till you swerve away or you hit them.
Which is just what I did, on a piece of curving road halfway back to Wooronga Station.
Not to worry. I wouldn't have bought the ute without bullbars. The roo bounced off.
I almost crashed, though, from Brett's screams.
Yelling 'It's okay!' didn't work. At the second 'Shut up!' he did.
'Aren't you going to stop?' he asked.
'It's dead, Brett, or will be soon.'
'But there might be a baby in the pouch.'
'You gonna be Mum?' I laughed. 'Grow up.'
He didn't pursue the matter, and the road took all my attention. Beside me, I heard the unmistakable snuffle and choke of grizzling.
That blood of mine could have fried chips. 'Pathetic!'
'Pardon?'
'Yes, master. Certainly, master. Three bags full, master! I've seen wethers—that's sheep with their nuts bit off—with more balls than you today. And the only one who said, "Bah, Humbug!" was me.'
The night was so dark I wouldn't have been able to see his face if I tried, but I didn't try, and anyway, the road was challenging. And frankly, I didn't give a damn.
'And another thing,' I added. 'That love of a dog crap. You smarm around that dog so much, he's gonna give you worms.'
He didn't reply, but at least he stopped that infernal grizzle.
Tomorrow is the nother day
, I thought to myself.
Before dawn, I'd be up if I had to stay awake all night. As far as I was concerned, Brett had sold me his last encyclopaedia. I don't know why I didn't think of splitting long ago, but I felt a sense of strength and self-confidence that I never had before. I could get enough money out of Mum's bag to fill the tank when I needed, and by the time they were up, I'd be far, far away. The ute would sell, used, for less than I bought it for, but would still fetch enough to buy me a life.
—46—
A half-hour later, we got a puncture. I had to tell Brett to get out. He was both clueless as to what had happened, and knew as much about changing a tyre as I do about baking an angel food cake. He watched. In the starless night, I changed the tyre by feel. Just after dropping the flat on my foot, rain began to fall.
It rained all the way back, and the left windscreen wiper whinged
yeee chee, yee chee
the whole bloody way.
By the time I pulled up in front of the house, it was almost eleven o'clock.
The door exploded open, and a dog flew out. Brett hadn't even properly gotten out before Fly was all over him.
'Down, boy,' Mum yelled, running down the stairs.
'Me first,' she said, and wrapped her arms around Brett's neck. The night was so still that when she whispered in his ear, I distinctly heard, 'I'm a selfish bitch.'
He sighed. 'My little Dory.'
And they somehow made it into the house, though they were so wrapped around each other going up the steps, that Mum slipped. Brett swept her into his arms and clomped up the last step onto the verandah. The door had shut, so he kicked it open with his gumboot, and with the greatest of care, carried her through. Before the door slammed shut, Fly flew in.
~
I wasn't needed. I wasn't noticed. There was a big bowl of apples on the table, and Brett ate one, sitting in an easy chair, while Mum sat at his feet, unwrapping gauze bandage.
Dad had called her 'Dor', and that had always been good enough. Now, Brett went from 'My little Dory' to 'Adorable Dory Anthea' to 'My love' to terms he could have only found in Mills & Boon.
She called him 'love of my life', 'Brettskins', 'my beamish man', and 'heaven-sent', a term that stirred both of them to gales of laughter.
I watched. It didn't matter. They didn't notice.
'Justin called while you were away,' she said.
'I thought he might,' he said. 'Did you tell him we can't go to Venice?'
'Yeah. Though he didn't understand about a dog stopping us.'
'He's not a dog person.'
'He asked whether you would consider a quick trip by yourself,' she said.
'And what did you say?'
'I said that you'd talk to him.'
'I will, but the answer, should he lobby you again, is,' and he leaned over to kiss her on a crows foot, 'Not on your life.'
~
There was, at one point, a bit of excitement. She was sitting crossways on the chair, her legs over the side, her arms around him as they kissed, when one of her hands raked through his curls, and she jerked away.
A horn was in her hand. Her face was horror-stricken. 'Did it hurt?'
'Not a bit,' he said. 'Why don't you see if the other one comes off.'
It did, easy as cheese slices separating.
'Give 'em to Fly,' he suggested, and she dropped them by the chair.
'I expect the rest'll come off, too,' he murmured, before they clamped together again.
I could only watch so much.
'She's gonna give you worms,' I said, loud enough that they had to hear.
Then I went to my childhood room and shut the door on the sounds of mouths.
—47—
I slept through dawn and much of the morning, but not a creature was stirring when I crept out the door, three hundred dollars richer.
There might have been a
woof
from inside the house as I pulled out, but I was down the road and out the gate before you could say 'bugger'.
The sun shone. Birds probably sang. I was in such a good mood that I stuck my arm out the window and banged on the rooftop to the sound of my brother's stupid song.
By the end of day, I would have enough money to leave the country.
The noon news brought the usual fright stuff. Health care is under threat, the opposition warns. A volcano blew in the Indian Ocean, somewhere called Barren Island. Death toll, a team of scientists, seven so far. One on critical list. A major portion of the Wailing Wall collapsed. Authorities are pointing fingers. There will be an investigation. House prices set to fall. A new peace initiative for Northern Ireland.
By noon, I was on a stretch of road that looked down upon the ocean. The ocean breeze caressed me, reminding me of how I needed to get my hair trimmed. I stopped for fish and chips, and took them to a picnic bench where I could see the beach below. I ate my lunch and watched two old blokes worm-fish.
I filled up with petrol and got in the car again. I drove for the pleasure of driving. The radio was lousy, but I kept it on, with its monotonous songs and its hourly news.
At two o'clock, the volcano had grown, and thousands were being evacuated in Calcutta. A scandal in America was causing titters worldwide—a television preacher caught embezzling. Housing prices set to fall.
At six o'clock, I was tired and in some decent-sized town, so when I came to a motel that looked okay, I pulled in. I could sell the car here tomorrow.
The next day dawned even prettier than the one before. I had slept beautifully, and wanted nothing more than to drive. I still had lots of cash, so I decided to sell when I had to.
This time, I drove inland again, as the roads were more fun. The radio quickly became crappy country radio, and the over-sombre ABC. 'This is the Australian Broadcasting Corporation,' it droned, sententiousness itself. But often, that was the only thing on, so I left it on that.
At the noon bulletin, I nearly crashed. 'The Angela Cult' was the top story. A bug in some Ramadan food, a tremor in Ayodhya, that scientist who was on the critical list being the eighth casualty in the initial Barren Island eruption (thousands unaccounted for now, but that was not the issue, which was 'eight'), followed by a rash of eights (including all the 8s in temperature both F and C, from Washington DC to Addis Ababa) ... and then there was the sky raining ash in some places, and the drift of clouds in others ... And by three o'clock, Angela had taken over the world.
~
I was on a deserted stretch of country, all needle-grass and kangaroos, when the sun blinded me on its way to the horizon. I pulled off the road, drove through a rotted barbed wire fence, and stopped.
That night, I listened to the radio until it stopped.
To a few billion people, I was already The Omniscient.
It was frustrating to be so isolated in the midst of such cataclysmic change. I wished I could look down upon the world, and then I was.