Clive Barker - Sacrament

" ... between Gerard's meticulous concerns for a true reflection of his philosophies, and Simeon's aesthetic neuralgia, these pictures have been made in more versions than Mankind itself, each one destroyed for some piffling flaw in conception or execution ..."'

The one extant painting had been reproduced in the book, albeit poorly. The picture was in black and white, and washed out, but there was enough detail to intrigue Will. It seemed to depict an early portion of the construction process: a naked, sexless figure who appeared to be black-skinned in the reproduction (but could just as easily have been blue or green), was bending towards the earth, in which numerous fine rods had been stuck, as though marking the perimeters of the dwelling. The landscape behind the figure was a wasteland, the ground infertile, the sky deserted. In three spots a fire burned in a crack in the earth, sending up a plane of dark smoke, but that only seemed to emphasize the desolation. As for the hieroglyphics which Frannie had described, they were carved on stones scattered throughout the wilderness, as though they'd been tossed out of the sky as clues for the lone mason.

'What are we to make of this peculiar image?' the text asked. 'Its hermeticism frustrates us; we long for explanation, and find none.' Not even from Dwyer, it appeared. She flailed around for a couple of paragraphs attempting to make parallels with illustrations to be found in alchemical treatises, but Will sensed that she was out of her depth. He flipped to the next chapter, leaving the rest of Dwyer's amateur occultism unread, and was halfway through the first page when he heard Adele summoning him. He was reluctant to put the book down, and even more reluctant to go and visit Hugo a second time, but the sooner the duty was done, he reasoned, the sooner he'd be back in Thomas Simeon's troubled world. So he set the book on the chair and headed downstairs to join Adele.

ii

Hugo was feeling sluggish. He'd had some pain after lunch; nothing unusual, the nurse reassured Adele, but enough to warrant a dessert of pain-killers. They had subdued him considerably, and throughout the three-quarter-hour visit, his speech was slow and slurred, his focus far from sharp. Most of the time, in fact, he was barely aware that Will was in the room, which suited Will just fine. Only towards the end of the visit did his gaze flutter in his son's direction.

'And what did you do today?' he asked, as though he were addressing a nineyear-old.

'I saw Frannie and Sherwood.'

'Come a little closer,' Hugo said, feebly beckoning Will to the bedside. 'I'm not going to strike you.' 'I didn't imagine you were,' Will said.

'I've never struck you, have I? There was a policeman here, said I had.'

'There's no policeman, Dad.'

'There was. Right here. Rude bugger. Said I beat you. I never beat you.' He sounded genuinely distressed at the accusation.

'It's the pills they're giving you, Dad,' Will gently explained, 'they're making you a little delirious. Nobody's accusing you of anything.'

'There was no policeman?'

'No.'

'I could have sworn ...' he said, scanning the room anxiously. 'Where's Adele?'

'She's gone to get some fresh water for your flowers.'

'Are we alone?'

'Yes.'

He leaned up out of the pillow. 'Am I ... making a fool of myself ?'

'In what way?'

'Saying things ... that don't make sense?'

'No, Dad, you're not.'

'You'd tell me wouldn't you?' he said. 'Yes, you would. You'd tell me because it'd hurt and you'd like that.'

'That's not true.'

'You like watching people squirm. You get that from me.'

Will shrugged. 'You can believe what you like, Dad. I'm not going to argue.'

'No. Because you know you'd lose.' He tapped his skull. 'See, I'm not that delirious. I can see your game. You only came back when I'm weak, and confused, because you think you'll get the upper hand. Well you won't. I'm your match with half my wits.' He settled back into his pillow again. 'I don't want you coming here again,' he said softly.

'Oh for Christ's sake.'

'I mean it,' Hugo said, turning his face from Will. 'I'll get better without your care and attention, thank you very much.' Will was glad his father's eyes were averted. The last thing he wanted at that moment was for Hugo to see what an effect his words were having. Will felt them in his throat and chest and gut.

'All right,' Will said. 'If that's what you want.'

'Yes, it is.'

Will watched him a moment longer, with some remote hope that Hugo would say something to undo the hurt. But he'd said all he intended to say

'I'll get Adele,' Will murmured retreating from the bed, 'she'll want to say goodbye. Take care of yourself, Dad.'

There was no further response from Hugo, whether word or sign. Shaken, Will left him to his silence, and headed out in search of Adele. He didn't tell her the substance of his exchange with Hugo; simply said that he'd wait for her at reception. She told him she'd just been speaking to the doctor and he was very optimistic about Hugo's progress. Another week, she said, and he could probably come home; wasn't that wonderful?

It was raining now. Nothing monsoonal, just a steady drizzle. Will didn't shelter from it. He stood outside with his face turned up to the sky, letting the drops cool his hot eyes and flushed cheeks.

When Adele emerged she was in her usual post-visit flutter. Will volunteered to drive, certain he could shave fifteen minutes off the travel time, and be back with the Simeon book before dark. She babbled on happily as they went, mainly about Hugo. 'He makes you very happy, doesn't he?' Will said.

'He's a fine man,' she said, 'and he's been very good to me over the years. I thought when my Donald passed away I'd never have another happy day. I thought the world was at an end. But you know, you get on with it, don't you? It was hard at first because I felt guilty, still living when he was gone. I thought: that's not right. But you get over that after a while. Hugo helped me. We'd sit and talk and he'd tell me to just enjoy the little things. Not try and understand what it was all about, because that was all a waste of time. It was funny that, coming from him. I always thought philosophers were sitting talking about the meaning of life, and there's Hugo saying don't waste your breath.'

'And that was good to hear, was it?'

'It helped,' she said. 'I started to enjoy the little things, the way he said. I was always working so hard when Donald was alive-

'You still work hard.'

'It's different now,' she said. 'If something doesn't get dusted, I don't fret about it. It's just dust. I'll be dust one of these days.'

'Have you got him to go to church?'

'I don't go any more.'

'You used to go twice on a Sunday.'

'I don't feel the need.'

'Did Hugo talk you into that?'

'I don't get talked into things,' Adele said, a little defensively.

'I didn't mean-'

'No, no, I know what you meant. Hugo's a godless man, and he always will be. But I saw the suffering my Donald went through. Terrible it was,terrible, to see him in such a state. And I know people say that's when your faith gets tested. Well, maybe mine did and it wasn't strong enough, because church never meant the same to me after that.'

'God let you down?'

'Donald was a good man. Not clever, like Hugo, but good in his heart. He deserved better.' She fell silent for a minute or so, then added a coda: 'We've got to make the most of what comes along, haven't we? There's nothing certain.'

Will spent the rest of the evening with Thomas Simeon, burying himself in this other life as a refuge from his own. It was no use brooding on what had happened at the hospital; with a little distance (and a couple of heart to hearts with Adrianna) he'd be able to put the experiences in a sane perspective. For now, it was best ignored. He rolled a joint, pulled his chair over to the open window, and sat there reading, lulled by the spatter of the rain on the roof and sill.