Jack O'Connell - Word Made Flesh

The keys?

Well, my friend, sometimes a key is just a key.

But were I clairvoyant, there are certain predictions I might make.

Wylie will never finish her book. Does the world need another book about worms and madmen? I see her seeking asylum at the gates of Brockden Farm with her new charge. After a time, she might come to offer assistance to the owners. Reading to the children. Perhaps tending a garden of some sort.

But I could be wrong. She has the Checker now. What more does she need? This will be her livelihood and her mission. There is a beautiful convenience in the duality, I think. Once a day she might bring pastry to the old man, Langer, up at the Toth Facility. Otherwise, she will drive Gilrein’s old routes, collecting the new stories. Maybe telling some of her own. What else does one do with a functional tongue?

And Gilrein?

Well, remember, he made a promise years ago to his wife. Can there really be peace until he pays his debt to Ceil? He said he would build the Church of Imogene Wedgewood. I think at the time they imagined a smoldering lounge, a dark torch club full of passion and mystery. If I recall, there was an ongoing debate as to location. One favored Paris and the other wanted something more tropical. But after all that has happened, can we blame Gilrein if he cannot sustain this kind of romance any longer?

No, no — do not misunderstand me. I still believe he will build the Church. It is simply the location that is in question.

Very soon now, Wylie will drive him to the bus station. Her first fare. He will tip her magnanimously.

Yes, I have some ideas about where Gilrein might be going. He could be heading north, eventually finding the last freighter — I believe it is the Jhain Gei— that will take him to the Palmer Peninsula and a lonely parish in desperate need of entertainment. Or perhaps he is traveling east. In the general direction of Old Bohemia. I am told there is a vacant parcel of land available. In the city of Maisel. The government owns the property and has been trying for some time to sell it. They would listen to any offer.

Oddly enough, I have no problem seeing Gilrein as the first priest in his new church. Ministering to the faithful, hearing their unique myths, and absolving them with the arrogant conceit that sooner or later we will all speak the same language.

Excuse?

I’m sorry, I’m having trouble understanding you. Is that a sore on your tongue?

Ah, yes — the priest is climbing up onto the counter. Look at Mr. Tang grimace as the preacher’s muddy sandals muck up the Formica. Look at how the cleric manages to silence the crowd. They hang on his every move. They all flinch as he leans forward to turn up the radio. This must be the big moment.

Perhaps the Rapture does indeed approach.

Take my hand, friend.

I can think of no one I would rather be with.