Chapter 32: Joyla and Kaa attend mass
It was a Saturday, late in the afternoon, and the Korean mass was under way in the Seksat Cathedral in Guangzhou. The gothic pile on the north bank of the Pearl River sat firmly in the middle of busy old town, a transplanted church of a middle Eastern god followed in a European tradition sweltering in the heat and humidity of Asia. Joyla slipped in the southern doors of the church just as everyone stood and started reciting a psalm, their agglutinative language resounding in the towering space. She knew only a few words, mostly to do with food, so was unable to place the psalm, but still had twinge of nostalgia for her religious childhood.
A shock of red hair towered over the dominantly black hair of the congregation from the empty back row of pews, a master of temptation as counterpoint to a priest of probity at the raised altar in the chancel, no precast pillars around him, no scepter in his hand. Joyla slipped down the aisle and into the pew beside Kaa. He was chanting along with the psalm in what sounded like at least passable Korean. Joyla looked at him, waited. The psalm ended and Kaa nodded toward the side wall, a door ajar there.
Inside the empty room off of the main space, the door muted the sound of the service. A pew sat against a wall, so they in turn sat on it.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“Catholic mass in Korean and you know the words?”
“Well…”
“Wait, don’t tell me. Korean Catholic woman.”
“Yes. PhD in art history. And I’ve always loved kimchi and bibimbap.”
“Right. Why are we here?”
“The head priest is an old friend. A very old friend. We went to school together. I help out occasionally, don’t seduce anyone in his congregation, and in return he lets me use the place once in a while.”
“So. Atheist, magical seducer Kaa attends Korean Catholic Mass and hangs out in a cathedral. I thought I knew you.”
“Everyone has elements that don’t happen to be exposed when you are looking. Speaking of which, how’s Rex?”
“He can’t get the mirrors back out. Too much time, too tricky.”
“No, I meant how are you with Rex? You have the look of a woman who has progressed beyond having a new man in her life to the look of a woman who has a new love in her life.”
“Yes. And it’s mutual.”
“Oh, Joyla. I’m so sorry. Happy too, but sorry. Does he know?”
“Yes. Same conversation.”
“Ah. So he knows you’ll watch him wither, die.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe he knows?”
“Maybe he knows, maybe I’ll age with him. It’s a choice.”
“Yes. But not a choice your instincts will let you make, no matter how much your heart might want to.”
“So you say.”
“So says everyone I’ve ever met like us. We just keep choosing life, no matter how painful. Or at least, we never choose aging as our means of ending it.”
He put his hand over hers. They sat in silence, listened to the mass ending, people leaving.
“So how is the Dian Mu thing going on your end?”
“Well, almost all of her key enjoyments are set with the snares. Lots of fun with airport security. I’m almost certain the first domino has fallen.”
“Good. But why so many? With me it was just one.”
“It has to be irresistible. She has to yearn for it, choose it, dive into it. We can’t fail. I can’t fail. I need to be as persuasive as the devil.”
“You already are.”
“Thank you, but no. I’ve been reminded recently of the limits of my talents and charms, a woman named Celia who wasn’t happy to see me again. I felt like an ass. This has to be perfect, an orchestrated play upon the senses which immerses her when she first sees me. In her mind, the match must be preordained, she has to be a laser-beam focused on me, eager to make my acquaintance, regardless of how she represents it externally. We need haste from her. There can be no scarecrows.”
“So you’ve got limits?”
“Absolutely. Most of my normal game is bluffing, improvising lyrics on the fly, penning staves to fit the moment. I live for the potential to drop a ball, and not doing it. But we can’t afford that this time.”
“So you aren’t playing your own game? Isn’t that a greater risk?”
“Still lots of open ends. But more preparing of the grounds and seeding of the air is critical to this cinema of seduction.”
The door opened. An ancient priest walked in, a bit hunched but still vital, perhaps ninety, perhaps a hundred.
“George. And this is Joyla, whom you’ve told me about?”
“George?”
“George. Later. John Rey, good to see you.”
“And you as well. This deal with the devil you made keeps you looking absurdly young. Where do I sign up again?”
“On the dotted line, of course.”
This had the sound of familiar banter. Joyla wondered how long they really had known each other. And what Kaa had told the ancient priest about her, about them.
“Do you need to stay? Wish sacrament? Need absolution or forgiveness?”
“No to all three.”
“Then how about some baiju?”
“That sounds perfect.”
And so the three of them ended up in the den of the priest’s house next to the cathedral, sunk in leather armchairs, glasses of the clear firewater next to them, tears in their eyes and heat in their throats.
“Kerosene and rot. Much like sulphur and brimstone. Is this a fitting drink for a priest?”
“I get gifts of the stuff from the locals. It would be impolite not to drink it.”
“Ah. In that case, more please.”
“So how is the problem with the overgrown eft going, George.”
“Cautiously, it seems to be going well.”
“Have you considered doing as I advised?”
“Telling some authority or other that there’s a threat against the power grid? No. Who would believe the story?”
“Embellish it a bit. Make it an Uyghur plot.”
“Lie? Number eight on the big list? You’d council me to break a commandment, especially one Augustine liked? I have a soft spot for Augustine, you know.”
“If any of the stories you’ve tempted me with over the years since Quezon are true, one more won’t make a difference.”
“True. But still, for a priest of the Catholic Church to council sin instead of penance…”
“A white lie instead of the death of billions? I don’t believe God would mind so much. He prefers souls arrive in their own time.”
“So you think the Church and God would want this stopped as opposed to completed. What about Laudato Si?”
“Francis was not interested in the murder of billions and the ascendance of pompous lizards and gifted humans over the rest of the world. That was not the meaning of the encyclical.”
“It’s not how I read it either. I’m pleased that we agree. But still, the Uyghurs and their co-religionists have suffered too much xenophobia and hate in the past twenty years. While good scapegoats as you suggest, I would prefer not to use them, but to follow my own path. And at least my path I’m good at.”
“Taunting me with your women again, George? I thought you realized that had lost its sting fifty years ago, that any temptation you might lay in front of me would no longer fall on fertile ground, no longer cause me agony and require confession.”
“Sorry. It’s easy to slip backward in time, surface old habits.”
“And what about you, Joyla. Are you with him in this?”
“I have faith, father. In his seductive and persuasive talents, if no longer in God. If given a stick, strike with the stick. If given a stone, throw the stone.”
“Then so be it. I will pray for this entire benighted enterprise. And offer you more baiju. You don’t happen to play canasta, do you?”
