Ritual Page 13

  Charlie said, ‘What are you trying to do? Are you trying to make me feel guilty, or what? Your childhood is nothing to do with me. I just want to know if Martin is here, that’s all. I just want to know what the hell is happening.’

  Velma’s eyes brightened. ‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘You want to know what the hell is happening? Well, let me show you.’

  Charlie hesitated for a moment, but then he allowed Velma to take hold of his arm and lead him away from the landing and down a long, narrow corridor that was the twin of the corridor downstairs. Oak-panelled, dark, with only occasional windows to light up the framed engravings of abattoirs and butchery. One engraving showed a selection of butcher’s knives, skinning knives, sticking knives, boning knives, cleavers and splitting saws. Another showed offal being sliced, liver, kidneys, hearts, and sweetbreads. Each engraving carried a caption in French.

  ‘Are the Musettes at home?’ Charlie asked, as they made their way along the corridor.

  ‘What makes you ask that?’

  ‘I saw some people in the garden. Somebody in a hood, like a dwarf; and a woman in a black cloak. The first time I came here, I got the impression that the woman in the black cloak was Mme Musette.’

  Velma glanced at him over her shoulder. ‘Come and see this before you ask me any more questions.’

  ‘They were wheeling a woman in an invalid carriage,’ Charlie persisted. He reached out and took hold of Velma’s arm and stopped her. ‘Listen to me, will you? I knew the woman from before. At least, I thought I did. She used to work as a waitress at the Iron Kettle.’

  Velma unexpectedly bent forward and kissed Charlie on the mouth. ‘You really don’t know what’s going on, do you?’

  Charlie said, ‘Maybe you ought to tell me. I mean, you’re obviously in it with them. You’re obviously a part of it.’

  ‘A part of what?’ asked Velma, with an innocence that was plainly feigned, and intended to taunt him even more.

  ‘This,’ said Charlie. ‘The Musettes. The Windsor Hotel. All of this. Martin disappearing. That Goddamned dwarf. The way that every single person I’ve met in the past two days has jumped like a jackrabbit whenever anybody mentions Le Reposoir. It’s all tied together, and don’t you try to kid me otherwise.’

  Velma looked at Charlie for a very long time, and then turned her head away. He was conscious that her profile was very handsome, and that her breasts swelled up inside the thin linen of her gown in a way that provoked him, even now.

  ‘I guess you could say they misjudged you,’ she said.

  ‘Who misjudged me?’

  She gave him a smile as faint as a distant echo. ‘They thought that you knew a whole lot more about the Célèstines than you obviously did. M. Musette found out you were a restaurant inspector. I guess he must have thought that a restaurant inspector knew about the Célèstines.’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I don’t. Maybe I’m unusually ignorant or something. Mrs Foss back at the Iron Kettle gave me some kind of weird story about them; and that’s why I came up here. I was worried about Martin.’

  Somewhere deep in the building a heavy door slammed, and echoed. Velma said, ‘We’d better hurry. Mme Musette will be looking for me in a minute.’

  Charlie kept hold of her arm. ‘First you have to tell me the truth about these Célèstines.’

  ‘Don’t you understand?––I’m going to show you.’

  Reluctantly, Charlie followed her further along the corridor. She pushed her way ahead of him through a swing fire door and crossed a wide hallway with a yellow-tinted skylight and a highly polished linoleum floor. On the other side of the hallway, there was a solid oak door with a varnished wooden shield on it, emblazoned with a painting of a Papal crown, encircled by a halo.

  Another door slammed, closer this time, and Charlie thought he could hear footsteps. ‘They won’t go totally ape, will they, if they find me here?’ he asked Velma. He was beginning to feel seriously worried now. Velma didn’t answer him, but pressed her finger against her lips and opened the door decorated with the Papal crown.

  Beyond, there was another corridor, at least sixty feet long, dimly lit by small windows set into the doors which ran along either side. Velma beckoned Charlie to follow her, and she went from window to window, peering inside. The first three windows were covered by white cotton blinds. The fourth was uncovered, but the room inside was empty, except for a plain metal-framed bed and a white screen of the type used in hospitals.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Charlie demanded, but Velma suddenly touched his arm and indicated with a nod of her head that he should look into the fifth window.

  At first, Charlie couldn’t quite understand what he was supposed to see. The room was almost bare, and lit only by the pale uncompromising daylight. A young girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor at a three-quarter angle to the door, so that Charlie could just see her profile. He guessed that she was about fourteen or fifteen years old. Her dark hair was bobbed, and she was dressed in the same kind of linen gown that Velma was wearing.

  ‘I see a girl, that’s all,’ whispered Charlie.

  ‘She’s one of the new ones,’ said Velma.

  ‘One of the new what?’

  ‘Devotees, that’s what the Célèstines call them.’

  ‘Velma, I don’t understand. I simply don’t understand. You’re going to have a spell it out for me.’

  Velma smiled broadly and there was something about her smile which made Charlie feel uncomfortably cold. It was a lewd, coarse smile; the smile of someone who has indulged every lust that you can think of, and many more that you could never think of.

  ‘Look at her feet,’ she urged Charlie.

  ‘Her feet?’ Charlie turned back to the window and peered at the girl more closely.

  It was then he realized that the girl’s feet were both mutilated. There was a heel, an arch, and that was all. The girl had no toes.

  Charlie turned back to Velma and hissed, ‘What? What is this all about?’

  ‘It’s exactly what it looks like,’ she said. ‘She hasn’t any toes.’

  ‘But why? Is this some kind of a nursing home or something?’

  ‘Nursing home?’ Velma laughed. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then what happened to her feet?’

  ‘She cut off her toes, of course.’

  ‘What do you mean, “of course”? What kind of a state of mind do you have to be in to cut your own toes off?’

  ‘Devotional,’ said Velma, as if that explained everything.

  ‘Devotional?’ Charlie echoed. ‘That doesn’t look like devotion to me. That looks like a straightforward case of insanity.’

  ‘Believe me, she’s not insane,’ said Velma.

  ‘Then why did she cut off her toes?’ Charlie demanded. His voice was quivering now.

  Velma looked at him with an expression that was almost pitying. ‘Why do you think she cut them off? To eat them, of course.’

  As she said that, the door opened behind them. Charlie, already shocked at what Velma had told him, turned around in alarm.

  Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the yellow radiance from the skylight in the hall, was M. Musette. He paused; and then he came forward so that Charlie could see his face. ‘Well, Mr McLean,’ he said. ‘I don’t know whether I ought to be happy to see you or not.’

  Charlie cleared his throat. ‘I don’t care whether you’re happy or not, pal. You and I have some talking to do.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said M. Musette. ‘Velma, will you go to your room? I want to talk to you later.’

  Velma passed them by. As she did so, she glanced at Charlie quickly, and Charlie saw such an extraordinary mixture of fear and desire on her face that he couldn’t help looking at M. Musette in complete consternation.

  10

  Downstairs, in a drawing room with high leaded windows which overlooked the gardens, M. Musette sat back in a deeply cushioned armchair and crossed his immaculately presse
d trouser legs and lit a cigarette. Charlie, sitting on the far side of the room, could hardly see him behind a circular antique table on which stood a huge pink and white ceramic planter crowded with hothouse camellias.

  ‘I have to confess that what has happened has largely been my responsibility,’ said M. Musette affably. ‘I must ask your forgiveness, although I am sure you will find it easy to understand how the error was made.’

  ‘Before you start giving me any explanations, I want to ask you one question,’ Charlie interrupted. M. Musette, with a wave of his cigarette, indicated that Charlie could do whatever he wanted.

  ‘Is my son here?’ Charlie asked him. ‘I want a straight answer, yes or no.’

  ‘My dear sir, let me put it this way: nobody ever comes here except of their own free will. Therefore you must search in your heart and ask yourself whether it is likely that your son is here.’

  ‘I said a straight answer, not a Goddamned riddle.’

  M. Musette blew smoke, and smiled. ‘Then I promise that I will answer you before you leave. But first, I want you to understand what is happening here, and why you should not be so fearful.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I want to understand. Was it right what Velma was telling me––that girl actually ate her own toes?’

  ‘You’re running ahead of me,’ said M. Musette. ‘You came here to find out more about the Célèstines. Let me tell you about them.’

  ‘Okay,’ Charlie agreed. ‘But don’t take all day about it.’

  M. Musette said, ‘Do I have to remind you that you are trespassing on my property and on my time and that I am not obliged to say anything to you at all? It would be far easier for me to call for the sheriff and have you thrown out of here.’

  Charlie didn’t answer, but clasped his hands together and sat with his head bowed waiting for M. Musette to speak. M. Musette stood up, and walked across to the windows in a wafting cloud of Turkish cigarette smoke. He gazed out over the garden for a while, obviously calming himself, and then he said, ‘The Célèstines were originally members of a religious order created in the year 1260 by Saint Célèstine V, Pietro di Murrone. Célèstine was elected Pope in 1294, after the two-year interregnum that followed the death of Nicholas V. He was a saintly man, but too politically weak for the duties demanded by the Papacy, and later the same year, he abdicated in the face of opposition from Cardinal Gaetano, who was to succeed him as Pope Boniface VIII.’

  M. Musette paused, and inhaled smoke, and went on: ‘The Célèstines flourished during their founder’s lifetime, and at their height they had over 150 houses throughout Europe. But at the time of the French Revolution they declined, and many of the French members of the order fled abroad, some to England and some to the Caribbean. It was on the Caribbean island of Sainte Desirée that the remnants of Saint Célèstine’s devotees were transformed into the predecessors of the present-day Célèstines.’

  M. Musette turned, and watched Charlie carefully as he spoke. ‘What happened was a remarkable mixing of two cultures. Sainte Desirée is a wild and desolate island about fifteen miles off the coast of Guadeloupe. Its sole inhabitants before the exiled Célèstines arrived were native fishermen, who barely managed to make a living out of their labours. The fishermen, however, were Caribs, members of that fierce and alarming tribe who before the days of Columbus had indulged themselves in orgies of cannibalism. By the time the Célèstines reached Sainte Desirée, their ritual eating of human flesh had long since died out; but somehow, they were inspired by the religious enthusiasm of the new arrivals to revive it. There were close similarities, you see, between the ritual of the Holy Communion, with its eating of the Lord’s flesh and the drinking of the Lord’s blood, and the eating of human beings which had once been the Caribs’ speciality.’

  Charlie kept his head lowered, but the feeling that was beginning to penetrate his consciousness was one of extreme dread. He felt almost as if he were being lowered against his will into a bath of chilly water; helpless to resist.

  ‘It is quite extraordinary how cultures can intermingle,’ said M. Musette. ‘There are natives in New Guinea who worship aeroplanes as gods, because their only experience of them is to see them flying high overhead. There are many pagan rituals inextricably woven into the so-called Christian calendar. The very day on which we say we are celebrating the birth of Christ our Lord was in reality one of the darkest and most magical days of rejoicing in the times of the Druids. What happened to the Célèstines as they lived in isolation on Sainte Desirée with the Caribs was that they came to believe that true communion with God could only be consummated by the eating of human flesh and the drinking of human blood.’

  Charlie looked up. ‘Is this true? Is this authentic history, or are you putting me on?’

  ‘Do you think I would waste my valuable time playing practical jokes?’ M. Musette retorted. ‘I am talking about the achievement of oneness with God, and complete oneness with your fellow human beings. Does that sound like a put-on, as you call it?’

  Charlie said tautly, ‘Go on.’

  M. Musette crushed out his cigarette in a large crystal ashtray. ‘Over a period of 150 years, generation after generation, the Célèstine Order gradually evolved into what it is today.’

  ‘And what is it today? A club for well-heeled cannibals?’

  ‘Cannibalism is a word we prefer not to use; even though it describes us aptly. The word ‘cannibal’, after all, is derived from Canibales, which is the Spanish variant of the name Caribs. Cannibalism also implies that we are involved in the violent or forceful eating of the sacred flesh. While the Caribs often murdered their enemies and sometimes their friends in order to make a meal of them, the Célèstines introduced to them the Christian principle that thou shalt not kill. Instead, the eating of the sacred flesh became a self-sacrificial communion, in accord with the very highest tenets of Christianity.’

  Charlie stared at M. Musette in complete horror. He was at last beginning to realize that he was being told the truth – that M. Musette in all seriousness was explaining to him that the Célèstines really did eat human flesh.

  Unperturbed, M. Musette went on, ‘Did not Jesus say, “Take, eat, this is My body”? And did he not say, “Drink... for this is My blood of the new testament”? The whole essence of Christianity is concerned with the sharing of flesh and blood. Not murderously, of course, but voluntarily––the devoted giving of one’s body for the greater glory of all. That girl you saw upstairs––as Velma told you, she is a new Devotee. So far she has amputated only her toes.’

  ‘And eaten them?’ Charlie asked, his throat constricted.

  ‘Only five of them. The rest she shared with her Guide and with other Devotees.’ M. Musette pressed his hands together as if he were saying grace. ‘A small and simple meal, but one of tremendous emotional and religious significance as far as she is concerned.’

  Charlie said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m finding it difficult to believe what I’m hearing. I cannot even begin to comprehend how a pretty young girl like that can voluntarily mutilate herself and eat her own flesh. Not for the greatest religious cause known to man. Not for any reason whatsoever. It’s barbaric.’

  M. Musette shook his head. ‘Barbaric? No. It is the most highly developed act of religious devotion that I can think of. It demands the greatest degree of devotion to God that you can possibly imagine. It shows in real terms the conquest of the spirit over the flesh. To devour the very body that God gave you is the closest that you can ever get to true holiness.’

  ‘You’re out of your tree,’ said Charlie. He stood up, and his legs felt as if they were about to fold up like a cheap camera tripod. ‘All I want to hear from you is that Martin isn’t here, and then I’m going to go straight to the police. You ought to be locked up. Jesus Christ, I don’t know how you’ve gotten away with it for so long. And so openly!’

  ‘The reason is quite simple,’ said M. Musette. ‘While it may be against the law to eat the flesh of others against their w
ill, it is not against the law to eat yourself; neither is it against the law to eat the flesh of another person if that flesh is offered without any form of coercion. We have had the status of a religion for nearly eighty years now, and while the law may not approve of what we are doing, they know that they cannot touch us. We live with the law in relative harmony. They do not harass us, and we in turn carry out our rituals as discreetly as possible. As you yourself know, we do not exactly encourage visitors.’

  ‘But you present this place as a restaurant,’ Charlie said.

  ‘As a dining society, rather than a restaurant,’ M. Musette corrected him. ‘In that way, we do not arouse the unwelcome attention of those Godless media people in whose eyes every religious sect is a target for scandalous exposé. In order to perform our rituals, we require much of the apparatus and many of the supplies that would be used by a dining society, and so to present to the outside world the image of a restaurant is useful camouflage. The name Le Reposoir was carefully chosen because it has two different meanings – one for our devotees and one for the outside world. Le Reposoir means ‘the resting place’; but it also means ‘the little altar’.

  ‘Then the police know about this place? They know what you do? And they haven’t taken any action to stop you?’

  ‘My dear sir, the whole surrounding community is aware that there is something special about Le Reposoir. Many consider us frightening; at least until they have the opportunity to see for themselves the true significance of our rituals. I suppose you could say that there is a parallel with World War Two, when many German citizens living close to concentration camps were aware that there was something of great drama happening in their district, but preferred on the whole not to investigate too closely. Of all creatures, man is the most incurious, believe me.’

  Charlie said, ‘Haxalt knows, doesn’t he? The president of the savings bank?’