The Silent Pool (13 page)

‘Are you looking forward to the sermon? It's Father Michael, isn't it?’

‘Nah, man. I'm here just for the healing. Just for the healing.’

In that instant the child before him seemed to age before Erasmus’ eyes.

Erasmus stuck out his hand. ‘Erasmus Jones.’

The kid shook his hand. ‘That's a weird name.’

Erasmus took an instant liking to the kid. ‘My mother and father were weird people. What's your name?’

‘Thomas. Call me Tom, though.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Tom.’

At the front of the altar, or more accurately the stage, there was movement. The musicians picked up their instruments and began to play a mournful bass refrain. Lights were dimmed. Everyone in the church fell silent.

Then an electric organ played some big uplifting major chords. A spotlight appeared on the stage.

A booming voice from the PA system announced, ‘Ladies and gentleman, people of the World Evangelical Church, do you want to be saved today?’

Behind Erasmus the audience rose to their feet, clapping and cheering and screaming ‘yes’ and ‘amen’. Erasmus turned to look at the congregation and to his horror found himself starring straight into the steely grey eyes of Officer Cooper dressed in jeans and a T-shirt bearing the legend ‘I'm Saved – Are you?’

Cooper recognised Erasmus immediately and Erasmus found himself slightly shocked to see Cooper mouth a very unChristian, ‘Fuck You,’ at him.

He looked down at Tom. ‘Excited yet?’

‘Nah. I've seen it all before. He's coming now.’

The booming voice returned. ‘Then welcome into your hearts, your soul, our Lord, the saviour, the King of Kings, Lord Jesus Christ and his main man, Father Michael!’

The band was fully cranked up now and the parishioners cheering like they had just seen Liverpool score the winning goal in a cup final. Out of the shadows and into the spotlight strode a small man wearing jeans and light blue shirt tucked into his waistband. He had jet-black hair and was wearing make-up so thick he almost glowed. Under the lights and with the make-up it was difficult to judge his age but Erasmus would have guessed anywhere mid-fifties and early seventies.

Father Michael stopped dead in the centre of the spotlight and raised a hand in a salute that Erasmus thought was oddly reminiscent of a Black Power salute.

Erasmus looked at Tom who was trying to stifle a grin.

Father Michael opened his eyes.

‘Can I get a witness?’

As one the crowd chanted, ‘Yes’. More cheering and whooping. This was unlike anything Erasmus remembered from his childhood religious experiences.

Father Michael dropped to one knee, his stiff movement betrayed an age greater than his face suggested.

‘OK let's get this show on the road. Let us pray!’

The next forty minutes were bizarre: more Vegas than the Church as Erasmus knew it. But it left Erasmus thinking he could see the appeal. It was pure entertainment.

There was praying, a little sermonising, stories, singing, speaking in tongues and then some dancing in the aisles. Erasmus remained firmly in his seat and looked forward. He could feel Officer Cooper eyes burning into the back of his skull.

He could understand why Father Michael's church was packed out. He was a great speaker. He was the type of person who could talk for hours about the drying quality of paint and you would listen attentively. Erasmus didn't buy any of it, but he listened with a studied detachment as Father Michael went through what Erasmus suspected was a thoroughly rehearsed routine.

It was about the Rapture.

‘And that day will come, the moon will turn red, the skies blacken and the rivers will boil and blood will flow from Armageddon to Allerton High Street. Will the Government be able to save you?’

‘No,’ cried the audience.

‘No indeed, ladies and gentleman, no indeed. The Government will disappear under the heels of the dark hordes marching through our fair land, burning, killing and destroying all that lays before them with the sword of the Goat. Can the Army save you?’

‘No!’ went up the cry.

‘No, indeed, they cannot save you! Ladies and gentleman on that day only one thing can save you and that is Jesus Christ. If you join the Army of Christ then you will raise your eyes to the heavens and be transported out of this broken world on the day of the Rapture. On that day the chosen few – and it weighs heavy on my heart that it will be so few – that chosen few will be taken from this corporal world by our Lord's son, the saviour Jesus Christ and they will be placed on the right hand side of our saviour. They will not bear the blows and crushing of the horde, they will not burn for they will be saved. The Rapture will not be a day of fear for them, it will not cause them pain and fury, it will be their day of love. Will you be there?’

There was a loud and tumultuous chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘amen’.

Tom, who had been listening to his headphones, now looked up. He took off his headphones and stared intently at Father Michael. Erasmus had an idea what was coming and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

‘But we got to get you ready and in fit shape for that day. That includes laying off the kebabs, and yes, I do mean you, Brian Jackson!’

There was laughter from the audience. A large man near the front blushed and his friends clapped him on the back.

‘In all seriousness, folks. Is there anybody here today who needs healing?’

All the kids near Erasmus, including Tom, put their hands up. Some of them rocked back and forth excitedly.

Father Michael nodded to the red shirts.

Cindy and another red shirt walked over to the nearest to them and picked him up out of his wheelchair. He was maybe fifteen years old, thin and emaciated. His limbs flopped limply by his side.

They held him before Father Michael.

The audience fell silent.

Father Michael rocked back on his heels, eyes closed with his hand in the air. He called on the Holy Spirit to enter him and make the child whole again. He washed his hands in the font and then began to recite barely audible passages from the Bible. He shouted, rocked back and forth and then suddenly laid his hands on the child whose eyes were wide open, exhibiting a mixture of terror and excitement.

The child jerked as though an electrical current had been applied to him. He then passed out.

‘My son, you are healed!’ said Father Michael.

There was a hushed silence in the hall and an air of excited anticipation that struck Erasmus as ghoulish.

‘Stand up, my son!’

Slowly, the child moved. First stretching his limbs out of the unusual crooked position he had held them in, then gradually, like Bambi, he placed his weight on his shaking, unsteady legs and stood up.

The crowd went wild. A woman, who Erasmus supposed was the child's mother, rushed to the stage. She was sobbing and kept repeating that her little Jack hadn't walked for over a year and that the Devil had been banished.

Tom turned to Erasmus. ‘Jack's got ME, and he's got it because his mother tells him he's got it. Know what I mean?’

After the success of the first ‘healing’ the red shirts went along the line taking sick children onto the stage for Father Michael to repeat his laying on of hands. There was varying success, some children reacted immediately and some remained in the same state as before. To these Father Michael announced they needed to spend more time praying to the Lord.

It came at last to Tom's turn. Cindy and another red shirt bounced over, smiled at Tom and asked him whether he was ready to receive the Lord's healing.

He said yes but with less of the enthusiasm of some of the other children. Erasmus had the feeling that Tom had been through this before. The red shirts rolled Tom onto the stage.

The red shirts went through the same procedure. They held Tom out to receive Father Michael's hands. Father Michael went through the same chicken dance, recited the same magic words, washed his hands in the font and then laid his hands on Tom's head.

Tom jumped as though electrocuted, then tried to rise from his seat. He pushed up with his arms and his body raised an inch off the chair. Erasmus could a vein bulging on the side of Tom's head. He pushed up for a second longer and then collapsed back into the chair. Tears of frustration formed in Tom's eyes.

Cindy and the other red shirt lifted Tom from his wheelchair and placed him on the floor of the stage. He looked helpless.

‘Get up, child!’ said Father Michael.

Tom, eyes wide open in some kind of trance, attempted to move his legs. Erasmus hovered on the edge of his chair wanting to stop this atrocity exhibition but he realised with disgust that he was in thrall to the show; part of him wanted to see if Tom could walk.

Tom was concentrating hard, tears pouring down his cheeks now as he willed his legs to move. Nothing was happening. He started to sob.

Father Michael stood over Tom and shouted, ‘Devil, leave this child now!’

Tom was shaking.

Erasmus had seen enough. He leapt on the stage and headed for Tom. A red shirt, Erasmus could now see his name badge – ‘Dave’ – tried to push him back. Erasmus ignored him and then Dave swung a punch at him. Erasmus easily ducked the punch and then jumped forward and head butted Dave. He disappeared from Erasmus’ view. There were shouts and screams from the parishioners. Erasmus ignored them and picked Tom up. He carried him back to his wheelchair.

‘You all right, kid?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, it's like the first time with different preachers. I have to tell them I have a different condition, you know, some punk ass condition like first stage MS. If they find out I have a severed spinal cord they never let me in.’

‘You need to concentrate on living, Tom.’

‘Easy for you to say.’

There was a commotion behind Erasmus and he turned round to see Officer Cooper running up the aisle.
Great
, thought Erasmus. He decided offering no resistance would be the best policy.

Copper took hold of Erasmus and span him round. Erasmus heard Cooper get out a pair of handcuffs.

‘I didn't think I'd see you again so soon but I'm glad. I'm arresting you for assault. And I have several hundred witnesses.’

‘They say religion is a crutch for the stupid, Officer Cooper. You can understand why I wasn't surprised to see you here,’ said Erasmus.

‘This is going to be my most enjoyable arrest yet. I'm looking forward to the interview down at the station.’

‘No one is getting arrested!’ It was Father Michael, and he had placed his hand on Officer Cooper's shoulder.

‘This is a house of God and while I don't condone the actions of Mr, Mr Jones, you say Brian, I can understand them. Our savior always had a special place in his heart for the children and Mr Jones was, in his own way, looking after poor Thomas.’

Father Michael ruffled Thomas’ hair. Thomas instinctively jerked his head away, but Father Michael smiled beatifically at him.

‘Let go of Mr Jones, Brian. Dave is fine, just a cut nose, I know he won't want to press charges.’

Dave, who was holding a red stained tissue to his nose, didn't look too happy with that but he nodded his assent.

‘But it's an assault,’ said Officer Cooper.

‘I think things may have gotten a little confusing and let's not forget this is being filmed. I'm sure you'll agree the church doesn't like to be seen as a place of violence and that forgiveness is a virtue. Let him go, Brian.’

There was a pause and Erasmus heard Cooper's sharp intake of breath.

‘Shit!’ said Cooper and then he took his hands off Erasmus.

Erasmus turned around and came face to face with Father Michael. He was close enough that Erasmus could smell the greasepaint.

‘Thank you. Great show by the way,’ said Erasmus.

Father Michael smiled with his mouth but not his eyes.

‘I don't believe I've seen you here before, Mr Jones. Are you interested in joining the church?’

Erasmus had wanted to speak Father Michael in private but he realised this was going to have to be a very public discussion.

‘I just want to ask you a question,’ said Erasmus.

‘He's not even a believer,’ hissed Cooper.

‘Is that true now?’ asked Father Michael.

This was an interesting question. Erasmus had been raised by Catholic parents. But they were strictly weddings, christenings and funeral church-goers. In fact, his father had been unable to ever use the word ‘Church’ without using ‘the fucking’ as a prefix. However, they also very strongly believed in God and he had that vestige of belief in his system. And despite everything he had seen, in fact, in many ways because of it, Erasmus wanted to believe, for him, for his dead friends, for Abby. He wanted to believe very much.

‘I guess you could say I'm agnostic.’

There were gasps and sharp intakes of breath from the people behind Father Michael. Father Michael's face had taken on a look of concern; Cooper looked triumphant.

‘Well, son, you have come to the right place. Maybe we can help lead you to God?’

‘Where is he?’ said Erasmus looking around. ‘All I can see is money and – ’ he looked up to the rafters towards the TV gantry ‘ – cameras.’

More gasps.

‘He should be punished!’ said Cooper.

Father Michael smiled again. When Erasmus looked up he had seen that the cameras were pointed at them, red lights indicating that they were still rolling. Father Michael was still performing.

‘God lives in your heart not your head,’ said Father Michael, touching his chest.

Suddenly, it felt very hot to Erasmus. He was crowded in, his back to the pews. Erasmus felt an ancient panic begin to nibble at his consciousness but he was damned if he was going to walk out without asking his questions.

‘Why did you pay Stephen Francis's gambling debts off?’

Just for a microsecond the smile disappeared and the mask slipped and Erasmus knew he had landed a punch. He pressed the attack home.

‘They were paid off, and by your people. It's true, isn't it?’ said Erasmus.

‘Unbeliever!’ screeched Cooper spitting the words out like sour pips.

There were murmurs of agreement.

‘Father Michael?’ asked Erasmus.