Reinvention, the

the reinvention

PART ONE

the preacher

Dawn filtered through the small town of Verde Valley, Arizona. Light
pink rays wound themselves from the clear sky, mingling with the dirty
red ground-dust. And with the gentle rays came the gentle rustle of a
delicate breeze. The faint sound of a far-off pickup truck could be
heard winding its way through Indian territory. Painted red, it had
lost its sheen long ago; now, as it barked and coughed with age, the
bright proud red had been reduced to the same dirty rust as the rusty
dirt it ground up and spewed out.
Two figures were sat inside the cab; both silently contemplating the
grand expanse of the minimalist landscape. The driver, a grizzled local
on his way back from an out of state trip, seemed to be in his late
forties: grey-white hair seeped messily from beneath his tattered old
baseball cap, almost reaching his pocked and ugly nose. His eyes,
shadowed by an overlarge brow, darted suspiciously at the dawn scenery,
as if he expected Nature to start conspiring against him. His
unnaturally tight grip on the large wheel confirmed that his character
was indeed suspecting and untrusting. He reached into his shirt pocket,
and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered the pack to his
passenger, and began scratching his rough chin, pulling on his stubble
once in a while.
Whilst the pickup approached the end of its journey, Daisy Saint-J
approached the end of her dreaming. As she made the transition from one
world to the other, a peaceful tide washed through her mind, and when
her eyes slowly opened, they welcomed the new day with a serene
sparkle. She lay in bed as the last moments of her dream went through a
repeating fade, and a smile brightened her soft face. Life melodic
floated through her remembrance of the recent timeless suspension, and
as her mind hummed along harmoniously, the smile washed away any
negativity. So, refreshed by sleep and dreams, Daisy pushed her covers
off, and rose naked from her bed.
Through her open window, she could just hear the faint rumble of the
aged pickup as it neared Verde Valley. And when she went to her little
bathroom adjacent, the rumbling gained volume. All outside noise was
momentarily muted as she ran the tap to wash. She bathed her soft heart
shaped face, and re-entered her spacious bedroom. As she opened her
thick green curtains, the pickup passed by and made its way to the
centre of town. Daisy ran her hands over herself, slipped on a dressing
gown, and made her way downstairs to breakfast.
The driver of the pickup pitched his cigarette onto the road, and
began humming an old song to himself. His passenger listened intently
to the rise and fall of a lingering, yearning melody; after a minute or
so, he interrupted.
"What's that you're singing?"
The driver seemed surprised at his passenger's sudden interest.
"It's just some old folk tune. Can't even remember the damned
title."
"I like it, you got a good voice." The driver's surprise mixed itself
with slight bemusement. "You talk like you an expert, Preacher."
The preacher gave a smile, and reached into the cloth bag between his
legs. He pulled out an old tattered record, its sleeve frayed, and
showed it to the driver.
"Music happens to be a great love of mine, sir," he told him. "This
record here was given to me by an old man who taught me to understand
the language and the brush of sound."
"Nice words, preacher; I only wish I could understand them."
Again the preacher smiled, laughing too.
"There's nothing fancy there. Think about them and they'll be clear to
you."
The driver lapsed into silence, unsure of the preacher's meaning. He
swung the large steering wheel, and pulled the truck to a halt beside
an old boarding house.
"Thank-you my man, much appreciated." The driver waved him away, and
pulled out into the road. The preacher watched the exhaust ashes, and
knocked on the wooden front door.
Mrs. Saint-J, widowed for ten years, called hello to her daughter.
Daisy entered the kitchen, and wished her mother a good morning, coy
smile on her face.
"What you grinning about, Snowdrop? You been dreaming dreams?"
"I have mumma; the sweetest dreams I ever dreamt."
"That's good," and she patted her daughter affectionately on the head,
smoothing loose dark hair. "I put your orange juice on the table. Drink
up sweetie, and we'll go by the yard on the way to school." Daisy
Saint-J hugged her mother and drank her juice.
The hallway of the boarding house had acquired a musty smell through
the years of its existence. Memories lingered in every particle; all
kind of memories good and bad. As the preacher entered, the memories,
attracted, seeped electrik into his psyche. The preacher removed his
biretta, clutched it closely, and placed his cloth bag on the reception
counter. He rang the bell and waited patiently to be attended to. After
some moments a grey-haired, wizened old man stepped from the back
room.
The two men looked at each other, the other drawn by the preacher's
eyes. Sweat developed below his fluffed white moustache. The preacher
stared for some time before breaking into an ambiguous smile.
"Good morning, sir," he intoned, "I require a room for an indefinite
time; overlooking the desert if you have."
"Why yes, of course preacher," ingratiated the old man. "You just wait
here, and I'll take you to your room." "That's fine. Thankyou."
Although it lay in the opposite direction as the school, Mrs. and
Daisy Saint-J walked slowly to the graveyard. They skirted the
perimeter of the town, listening to the distant echo of the mountains.
They were caught like souls in purgatory, edged between the desert and
the erratic town. A warm current passed them, throwing a gliding tail
behind it. Mother and daughter smelt the desert in the breeze; saw the
buffalo and the birds picking cactus. They smelt the burning sun above,
and they smelt the Indians ritualising way past the distant mountains
and into the desert plains beyond.
Daisy scuffed her trainers along the dirtsand. She held her mother's
hand. Not through security but through love. She held her mother's
hand, and she scuffed her trainers along the dirtsand.
Daisy gazed at the fluffy clouds above, like white bulletholes in the
sky. She saw the angels

appearing out of &; disappearing into
the bulletholes in
the sky.

Sometimes she called out to them, but that was when alone, and sure
nobody watched her. Today, with her mother at hand, she merely watched
them. As a baby watches a mother appearing into &; disappearing out
of the prism of light still developing into Vision. On a cold dark city
night, the rumble of wet traffic sounds like the rumble of a distant
battle all muffled cannons and the squelch of blood slipping and
exploding eventually the five four will become natural. How funny she
must look, all curved grotesque like an illusory mirror, or a fortune
teller's glass ball.
Daisy Saint-J ran ahead as they neared the plot of land designated the
Verde Valley Graveyard. By the time her mother approached, she had
pushed open the tall gates, and now rested against them. She smiled and
held her hand out. They held and entered the spacious and calming yard.
They walked across the white-scrubbed stone path, and glanced at the
greystone gravestones, which rose above the ground, bordered by
short-cut yellow grass. And they came to gravestone marking out Tobias
Saint-J.
Kneeling down, they two whispered their prayers.
Kneeling down, the preacher whispered a prayer to god, and kissed the
head of Christ. Once finished, he withdrew a small frame containing an
ikon of Saint Francis of Assisi. He placed this faceup on the hard bed,
and whispered a prayer to his guardian saint. When this prayer had
ended, he got up off his knees, and lay down upon his new bed. Gazing
at the ceiling, muted reflected light entwined him, and he slipped into
a trance. As a vision unfolded, his body sank back in relaxation, and
his breathing slowed down into a very slow deep rhythm. He conversed
internally &; understands subterranean thoughts that he withheld
from himself. This, when he remained at the human thoughtlevel, was the
part of him that gave him his music; hearing it filter through his
consciounci, drifting up and dragging through darkwell emotions; heard
it echo like a wide mountain valley. This was the part of him that gave
a glimpse of the future d?ja vu, that recalled the ancient past d?ja
vu.
The mother and daughter finished their prayers and stood up on the
earthen ground. Their eyes fixed and understood. When the preacher had
rested enough, he rose from his bed, and settled on the task of
visiting the local minister. He adjusted and strai(gh)tened his black
black black attire, righted his cap, and left his room. The thin
crimson hall carpets only slightly muted the creaking of the wooden
floorboards, becoming unrestricted as he descended the staircase. As he
left, he asked the old man for directions to the church.
"Straight on down the road, sir. Just
straight...on...down...the...road."
The preacher nodded his thanks, and made his way straight on down the
road.
As they walked towards school, Mary Saint-J reassured herself by
talking to Daisy about the death of Daisy's father.
"Your father was called away from us, Daisy." Daisy nodded. "He was
taken away, and I don't rightly know if he is looking down upon us
Daisy; I'd say he weren't: so we better look after ourselves. You know
that, don't you Daisy?" "Of course I do, mumma." "I'm glad you do
snowdrop." As she said this they passed a preacher walking towards the
church some two hundred yards back. He fixed a captivating gaze on
them, and bid them a good morning.
"Morning Father," Mary Saint-J replied. "You the new preacher or
something?"
The gaunt preacher smiled, and flashed strong white teeth. Mary smiled
back, calculating his age to be thirty four. "If you're looking for
father thomas, I'll explain the way to his house for you - he won't be
at the church at this hour."
"That's very kind of you ma'am. I'm all ears," and he laughed. As Mary
Saint-J detailed the route to father thomas', the preacher cast his
gaze down upon young Daisy. His eyes shone brown at her, seemed to be
conversing with her. She felt a tingle pass through her, and her chest
expand like liquid cooling. She licked her lips, and the preacher
thanked the mother for the instructions.
"See you later," he imparted as he walked away, the newly rising sun
casting a long shadow behind him. They watched him go, and made their
way onwards towards the school.

The seven-thirty service began. The preacher had visited father thomas,
and had gained the assent to accompany the hymns. He listened to father
thomas preach sitting with the polished upright piano.
He listened thoughtfully to the father propound on being and
experiencing; father thomas seemed to be more forward thinking than
most other priests, and the preacher listened with human respect.
Father thomas nodded to the preacher, and the preacher played a soft
sustained chord. A-flat major, a sweet uplifting chord. He allowed the
chord to resonate and echo all the way to its disappearance beyond the
eaves, before he replayed the chord in sixteenth arpeggio. Schubert's
Ave Maria. The congregation launched into the melody, and the sweet
dolorous notes rose upwards, swelling and ebbing against the arched
roof.
Daisy Saint-J, leaning out of her window, heard the escaping music, and
a tingle, similar to her earlier tremor, passed through her. She called
down to her mother, who came up and into the bedroom.
"Come and listen to the church music. It's so beautiful."
Mother joined Daisy, and listened to the music. A joyful smile
smiled.
"Why yes, it is beautiful. So moving."
The two listened intently as the music floated ethereally past them.
The preacher's fingers rose left &; right is fluid motion; his left
providing the lilting lullaby quality, his right marking the rhythmic
melody. The congregation appeared to gain a new spirit from the music,
and sang with understanding and quiet passion. When the song faded to a
distant chord, a tingle vibe arose from their faces.
"Beautiful," whispered mama.
From the church, they heard a new song emerge; a song with no words. A
liebestr?ume by Liszt. F minor to A-flat major. A lover's dream. The
notes sank into Daisy Saint-J, the music more than mere black dots on a
ruled page. Daisy understood this, the preacher understood this.
"That was wonderful playing, father," a fat woman said as she left the
church.
"Thank-you ma'am, I myself felt lifted by it."
"Oh yes, father," the woman replied, warming to the subject. "We all
felt lifted." She smiled, her pert rosy cheeks deepening. Her grey eyes
gleamed, and she walked into the cold darkness of afterdusk.
The preacher watched her go, and returned inside the church. He
collected his cloth bag, pushed his loose leaves of music into them,
and moved away from the little wooden piano. He hesitated, and
returned. He sat down and composed himself.
His fingers gently leant down on the keys. He replayed the chord, loud.
C minor. The top note middle c. The sonata path?tique by beethoven. As
he slowly built to the Allegro bursting the bubble, his fingers
trembled. Louder and louder, until an explosion of rage. The rage could
not sustain itself, and the doubt set in. Frustration gave way to Sad
Hopelessness, but the rage intermittently reappeared. As the first
overwhelmed itself, the preacher slumped at the keyboard, exhausted.
Daisy Saint-J could feel tremors running through her body. She could
not hear the music playing, but she could feel it, and it pushed
through her like a speed rush. She sunk her body into her bed, her
breasts swelling, and her hands re-enacting the preacher's as they
slipped downwards.
As his fingers pushed down hard on the keyboard, her hands slipped
inside herself, and as his fingers stroked a saddening melody, so her
fingers followed his example. Instruments of joy, instruments of
creativity. The exhaustion came over them, and they collapsed
fulfilled.
"Are you okay, father," the voice of father thomas asked. The preacher
immediately lifted himself, and turned to face father thomas.
"Forgive me, father thomas," he murmured, "I have not played that piece
for some time, and it always moves me so."
Father thomas blushed.
"Forgive me, I did not mean to disturb you so." He smiled. "It is
beautiful. Beethoven, is it not?"
"Indeed, father thomas," the preacher replied, smiling too. "His sonata
path?tique in C minor."
"I had a falling feeling is all, mumma. It weren't nothing."
Mary Saint-J ruffled Daisy's hair.
"Okay," with a reassuring smile. "Goodnight. Darling."
" 'Night mumma." Daisy rolled away onto her side, and sucked on her
thumb.
The dark night sky shone clearly above, the constellations crammed into
the small spaces, the moon languishing in its own private spread. The
preacher's footsteps tapped along the night streets towards his
boarding house, humming a melody beneath his breath. Daisy Saint-J
closed her tired eyes, and drifted into a sweet deep sleep.

piano lessons

Verde Valley, Arizona lies 100 miles northeast of Phoenix, Arizona. The
small town lies in between the petrified forest national park to the
east, and the Wupatki national monument to the west. A short distance
north, and you found yourself in the painted desert, land of the navajo
indians. The little colorado runs itself just south, and the desert air
is usually too dry to be considered refreshing.
Verde Valley itself was founded in 1845, just before the mexican wars.
The french missionaries who founded it named it Verde Vall?e, in an
ironic dig at the desert that had almost defeated it. The old church,
found in the southeast quarter, was built after 1848, when the mexican
war had rung itself out. Wars continued to rage after Arizona had
joined the united states, but the small missionary of Verde Vall?e kept
itself neutral, concentrating on the conversion of whoever happened to
stumble into the small collection.
Verde Vall?e did not grow into a town until the civil war had ended,
and the feuding appeared to have been quelled; or at least quietened
down. For some fifty years, the small missionary slowly grew as traders
passed by on their way to california, and when at last, in 1912,
Arizona truly became the 48th state, a new church was built on the
northeast of the town. During the foregoing century and half, the town
name was anglified, fortunately not to the extent of renaming it Green
Valley. And so, as dawn broke one day, the new church, now somewhat
aged, had a cardboard sign tacked to the church notice board. It
read:

Piano Lessons
are to be given by
Father Jakob CHIMES.
the price is $10 for
fifteen lessons.

Daisy Saint-J, waiting outside for her mother to finish chattering to
the other women, played in the small church graveyard, containing past
senators and members of counsel. She leapt over the grounded
gravestones, and ran through the ill-kempt grass. Her eyes became
attracted to the preacher's notice, and she read through it
eagerly.
"Ten dollars for fifteen lessons," she read aloud, "only ten dollars.
Mumma," she called loudly, running inside and grabbing her hand.
"Daisy, what are you rushing about like that for?" Her mother
pretended to be angry, but laughed at her daughter's eagerness. The
other women started purring over Daisy, releasing the usual drab talk
of women such as them.
"Outside, mumma," Daisy said excitedly, "outside on the notice board.
Piano lessons bein' given by the preacher."
All the women oohed and aahed.
"He does play the piana so nicely, I gotta say," said the same women
who had told as much the preacher a month or so ago.
"I imagine you wanna go, do ya Daisy?" her mother asked, remembering
the seven-thirty service.
"Oh yes, mumma, I do."
" 'Nd how much did you say it was?"
"Only ten dollars for fifteen lessons."
"Well, Daisy," her mother said teasingly, "I suppose ten dollars ain't
that much to be asking for, is it?"
"Oh no, mumma," Daisy cried, sensing victory, "ten dollars isn't
hardly anything for fifteen piano lessons."
"Well, Snowdrop," Mrs. Saint-J finished with a smile, "I guess I don't
see any reason why you can't take 'em."
Daisy hugged her mother's waist, and ran happily back outside to skip
between the graves.
"I'll be along shortly," she sang out to her unlistening
daughter.
"My, that preacher'll have her playing Arizona in no time!"
The women laughed and continued their conversation.
The preacher greeted them as he passed them, and stopped to
talk.
In the graveyard, Daisy Saint-J played a pretend piano on the table of
one of the graves. She hummed Ave Maria as she played. When she had
finished, a single-person applause sounded from behind.
"That was very nice, ma'am," came the rich tones of a youngish
man.
Daisy swirled in embarrassment, but seeing that it was the preacher,
she felt her blushes disappear.
"Thankyou sir," she replied.
"Now, if I'm not mistaken, you must be Daisy." Daisy nodded.
"I am Miss Daisy Saint-J," she said.
"Well Daisy," the preacher continued in friendly tones, "I have just
been talking things through with your lovely mumma. You saw my
advertisement on the church notice board?" Daisy nodded once more, the
eagerness returning swiftly. Her feet played with each other, and she
sat down on the gravestone.
"Careful of your piano," the preacher said and laughed. Daisy looked
confused until she realised that he referred to her pretend piano. She
returned his laughter.
"Will you teach me?" she asked.
"Why of course I will," the preacher laughed. "And I should ask: will
you let me teach you?"
"I will," she replied, and jumped off the gravestone. Running inside,
the preacher called after her. "Tomorrow night at six thirty?"
"Tomorrow night at six thirty sir," and ran back in to collect her
mother.
At night, Daisy lay in her bed listening to the desert life almost
outside her window. She heard the occasional twitter of an owl, and
imagined it hunting lizard, vying with the eagles. And further out, she
pictured the vultures, awaiting the new day and a new supply of dead
and dying animals. Vie or die. Fight or flight. And over these signal
images, she could hear the ripples of euphonic harmony of a silent
orchestra; the notes became the twinkling of stars, the colour became
the milky way, silently watching over its own. Its own watching in the
dark. You can only see me at night in the dark. I watch you ever;
everonwards in protection of my darling children.
These thoughts drifted through the air, and as Daisy fell into her
nightly trance, these thoughts flowed into her mind. The preacher
collected these thoughts as he lay on his hard bed. His sacred record
played on the gramophone. An old orchestra captured itself; charmed
itself and wooed itself. A small smile trickled from thought to face,
and Daisy entered her dreams.
In the desert plains away past those distant mountains, the Indians
were in celebration; celebrating the hot sun that had recently shone,
and the hot sun that would return once more soon. They knew in
celebration came truth, and with this truth, the sun would return. They
praised ahsonnutli, and blessed him for the universe, and all matter;
they prayed that if their souls wandered, their turquoise man-woman
would gather them up, and point the way to his majestic wealth of
knowledge and experience. The colours swirled around as the memory of
the flaming yellow lingered in the ashes of the fire, upon the moon,
and the stars, like the sun had exploded beyond the horizon. The
Indians watched and the preacher watched. The great swans blew music of
the centuries, and the sweat streaming from the 12 holding the world
swam into the rivers; flooding into the little colorado, into the gila,
into the salt. Shooting stars swam across the sky, the spume of their
wake glittering in the crimson sky. Through night some dreamt, some
thought, some acted, and in the morning we all awoke.

At school the next day, Daisy daydreamt of the music; across the
backyards she spied the top of the church, the dark red tiles covered
with the thrown desert grit.
"Daisy Saint-J," Miss Whyss, her teacher rapped. "I do believe you're
dreaming the day away!"
The girl next to Daisy nudged her. Daisy looked up with a start.
"Oh I'm sorry, miss," she stated.
"Now you pay attention, and answer this question: what are the ten
commandments?"
"You don't need to feel so bad," the preacher assured the woman
confessing. "Having dirty thoughts isn't a sin."
"But father," the woman replied, shocked, "I always been told they
was."
"You been taught wrong," the preacher answered her. "You sound like an
overanxious teenager. Do you and your husband enjoy sexual
intercourse?"
He heard a throaty gasp from the other cubicle.
"Why, Father!" exclaimed Mrs. Rosedale. "I really don't think I should
answer that question."
"Why not?"
"What occurs between me and my husband in our bedroom is
private."
"Does god not watch over you constantly?" The woman fingered her
rosary in agitation.
"But..."
"There are no buts here, ma'am. I am god's familiar, his human form.
His vessel. Don't let people distort good words. Go home, and enjoy
anything you enjoy. As the long as the intentions are positive
pleasure, you have no need to fear god's wrath." He paused. Mrs.
Rosedale sat silent. "Now go," he instructed. "Say ten Our Father's for
your lying, and let it rest there."
"Thankyou, father, very good." And Mrs. Rosedale shuffled from her
booth, and tottered down the main aisle.
The preacher listened to her footsteps clack away from him, their
reverberations pounding outward curved as they spread through the
church. The redolence of dust gathered, and the preacher withdrew his
thoughts. His mind threw the shroud of memory across his thoughts, as
other, more distant footsteps shivered across his contemplation.
Through an unapproachable effluvium, cold and grey, the splattered
mystical gravestones rose crooked and shaken. The gravestones
strewn

like miniature ruins,
like altars prepared for a ritual.
Or like ships of the sky,
ever ready for flight;
some crumbled,
like cities destroyed during war.

Selfobsessed wars raged in the near distance, the air lying heavy with
a smoky blood smog, the occasional crack of rifles burning orange
through the haze, muffled shouts and muffled screams as men went down.
An explosion, and a nearby farmhouse reduced itself to rubble. A
thousand deaths and a thousand rebirths; fatalistic resonance and the
cultured breeding of the dark energies amassing sucking the fibres of
positive thought. We can't fight negative with negative. We can't fight
negative with negative. Listen to me, hear me, we cannot defeat
negativity through negativity. Positive thought is our sole redemption;
we should not allow ourselves to be hoodwinked by the elected
distorting our humdrum reality and introducing the unelected the
unallocated. Crucify me so that you shall have the truth, and the truth
shall set you free. This cycle of condemnation shall continue until our
self destruction or our self deconstruction; always and forever. force,
force, force.
Ditat deus, the preacher thought, chuckling wearily. god enriches. My
thoughts fed by the ceaseless mechanics of the Ever.
The preacher crossed himself, and left the confessional. Genuflecting
before the humble travesty nailed above the altar, the preacher traced
a kosmik prayer across the large chamber.

The next day at six twenty-five, Daisy set off on the short journey to
the church. Happy, she whistled a song through her eagerness. Her clear
voice rose pure upwards, enriching the surrounding atmosphere. She took
the outside line of the town, passing the graveyard. Her eyes rested on
the tiring sun, and the breeze blew cool on her cheeks. As she cut
across the field between graveyard and church, she spotted the lean
figure of the preacher approaching out the darkness of street. She
hailed him, and scurried towards him.
"Hello, Daisy," the preacher welcomed as Daisy breathed hard by. "A
glorious evening, don't you think?"
"It's lovely out, father," she responded, gathering herself, and
walking up the church path with him. The sun, as it finally decided to
dive, flashed a brilliant white sheet across the gravestones, then
retired. A nightbird cooed in the old ash tree, its soft vibrations
kissing the airwaves.
"Such a sweet 'n gentle sound," observed the preacher. Daisy listened
intently, nodding her head both in agreement and in rhythm to the
bird's sigh.
"Yes it is, sir," she answered, pushing open the wooden church door.
"
She held the door open for the preacher, who entered, and followed
close behind him. Their footsteps swamped well upon the thick velvet
carpet of the central aisle. Daisy watched the preacher stride
timelessly in front, following at/in her own simple pace.
"Have you ever played a musical instrument, Daisy?" the preacher
called behind.
"I have father; I played recorder in my junior high."
"Did you now," remarked the preacher. His eyes held an amused
sparkle.
"Yes I did; I played in the orchestra too."
"And do you remember what pieces you played?"
They had reached the piano. The preacher sat on one side of the wide
piano stool, Daisy on the other. She thought for a minute before
answering him.
"I think it was mostly just hymns and stuff, but," and she reached
into her memory once more. "I remember one piece had a name like...oh I
can't remember," she half-cried in frustration. "I'm sure you played
the other night at evening service."
The preacher reassured her, and hummed a few bars of emotional melody.
Daisy's face lit up.
"That's it," she exclaimed happily. "Yes, I'm sure that's it."
"I'll tell you what Daisy," the preacher said, the smile of an idea
now in his eyes, "I'll teach you that piece first. Watch where I put my
hands."
His hands played C minor forte, middle C being the top note.
"Now you try," he told her, and gently placed her fingers on the
ghosts of his. "Now push down hard, and feel the notes."
Daisy pushed down the notes of the chord, harder than the preacher
had, and the tragic sound of that beginning chord wound itself into the
surrounding fibres of the church. The preacher waited until the
reverberations had died down, and nodded.
"Beautiful tone you have, Daisy." He turned and looked into her eyes.
"Beautiful." She smiled.
"Now," the preacher said, amused once more, "we'll set about learning
the rest shall we? By the way, do you read music Daisy?"

We leave those two to their piano lesson, for it would be boring to
describe the intricacies of such a labouring passing of time, and our
reward would be a scant knowledge, and useless information. So, we
leave them, we walk back down the aisle of the church, perhaps
regarding the fine and heavy scented candles, maybe following with our
eyes, the stations of the cross. And we step outside the church, and
feel the crisp late summer night air,
smell autumn as it makes its way across to us. We cannot resist a
glance at the fading red sky. Already, a few of the earlier stars are
making their appearance known. Is that a planet we can see? I believe
it is; Venus perhaps. Yes, it shines brightly tonight. We think about
it as we pass through the little traditional graveyard, watching as a
squirrel scampers skywards along the old ash tree.
And as we make our way along the dusty streets of Verde Valley, that
tragic chord follows our route. Ah, here we are. We enter the sanctuary
of home, and leave that tragic chord outside. The fire burns brightly,
and has created a good heat for us in our absence. Making our way to
the television, we settle down for a patient night of watching whatever
starring whomever about whichever. Goodnight, see you in the
morning.

communion

"Peace be with you."
"And also with you."

The preacher accepted his eucharist from father thomas with a murmur,
crossed himself, and rose from his rested knees. Father thomas
continued along the snakeline of sinners replenishing their soul, and
reached the white-clad figure of Daisy, and Mrs Saint-J, dressed in a
pretty, floral dress. As an altar boy placed a round wafer of bread on
her tongue, the preacher watched intently, observing the sour taste
dissolving in Daisy's mouth. She crossed herself and rose, her eyes
meeting his; he saw her eyes in a thin strip of shadow, her large doe
pupils restless in their whites. His vision cleared and he saw the
smile on her face. They walked together towards the rear of the church,
and sat waiting for Mary Saint-J.
"Daisy," the preacher whispered, "why don't you play us all a
hymn?"
Daisy blushed in embarrassment.
"But father," she argued, "I ain't nearly good enough!"
"Oh hush you!" the preacher laughed. "You're good enough. You know
that tune I taught you?" and he hummed a snatch. Daisy nodded. "Well I
wrote it down for you to play now. You can do it Daisy." He leant down
into his cloth bag, and pulled out a few scraps of handwritten
manuscript. Daisy reached out and felt the tattered manuscript in her
downy hands. Soft light shadows fell from the peaks of creases, the
ceaseless inkmarks of melody and harmony. Her eyes followed the notes
upon their journey, an inner chanteuse leading Daisy through the
scribbled piece. She read until the coda, and her eyes went back to the
beginning, and read the preacher's dedication to her. She looked up at
him, her eyes trying to express timeless emotion within immature
framework.
"We can play together," the preacher suggested kindly. "I'll play the
low and you can play high." He laughed once more, and she joined
in.
The hymn that Mrs. Rosedale, previously mentioned parishioner, was
tinkling with, ended. The line of eucharist seekers dried up, and
father thomas moved onto a new chapter of his sermon. Time dragged by
as Daisy and the preacher awaited the Go In Peace section. Finally,
father thomas told us all to leave with clean conscience and pure
spirit, and, like the end of a movie, the congregation scattered before
the cast credits had barely begun rolling.
"Now don't you go wandering too far Daisy," Mary Saint-J said as she
passed Daisy in the aisle. "Me 'nd the other woman'll just be outside
discussing town news." She released a spirited grinwink, and Daisy
replied with her own funny face.
"Now don't you go worrying Mrs, Saint-J," the preacher rejoined, "I'll
make sure Daisy remains the paragon of virtue!" Mary shook her head in
amusement as her group of female parish members hustled her towards the
clear warm day outwith. When they were alone, the preacher crossed
himself, genuflected beside his pew, and escorted Daisy towards the
altar where father thomas busied himself with the task of candle
snuffing.
He turned as the approaching footsteps, smiled in cordial
greeting.
"Fine sermon, father thomas," the preacher hailed with habitual
compliment.
"Thankyou, father, thankyou." He snuffed a thick roman candle,
releasing a rich and sweet smell.
"I wonder, father thomas," began the preacher. "...I wonder if it is
possible for Daisy to play the congregation a piece on the piano at
this evening's sermon. Something spiritual naturally. I wonder if
that's at all possible?"
father thomas broke into a broad beam of a smile, assenting with
active pleasure, taking Daisy's arm in affection.
"Why of course, father! Of course!" He paused a couple of seconds.
"What piece did you have in mind for her?"
"I thought Schubert's Ave Maria, father."
"An excellent choice." father thomas nodded his head in
approval.
"I myself shall accompany her, soothe any nervousness she
feels."
"Excellent father."
"Very good. May we practice during the afternoon?"
"Naturally," obsequiously . "I have to leave Verde Valley for the
afternoon, so you shall have the free roam of the church."
father thomas excused himself, and went to his vestry to change from
his garments. The preacher turned to Daisy.
"You'd better get permission from your mother, Daisy."
"I'll run outside and ask her now," came her answer.
She skipped across the polished floorboards, her soft tread echoing
like rippling stones. Moments later, Mary Saint-J's head appeared from
behind the open doors far away, and called out to the preacher.
"I can't wait 'til this evening preacher. You sure she can do
it?"
"I'll teach her some this afternoon, Mrs. Saint-J," he assuaged.
"Great! See you later father."
"Yes, yes," he quietly replied, and went to the piano and waited for
Daisy.

Sweet tones crept through the church hall; washing over the ikons
lining the arched walls, cleansing the saintly statuettes. The preacher
sat patiently beside Daisy as she picked her way through the
piece.
"Good," he murmured in appreciation. "You've learnt so quickly, and
with such delicate emotions."
Daisy blushed at the compliment. "Thankyou father," she finally
spoke.
"Now, let me join in." He placed his left hand at the lower register
of the piano keyboard, and began playing a double-bass part. "And
please, don't call me 'father', nor 'preacher.' You call me
Jakob."
"Okay," Daisy mumbled, deliberately avoiding using the preacher's name
or title.
They played the remainder of the piece in silence, and even after the
last resonance of the last chord had drifted and blurred to the
horizon, they allowed the silence to speak to them. Finally, Jakob
turned to her.
"Daisy, may I ask you a question?"
"Of course you can father Jakob," she answered. "What is it?"
"When you pray, Daisy, when you close your eyes, can you see Our
Father?"
Daisy took some time to ponder the question. She nodded.
"I guess I do, Father Jakob."
"Good." He paused before resuming his questions.
"And when you beg forgiveness, or seek the favour of assistance, do
you hear the voice of Our Father? Please, take some time to
think."
And again, Daisy dwelt in the silence of contemplation.
"I don't know. I think sometimes I do, but I can't be sure. Maybe it's
only me."
The preacher gave a knowing laugh.
"A very good answer, Daisy. One that has inspired generations of
religious and spiritual thinkers." He shifted slightly on the broad
piano stool, gaining comfort.
"Have you heard the expression that the eyes are the windows to the
soul?"
"I think so, yes. In my English class I think."
"Yes, most probably. Now I want you to look into my eyes. Look into
them for half a minute, then close yours and begin praying. Then tell
me what happens. Tell me what you see."
Daisy gazed intently into Father Jakob's eyes, seeking an answer to
all her unasked quest(ion)s. As she slipped into an almost entranced
state, her eyes misted over and her blue pupils began losing their
already watered colour. Slowly, and without even noticing, her eyes
drowsed and her eyelids met. When Jakob saw this, he pulled his eyes
away and began playing the piece softly. He played through until the
end, and diminuendo merged with ritardando, peacefully resting upon the
final chord. As the music enlightened the church, a new light (unseen)
lay upon the fibres of energy, stranded in the fabric. Daisy, in her
state of being, became transported through the filament of the church,
her thought-energy becoming one with the church. Unseen, the Universe
seeped through the pores of her mind, filling her with the positivity
needed to sustain hope and furtherance. d a i s y d a i s y is
destroyed and all who sailed in her are no more. The Universe shook
through her with goliath bolts of electric current. Jakob clenched her
small delicate hands in his own, channelling the current as it flowed
unlimited in its full might.
"We are here, my sweet," he whispered, "we are ready to be
communicated with. Our communion begins with the death of the old Self.
The mercy of Universe is flowing through us trance and trance and the
neverebbing of the forward intensity guides us through the dangers of
the Unknowing. They in their ignorance will strike but we are prepared
to meet them at the Gates of Realities."
The church, in the reality one above robotic, shone neon in its
brilliance; a proclamation sent forth to those who dwelt above. All who
knew: saw. All who saw: knew.
As the chemicals in Daisy's mind mingled with the makeup of the
nonexistence, the white light pervaded her body so that she, like the
church itself, shone neon. As Father Jakob clutched her hand, he felt
the immense vibration rising from within her body, trembling a tidal
wave through his hands and up through his essence. After some time, the
moment passed.
"Wake, my pretty virgin," he traced quietly to her sleeping
overconsciousness.
Gradually, like the fluttering of a dying butterfly, Daisy's eyelids
opened, and her eyes gazed into his.
"Father Jakob," she quivered, "what happened to me?"
The preacher delicately slowly withdrew his hands, in
tenderness.
"When you looked into my soul, Daisy, tell me what you saw," he coaxed
kindly. "What did you see?"
Daisy took a few moments to collect her thoughts before
answering.
"I saw the Universe, Father Jakob." She broke into a laugh bordering
quietly on the hysterical. "Father, I saw the Universe and everything
in it. I know!" she exclaimed. "It was amazing."
Father Jakob smiled at her, a quietening smile, a calming controlled
smile.
"That's right Daisy," he said gently. "I knew that you would
understand the Vision. I had complete faith in you." He patted her ,
and tilted his gaunt head towards her smooth. With no preparatories, he
slowly kissed her upon the lips.
"We are here Daisy," he spoke into her. "We are here. We have arrived.
In ancient times your vision would have been metaphorical and featuring
angels. No need for such hush hush these enlightened times in the
distances of our allbeing."
Once more, he brushed his lips on hers, and she allowed his hands to
reach out to her body, slowly moving like a lioness in the grass.
"d a i s y."
He unbuttoned the few buttons on the front of her floral dress.
Reaching around his neck, he pulled his crucifix off, and placed it
upon her pale breasts. Pushing it gently so as to make a light
impression, his hand came into contact. The soft skin yielded as he
pushed his crucifix slightly harder. She tilted her head forward to
kiss him.
"Ditat Deus," Father Jakob proclaimed almost silently. "Ditat Deus."
He urged her against the piano top, now both hands on his crucifix.
They slunk to the floor, sliding towards the pews. As they glided
across the well polished wooden floor, Father Jakob unfurled her dress,
fully revealing both breasts. Suckling them, they disappeared unto the
first row of pews. Knocking against them, a collection of dusty
red-leafed bibles tumbled in slow-mo, hitting the air. They mounted the
leather knee-rests, sliding above the friction of a thousand
worshipping knees.
Reaching the end of the row, Father Jakob slipped Daisy fully out of
her pretty dress. In only her virginal white panties, they moved
lizard-like into the side chapel devoted to the grace of the Virgin
Mary. The candles lit themselves throwing a glorious glow across the
body of two. An unfelt wind billowed Father Jakob's black robe.
Slipping his fingers beneath her panties, he grazed the burgeoning
hairs, whispering Hail Mary full of grace. The blue and white statuette
of the abstract virgin.
Daisy pushed her hips forward and his fingers slipped naturally inside.
He lay her down beneath the rack of iridescent candles, opened her and
fucked her.

PART TWO

Introduzione

The kitchen door of the Saint-J's opened, and Daisy poked her head
around.
"Mumma!" she called out.
"Right here," called Mary Saint-J from the lounge. Daisy grabbed an
apple and ran through the house.
"How did it go?" asked her mother, looking up from a thick book she
had been reading.
"It was great, mumma," enthused her daughter, smiling broadly and
childishly.
"I gotta say," her mother said, "you look bright as a star. You got
happy cheeks."
"I do?" asked Daisy, and laughed in the same childish manner as
before.
"Think you're ready for tonight?" asked Mary Saint-J with a twinkle in
her eye.
"Oh I am," exclaimed Daisy, hugging her mother. She jumped up.
"Come on mumma, let's go take a walk into town." Her mother laughed as
daughter pulled her up from the chair.
"Okay, okay," she chuckled, "Come on, let's go."

The preacher gathered up his black robe and snuffed the candles one by
one. As he moved between them, his lips murmured a soft prayer to the
universe. A soft gush of wind flowed from his clothes, flickering the
licking flames as they died. The statuette of Mary gazed on in approval
as he passed her by; her little side-chamber exuded a warmth
impregnating the surrounding area, and Jakob enjoyed being the midst of
it. He glanced up at her and smiled. "Bless you, mother of man," he
praised her.
He heard father thomas entering from a side door, and moved into the
main chamber of the church to greet him.
"Pleasant trip, father?" he asked. father thomas looked up, caught
unaware that he was not alone.
"Yes thankyou Father Chimes," he replied. "And you?"
"A most successful piano lesson, thankyou." He smiled. "Daisy will be
excellent tonight, I can tell."
"Great. I can't wait to here her play. And." He added, "I heard a few
of the woman looking forward to it too. It'll be a minor occasion for
sure." He laughed softly, and excused himself. Jakob left the church,
and made his way to his lodgings.

a star is born every day

The winter came down beautiful but hard in Verde Valley. Frost shone
upon the hard desert, and animal refusing to hibernate found itself
cast into a cold friendless arena. The cactus and yucca entertained
themselves with charming lustre, seeming to celebrate the christmas
feeling. The people in Verde Valley had begun hoisting fir trees,
scattering tinsel and baubles across them. Main street bright with
decorations, the settling of the crisp and surreal atmosphere of the
forthcoming celebrations.
Daisy played carols on the piano, especially Away In A Manger, which
she would play two or three times through at a time. Her mother would
hum along with her as she busied herself. Often, Jakob would drop in
for dinner, and the three would pass the evening together; sitting on
the porch talking, playing cards. This winter's morning, he dropped in
early, carrying a few gift-wrapped packages, evidence that he, like
everybody else in this small town, had fallen under the spell of the
season.
Blowing out frosty breath clouds, he banged the outer porch door,
shouting out hello to Daisy and her mother.
"In here, Jakob," called out Mary from the front room. Father Jakob
went through to the front room.
"Good morning, ladies. And how are you both?"
Daisy stopped playing a carol, and turned smiling to Jakob.
"Morning Jakob," she welcomed. "Are those for us?" she continued,
having spotted the packages.
"Maybe yes maybe no; you'll have to wait until the 25th to find out!
Now play!"
Daisy continued with the piece, her feet tapping against the wooded
bottom of the piano.
"How's the baby?" Jakob quietly asked Mary Saint-J. She smiled
confidently, reassuring the preacher.
"The baby's just fine Jakob. Just fine." Jakob nodded his head in
contentment.
"Great," he murmured.
"And how's the father?"
"Oh, he's coping pretty good with it all"
"If he would stop worrying for a second," Mary admonished positively,
causing Jakob to laugh self-deprecating.
"You're a hundred percent right Mary! A hundred percent."
"Well, Jake, you just stop your worrying and help me bake my mince
pies." She patted him affably on his arm, and left the room. Jakob
leant down and kissed Daisy on the cheek. Flinging her arms around him,
pulling him close, she returned the kiss and stroked the nape of his
neck. Relinquishing for a few seconds, he gently placed her hands back
onto the ivory keyboard, and kissed her ear. He left the room, and
Daisy continued playing her christmas carols.

The time had come for the church congregation to be told of Daisy's
pregnancy. Although Jakob had proposed that Daisy and her mother stay
at home to avoid the kneejerk reactions of the parishioners, Daisy
determined to see their immediate judgement of her. It was agreed that
Jakob would inform father thomas before the morning sermon, and that
Father Jakob himself would deliver the shock from the pulpit.
Jakob was interested to see how father thomas would react to this most
controversial of information. He would use it as an approximate stick
of judgement, naturally diminishing reason by fifty percent to account
for the nonintelligence of the congregation.
At eight o'clock on sunday morning, he rose from his bed in the
Saint-J's house and went down to the kitchen to brew a strengthening
cup of tea. As he watched the vibrations of steam dispersing from the
kettle, he slipped into daydream, oblivious to the physicality of the
welcome kitchen.
The kettle clicked automatically as the water within reached boiling
point. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and looked around to see
Mary Saint-J smiling sympathetically at him.
"Scared?" she asked, with gentle rhetoric. Jakob emitted a low
laugh.
"Almost," he replied.
"Don't worry, I doubt there'll be a lynching." Jakob smiled to see
Mary retaining a good humour.
"I'm still not sure about not naming the Father," he said. "I think we
should be entirely open with the congregation."
Mary shook her head half-violently.
"No!" she exclaimed. "If you did that I wouldn't be so confidant about
no lynchings!"
"I know, Mary, but still...oh I guess you know them better than I
do,"
"You bet I do, Jake. We'll tell them, and we'll probably have to move
to a new town."
She sat down beside him, and they lapsed into a minute or so of
silence, each contemplating the same thought, each trying to envision a
solution to the affair. The solution suggested by Mary haunted them
both, weighing heavy and inevitable upon their collective brow.
"...you're right Mary; we'll tell them she's pregnant, they'll demand
to find put who the Father, and we'll all move on. But," his tone
brightened, "as long as we remain firm and positive, when we reach our
next destination, everything will be fine."
They heard footsteps on the stairs, and Daisy joined them. She went
first to her mother and hugged her, then on to Father Jakob, who she
kissed lightly on the lips.
"Talking about me?" she asked, equally lightly, her arm around
Jakob.
"We are, snowdrop.
"You still telling the church?"
"Hmm-mm. Yes," replied Jakob.
"So we gonna be moving?"
"That's just we've been discussing," her mother revealed.
"I think we will be," Father Jakob added.
"Okay." She moved to the boiled kettle.
"Tea?" she asked.

Father Jakob stood behind the wooden pulpit, and gazed down at the
assembled congregation before him. He glanced right and observed the
anxious, almost terrified expression adorning father thomas' face. He
glanced towards the back of the church and saw the two female
Saint-J's, both remaining remarkably placid in the face of impending
outburst.
"I have, today, some news to impart to you as we gather this day."
Again he moved his head slightly to watch the fidgeting figure of
father thomas.
"It concerns a young member of this congregation, Miss Daisy Saint-J."
As expected, all heads turned towards the mother and daughter at the
back pew.
"If I could retain your attention," Father Jakob called out. His
powerful tone of voice ensured that their heads straightened and again
faced him.
"Now, when I tell you this news I expect you to think about it, ponder
it for a few minutes before making any judgements." He saw their
appetites whetting, their thoughts sharpen with their preguesses at the
soon-to-be bombshell, for they had no doubt that a bombshell was
forthcoming.
Father Jakob sensed that a few of the congregation had correctly
guessed the news. Thus resolved, he pushed with no more
hesitation.
"Daisy...has fallen pregnant," a crescendo murmur, "and is due to give
birth before the new year." The murmur flooded the harmonies of the
church, ranking against the neutrality normally existing within the
architecture.
"If you could remain silent and calm and thoughtful. After all, this
is a building designed for thought, is it not?" The congregation
disagreed, and the murmuring continued swelling. Distinct remarks could
be heard floating above the general hum like scum on a pond.
Father Jakob gazed down on the assembly, feeling an anger mopping his
stomach. He climbed down from the pulpit and went to stand with father
thomas.
"Well father thomas, that went about as well as I expected."
"Yes," replied the quivering father thomas, "it didn't...go down...at
all well."
People had begun looking at the Saint-J's in an unfriendly manner, a
fact that did not escape the attention of Father Jakob.
"I'm going to Daisy and her mother," he informed father thomas, "to
comfort them."
He walked down and away from the altar, striding down the aisle
towards his distressed. As he saf down between them, a person sitting
immediately in front of them, turned around asking, "Who's the
father?"
Father Jakob, expecting this question much earlier, made no answer. It
surprised him somewhat that the question had not been asked
sooner.
"I'm afraid that I cannot tell you that; it is between myself, Daisy,
and her mother."
"So the father doesn't know?" came a suspicious voice.
"Sorry; and the father. That is all."
"Oh come on, Father Jakob," came another curious and irate voice,
"you've told us that she's pregnant, but you won't tell us who the
father is..."
"That's correct. Now," he turned to Daisy and Mary, "come on, let's
go."
They stood up and began making their way across the pew. The
parishioners gawked at them as they passed. Daisy's face reddened, and
Father Jakob held her arm supportively as they flowed into the aisle
and out of the church doors. They rocked across the small graveyard,
past the ancient weeping willow, and the shapes and forms of
gravestones. They could hear people inside sniding and deciding whether
or not to follow.
"Let them snipe," assured Father Jakob as they made their way
home.

Although she had just experienced her first big dose of trauma, Daisy
had remained in good spirit, or as close to good spirit as she could
remain. She lapsed into the occasional introsilence, musing on the
faces turning with their eyes steaming; pseudo-shocked expressions
stuck upon their sour faces. She heard the creaking of the red-leather
lining of the wooden pews. When these images faded in their haunting,
she would join in the conversations between her mother and Father
Jakob.
They sat discussing the immediate future; would they stay in Verde
Valley, or would they essentially flee from this backwater town - let
it fall asleep again, rippling every ten years or so as a scandal
erupted and the guilty parties would be expunged.
When they thought Daisy's lapses into absorption had quietened in
frequency and velocity, they asked her for her opinion.
"You know, when I was thinking, all I could see in my head were the
people staring at me; they looked so bad to me; I don't know if I can
stay and be looked at them no more..."
Both Mary and Father Jakob reassured her, feeling that the decision
was quietly deciding itself. As it did, they lapsed into a silence
enabling the decision to think clearly. They had been in this state of
self-solitude for maybe five minutes when a knock came from the back
porch. father thomas entered.
"You've got to come quick - some of the men reckon the father of the
kid is Billy Myers; they've got him outside the church. You better go
and tell them if he's the father or not."
"I'll go," Father Jakob said. "You two stay. I'll be back in a half
hour." He turned his attention to father thomas. "Go outside and I'll
catch up in a few seconds."
As father thomas left, Jakob spoke to the two women. "Well I guess the
decision's been made. You wanna start packing?"

transliterated companion of all

As the mother and daughter trod wearily upstairs to pack, the priest
and preacher made their way towards the church.
"Why'd they pick on him?" asked Father Jakob as they strode swiftly
towards their destination.
"I don't know," replied father thomas, seemingly in thought. "He is
kind of rebellious."
"Oh," said the preacher, almost scornful.
father thomas reddened as the silence became tense. Finally, he
spoke.
"I know."

They reached the church in silence; a silence disrupted by the
commotion occurring within the boundaries of the churchyard. A ring had
assembled itself around the teenager Billy Myers, glaring accusations
being aimed at him. His face had reddened and sweatened as he defended
himself vehemently. The preacher approached the group, and immediately
they turned to him, re-aiming their opinions and questions.
"Is it him?" they asked frankly, almost singular in voice like a dense
harmonic tongue.
"No," the preacher replied in his minimalist fashion. he turned to
leave, for he retained no desire to communicate with the herd
confronting.
"Wait," they commanded. "You can't say that and just leave. You've got
to tell us who the father is. Maybe it is him; maybe you're protecting
him Father."
Father Jakob rounded angrily on them.
"I tell no lies. Do you not trust my word? It is not my nature to
provide gossip, nor to feed meat to the wolves." Again he turned to go.
The crowd, momentarily dumb from his diatribe, gaped at his rippling
anger, their blank faces almost having a thought etched painful on
their combined face. The father heard the rabble begin once again as he
strode from the graveyard, but paid no heed to their whining.
father thomas began scrambling behind him, but the preacher, his gaze
holding the horizon, commanded him to return to his flock.

As Father Jakob approached the back porch, two anxious faces peeked
out, searching for the flaws in his face. He grazed them with an
encouraging smile, and the porch door swung open. He took Daisy
Saint-J, holding her thoughtfully within his muscular arms.
"Don't you worry, Snowdrop," he assured her. "We're leaving now, and
there ain't nobody to stop us going."
She peered upwards at him, reassured, and her mother placed her hand
tenderly upon her forehead.
"You packed?" Jakob asked her. She nodded.
"Then let's go. We may as well leave straight away. Yeh?" She nodded
assent, and they collected their belongings, and packed them away
within the trunk of the green-trimmed brown estate.
As they wished their home goodbye, the fluffed up clouds overhead
withered into cirrus, and seemed to swoon into vapour. The blue, almost
opaque, sky swam heavenwards, and stars appeared through the pinpoints
of the draining atmosphere. The estate skidded ochre dirt behind, and
within a minute, the small town of Verde Valley, Arizona, had twinkled
out of their existence. Now, only the open flat tarmac befriended them
on their journey towards an acceptance they shouldn't need.

The outward appearance of the travellers condemned them to an
aspiration that had been forced upon them before birth. They had to
conform to themselves, even if they fought. Even if they fought, they
were doomed to be entrapped until death prised them from - their selves
- and they were free once more to roam the plains of nonexistence until
once again settling upon the hearth rug of time and being. Now under
the piercing yellow of sunshine and above the solidity travelling crust
beneath them they roamed their cage and attempted to examine corners
that they had yet to explore. The radio flourished florid with its
innocent sounds of rock and roll; innocent obsessed songs of the acute
pain of being. The whistling of the wind as it swirled and gushed
surround them abounding rich texture of the glass operas that fulfil
the promise sought each day by each individual; the gambles as they
leave the residual thoughts inside and self deny; like a tragic
symphonious melody combining the ethereal with gravity. Grave. The
straightness of the road, like the straightness of most people's
existence - so straight that however fast you are going, you appear to
yourself like a dawdler left behind; so unaware that you are hurtling
through time, speeding faster and faster toward the impending
punishment for nonconcentration. But that speed is required for the
penetration at the journey's end, to break through the paper-thin
barriers that are intended to break our linear fall; the parachute of a
drag racer.
The landmarks placed inert at intervals of our lifetime; a judge to
warn us that we are travelling too fast, the occasional herd of cattle
chewing ruminating on the cud. Such an existence! The clouds fluttered
obtuse with their shapes shifting - a swinging medallion in glorious
three dimensions, and attention held as a squadron of empty bombers
explode in the air as they trade existence with that swinging medallion
in the sky. The echoing bark of a rancher's dog, all bass no treble.
The rickety fence that guards the herd, shackled in the memory like the
gang of thieves glaring at you as you pass. Daisy Saint-J, a
self-embracing bundle in the back seat, gazed with no commitment at the
clouds as they amused her with their easy contortion, the heavy echo of
the music inspiring her with happy and unhurried languid thoughts. "I
keep thinking...hoping...and praying..." Jakob Chimes, fingers tapping
to the familiar beat pervasive, stared at the expanse of almost
monogrammatical scenery, and his mind imagined scenes to fill the
supposed blankness. Mary sat in the passenger side, lost in her own
memories of the music describing, arriving at the image of her dead
husband. Tears of infinite sadness welled within her as her memory
confronted her with the image of him dying so young as she held him,
trying to pass her life force to him; hoping then crying with
desperation and futility. She felt like howling; to express the anger
and grief that condemned her - she wanted to erupt with that infinite
energy hurt that needed to be released, like striking oil, she wanted
her black thoughts to darken the skies. Jakob pulled the estate to a
gliding stop. "Come on, let's stretch awhile."
They three left the estate, kicking up dust.

Daisy comforted her mother, sliding arm between arm.
"What's the matter mumma?"
Mary felt the surge of tension releasing itself unexposed.
"I was just thinking..."
"About daddy?" Mary nodded, wet tears remaining to keep guard of her
emotions. Daisy turned to Jakob.
"Jake, why'n't you tell mumma it's alright, that daddy's everywhere
right now, watching us..."
"let's go'n sit on that grass there, and we can talk about it."
They sat themselves on the dry grass, the two women flanking Jakob. He
swept an arm around each of them, pulling them into him.
"When we die," he began, "we just stop becoming human beings, that's
all." He paused, then continued on. "We leave all our human
characteristics behind to rot, our personality, the prejudice and greed
we accumulated during our lifetime. All that, we leave where it belongs
- dead and buried in the ground. But the pure consciousness we entered
this world with, well, that we take."
"So what's the point in living?" asked Daisy.
"Exactly!" enthused Jakob. "Why do we exist as humans?" Again he
paused, as if expecting to be supplied with the answer.
"We exist," he finally said, "to experience. To gather
information...but this human life we live is only one single part of
our whole Existence - like one single cell compared to an entire human
body. Each life we have leads on from the last, bonding and interacting
with each other life we've lived. And the future is defined. The future
is just the evolution of the present; we can guess at what is in the
future, we can even feel pretty confidant that we know what the future
holds, but we can't be a hundred percent sure because evolution
presents that tricky element of chance. We are united at death, united
and remerged into the mass of the universe to Be at a higher
expansion..."
"So daddy ain't looking down on me?" asked Daisy in soft
bewilderment.
"He is, but he's not your daddy any more."
"Who is he?"
"He's the extension of everybody's spirit. He's all around and
within."
"Like God?" asked Mary.
"Yes, except there is no God. We are all what we call 'God'. We
contain our spirit, can it like beans, and death is the tin
opener."
The three of them burst into laughter at this comparison, repeating
the line to each other, allowing it to be savoured.
Father Jakob became suddenly serious.
"We still have a problem," he told the two women.
"What are we going to do? Where are we going? When we will arrive, and
more importantly, will we know when we've arrived."
Daisy and her mother looked at him. They had a slight confusement
etched upon their faces. They, like Jakob, did not know the answers to
his questions.
"I guess we just keep driving until we reach wherever. Maybe we can go
and see the Grand Canyon or something. That'll be nice. I've only seen
it the once; and I was so young back then that I never really
appreciated the beauty of the place."
The three of them smiled at the suggestion.
"Believe it or not, but I've never seen the Grand Canyon," Jakob told
them. "I've heard plenty about it, but hell, I've never seen it. Except
in postcards and the like of course."
"Well we're agreed then," said Mary, "the Grand Canyon it is."
They made their way from the grassy patch beside the road, and sat back
inside the trusty station wagon. Father Jakob gunned the engine, and
they sped off into the endless yellow wilderness of the Arizona desert,
having gained some purpose in their seemingly seamless journey to
oblivion.
"We all happy?" Jakob shouted above the roar of the old engine. "I hope
so," he added.
The dust kicked up behind the station wagon as it cruised straight
ahead, the road, tarmac barely present, cut through the Arizona plain
dissecting the sunny day like the horizon cuts perception.
Presently they approached the outskirts of a small rural town; they
stopped to eat in a diner similar to any diner in the south.
The diner held only a handful of customers; truckers mostly, though it
appeared to Jakob and the Saint-Js that a couple of the men there were
regulars. They sat down in a booth and waited for the waitress to serve
them. A minute later she came over.
"Afternoons," she drawled. " 'c'n I get ya?"
They made their order and waited patiently. Daisy's attention became
drawn by the television screen.
"Look! There's Mrs Catchall...and there's Mrs Grandagnon! What're they
doin' on the teevee?"
A sinking feeling infiltrated Jakob, and he asked the waitress to turn
the volume up. An amused reporter was now positioned on the
screen.
"...and these locals are completely up in arms about the runaway
preacher who, along with a mother and her fifteen year old pregnant
daughter, are believed to have stolen thousands of pounds from the
local Verde Valley church. As you heard the local pastor father thomas
explaining, the preacher, Father Jakob Chimes, moved into town less
than one year ago, and there is growing concern that he might well be
the father of the unborn that little Daisy Saint-J is holding."
"father thomas," murmured Jakob beneath his breath. "father
thomas."
"A state-wide bulletin has been issued to troopers; this picture of
Mary and Daisy Saint-J was taken some four years ago...unfortunately no
photographs of Jakob Chimes have been traced. Further updates
throughout the day. Back to you, Tom."
The three sat stunned, blown away.
"It has to be father thomas," Jakob expressed. "The perfect opportunity
for him to disguise his own disgrace. Damn that man."
"This is terrible," was all Mary could say, whilst Daisy sat glumly
looking at the teevee set.
"What'll we do?" she finally asked.
"Who knows Daisy," replied Jakob. "Who knows."
"We might as well keep heading north towards the state line," Mary
spoke up.
"Keep heading for the Canyon?" asked Daisy.
"I guess we might as well," answered Jakob. "Anyway, let's get out of
here. I noticed a grocery store across the street; I'll get some things
while you two go on to the wagon. I'll only be a couple of minutes," he
added.
The three left, Jakob separating as suggested. Thoughts lay heavy on
his brow, and he began to be afflicted by a sensation that he had not
felt for many years now, namely paranoia. Even when, or if, state
troopers caught them and discovered they were without such a large sum
of money, the seeds of condemnation were sewn, and Jakob knew that it
would be nearly impossible to clear their names. They could only hope
to reach some northern state where they would probably be safe;
Washington maybe, although Jakob detested the cold weather up there.
Maybe they could merge undetected in California; so many people in the
city there. Who knows, he thought in desperation, who knows.

They sped through the barren desert state heading north, their pickup
trailing ochre dirt behind them. A group of tense figures sat within
the cab, their bodies hunched and grim-set. Another group huddled
together on the open back, rifles leaning between their knees. In the
midst of this grizzled bunch sat the trim lean figure of father thomas,
an anxious expression washed through his features. The group remained
mainly silent, thoughts of a dark nature penetrating their minds,
thoughts of vengeance and judgement. Only father thomas had thoughts of
a god within his mind, and then only through distorted imagery and
fox-like connivance. They listened to news reports humming quietly from
the radio, ears alert and waiting for mention of the fugitives. As the
truck gained momentum, so the blood coursing through their bodies
seemed to accumulate, occasionally like bursting through their thought
bubbles. "Son of a bitch," one would occasionally mutter. "That
fucker's gonna get fucked," also seething wriggling from the dry lips
of another. As the pickup dwindled into the distant arid hills, a stale
wind blew through the creatures of the desert.
father thomas, although enrobed in the riches of religion, dwelt not
above the poverty of jealousy. His usually easy nature had been somehow
fundamentally challenged since Father Jakob had arrived in his small
town and taken control; father thomas, who until then had been running
his parish essentially on automatic pilot, had been forced to face the
fact that his character was neither special nor especially positive.
father thomas was, had been, and ever will be the same as the majority
of humans - trivial and unaware of his unintelligence until being
confronted with a portion of the truth. In this case the truth came in
the shape of Father Jakob Chimes.
And so father thomas had dwelt in his rooms in dark thought and darker
nights had nestled upon his brow; deep nights where his shallowness
prevailed. He had spent his lifetime forcing himself to be profound,
but his concentration had slipped and his true nature arose; and now he
found himself shackled in the back of an old red pickup truck trading
profanities with the townsmen, aware of his truth and unrepentant of
his lies.
"Cigarette?" offered the gnarled mouth of his neighbour.
"Thanks," he mumbled. Nat King Cole came across the air waves, this is
the end of a beautiful friendship, "turn that over there," shouted to
the driver.

The disappearing road neared its end, and the three travellers noticed
the changing scenery as the last hope of greenery gave way to ceaseless
energy of rattlesnake country. Boulders strew across the gentle and the
sharper slopes. A rare sign pointed the way to the grand canyon. This
renewed their optimism and the echoing landscape augmented their rising
hope.
"Almost there," spoke Jakob.
"What'll we do when we get there?" asked Daisy.
"Who knows, maybe the canyon'll provide some answers." Jakob paused.
"I hope so," he added.
The huge canyon loomed ahead, splendid in its many shades and sinews.
The imagination became the catalyst of everlasting life and nature as
the innate life-form slumbered. Jakob pulled the car to a stop, and
leapt out of the station wagon with the energy provided by the wondrous
sight.
"Land of heart's desire, where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, but
joy is wisdom, time an endless song," he murmured to himself, his
eternal soul enraptured with the canyon before his eyes. Daisy stepped
out beside him, wrapping her arm around him as she did.
"I never seen such beauty," she whispered to him, embracing him
closer.
"No," he answered simply, "never saw anything so beautiful."
They gazed at the expansive freedom calling out to meet them, and felt
themselves giddy with the purest devotion for each other and for life.
Nature and its unifying forces had unshackled them of the cares and
worries inflicted upon them in recent days. They felt renewed and
invigorated, ready to face capture or death or freedom; whichever they
ordained for themselves. No need to feel hungry for physical
entitlement; no need to crave for whatever else their eyes would ever
see. Their memories had engraved the masterpiece. They kissed and
returned to the wagon.

The old rusty pickup truck passed the old wooden sign scrawled
generations before:

T H E G R A N D C A N Y O N
50 miles

"He told me once how he'd never seen the canyon before," father thomas
informed his companions.
"You better be right, thomas, or we'll be huntin you 'stead of that
rattler," comforted the powerful figure of Abraham Feldstone. The
others laughed derisively at father thomas, who suddenly realised how
lonely the life of a traitor can be. Self pity invaded his barren soul;
a flash of comforted warmed him: any kind of soul-filler made him feel
better than living off an empty soul. His thoughts began whirling as in
yellow desperation he tried to judge the situation; he felt sure that
the family of three would head towards the canyon.

The new family of three mingled with the locals and travellers flocking
the main tourist station on the east of the Grand Canyon. Gaudy
tee-shirts and tacky gifts showered themselves at them like some
surreal ballet, or a drug-like Disney trip Dancing Pink Elephants. A
slight shiver of disappointment crossed Jakob's being as he gazed at
the mental rape of the most beautiful sight he had seen. Men are
vultures, despising and despised by nature. Deliberately racing towards
their doom, they surround themselves with blankets of false comfort, be
it the organised religion or the cult of money; they bring shame to
their brains. Father Jakob swivelled and walked quickly in the opposite
direction, head down so that he could not see, eyes communicating with
the Universal.
"Jakob," called Daisy, standing beside a painted metal railing. "Come
here 'nd see this beautiful view." She leant delicately over the
railing, her eyes closed, an unconcerned smile glowing through her
features.
She felt the everlasting breath flowing through her, and emitted an
aura of benign peace across the echoed chamber of the grand canyon,
like the thousand million whispers of an everlasting wheel spinning
through time. She felt the kick of the star being within her, was aware
of the spiralling helix uncoiling within her, feeding off her mind like
a spiritual umbilical cord.
"They're coming to get us," she murmured. Jakob slipped behind
her.
"I know," he whispered to her ear. "They're closer and closer, and
we've nowhere to run."
An orchestra of light awoke and spread through the gentle beginnings of
an early dusk.
As they wrapped themselves closer to one another, they could hear the
atoms vibrate, awaiting to take
them homewards.
The engine of the rusty pick-up suddenly sprang out of nowhere, almost
deliberately noisy. They could feel the headlights pinpointing them,
arcing out a triumphant sneer as it topped the hill, could hear it
coating downwards towards them.
"Almost here," he said softly, and kissed her cheek then her
lips.

dance of the tumblers

The two figures rose through the air like thrown ragdolls, arching
gracefully and poised across the air. The grand canyon stretched
beneath them like the map seen from an aeroplane window, ant-like in
perception. And they reached the pinnacle of their rise, and so began
their slow descent homewards, down daddy down mummy down baby. And as
they fell their bodies rotated in a midair dance, their arms reaching
out for one another, and it seemed that the camera had fallen to the
floor, and captured this dancing couple horizontally, spiralling into
dna, travelling somewhere else...somewhere else...down mummy...down
daddy....down baby down.