Bob the Angry Flower

How They Found the Devil's Advocate

Louis Dramsheet was looking over the diaries of Ms. Van P--- reading how she had broken into Elizabeth Concrete's apartment, how she learned that Thomas Harding bought Christmas presents a month before Christmas, how she learned that Elizabeth Concrete and Charles Harding were wife and husband, how she stole the dagger of St. Francis of Assisi, how she worried about the conspiracy to kill someone who was already dead, how she broke into Lucian Rudman's apartment and hypnotised her, how she suffered nightmares that she was being raped when she went over to Charles Harding's apartment, and how she planned to dress herself up as Lucian Rudman and visit Charles once more. But after that she said nothing, she had not yet written down her diary entry for today. With that, Dramsheet closed the diary and rejoined the interrogation, and just in time as well.

For Ms. Ellen Roda Van P---, alias Pandora Vovelle, alias The Master of the Marthas, alias the Master of the Margarita, alias Martha and the Muffins, alias Have Some Madeira, my Dear, was being quite impossible. She wanted her dagger back and claimed she could call any person in the world to put pressure on Inspector Monagham. When she didn't like the questions she would start singing nonsense and when her throat got tired she would start blowing soap bubbles from a special bottle in her purse. Monagham pressed on, uselessly.

"Why was the dagger taken away? It would be much safer if it just remained where it was. The dagger was taken away because it would have linked the murder to the Flannery O'Connor Brigade. So you had to take it away, and you hid it in Vanessa Wilentz's apartment so it would not be found when they searched yours."

"Completely wrong. I refuse to believe a word of it."

To make matters worse Monagham had received no satisfaction from Interpol. "Excuse me Inspector," interrupted Dramsheet, "but there's something very important I have to ask you. Did you find in your search of Ms. Van P---'s apartment a strange metal box with a shimmering cover?"

"No."

"And have you found any place in the city that would sell a Chinese spice box, like the one that killed Pr. Hermann?"

"Of course not. We've already wrapped that case up."

"That's what I expected. Ms. Van P--- you don't remember seeing a Chinese spice box when you visited Harding's apartment?"

"Absolutely not."

"Ah. Again, that is what I expected."

"Now Ms. Van P---, if you refuse to cooperate I am going to have no choice but to lock you up for the night, and wait until morning to talk sense into you."

"Lock me up for the night? But that's out of the question. I have an extraordinarily important engagement tonight."

"Well you can't leave now."

"I demand the right to bail."

"You think you can pay bail?"

"Certainly. It can't be more than a few hundred dollars."

"Lady, you are dreaming. If you want bail, you are going to wait for a bail hearing, and that is absolutely impossible until at least Monday, and probably not until the new year."

"Really?" Ms. Van P--- reached into her jacket and took out her Thai passport. "As a citizen of the Kingdom of Thailand I demand the right to call my embassy and ask for advice."

Monagham was not really sure whether Ms. Van P--- had the right to do any such thing, but there would be no harm in letting her try. So another officer entered the room and took the suspect to the nearest phone. Monagham went to get some coffee, and before she knew it, an entire hour had passed, and Ms. Van P--- had still not returned from making her telephone call. Monagham was about to get up and protest, when both Ms. Van P--- and the official from the Thai embassy entered.

"Oh good, you're finally here. Now Mr..." but then she stopped, as the official pulled out a large rifle and pointed it at her and Dramsheet. Ms. Van P--- smiled.

"Ah, Inspector Monagham, you see it is so absolutely vital for me to attend this engagement, that I can't be delayed in any way. So I called up this charming young fellow from the Thai embassy, who is very attracted to my maid, and said that if he did not get over here immediately he would never see my maid again, among other lesser threats. As it also happens this engagement needs a large audience and I thought that since you two were so interested in the affairs of the Flannery O'Connor Brigade, you should have a special seat when we begin our ceremony. So Inspector Monagham, if you would please retrieve my pet snakes, and hand me back the dagger of St. Francis of Assisi, and we can be on our way."

"You can't seriously think you'll get away with this. I'll get the other police officers."

"You mean the police officers who are temporarily unconscious because of a gas bomb? Don't worry, the official was kind enough to bring along an assistant who is keeping track of all your messages. Now if you would give me the dagger and my snakes, we can, as I said before, be on our way."

"Impossible. The dagger is at forensics, and the snakes are at the city pound."

"Really? Then we'll simply have to make two stops. We shan't be interrupted, because the car we are traveling in is part of the embassy, and has special legal privileges. Let's get started. Walk right in front of us, and don't make silly moves. Take a deep breath, some gas is still lying around."

The four persons left the station and soon they were at the Cathedral of St. Michael Servetus. The official immediately kissed the maid, who had come back from her special mission, and Ms. Van P--- promptly yanked her hair for her frivolity. Then Pandora Vovelle walked over to the special circle where her mother, the leading angel, and Vivian were standing. She held in her hands the box that contained the dagger of St. Francis of Assisi and as she held it out, the snakes wrapped themselves around her arms, and sneaked through the non-functional holes in her clothing. "I present to you the Dagger."

"It should not have been lost." said her mother.

"Quite. I am prepared to accept the punishment." and she took the snakes and forced both of them to bite her. They dropped to the floor and Pandora beckoned her maid to her side. "In a pocket of my dress just below my waist there is a vial of anti-snake venom. Please inject it into my body no later and no earlier than 180 seconds from now. Also, get me a chair, I think I'm about to faint." She did faint, (though not before her maid got the nice wicker chair), and after she had gotten the antidote she sat there in an impotent fever. "I have carried out my punishment, God's will be done."

Vivian approached her. "God does not need your pain. Angel, please do not let this woman suffer like this."

"Very well," and suddenly Ms. Van P--- felt much better. At this point Monagham thought that she should investigate this a little more closely. But before she could do so she was interrupted by an angel. "You will stay here in the shadows while we conduct the service."

"Good God, you're an angel! But why, I don't understand, I'm amazed, it's..."

"All things shall be explained. In the meantime wait here for the others to come by." and the angel vanished.

"And how does the search for the Devil's advocate go?" Pandora asked her mother.

"It goes well. We don't actually have an advocate yet, and admittedly we are supposed to have one, but I feel that his appointment is absolutely inevitable. In the meantime, help put this dagger away in some obscure and secret place so that the angels can't see it."

"What if the service begins and we don't have an advocate?"

"We would have to cancel the entire ceremony. That would be a very bad idea, when you consider the bloodpurge."

"But mother, we haven't done anything to find one."

"Are you lacking faith in me, the temporary leader of the Flannery O'Connor Brigade, who went out of her way to deliberately conceive you with mermaid soap, and who has always been blessed with miracles and apparitions and predictions?"

"No, mother, it's just that we are supposed to find the advocate ourselves. But, as I repeat, we haven't done anything."

"Oh, but we've done all sorts of things. The Brigade had launched a dozen plans and stratagems that will help us find a devil's advocate. True, none of the plans have the finding of an advocate as a direct logical consequence of their actions. But that's not important, it's not even relevant."

Pandora believed her mother and hid the dagger.

Peter Wilentz had dragged Montserrat with him into the kitchen and was now strenuously complaining to the management of the Charmley-Teachout. He had just stated that if they did not give him his dinner he would ensure that the restaurant's owner paid his fair share of taxes. But before he could say anything else Senator Naipaul entered the room, pointing a pistol at Peter. "I thought you were chasing my sister!"

"I was, but I decided to come back. The Legionmeister is chasing them right now. The two of you are coming with me." And so they did, Naipaul forcing them back into Peter's car, with Montserrat at the wheel. "Now we are going to a special place, but before we do that I want you to stop and pick up Mr. Wilentz's parents."

"You mean they're going to be in the same car with me? Montserrat, where's your pumper?"

"I left it back at the restaurant, sir."

"How could you do such a thing?! That's it, Montserrat. No Christmas present for you."

"Sir, you've never given a Christmas present in your life. You keep forgetting the date." Peter remembered that and muttered vindictively to himself.

"Perhaps we could have a conversation," suggested Naipaul. "Good conversation is such a luxury and Ottawa has so much room for improvement on this point."

"Are you suggesting that I talk?" asked Peter.

"Well, it would be easier for you to do so. I do have a weapon pointed at your secretary, so it would be best if he concentrated on driving."

Peter paused for a moment, then he spoke up. "Menstruation is very fashionable in Canada nowadays."

Naipaul was nonplussed. "I wasn't aware that menstruation was something one chose, like homosexuality or a taste for cigarettes."

"No, not like that. More like a certain rhetoric, goddess worship, fashionable witchcraft, a certain New Age mystique. Clitoral orgasm as a Kantian imperative."

"Ah I see. Yes, that can be very irritating."

"Yes, my birthday was a few months ago and..."

"August 13th?"

"Why yes, how did you know?"

"The Brigade is blessed by the power of the Holy Spirit. But please continue."

"Anyway it was my birthday and my uncle gave me a number of recent scholarly articles on the witchcraft trials. Actually very informative. No evidence of a contemporary pagan religion, no evidence of a widespread goddess movement for at least a couple of millennia, the number of deaths in the tens of thousands and not in the millions, midwives as supporters and accomplices of the witch-hunters and not the victims of unscrupulous doctors trying to hone in on the childbirth market. I was actually quite pleased to read them."

"Yes, he was thrilled for weeks," muttered Montserrat sotto voce.

Naipaul nodded. "Yes. Also no deaths in Spain. Well that's not true. Secular tribunals executed witches, but the Inquisition was much more skeptical. Actually many of the deaths were the result of local panics and local demagogues. It goes to show what a well organized bureaucracy can do to keep things sane. Tell me, Mr. Wilentz, are you proud of your city?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"Are you proud of your country?"

"Absolutely."

"Why?"

But now Montserrat reached the home of Franz and Rebekah Wilentz. Naipaul instructed Peter to get out and get his parents, and not to try anything or Montserrat would pay with his life.

Peter steadily went up to the door with neither fear nor hesitation and opened it. He turned around and smiled back at Naipaul, who did not return his greeting. His parents had just finished their dinner. "Hello, the two of you. Why I can tell from the smell that you've spent a charming afternoon together." "Peter, what a wonderful surprise." and his mother embraced him. He managed to extract himself from her arms and smiled pleasantly. "Actually, mother and father, there's a special reason I'm here. You see my car out there. There's a very special surprise inside. I would like it very much that the two of you went out and told the black man sitting inside the car, that I unfortunately have to go to the bathroom." He pulled out their coats from the side closet, and as they moved out the front door, he dashed outside the back door, and down the side alley for a whole block as quick as he could. But before he could catch his breath and vomit from his mother's embrace, he saw another man in front of him holding a gun.

"You must be Peter Wilentz." Peter Wilentz nodded, and was very much surprised. The man in front of him had a decided Semitic appearance, he had a heavy beard, and was dressed in fine fashionable clothing. Peter at first was inclined to think the man might be Jewish, but he did not remind him of anyone he had ever known before. "Who the devil are you?"

"It's a very long story, and I shan't explain it to you. All you need to know is that I am an employee of the embassy of the Republic of Syria and your presence is required."

Meanwhile, Vanessa and Constantine were wondering where Dr. Roget was. They had seen Naipaul double back to the restaurant, and they saw Roget go into a telephone booth. Vanessa cautiously stepped out the shadow to take a closer look, but she could not see anything. However, she could hear something, and this is what she heard Dr. Roget say to Madame Vovelle. "No, I haven't found Rudman, no I haven't found his girlfriend, yes we should have Wilentz and his valet, what do you mean you haven't found an advocate, we have to have an advocate, what do you mean your daughter, sorry, the Master of the Marthas, has said the same thing, of course I'm worried, are you insinuating I'm unreliable, but we just have to have an advocate, of course I'll return to the cathedral of St. Michael Servetus, good bye."

And then he hung up, or so it must have seemed, because Vanessa heard nothing more. All she could do was follow.

Meanwhile, John Seinkewicz had recovered so much from the coma that on this Saturday night, he had his clothes returned and was getting ready to leave. There was a message from his assistant that he had made all the preparations necessary for Mrs. Chelmnickon's funeral, but that Mr. Chelmnickon himself had been missing since Friday afternoon. John also learned that both Oliver Corpse and Inspector Tyrone had died, and that all the other deaths in the Compass of Death were unrelated suicides. Meanwhile Giles had returned after being questioned over the afternoon, and all three were getting ready to leave for the Philhellenon club, where John and Avare were preparing to spend the night. They were just about to go out the door when a doctor came in. "Are you thinking of leaving Mr. Seinkewicz? Well, I can't allow that at all. You are going to have stay here for the night. Or better yet, you are going to have come with me to this special place for special treatment, that's so advanced and secret I can't tell you the name of it."

"But three other doctors just gave me permission to leave."

"Well they're all wrong, and I'm right, and you're going to do exactly what I tell you to do. It's only for your health, so follow me."

"But what's the matter with me?"

"The matter with you? The matter with you. You think we actually have to give you a reason for whatever we decide to do to you? What do you think this is, some sort of democracy?"

"I do indeed."

"Oh. Ah. Gee. Okay. Since you insist on it so much I'll tell you. You suffer from, from, chlamydia. We thinks it's terminal, but if you come with me, I promise you won't die in the near future. So let's get going."

"How can I be suffering from a female venereal disease?"

"It's a brand new version. In fact we patented it, just last night. So if you could come along quickly."

"I don't even think you're a real doctor." added Giles.

The doctor stopped. "Alright, I have to make a confession. I'm not really a doctor. In fact, I represent the Rumanian embassy. Mrs. Seinkewicz, do you have any sisters?"

"Yes, I do. Two in fact."

"Well I'm here to tell you that both of your sisters and all three of your nieces just happen to be in town this very moment. And I'm also here to tell you that your sister, the one who speaks French, has instructed me to bring all three of you."

"I don't believe you."

"I happen to have complete and total proof of my bonafides. You'll agree that the large gun that I have just taken out of my pocket is a fine set of credentials."

"So you're kidnapping us." asked John.

"Indeed I am. But one thing first." The Rumanian doctor took off his right glove, because he was left-handed, and held it out. The Seinkewiczs stared at it, and the Rumanian had to cough several times to get their attention.

"Oh, you're asking for a bribe!" realized Giles.

"Correct." the Rumanian said testily.

"You're asking for a bribe so that you don't kidnap us."

"No, I'm asking for a bribe so that I will kidnap you."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Of course it makes sense. You see, even before the communists took power Rumania was known as the most corrupt country in Europe. So any good self-respecting Rumanian civil servant has to get his money from anywhere he can. Now ordinarily, I would ask my superior to give me a bribe for this sort of work, but there are two factors that prevent that from happening. First, my superior isn't here and so I can't knock her up for a bribe. Second, my superior scares me to death, and if she wasn't blackmailing me, there'd be no way I'd be in this business. But I have to recoup my losses somewhere, so the best thing to do is to pay up."

"How much would we have to pay you not to kidnap us at all?"

"Oh that wouldn't work at all. First, she'd kill me if I went back to her without you three following me. Second, your kidnap does not have a ransom with it. As far as I know I'm just supposed to take you to the special place, and then take you home a few hours later. So if there's any shot of me getting a bribe, it's going to have be right now. So hand over the loot."

"But I don't have any money." said Giles.

"And this is ridiculous." chimed his father. "I'll do no such thing, and you can't make me."

"Don't think I can't make you? Oh, that was a very stupid thing to say Mr. Seinkewicz."

And then suddenly he pistol-whipped Mrs. Seinkewicz into unconsciousness, savagely beating her around the shoulders, and in the small of her back. "Now listen you fucking bastards, if you don't want your bitch's brains blown across the room, you'll give me all your money, your credit cards, and especially your wedding rings! I can pawn them to someone. Right now get your ass in gear, and bring the old slut along, before I bring back to your sister-in-law three shot up bodies! Is that fucking clear?"

"All too obvious." said John as he resentfully removed his wedding ring, and that of his wife.

And the same thing happened to the other three M.P.s in this story. Thomas Harding was sitting at the special home he had while he was in Ottawa, writing a speech on multiculturalism, when a man from the Sierra Leone embassy politely knocked on the door and kidnapped him. At the same time a man from the Peruvian embassy requested the presence of Alice Concrete at the Cathedral of St. Michael Servetus. But the most interesting thing happened to Ignatius Wilentz. He was walking around the special room where he kept all his antiques when he heard a noise behind him. "Good evening Miss Sarahson. Why are you pointing that lovely antique loaded revolver at me at point blank range?"

"Shut up." said Miss Lightfeathers. "And don't even call me that name again!"

"I take it you object to that name very strongly."

"Correct." she hissed.

"That would make sense. I take it I have the honor of facing the Defender of St. Rose of Lima?"

"You know?"

"Of course. I think I always knew. There was something a little too obvious in your anti-Catholic tirades. Your sense of just grievance was too ostentatiously, indeed vulgarly, displayed. And naturally an Indian woman would choose a Latin-American saint for a cover."

"Shut your mouth."

"I take it that the Brigade is doing something very important that requires the presence of both of us here?"

"Very clever. Now shut up."

"Oh, I will. In a moment. I wonder why Pr. Hermann was so suspicious of me. I take it however, that you have been rummaging through my affairs with considerable effort."

"Yes. I want to know about the letter you received from your daughter yesterday."

"Not much to say actually. It was the first letter I received from her in three years. There was something in it about Giles and I've been trying to call him, but I can't seem to contact him. He's been out the whole day."

"What do you know about the conspiracy to kill someone who is already dead?"

"Nothing, except that my daughter seems to be combating it. I don't even know where my daughter is, actually."

"Fine. We will leave together at once."

"Could you wait a minute while I get a good book to read?"

"Absolutely not."

"Hmmph. A good kidnapper is hard to find." Meanwhile, Lucian Rudman was not at home, instead she walking down one of the more obscure sectors of Ottawa with Adrian. It was not clear to her why she was doing this, she amused herself with the evasion that she had nothing better to do, but even as she did this she could not help but notice the new attention Adrian paid to her. And she could not help notice something else.

"Adrian, there's something I have to tell you."

"What is it?" he asked eagerly.

"It's very important and it could change our entire life."

"Please tell me."

"Adrian, you are a moderately handsome young man, you possess undoubted charm and sympathy, and there are even vestiges of courage in that Alberta body of yours. If you weren't such a silly ass, you would probably find a lovely wife. What I'm trying to say doesn't come easily at all. I've known you for more than six years, and what I really want to say, well I just can't find the words."

"Try. Please try."

"Alright. What I really want to say is that since you are such a tolerably neat person it wouldn't do at all for you to be kidnapped and murdered by the car that's been following us for the past five blocks."

"What? What car?"

"Shh. Don't panic. It also wouldn't do if you panicked and I accidentally got killed. To answer your question that car from the Finnish embassy has been stalking us for the past fifteen minutes. I think as soon as we walk onto the next block where there aren't any people it'll try to catch us. So to make sure that doesn't happen..." They had just passed a place that sold very poor hamburgers, and then ducked down the small alley between it and the next building, only to see the representative of the principality of Andorra blocking the way with his car.

"You two are coming with me." said the bored functionary. But before he could do anything at all, the big blue bouncing ball suddenly appeared, deciding that this would be the perfect time to give Adrian a visit. And this gave Lucian and Adrian the perfect opportunity to run for their lives.

There were now four of the five members of the Flannery O'Connor Brigade in the Cathedral of Saint Michael Servetus. Only the Defender of Saint Rose of Lima was absent. Constantine and Vanessa entered the building through the holes in the wall, and hid themselves in the special passages near the abandoned confessionals. "Good grief, those are my parents over there! What's going on?" But Constantine told Vanessa to shush, while the Syrian embassy official brought in Peter and forced him to join his parents.

"The service of canonization has begun." announced Madame Vovelle. "Before we can begin the service we must ask ourselves if we have the checklist of all the things that are required. First, do we have someone who is to be canonized?"

"We do indeed." said Senator Naipaul.

"Announce his or her name."

"Vivian Artemis Chelmnickon. Professor of Philosophy at Carleton University. Undead white male. English-Polish citizen, recently widowed. Very recently widowed in fact."

"Point out the man."

"V.A. Chelmnickon is the person standing at your right, at exactly a 37 degree angle 5.7 decimeters in front of your nose."

Madame Vovelle turned to Chelmnickon. "Are you Vivian Chelmnickon, Professor of Philosophy, undead white male, etc."

"Yes."

"Do you have some identification?"

Senator Naipaul had taken Vivian's wallet earlier as part of the examination and took out the driver's license. Madame Vovelle examined it thoughtfully. "Do you have another piece of identification?" Naipaul took out Vivian's passport, and Madame Vovelle nodded in approval.

"The second thing we need is the consent of the proposed saint in question. Vivian Chelmnickon, do you agree to accept the honor that is about to be bestowed upon you?"

"Yes." said Vivian softly and tonelessly.

"What about the advocate?" hissed Pandora.

"Shh. The third thing we need now are the evidences of the miracles. Can these be presented before us?" Without nodding the maid went to fetch the evidences. To Vanessa what was very strange was the way in which for one moment there was no table whatsoever, and then the next moment there was one, on which the maid laid the evidences. The strange thing was not that the table had appeared out of nowhere, but the fact that it already possessed age, that it had always been there, and that it was gently ingratiating itself into Vanessa memories like a lover whom you would never suspect of having sexual desires, you would never suspect it even nine months later when you had given birth to his bastard. Vanessa found she had to chant to herself "There was no table there, there was no table there." and she did it so loudly, that Constantine had to tell her to be quiet and say of course there had always been a table there. Fortunately the Brigade members were looking more at the evidences for the conversion. In one pile there was a Polish army uniform, a tape by a leading dissident telling an interviewer of the man who actually believed the Soviet version of Katyn, several affidavits by army clerks, several more affidavits by the poor and starving of Calcutta, and a certificate of conversion to Buddhism. In the second pile was a box of baking soda, a medical report and a portrait of a very happy and extremely fat nun.

And in the third pile was the sum total of Vivian Chelmnickon's scholarly life. Senator Naipaul approached the table and read out the titles of Vivian's twelve books, the details of the twelve honorary degrees, the sums of the twelve foundations grants and council awards that he had won since his exile from Poland, he read the details of the decree of the Polish Sejm restoring his citizenship along with that of Dr. Oliver Corpse, recently deceased, read the details of how Vivian had been awarded Poland's highest civilian honor, read three newspaper reports from the Polish press suggesting Chelmnickon as future prime minister of a national government, read testimonials from the Prime Minister of England, read more testimonials from the cardinal of Poland, and two archbishops, read still more testimonials from the Polish cabinet, read a very short testimonial from Mrs. Chemnickon, recently deceased, very quickly, as well as a very fine and very long testimonial from Pr. Albert Hermann, recently deceased, very adequately, read reviews from The Times Literary Supplement, testifying to his "undoubted courage and dignity," read testimonials from Encounter praising his "decency and commitment to truth," submitted panegyrics from Kontinent praising his "love of liberty and defense of Europe's Christian values," provided the members of the Flannery O'Connor Brigade with the praises of Survey, The New Republic, Commentary, National Review, Partisan Review, Kenyon Review, Sewanee Review, The New York Review of Books, The New York Times Book Review, The New York Times, The Times, The Sunday Times, The Los Angeles Times, Time, Midstream, Newsweek, Daedalus, The National Interest, The Public Interest, Granta, The Guardian, The Wilson Quarterly, The American Spectator, Society, The New Criterion, and many, many, other journals, submitted a wreath of reports showing that he had been a fine citizen, a model scholar, a superb professor, a distinguished philosopher, a humane democrat, a tolerant husband and a loving father, except that he was never able to have children.

Madame Vovelle nodded gravely, and then continued her list. "For the service to begin, there must now be a full contingent of bishops, archbishops, cardinals, and learned theologians. Can this contingent come forward please?" No one moved and after an appropriate silence Madame Vovelle continued. "There would appear to be no bishops, archbishops, cardinals and learned theologians. I will however, give them a second chance to come forward." Again, no one came forward. "Now ordinarily this service could not continue. However, in the unofficial guide to canonization, there is a special exception to the rule, that in the complete absence of any members of the church hierarchy, five angels from the highest seven orders can substitute for them. Are there any angels of the Lord present?" Four of the angels were floating right below the ceiling, and Constantine did not notice them because of the architecture until they called out. "I'm here." "So Am I." "Me too." "Present." The head angel lifted herself above the ground and flew around the special service twice, then sat down and gave Madame Vovelle five gleaming disks of purest white, which as it turned out were the angels' credentials.

"Now, the saint must talk."

"About what?"

"Anything. You must talk about the first thing that comes into your head."

Vivian blinked. "Wait. Something is happening."

"What do you mean?" asked Naipaul.

"My mind, my memories. Something brand new has just appeared. It's as if some part of my life has just been rewritten, decades ago, or it's more like some strange incident happened to me years ago, and it was completely expunged from my memory but now it's just reappeared. Out of nowhere. But is this possible? I don't understand."

Another angel spoke. "The truth you are experiencing is both literal and figural, both concrete and allegorical. Simply remain calm, and tell us what you are remembering."

"It's so difficult. Shards of memory, simple anachronisms, idiosyncrasies in and out of time and space, they're somehow all merging. And staying separate. An insane pattern, without logic, without the rationality of madness."

"That's what they all say." sneered Roget.

"You must tell us what you see."

"Korea. I remember visiting North Korea as part of a volunteer brigade in the summer of 1953, after the ceasefire. I didn't really volunteer for the brigade at the beginning, but I would have by the end of the summer. Oh, and I think my wife was there with me, though of course she wasn't my wife yet. Everything had been burned down at the end of the war, almost every village had been wiped off the face of the earth, it was worse than Warsaw in 1944. A fifth of the population had been killed, I worked with a medical unit in charge of helping the napalm victims, there were so many of them, I must have treated more than six dozen in the village I worked at. And whenever I helped someone who was old enough to speak, and had enough of a tongue to speak it with, they would always praise Kim-Il Sung, Bless Kim Il-Sung, Glory to Kim Il-Sung, and naturally that's what you would expect them to say, except they never said bless Stalin, Praise Stalin, or even Thank You Glorious Representatives of the Polish Working Class, and there was this one old woman who would keep thanking Kim Il-Sung, the rest of her family had been killed, and she would die from her injuries the day before I left to go back to Poland, and she would keep thanking Kim Il-Sung for giving her personally this old apple tree, which had been planted the same year she had been born, and which she had always enjoyed, but which the cruel evil landowner always chased her away from and of course she was raving, since of course there are no apple trees in Korea, and the tree she must have been thinking of was destroyed by a bomb, but she said she always loved the apple tree even though it only produced putrid fruit, and the apples were always filled with worms, but that was all right because you could eat the worms and use to them catch fish which you could dedicate to the glory of Kim Il-Sung, the Great Leader, though I can't imagine how she could have found any fish since the United Nations had bombed all the dikes, but anyway she still loved the apple tree even...

"And now it's Warsaw, and everything is wrong of course. It's 1945, I can't remember if the Nazis have left yet, or it the Soviets have come in, or whether they're both there at the same time, but for some reason I'm not hiding underground, I'm just walking around in enough devastated buildings. But more importantly, this is illusion, it's not real, or elements aren't real, but they seem real, and perhaps they are real, and some details are exactly right, they're the way I always remembered them, like the corpse near an abandoned nazi police station that smelled of rosemary, because a bag of rosemary the governor general had left behind was the only thing the poor fool found before the Nazis caught him, and after they shot him, they wanted to burn the bag so that no other Pole could use it, but they had run out of matches, and the Soviets would be here in a only few days hours minutes and so they untied the bag, and dropped all the rosemary on the body and stomped all over him in the idea that nobody would take it if it had been ground into the corpse. And I remember the madman who carried a weather vane of the building that had once been a library, and he would use to slit the throats of anyone who had food because no Pole could risk carrying knives under the occupation. And I remember when there was so little food that people would eat paper, and the only thing they could find aside from my copy of The City of God, was Der Sturmer, which lead people to say that for once their shit was healthier than their food. All this is exactly how I remember it, but I don't know why I should remember it, or why I am remembering it right now, and what's worse of all I don't know why I am seeing that same Korean apple tree in destroyed Warsaw.

"And what I don't know is why I am seeing a woman, it's just weeks before the Russians come into the city, except of course she's not really a woman, she'd be a teenager, my age, of course, who looks like my wife, except she can't be my wife, because first of all I didn't see my wife until I entered university a few years later, and although she looks like my wife and sounds like my wife, she can't be my wife, since she's only thirteen or so and my wife was always over twenty when I saw her, and this woman who was really a girl was funny but my wife was always cruel and sarcastic, and this woman who was really a girl was generous, while my wife was greedy and impatient, and this woman who was really a girl was intelligent and literate, while my wife was just pompous and overbearing, and this woman who was really a girl was exquisitely beautiful, while my wife only ran around in a sort of sluttish sort of way, and of course there could really be a woman among my companions, because the Nazis had destroyed everything and smashed everything and as far as I knew there was only me and Felix Balcorewicz and one other person who died in a plane accident that I never blamed the party for, and we wouldn't we couldn't have made room for a fourth person, certainly not a girl, and certainly not a stranger who was a girl who looked like a woman who looked like my wife except that she couldn't be my wife because she was too young beautiful literate funny humane, but she was there anyway and we all admired her for her courage and generosity and how she did so much to help us survive.

"I mean, I don't know what to say, because you should all know what happened in Poland in December 1944, but there were only a handful of stragglers in the city, since everyone else had been deported after the rising, though, thank God, not to Treblinka, since it had been smashed and plowed under more than a year ago, or, thank God, not to Auschwitz which still had another month of life and death left to it. But I don't know why I dream of a woman who can't be my wife meeting me in a Warsaw where we never met and I can't remember why this bloody apple tree from Korea, when apples don't grow in Korea, I'm thinking about the apples that miracle of miracles Felix found one day, five apples, snuck from one of the Nazi posts, or was it one of the embassies, regardless, we didn't bother to share it or ration it we just gobbled down as much as we could and our stomachs ached from all the food, and that was the best food we got until the Russians came, because otherwise we had to live on bugs or garbage, or leaves we had to dig from under the snow, but mostly we lived on snow since you can live for up to two months on nothing on water so I suppose I should be grateful that it was the winter. So perhaps that explains the apples and the apple tree, because what I'm remembering next couldn't have happened at all."

"So I am with this woman who is really a girl who is not my wife and one day we are looking for food and I have my copy of The City of God, which I took along with me because I was afraid Felix and the other was going to use it for food, and which I don't have anymore because I gave the book to the new Public Library in Warsaw after the liberation and which vanished from the shelves sometime after the Prague coup, and so here we are though really it was more here we aren't, and not everything has been smashed to pieces in the city, though it would be amazing in retrospect, for there were still a few shelled out buildings, but of course not any of the churches or synagogues and the old university which had to rebuilt after the war so that when I came to the dormitory where my wife lived when she was still a student and a real woman it was all made of concrete and it was ugly and hideous and the water and the electricity and the radiator often didn't work but when I went there for the first time they all worked and the water was actually healthy and I didn't even mind the smell of the orange paint on the corridor outside. But anyway, there were still a few buildings that were left standing, because they were burned out or shelled out and somebody hadn't bothered to bulldoze that section of the city and anyway these are the places, where you think the soldiers weren't where you went to look for food, but more likely you had to be careful not to find someone else's hiding place, because although they might help they would be more likely to kill you on the spot because they would think you were helping the Nazis to root them out, which was certainly a rational thing to think. But I remember, which of course I'm not remembering, since none of this is real, there were no people in the two story burned out building where we were looking for food or perhaps for junk that you could sell on the black market, because even though there wasn't a black market right now in Poland because everything was destroyed, one would start up as soon as the Soviets came in, but all there was on the first floor was rubble, as if some bulldozer had thought this would be a good place to shove all your non- assorted and non-needed rubble, but regardless there was nothing here but the huge pieces of someone else's house, or more likely flats or tenements since that's what most people had and we were in one of the poorer parts of the city, and the pieces of the rubble were so big, they must have weighed more than, and what's this about Korean apple trees, weighed more than a hundred or two hundred kilograms, and though we tried to search for food under the great slabs of brick and mortar and sometimes wood, we couldn't lift it up, because they were too heavy and we were too weak and after fifteen minutes of this exertion we stopped, we couldn't do anything more though it wasn't really a good fifteen minutes of exertion since we were so nervous we were scared of everything and stopped every minute forty five thirty five twenty seconds in fear of troops, and even the rattling around of a cat could scare you, but it didn't scare us because there were no cats or dogs or any other animals left in Warsaw except the rats and they were too fast and few to catch and use as food. So there was nothing we could do except go up the steps which, miracle of miracles, were still intact and go up and see what was on the next floor.

"The nights were longer since this was December, and we went out at dusk anyway, just to be sure, so as we went up the stairwell it was pitch dark and we had to hold our hands because we kept bumping into things on the stairwell, but it was largely dirt or crumbling masonry but we got up to the second floor which was far above the first floor and we could see a window in the distance that had a little light but not nearly enough and we walked very slowly in the dark, and her left hand was grasping my right hand as hard as possible, and I thought I saw, though this is so unreal, I thought I saw a real rocking horse, it wasn't even beheaded, and it would make me a fortune on the black market, except that it was too wide for the narrow stairwell, which made we wonder how they ever got it up there and perhaps the main stairwell had been bulldozed away, and I thought I saw rags which could always be used as clothing, except they looked Asiatic, in the same ways some dolls in the corner did and I swear I could see what looked like icons in the same way that bloody apple tree which I swear I could see outside the window except that's ludicrous since of course there could be no apple trees in Warsaw and anyway I couldn't see outside because it was so dark but this apple tree was not only there it was in bloom with bright red or pink apples with white flesh like the Polish flag of course so there shouldn't be any Koreans caring about it, but anyway I could swear I could taste them, I could taste the smell of party pamphlets, and stale oatmeal and tape and the sweetness of diluted red ink and sweetness on the back of party stamps that don't stick very well and waterlogged cereal mush and lies and betrayal and love but anyway though I can remember the taste there weren't really any apples but the woman by my side whose left hand was gripping my right hand liked apples, and she liked the taste of apples, even if they tasted like diluted red ink and she almost liked them as much as my wife did just when we first got married or first met and she would gulp them down as fast as she could, like a greedy pig, said Oliver Corpse, may he rest in peace, and may God forgive my sins to what I've done to him dear Lord, and she would offer some to me and I would take them but they were always full of worms and just as she was raising her voice, since we had been talking in whispers because of the fear of soldiers she suddenly shrieked and I was yanked down to the floor because she had fallen through a weak spot in the floor and she had dragged me down with her.

"When I fell my arm gashed against the wood and though I wasn't really hurt I was cut badly and there was blood everywhere and I could see it fall on her head as she hung screaming below and if she slipped out of my hand she would fall and she would fall to her death because she would break her neck on the rubble below and as I looked down below here I remember looking down at her breasts which is odd because she was too young to really have them but I could see as I felt the pain and thought I was going to bleed to death and as I looked at the breasts that weren't really there of the woman who was really a girl who was my wife but really wasn't my wife I thought I could let her slip from my fingers and she would fall to her death and I could go down to her corpse and use her clothes or the rags as a tourniquet and then I could open her blouse and suck on her tits because I didn't care for the sex but I needed the milk God save me, because I needed the protein, but I wouldn't have wanted a glass and as she kept screaming I remembered the bloody apple tree from Korea which doesn't make any sense and I kept thinking about Confucians, which is impossible because I didn't even know what a Confucian was and I thought I could smell the smell of burning Confucians, authoritarian Confucians, popular front Confucians, guilty Confucians, happy Confucians and I smelled them all as she was slipping from my fingers and I felt the taste of apples, of party pamphlets, bad oatmeal, red ink, and the sweetness of stamps that don't really stick and I smelled the burning flesh of nervous Confucians, Confucians who wanted to merge into Christianity, Confucians who wanted to write like Tolstoy, and then for one instant I was holding on to the hand of my wife in Korea as she dangled before death in Korea and I was back in Poland with the woman who was really a girl and for one instant I felt such love and the next instant I felt nothing and saw only a dangling screaming plaything whimpering to death and I felt the blood slipping off my gashed arm and into her hands and down the sleeve on her arm and with one huge effort I reached up and grabbed and pulled her to safety."

And then Vivian was silent. "But what's the point of all this?" asked Roget. "None of this was real."

"You are mistaken Legionmeister." said the Angel. "All of it was real, but the reality was slightly shuffled."

Madame Vovelle nodded in approval. "For the service to continue there are a large number of items which are also required." And so she began to talk, about whether there were sufficient amounts of rosemary, crucifixes, rosaries, blessed bibles, very well-meaning bibles, a small length of rope, canticles, litanies, hymnbooks (though no hymns were to be sung), incense, holy water, holy hydrochloric acid, piano wire, a fine roast beef dinner, tape recordings of the priests that Vivian had confessed to, nice fancy red velvet cloaks, auto de fe cloaks, and a whole host of other spices and prayers to make everything look properly holy. For each of these items Naipaul, or Roget, or Pandora, would verify its existence without fail, until they came to the final item, the devil's advocate. "The devil's advocate is not here." said Pandora Vovelle. "Not only is no such person here, we do not have anyone even nominated. We have no idea who could serve as a good devil's advocate, and have no idea where to find one."

"Is this true?" said the leading angel.

"More or less. But don't worry we will find one."

"The advocate has to present at this point of the service. Moreover, the advocate cannot be an angel, and cannot be a member of the Brigade. And the service has begun. But without an advocate the service must automatically end. And the consequences of that will be devastating."

"But the service doesn't have to go any further." said Madame Vovelle. "Not yet, anyway. It cannot go any further, until, until, the fifth member of the Flannery O'Connor Brigade arrives." The angels were quite surprised to hear about this rule, and so, to tell the truth, were the other members of the Brigade. But just at this moment Mary Lightfeaters, alias Miriam Sarahson, alias the Defender of St. Rose of Lima, came in with Ignatius Wilentz. She came in just through the very same entrance that Constantine and Vanessa had sneaked through, and was at her wits end because of all the pleasant conversations he kept starting. Wilentz was now asking her about the Rilke that she was supposed to be reading tonight, instead of kidnapping him and taking him to the cathedral of St. Michael Servetus, and she was so angered this, that she stopped and threw a tantrum right where she was standing--and so noticed Constantine hiding right behind the pillar nearby.

At once there was a hue and cry; Vanessa barely had time to hide herself, as at once the five members swooped down and dragged Constantine towards the circle. He was almost senseless by the time he reached it, and the box on the ear didn't help, so he could barely understand what Madame Vovelle was shouting when she declared "Bring out the piano wire and bind Rudman to the post! We have found our devil's advocate!" Louis Dramsheet was looking over the diaries of Ms. Van P--- reading how she had broken into Elizabeth Concrete's apartment, how she learned that Thomas Harding bought Christmas presents a month before Christmas, how she learned that Elizabeth Concrete and Charles Harding were wife and husband, how she stole the dagger of St. Francis of Assisi, how she worried about the conspiracy to kill someone who was already dead, how she broke into Lucian Rudman's apartment and hypnotised her, how she suffered nightmares that she was being raped when she went over to Charles Harding's apartment, and how she planned to dress herself up as Lucian Rudman and visit Charles once more. But after that she said nothing, she had not yet written down her diary entry for today. With that, Dramsheet closed the diary and rejoined the interrogation, and just in time as well.

"Completely wrong. I refuse to believe a word of it."

To make matters worse Monagham had received no satisfaction from Interpol, when Dramsheet interrupted. "Excuse me Inspector, but there's something very important I have to ask you. Did you find in your search of Ms. Van P---'s apartment a strange metal box with a shimmering cover?"

"No."

"And have you found any place in the city that would sell a Chinese spice box, like the one that killed Pr. Hermann?"

"Of course not. We've already wrapped that case up."

"That's what I expected. Ms. Van P--- you don't remember seeing a Chinese spice box when you visited his apartment?"

"Absolutely not."

"Ah. Again, that is what I expected."

"Now Ms. Van P---, if you refuse to cooperate I am going to have no choice but to lock you up for the night, and wait until morning to talk sense into you."

"Lock me up for the night? But that's out of the question. I have an extraordinarily important engagement tonight."

"Well you can't leave now."

"I demand the right to bail."

"You think you can pay bail?"

"Certainly. It can't be more than a few hundred dollars."

"Lady, you are dreaming. If you want bail, you are going to wait for a bail hearing, and that is absolutely impossible until at least Monday, and probably not until the new year."

"Really?" Ms. Van P--- reached into her jacket and took out her Thai passport. "As a citizen of the Kingdom of Thailand I demand the right to call my embassy and ask for advice."

"Oh good, you're finally here. Now Mr..." but then she stopped, as the official pulled out a large rifle and pointed it at her and Dramsheet. Ms. Van P--- smiled.

"You can't seriously think you'll get away with this. I'll get the other police officers."

"Impossible. The dagger is at forensics, and the snakes are at the city pound."

"It should not have been lost." said her mother.

Vivian approached her. "God does not need your pain. Angel, please do not let this woman suffer like this."

"Good God, you're an angel! But why, I don't understand, I'm amazed, it's..."

"All things shall be explained. In the meantime wait here for the others to come by." and the angel vanished.

"And how does the search for the Devil's advocate go?" Pandora asked her mother.

"What if the service begins and we don't have an advocate?"

"We would have to cancel the entire ceremony. That would be a very bad idea, when you consider the bloodpurge."

"But mother, we haven't done anything to find one."

"No, mother, it's just that we are supposed to find the advocate ourselves. But, as I repeat, we haven't done anything."

Pandora believed her mother and hid the dagger.

"You mean they're going to be in the same car with me? Montserrat, where's your pumper?"

"I left it back at the restaurant, sir."

"How could you do such a thing?! That's it, Montserrat. No Christmas present for you."

"Sir, you've never given a Christmas present in your life. You keep forgetting the date." Peter remembered that and muttered vindictively to himself.

"Perhaps we could have a conversation," suggested Naipaul. "Good conversation is such a luxury and Ottawa has so much room for improvement on this point."

"Are you suggesting that I talk?" asked Peter.

"Well, it would be easier for you to do so. I do have a weapon poined at your secretary, so it would be best if he concentrated on his driving."

Peter paused for a moment, then he spoke up. "Menstruation is very fashionable in Canada nowadays."

Naipaul was non-plussed. "I wasn't aware that menstruation was something one chose, like homosexuality or a taste for cigarettes."

"No, not like that. More like a certain rhetoric, goddess worship, fashionable witchcraft, a certain New Age mystique. Clitorial orgasm as a Kantian imperative."

"Ah I see. Yes, that can be very irritating."

"Yes, my birthday was a few months ago and..."

"August 13th?"

"Why yes, how did you know?"

"The Brigade is blessed by the power of the Holy Spirit. But please continue."

"Anyway it was my birthday and my uncle gave me a number of recent scholarly articles on the witchcraft trials. Actually very informative. No evidence of a contemporary pagan religion, no evidence of a widespread goddess movement for at least a couple of millenia, the number of deaths in the tens of thousands and not in the millions, midwives as supporters and accomplices of the witch-hunters and not the victims of unscrupulous doctors trying to hone in on the childbirth market. I was actually quite pleased to read them."

"Yes, he was thrilled for weaks," muttered Montserrat sote voce.

"Yes. Very much so."

"Are you proud of your country?"

"Absolutely."

"Why?"

But now Montserrat reached the home of Franz and Rebakah Wilentz. Naipaul instructed Peter to get out and get his parents, and not to try anything or Montserrat would pay with his life.

"It's a very long story, and I shan't explain it to you. All you need to know is that I am an employee of the embassy of the Republic of Syria and your presence is required."

And then he hung up, or so it must have seemed, because Vanessa heard nothing more. All she could do was follow.

"But three other doctors just gave me permission to leave."

"Well they're all wrong, and I'm right, and you're going to do exactly what I tell you to do. It's only for your health, so follow me."

"But what's the matter with me?"

"The matter with you? The matter with you. You think we actually have to give you a reason for whatever we decide to do to you? What do you think this is, some sort of democracy?"

"I do indeed."

"How can I be suffering from a female venereal disease?"

"It's a brand new version. In fact we patented it, just last night. So if you could come along quickly."

"I don't even think you're a real doctor." added Giles.

The doctor stopped. "Alright, I have to make a confession. I'm not really a doctor. In fact, I represent the Rumanian embassy. Mrs. Seinkewicz, do you have any sisters?"

"Yes, I do. Two in fact."

"I don't believe you."

"I happen to have complete and total proof of my bonafides. You'll agree that the large gun that I have just taken out of my pocket is a fine set of credentials."

"So you're kidnapping us." asked John.

"Oh, you're asking for a bribe!" realized Giles.

"Correct." the Rumanian said testily.

"You're asking for a bribe so that you don't kidnap us."

"No, I'm asking for a bribe so that I will kidnap you."

"That doesn't make sense."

"How much would we have to pay you not to kidnap us at all?"

"But I don't have any money." said Giles.

"And this is ridiculous." chimed his father. "I'll do no such thing, and you can't make me."

"Don't think I can't make you? Oh, that was a very stupid thing to say Mr. Seinkewicz."

"All too obvious." said John as he resentfully removed his wedding ring, and that of his wife.

"Shut up." said Miss Lightfeathers. "And don't even call me that name again!"

"I take it you object to that name very strongly."

"Correct." she hissed.

"That would make sense. I take it I have the honor of facing the Defender of St. Rose of Lima?"

"You know?"

"Shut your mouth."

"I take it that the Brigade is doing something very important that requires the presence of both of us here?"

"Very clever. Now shut up."

"Oh, I will. In a moment. I wonder why Pr. Hermann was so suspicious of me. I take it however, that you have been rummaging through my affairs with considerable effort."

"Yes. I want to know about the letter you received from your daughter yesterday."

"What do you know about the conspiracy to kill someone who is already dead?"

"Nothing, except that my daughter seems to be combating it. I don't even know where my daughter is, actually."

"Fine. We will leave together at once."

"Could you wait a minute while I get a good book to read?"

"Absolutely not."

"Adrian, there's something I have to tell you."

"What is it?" he asked eagerly.

"It's very important and it could change our entire life."

"Please tell me."

"Try. Please try."

"What? What car?"

There were now four of the five members of the Flannery O'Connor Brigade in the Cathedral of Saint Michael Servetus. Only the Defender of Saint Rose of Lima was absent. Constantine and Vanessa entered the building through the holes in the wall, and as they hid himself in the special passages near the abandoned confessionals. "Good grief, those are my parents over there! What's going on?" But Constantine told Vanessa to shush, while the Syrian embassy official brought in Peter and forced him to join his parents.

"We do indeed." said Senator Naipaul.

"Announce his or her name."

"Vivian Artemis Chelmnickon. Professor of Philosophy at Carleton University. Undead white male. English-Polish citizen, recently widowed. Very recently widowed in fact."

"Point out the man."

"V.A. Chelmnickon is the person standing at your right, at exactly a 37 degree angle 5.7 decimeters in front of your nose."

Madame Vovelle turned to Chelmnickon. "Are you Vivian Chelmnickon, Professor of Philosophy, undead white male, etc."

"Yes."

"Do you have some identification?"

"The second thing we need is the consent of the proposed-saint in question. Vivian Chelmnickon, do you agree to accept the honor that is about to be bestowed upon you?"

"Yes." said Vivian softly and tonelessly.

"What about the advocate?" hissed Pandora.

"Shh. The third thing we need now are the evidences of the miracles. Can these be presented before us?" Without nodding the maid went to fetch the evidences. To Vanessa what was very strange was the way in which for one moment there was no table whatsoever, and then the next moment there was one, on which the maid laid the evidences. The strange thing was not that the table had appeared out of nowhere, but the fact that it already possessed age, that it had always been there, and that it was gently ingratiating itself into Vanessa memories like a lover whom you would never suspect of having sexual desires, you would never suspect it even nine months later when you had given birth to his bastard. Vanessa found she had to chant to herself "There was no table there, there was no table there." and she did it so loud, that Constantine had to tell her to be quiet and say of course there had always been a table there. Fortunately the Brigade members were looking more at the evidences for the conversion. In one pile there was a Polish army uniform, a tape by a leading dissident telling an interviewer of the man who actually believed the Russian version of Katyn, several affidavits by army clerks, several more affidavits by the poor and starving of Calcutta, and a certificate of conversion to Buddhism. In the second pile was a box of baking soda, a medical report and a portrait of a very happy and extremely fat nun.

Madame Vovelle nodded gravely, and then continued her list. "For the service to begin, there must now be a full contingent of bishops, archbishops, cardinals, and learned theologians. Can this contingent come forward please?" No one moved and after an appropriate silence Madame Vovelle continued. "There would appear to be no bishops, archbishops, cardinals and learned theologians. I will however, give them a second chance to come forward." Again, no one came forward. "Now ordinarily this service could not continue. However, in the unofficial guide to canonization, there is a special exception to the rule, that in the complete absence of any members of the church hierarchy, five angels from the highest seven orders can substitute for them. Are there any angels of the Lord present?" Four of the angels were floating right below the ceiling, and Constantine did not notice them because of the architecture until they called out. "I'm here." "So Am I." "Me too." "Present." The head angel lifted herself above the ground and flew around the special service twice, then sat down and gave Madame Vovelle five gleamimg disks of purest white, which as it turned out were the angels' credentials.

"Now, the saint must talk."

"About what?"

"Anything. You must talk about the first thing that comes into your head."

Vivian blinked. "Wait. Something is happening."

"What do you mean?" asked Naipaul.

Another angel spoke. "The truth you are experiencing is both literal and figural, both concrete and allegorical. Simply remain calm, and tell us what you are remembering."

"That's what they all say." sneered Roget.

"You must tell us what you see."

"So I am with this woman who is really a girl who is not my wife and one day we are looking for food and I have my copy of The City of God, which I took along with me because I was afraid Felix and the other was going to use it for food, and which I don't have anymore because I gave the book to the new Public Library in Warsaw after the liberation and which vanished from the shelves sometime after the Prague coup, and so here we are though really it was more here we aren't, and not everything has been smashed to pieces in the city, though it would be amazing in retrospect, for there were still a few shelled out buildings, but of course not any of the churches or synagogues and the old university which had to rebuilt after the war so that when I came to the dormitory where my wife lived when she was still a student and a real woman it was all made of concrete and it was ugly and hideous and the water and the electricity and the radiator often didn't work but when I went there for the first time they all worked and the water was actually healthy and I didn't even mind the smell of the orange paint on the corridor outside. But anyway, there were still a few buildings that were left standing, because they were burned out or shelled out and somebody hadn't bothered to bulldoze that section of the city and anyway these are the places, where you think the soldiers weren't where you went to look for food, but more likely you had to be careful not to find someone else's hiding place, because although they might help they would be more likely to kill you on the spot because they would think you were helping the Nazis to root them out, which was certainly a rational thing to think. But I remember, which of course I'm not remembering, since none of this is real, there were no people in the two story burned out building where we were looking for food or perhaps for junk that you could sell on the black market, because even though there wasn't a black market right now in Poland because everything was destroyed, one would start up as soon as the Soviets came in, but all there was on the first floor was rubble, as if some bulldozer had thought this would be a good place to shove all your non- assorted and non-needed rubble, but regardless there was nothing here but the huge pieces of someone else's house, or more likely flats or tenements since that's what most people had and we were in one of the poorer parts of the city, and the pieces of the rubble were so big, they must have weighed more than, and what's this about Korean apple trees, weighed more than a hundred or two hundred kilograms, and though we tried to search for food under the great slabs of brick and mortar and sometimes wood, we couldn't lift it up, because they were too heavy and we were too weak and after fifteen minutes of this exertion we stopped, we couldn't do anything more though it wasn't really a good fifteen minutes of exertion since we were so nervous we were scared of everything and stopped every minute forty five thirty five twenty seconds in fear of troops, and even the rattling around of a cat could scare you, but it didn't scare us because there were no cats or dogs or any other animals left in Warsaw except the rats and they were too fast and few to catch and use as food. So there was nothing we could do except go up the steps which miracle of miracles were still intact and go up and see what was on the next floor.

"The nights were longer since this was December, and we went out at dusk anyway, just to be sure, so as we went up the stairwell it was pitch dark and we had to hold our hands because we kept bumping into things on the stairwell, but it was largely dirt or crumbling masonry but we got up to the second floor which was far above the first floor and we could see a window in the distance that had a little light but not nearly enough and we walked very slowly in the dark, and her left hand was grasping my right hand as hard as possible, and I thought I saw, though this is so unreal, I thought I saw a real rocking horse, it wasn't even beheaded, and it would make me a fortune on the black market, except that it was too wide for the narrow stairwell, which made we wonder how they ever got it up there and perhaps the main stairwell had been bulldozed away, and I thought I saw rags which could always be used as clothing, except they looked Asiatic, in the same ways some dolls in the corner did and I swear I could see what looked like icons in the same way that bloody apple tree which I swear I could see outside the window except that's ludicrous since of course there could be no apple trees in Warsaw and anyway I couldn't see outside because it was so dark but this apple tree was not only there it was in bloom with bright red or pink apples with white flesh like the Polish flag of course so there shouldn't be any Koreans caring about it, but anyway I could swear I could taste them, I could taste the smell of party pamphlets, and stale oatmeal and tape and the sweetness of diluted red ink and sweetness on the back of party stamps that don't stick very well and waterlogged cereal mush and lies and betrayal and love but anyway though I can remember the taste there weren't really any apples but the woman by my side whose left hand was gripping my right hand liked apples, and she liked the taste of apples, even if they tasted like diluted red ink and she almost liked them as much as my wife did just when we first got married or first met and she would gulp them down as fast as she could, like a greedy pig, said Oliver Corpse, may rest in peace, and may God forgive my sins to what I've done to him dear Lord, and she would offer some to me and I would take them but they were always full of worms and just as she was raising her voice, since we had been talking in whispers because of the fear of soldiers she suddenly shrieked and I was yanked down to the floor because she had fallen through a weak spot in the floor and she had dragged me down with her.

"When I fell my arm gashed against the wood and though I wasn't really hurt I was cut badly and there was blood everywhere and I could see it fall on her head as she hung screaming below and if she slipped out of my hand she would fall and she would fall to her death because she would break her neck on the rubble below and as I looked down below here I remember looking down at her breasts which is odd because she was too young to really have them but I could see as I felt the pain and thought I was going to bleed to death and as I looked at the breasts that weren't really there of the woman who was really a girl who was wife but really wasn't my wife I thought I could let her slip from my fingers and she would fall to her death and I could go down to her corpse and use her clothes or the rags as a tourniquet and then I could open her blouse and suck on her tits because I didn't care for the sex but I needed the milk God save me, because I needed the protein, but I wouldn't have wanted a glass and as she kept screaming I remembered the bloody apple tree from Korea which doesn't make any sense and I kept thinking about Confucians, which is impossible because I didn't even know what a Confucian was and I thought I could smell the smell of burning Confucians, authoritarian Confucians, popular front Confucians, guilty Confucians, happy Confucians and I smelled them all as she was slipping from my fingers and I felt the taste of apples, of party pamphlets, bad oatmeal, red ink, and the sweetness of stamps that don't really stick and I smelled the burning flesh of nervous Confucians, Confucians who wanted to merge into Christianity, Confucians who wanted to write like Tolstoy, and then for one instant I was holding on to the hand of my wife in Korea as she dangled before death in Korea and I was back in Poland with the woman who was really a girl and for one instant I felt such love and the next instant I felt nothing and saw only a dangling screaming plaything whimpering to death and I felt the blood slipping off my gashed arm and into her hands and down the sleeve on her arm and with one huge effort I reached up and grabbed and pulled her to safety."

And then Vivian was silent. "But what's the point of all this?" asked Roget. "None of this was real."

"You are mistaken Legionmeister." said the Angel. "All of it was real, but the reality was slightly shuffled."

Madame Vovelle nodded in approval. "For the service to continue there are a large number of items which are also required." And so she began to talk, were there sufficient amounts of rosemary, crucifixes, rosaries, blessed bibles, very well-meaning bibles, a small length of rope, canticles, litanies, hymnbooks (though no hymns were to be sung), incense, holy water, holy hydrochloric acid, piano wire, a fine roast beef dinner, tape recordings of the priests that Vivian had confessed to, nice fancy red velvet cloaks, auto de fe cloaks, and a whole host of other spices and prayers to make everything look properly holy. For each of these items Naipaul, or Roget, or Pandora, would verify its existence without fail, until they came to the final item, the devil's advocate. "The devil's advocate is not here." said Pandora Vovelle. "Not only is no such person here, we do not have anyone even nominated. We have no idea who could serve as a good devil's advocate, and have no idea where to find one."

"Is this true?" said the leading angel.

"More or less. But don't worry we will find one."

"But the service doesn't have to go any further." said Madame Vovelle. "Not yet, anyway. It cannot go any further, until, until, the fifth member of the Flannery O'Connor Brigade arrives." The angels were quite surprised to hear about this rule, and so, to tell the truth, were the other members of the Brigade. But just at this moment Mary Lightfeaters, alias Miriam Sarahson, alias the Defender of St. Rose of Lima, came in with Ignatius Wilentz. She came in just through the very same entrance that Constantine and Vanessa had sneaked through, and was at her wits end because of all the pleasant conversations he kept starting. Wilentz was now asking her about the Rilke that she was supposed to be reading tonight, instead of kidnapping him and taking him to the cathedral of St. Michael Servetus, and she was so angered by this that she stopped and threw a tantrum right where she was standing--and so noticed Constantine hiding right behind the pillar nearby.

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