Cardinal v. Cartographer

The Cardinal thanks the Lord for what seemed to him a miraculous win against the Carpenter. (Overcome with the previous prayer on death, he'd clenched his jaw, arm extended, eyes squeezed tight while pulling the trigger.) Thus, since the miraculous win he can't stop turning his mind to the Book of Ezekiel, specifically --

Now let them put away their whoredom, preaches the Cardinal, and the carcasses of their kings, far from me, and I will dwell in the midst of them for ever.

Pepple and the fat man and the dog all stand, mouths open, half-asleep on their feet.

The Cardinal continues:

And if they be ashamed of all that they have done, shew them the form of the house, and the fashion thereof, and the goings out thereof, and the comings in thereof, and the forms thereof, and all the ordinances thereof, and all the forms thereof, and all the laws thereof -

Pepple groans.

- and write it in their sight, that they may keep the whole form thereof, and all the ordinances thereof -

The fat man walks off. Pepple follows.

- and do them.

The dog sits and nibbles its genitals.

The Cartographer arrives. He regards the Cardinal, who walks meditatively by the oak.

Of course I don't seriously think I'll be here for ever, the Cardinal tells the Cartographer, but there's must be a reason for these wins. I had a vision last night.

Short description of vision, as told by Cardinal: Within dream, mystic in nature, booming voice of Archangel Michael, display of 15th century statue of Virgin Mary to be set upon duel grounds, angry demand to found dioceses, church.

Short description of vision, aspects of vision left unmentioned by Cardinal: inappropriate lusting for above mentioned 15th century statue of Virgin Mary, flirtatious slap on face from Virgin when attempting to 'get fresh' with said statue, unplayful knock on head with butt of sword by Saint Michael after playful slap.

I believe very deeply, says the Cardinal, that I've been sent to nurture and lead this small flock of indigenous mountain people, and those that come to this place. Those, as I see it, who are in exile. I know now that this is my calling.

The Cartographer nods, listening politely.

As a cartographer, continues the Cardinal, your skills are invaluable to the Church in the delineation of this new diocese.

The Cartographer ponders. Finally, he offers an estimate.

I think you misunderstand. The Church needs representation, and delineation of territory. You would be doing a favor for the Church.

The Cartographer lowers his fee by 5%.

That's better, says the Cardinal.

The Cartographer goes to work. He paces off the territory, takes note of special topographical features, relevant areas, etc. Finally, after the accumulation of details, he draws the map to scale in pen on the top of the table under the oak.

The Cardinal regards the map, and it pleases him.

The Cartographer asks how the Cardinal would like to pay. The Cardinal asks him to bill the diocese.

Description of anger expressed on part of the Cartographer: significant yet muted.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.

Cardinal v. Carpenter

The two caretakers spread ash from the pyre atop the decomposing bodies in the pit. Then, with the mangy dog watching from a few feet off, begin shoveling dirt. The Cardinal, asleep in the grass by the tree, wakes in time to offer a blessing. He blesses the bodies of the passed duelists, bows his head, and asks for the caretakers to join him in prayer.

The Cardinal prays:

Nihil est in intellectu quod non sit prius in sensu, he says.

The caretakers look at each other. The thin man shrugs. The stand silently.

And yet what, the Cardinal says, prepares man’s intellect for the final meeting with our Lord? Can any sense pave the road for the intellect’s understanding?

The dog wanders off toward a spot along the northern fence.

Help us only to accept with very unthinking serenity that Moment, That at the time You appoint. Without undue panic, or terror, or shrieking, or weeping. Without wailing, or pleading, or bargaining. Without fainting at the first sign of It, or contorting one’s face into a maddened grimace with hands clutching air, or rending garments.

None of the senses, he concludes, founds a base upon which the intellect can stand, and survey past the towers of ignorance - to the nature of That Which Takes. And even though you have given us nothing to come close to figuring the face behind the cowl, at least, Lord, give us a bit of dignity at the end.

And so we say in Your name, Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.

The fat man peers over to where the dog stands, sniffing intently.

Pepple, he says, you bury those two by the fence?

The thin man looks over.

The dog rips a hunk of hide from the Background Artist’s green-black midriff.

Pepple indicates that he may have forgotten.

The Cardinal waves his hand over the grave, making the sign of the cross. Without nodding to the others, he returns heavy-hearted to the oak. Full of introspection, full of regrets. What if I’d followed my passion and chosen a career as a Park Ranger? he wonders. What good was all the striving, the politicing for this red garment, this golden ring, this high station?

Thus the Cardinal falls into a profound funk.

Yet when the Carpenter arrives, the Cardinal plays his well-worn role to perfection, standing upright, smiling expectantly, aloof, stern, serene.

The Carpenter, not sure what to do, takes off his baseball cap and - slightly paniced - bows. Never would have expected to a man as yourself here, he says.

When will people realize that the Church is everywhere? wonders the Cardinal.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.

Cardinal v. Cardiologist

As the thin man drags off the body of the Car Designer - immediately dumping him into pit - the fat man stands by the Cardinal, mutely. The Cardinal nods. The fat man nods.

Don't you mind him, says the fat man, motioning toward the thin man. He's always reading sorts of books.

The Cardinal brings up something he noticed yesterday at the grave, specifically that in the heap of dirt that had been excavated, bones and partial skulls - obviously long buried - were intermingled with stone. He asks about this.

The fat man grunts. He speaks in some demotic hill language.

What?

Bones and more bones beneath our feet, between the roots of this tree, growls the fat man. And more beneath. We break 'em with the hammer to bits, and from bits the earth breaks 'em to ash, and from ash that's what grows the grass and crops.

The Cardinal looks down, and regards the grass beneath his feet.

The fat man wipes his nose roughly with the back of his hand. He nods and walks off.

The Cardiologist arrives. His hands are bloody. He holds them out and up.

I just got out of surgery, he says.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.

Cardinal v. Car Designer

Holding his nose, the Cardinal walks from the oak to where the caretakers throw the heap of dead into newly dug pit. He's followed close behind by the mangy dog. At the pit, the caretakers look up from their work and regard the Cardinal.

The Cardinal's dressed in black, the sash of office - the red fascia - tied squarely around his waist, pectoral cross hanging brightly. He looks down on the caretakers from nearby, surveys their work. The rumpled bodies, bones, tangled blood-stained clothes of previous duelists litter the bottom of the long six-foot mass grave. Along with half-burned flesh. All in various states of decomposition. A plump girl's naked body lies face down, her left leg sawed at the hip.

The thin man coughs. The Cardinal glances over. Question, says the thin man, eyes screwed on the Cardinal. The Cardinal nods.

Question is, says the thin man: why make belief in transubstantiation a mandate of the Church, especially when proof of the practice is based on an outmoded Aristotelian understanding of primary substance?

The dog sits and scratches his ear. The Cardinal explains. The thin man argues. The fat man grunts in contempt of the subject, turns and continues his work.

When the Car Designer arrives, the thin man is still arguing. The Cardinal shakes his head. We must remember, he says, the teachings of Ambrose of Milan when he writes: let us prove that this is not what nature made, but what the blessing consecrated.

Feh, says the thin man.

The Car Designer bows and kisses the Cardinal's signet ring. They make to depart.

So long, says the Cardinal. God be with you.

We'll see you soon enough, says the thin man. The fat man laughs. The caretakers both return to work and the Cardinal and Car Designer make toward the oak. The dog follows.

The Car Designer tells the Cardinal that he helped draft his company's design for the new popemobile. He describes it in detail, including his suggestion to make many non-security related features from wood, hemp, and recycled newspaper. His firm did not win the bid. It went to the Germans again, he says.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.

Captain v. Cardinal

After waiting and seeing no one, the Captain begins cleaning. He rights the table. He wipes off the two revolvers. He picks up the carpet of scattered bullets and cleans them off one by one and, hands full of bullets, pours them all back into the table's small drawer. He closes the drawer.

Then he wipes off the contract (thumb print of dried blood on the bottom right corner). He wipes off the grossly maligned List of Dead ('Calligrapher' calligraphed neatly beneath Bhikkhuni). He straightens the cracked and drying bowl of blue clay. He puts all these on the table.

He regards the gore and small flecks of bone stuck to the trunk of the tree. This he cannot clean.

He waits.

The Cardinal arrives. Shortly after the arrival of the Cardinal, the two caretakers exit the hideous shack and walk across the field. The thin man resumes digging. The fat man begins snipping the wire between the posts of the northern fence, and in this way - after work of a day - removes the northern fence, save the posts.

The Cardinal regards the dead. His stance is grounded, sure. He looks to the Captain, and asks him to ask the caretakers for water. The Captain pauses. He regards the Cardinal. Then walks, four gold bands on each cuff swaying in 4-4 time, to the fat man by the fence.

Then the Cardinal prays thusly:

Have mercy on me, Lord, when it comes.
Shadow at morning striding behind me,
Or shadow at evening rising to meet me,
I feel it by me at all times.

And after the prayer a dog - a cur - limps from the forrest and walks to the Cardinal, and sits by the Cardinal. And the Cardinal regards the dog, and the dog regards the Cardinal.

The Captain returns without water. He says the fat man said, here is no water but only rock. Just rock and no water and the sandy road.

Poetic for a ditch-digger, says the Cardinal. The Captain agrees.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.