'Fifer's Lodge,' said the brass plate beside the massive oak door, 'The Temple of the Quenched Fires'. Engraved above the gothic text was a strange logo: an abstract design that could have been a dog's head.
Unless the little satyr had lied to him, this was certainly the right place. Loofah pulled at the wrought iron bell-pull that jutted from the white-washed stone architrave. At first nothing happened, but then, deep within the bowels of the building, a sonorous bell echoed.
As he waited for the door to be answered, Loofah stepped out from under the white-pillared colonnade that ran along the front of the house. It was indeed an impressive building, with a sweeping white stonework facade, over which was perched an interlocking cubist complexity of red tiled roofs, with a veritable extravagance of ornate brickwork chimney stacks. Parked on the neat gravel driveway in front of the colonnade were a fine selection of director-grade luxury vehicles, their dark paint-work and tinted windows glowing balefully with plutocratic power. Beyond the cars a billiard table lawn swept away towards a fine bank of mature chestnuts; smoothly contoured flower-beds formed brilliantly colourful islands in the emerald velvet sea, while here and there perfectly groomed ornamental trees—copper maple, weeping beech and virginal maidenhair—posed self-consciously.
Everything was totally still; not a trill of bird song, not a drone of distant traffic or mile-high aircraft disturbed the glacial silence. Loofah shivered—despite the warm cloak of the afternoon sun, he was cold. The beautiful building, the perfectly engineered motor cars, even the immaculate gardens, they all seemed to emanate something unpleasant, a sinister radiation that sucked the warmth from the day.
Perhaps Stubbington had lied after all, thought Loofah, perhaps this was the wrong place. It might be better to go back to the village and ask again. Maybe the nice lady in the shop would know where—. The creak of heavy metal hinges stabbed through the deadly silence and Loofah spun round to face the door.
'Yes?' The voice, as ominous as the doorbell, rolled out into the bright daylight. A towering ghostly shadow in the dark cave of the half-opened door stared down at him through half-lidded eyes.
'Um, hello,' said Loofah, with an inane grin.
The ghost leaned out of its cave to reveal the outline of a fleshy face, the cheeks round and chubby, the lips full and rosy, slick with saliva. It was a child's face, but a child's face on a man's body, a child's face that had lived for forty-five years, a child's face from which all traces of youthful innocence had been assiduously drained and replaced with something far less appealing.
'Are you a Seeker?' asked the child-man. His vast frame was clothed in what appeared to be a long dressing gown in lime green satin tied at the waist with an orange cord. Extravagantly flared sleeves hung down over his hands and embroidered on his right breast was the dog's head logo. Pale flesh showed at the open neck of the garment and below the hem the girl-smooth white calves were bare—although, somewhat incongruously, the strange apparition was wearing well shined business brogues and black ankle socks.
'Er, actually I am the Seeker,' replied Loofah, not without a hint of conceit.
'And what is it that you Seek?'
'The Holy Shepherd—if it's at all possible, I would like to see the Holy Shepherd.'
The sybaritic lips twisted into an intimately knowing smile.
'Do you have desires within you, my son?' The voice was as soft as a mink's belly fur, coiling itself unpleasantly round Loofah's ears.
'I, er, don't really—.'
'Desires that torment you?'
'Um.'
'Desires that burn, desires that blaze like the furnaces of hell.' The words flowed faster and faster, wriggling through the liquid air like a stream of excited, silken eels. 'Desires that are never sated, desires that flare up again and again and again, no matter how you try to quench them?'
'Actually, I think there's been a slight misunder—.'
'And would you like to be free of these foul and poisonous fires, liberated forever from the prison of your torturing cravings?' The man was breathing hard now; his eyes glowed with a weird intensity and his grinning lips were flecked with blebs of foam.
'To be frank, I really just wanted to see the Holy Shepherd,' said Loofah, with an embarrassed grin, 'I promise I won't take up much of His time.'
The strange figure seemed to recover his composure.
'The Blessed One is He who can free you of your poisonous fires,' he said, calm again, 'Through the Sublime Shepherd you can find Liberation, Eternal Liberation from all the hideous torments of desire.' He stepped back, pulling the massive door fully open. 'But only if you follow His Way, only if you tread the Noble Path, the Path of the Quenched Fires.'
Mr Blenkinsop-Smythe—who preferred to be called Brother Jeremy—ushered Loofah through another doorway into a long, dark corridor.
'Desires are the poisons of life, rotting us out from inside,' he was saying, 'Fires that burn within, bringing torment without cease.'
The high walls, panelled in heavy oak, squeezed the silent space like a luxurious vice. As he padded along beside the corpulent ghost, the thick Axminster caressed Loofah's soles with a cloying, muffled intimacy.
'For it is craving that drives us to evil ways, that drives us to seek relief in the pleasures of the flesh, in gormandising until we are bloated like harvest toads, in the drinking of strong liquor until we are senseless and stupid, and above all—' the child-man shuddered quickly, his cheeks quivering like a pair of milk jellies '—it is craving that drives us to carnal indulgence, to pursue delight in the willing bodies of voluptuous girls and of slender, supple young boys.'
The corridor was an oblong tube of pressed, solid silence. Brother Jeremy's words slithered through the gelatinous quiet like oiled snakes.
'And is it good and holy that we are driven to the pleasures of the flesh, is it right and proper that we are goaded to immerse ourselves in gluttony and intoxication, in fornication, in lustful excess in the tender arms of some delectable nymphet or beautiful youth?'
The ghost paused to peer down at Loofah from eyes shadowed among the fleshy cushions of his face.
'I say no!' he exclaimed suddenly, the muscular phrase quivering briefly in the stillness, 'I say it is not good and holy, it is not right and proper! For the pleasures of the flesh lead nowhere but to evil and corruption; through gastronomy and intemperance we find nothing but never ending misery; through carnal delight and debauchery, through the voluptuous sins of the body, through the sensuous enjoyment of—of—.'
'Um, I think I get the picture,' said Loofah.
'Damnation!' wailed Brother Jeremy, 'Eternal damnation in the very pit of hell itself!'
The strange figure had now come to a complete halt and stood in the shadowy silence, wringing his hands together under cover of the pendulous sleeves and quivering all over.
'And so, like gangrenous flesh, the foulness must be cut away before the whole body succumbs to its corruption.' The trembling sybaritic lips spat venom into the muffled stillness. 'The desires must be expunged, obliterated, torn out by the roots from the very core of the being. Expurgated, annihilated, exterminated for once and for all. For—once—and—for—all!'
As his ejaculation splattered into silence over the Axminster, Brother Jeremy was panting hard. His left cheek was twitching spasmodically and for several seconds he stared down at Loofah with a species of derangement in his heavy lidded eyes. Then abruptly he turned away and started forward again, gesturing for Loofah to follow. When he spoke again, the preceptor's words were once again wrapped in silken softness.
'The fires must be dowsed, my child, for only in this way can the soul come to the cool balm of blessed and eternal peace.' They had reached an alcove at the end of the corridor; here Brother Jeremy pushed open a door in the panelled wall. 'The Vestry,' said a small brass plaque on the well waxed oak.
As they stepped into the small, quietly lit room, Brother Jeremy turned to face Loofah, his infantile features suffused with solemnity.
'But how to extinguish these fires of desire?—that is the question, the great question that has confounded Man since his first tentative steps upon this earth,' he said, portentously, 'And over the million year history of our race many answers have been given, many ways have been tried.'
Along two of the half-panelled walls were open-fronted mahogany wardrobes in which was hanging—on neatly numbered hangers—all manner of affluent attire.
'For centuries, men and women have suffered under the harsh discipline of asceticism, while others have prayed for salvation by the Grace of God, or struggled along the stony paths of meditation, good works and devotional practice.'
Business suits in charcoal grey and pinstripe nestled next to navy blazers with gold buttons, with their cream linen shirts and paisley cravats on separate hangers. Floral print dresses and lace collared blouses hung uneasily beside severe two-piece suits with pencil skirts and shoulder padded jackets. On the racks below, polished brogues and suede Hush Puppies jostled for position with sling-back stilettos and low-healed court shoes.
'Yet though countless numbers have striven, few have attained to the Final Goal,' continued Brother Jeremy, with sad gravity, 'For the rest—despite their struggles—the fires of desire have continued to burn, for most there has been no true end to the torment.'
Along the third wall was a cabinet of shelves, on which were stacked garments of the same lime green satin as Brother Jeremy's gown, all neatly folded.
'Yes, I'm afraid that the old ways failed, and for long years it seemed that the balm of peace—of real peace, of relief from craving and the pain that it brings—would forever be denied to Mankind.' The corpulent evangelist paused, putting his hands together over his chest. 'Until now, that is, until the coming of the Blessed One. For now there is a new way, a sure and certain route to end the torment; I speak, of course, of the Sublime Path, of the Way of the Quenched Fires.'
Brother Jeremy chanted briefly in a foreign tongue, then picked up one of the folded gowns.
'And now, my son, as a Seeker you must prepare yourself,' he said, 'Please remove your clothes.'
Loofah looked at the proffered gown and grinned sheepishly.
'Um, to be frank, I'd rather not. Couldn't I just have a quick word with the Holy Shepherd and then be on my way?'
The other shook his head gravely. 'No acolyte may enter the Blessed Presence without being appropriately attired. You must don the lime green robe, the sacred garb of an Initiate to the Sublime Path.'
'I really would rather—.'
'Please, delay no further. For, even as we speak, the Blessed One is leading worship in the Temple. We have no time to waste.'
Brother Jeremy smiled unpleasantly and his eyes slid down over Loofah's body like a pair of lascivious flatworms, caressing his anticipated nakedness with their slithery integuments. Loofah shivered, pulling his jacket tight across his chest.
Loofah shivered, pulling the gown tight across his chest. The slippery satin clung unpleasantly to his flesh like the freshly flayed skin of a flatworm and, although he wasn't cold, he shivered again.
'When you eat a meal, is not your hunger sated, or do you still crave for food?'
They were in another corridor now, heading deeper into the building. Here the pressed silence throbbed with a soundless sinister rhythm, while scraps of what could have been faraway laughter wiggled through the muffled stillness.
'And what happens when you enjoy carnal delight? Is your lust not slaked? Is the fire of your desire not quenched?'
Again the other's eyes slithered over Loofah's body, stripping away the flimsy material of the gown and coating his nakedness with their slug-slime.
'Um, well…' stammered Loofah, while quickly covering his groin with a cupped hand.
'It is indeed quenched,' purred Brother Jeremy, 'Though sadly not for long—for in time does your hunger not return, does the flame of lust not soon flare up again as strong as ever? Do not renewed desires soon spring up to goad you to fresh lascivious indulgence, to drive you once again into the foul mire of lechery?'
As he walked, the worm-skin satin of the gown caressed the naked flesh of Loofah's buttocks with intrusive intimacy. Why hadn't he at least refused to remove his underpants?
'And why is this, my child? Why do the flames flare up anew, why are the desires not permanently slaked by satiation?' The portly cleric paused briefly for rhetorical effect. 'I shall tell you why. It is because, though you may feel that your pleasure has been satisfied, you are mistaken; the satiation is not complete, it is not perfect. Though the fire has indeed been quenched, a single ember still glows among the doused coals, a tiny seed of unsatisfied desire still remains. And it is from this single glowing ember that the new flame flares up, it is from this tiny seed that the new desire grows.'
Brother Jeremy pushed open a swing door and they turned into what seemed to be a long vestibule, at the far end of which stood a pair of massive oak doors guarded by two green-gowned figures of massive stature. Here the silent rhythm pulsed with a deafening intensity, and muffled bursts of laughter and hysterical shouts wriggled out of the ornately carved surface of the doors and away into the throbbing quiet of the gelatinous air.
'And yet think of this, my son: what if the satiation were to be so perfect, so complete, that every last glowing ember were to be doused, that every last scintilla of desire were to be satisfied? What then would be the result?'
The spiritual pedagogue paused, apparently this time expecting an answer.
'I, er, don't really know,' said Loofah, 'to be absolutely frank with you.'
'Then I shall enlighten you. After this perfect and complete quenching there would remain not a single ember still glowing to kindle the flames anew, there would remain not a single tiny seed of unsatisfied craving from which fresh desires could sprout. And so the fire would be dead and cold and could never burn again, the desire would be gone forever, never to return.' For a long moment Brother Jeremy stared wistfully into the middle distance, musing. 'Think of it, my child, just think of it: freedom from torment, eternal peace. Bliss, perfect bliss.'
They had now reached the end of the vestibule and stood before the two gothic doors under the impassive gaze of the guardian acolytes. Manic giggles and girlish squeals, dampened by the thick wood of the doors, scuttled like cockroaches around Loofah's face and ears.
'And so, my son, this is the goal the Way of the Quenched Fires, the glittering prize sought by all those who tread the Sublime Path: the extinction of all desire by perfect satiation, the finding of freedom via the precious jewel of Absolute Consummation.'
Loofah now saw that carved into the central panel of each door was the same dog's head design that graced the right breast of his own gown, and those of Brother Jeremy and two guardians. He felt the gelatinous deadened sound of the vestibule like a physical presence, as if he were a delicacy suspended in aspic, and a chill miasma of foreboding slithered over his near-naked flesh.
'Well, thank you for explaining everything so clearly,' he said, 'And now that I'm fully in the picture, as it were, I wonder if I might just have a brief word with—.'
Brother Jeremy interrupted with an imperiously raised palm.
'But you must understand this, my child,' he said, 'that Absolute Consummation is not to be found through ordinary, everyday indulgence. Most certainly not—for such is mere pleasure-seeking, as of the beasts in the field, and leads nowhere but to further torment. Understand that if the Satiation of Extinction is to be attained then indulgence in pleasure must be refined, and refined to a point of absolute perfection, a point at which the ordinary and mundane is transcended, a point at which the bestial is sublimated into the celestial.'
From behind the carved doors a long moan extricated itself from the scrabbling background mass of muffled noise, then hovered languidly in the still air for a few seconds before climaxing in a shuddering cry. Brother Jeremy laid an avuncular hand on Loofah's shoulder.
'My son, let no-one be in any doubt: the Way of the Quenched Fires is not an easy path to tread. This sublimation, this perfection of satiation, is not to be found without toil and effort and great sacrifice. No—the One True Search requires long years of struggle and self-surrender, long years of tireless and uncomplaining labour in the endless mire of desire to refine the Sacred Practices—' Brother Jeremy signalled to the two guardians, who silently turned to grasp the brass door handles '—long years of striving doggedly and unswervingly towards the Final Goal. I speak, of course, of Absolute Consummation—' the great doors began to swing open; a tidal wave of laughter and squeals and shouts, suddenly unmuffled, washed out into the pressed semi-silence of the corridor '—that ultimate and totally quenching moment of pure, crystalline—' the guardians stood aside to reveal the interior of the Sacred Temple '—satiation.'
What was that dog doing here? thought Loofah as Brother Jeremy led him, stumbling like a decerebrate sleep-walker, into the nave of the Temple. An Alsatian, it was sitting on a raised dais at the end of the hall with a green robe draped ludicrously over its withers, overseeing the proceedings with a look of unfathomable misery on its canine features. Rainbow light streamed in through arched stained-glass windows above the tragic animal's dais and currents of sweat-hot noise swirled around Loofah's face in the musk-heavy air, clogging his nose and blurring his eyes until he swayed like a drunkard, while his skull began to fill with a warm sweet sickness.
'Today, my child, we are struggling with the most pernicious enemy of them all—' Brother Jeremy's voice slipped through the sickness from the edge of time '—the very Queen of Corruption herself.'
As Loofah turned to face his companion, a member of the congregation emerged from the throbbing haze and pushed rudely past him; it was an elderly man, cackling maniacally, in pursuit of a teenage boy with yellow hair. The front of the old man's gown flapped open and something unpleasant was peaking out from under the sweat-slick swell of his pendulous belly.
'Today we aim to Quench the Fire of Carnal Lust,' Brother Jeremy went on, his wet lips moulding lovingly to each word as it slithered out into the syrupy air, 'to rid ourselves forever of the foul poison of libidinous desire.'
The boy would have escaped his superannuated pursuer. As he dodged behind a stone pillar, however, a middle-aged lady with permed hair and pink lipstick sprang out from a nearby pew and snatched hold of him with a pair of red-talonned claws.
'And see how the Seekers strive, my son, see how tirelessly they labour towards perfection, how willingly they surrender themselves to the struggle.'
In dream-like fascination, Loofah peered through the warm jelly as the boy was pulled down over the carved back of the pew. With a twisted leer the woman opened her gown and thrust the wrinkled nipple of a sagging dug between the boy's lips, while the drooling old man ran liver-spotted hands over the golden flesh of his firm young buttocks. Next to this incongruous trio, a teenage girl squatted over the thrusting groin of a man with the imposing look of a company director. She giggled with amusement as, like a victim of torture, the plutocrat's face contorted and his large hands convulsed over the soft flesh of her chest. Perhaps this wasn't really happening at all, whispered a voice from the jelly, perhaps he had fallen into some sort of cinematic hologram.
'See how they toil without complaint,' said Brother Jeremy, a passionate edge worming into his mink-soft voice, 'Heedless of their sacrifice, fighting through the foul mire towards the glittering peak of Liberation.'
On the pew behind, an overweight lady gobbled enthusiastically at the groin of a bored looking man with spectacles while a younger man who could have been an estate agent pumped against her from behind, sending wave after juddering wave chasing over the white globes of her buttocks. The man with spectacles caught Loofah's eye and winked with unappealing invitation.
'Is this not a marvellous and inspiring sight?' asked Brother Jeremy, half-choked with emotion, 'Does it not stir your heart?'
And as Loofah stood in the centre of the stone-pillared nave and gazed out over the mass of bodies that seethed like drug-crazed maggots in the hot, rainbow-coloured jelly, his heart was indeed stirred—so stirred, in fact, that he was overcome by wave of giddiness and had to steady himself against a pillar.
'Of course, not all will succeed today. For some the process of perfection is not yet complete, for some the struggle must go on.' Brother Jeremy stepped carefully between the open thighs of an elderly lady who writhed on the stone slabbed floor, sucking frantically at a sacramental candle. As if swimming slowly through in an aquarium of warm jelly, Loofah followed in his wake. 'But never forget that for those who do not attain the Goal today, there is always tomorrow, and then the next day and, if needs be, the day after that.' Two bald men with sagging breasts, naked except for their business shoes and black ankle socks, carried a giggling girl with pigtails up the aisle and then disappeared into the heaving crowd. As Loofah moved, the melting jelly air flowed over his skin and under his gown, sucking at his face and permeating every pore with its cloying sweetness. 'You mark my words, my child, these good people will not be discouraged. The struggle will go on, Absolute Consummation will be attained, the Fires will be Quenched, no matter how long it—it…'
Brother Jeremy's voice trailed away as a dark skinned youth bent over a pew to show a pair of perfectly muscled buttocks. For a moment the earnest preceptor seemed to hesitate, his whole body trembling with religious fervour. It seemed, however, that another had precedence—a distinguished man with elegantly greying temples—and Brother Jeremy turned away with a grunt of thwarted zeal.
'Anyway, enough of this talk, my son,' he said, 'It is time to begin your preparations.'
For a long moment the spiritual pedagogue's words swam aimlessly around in the turgid pool of Loofah's brain like a small shoal of semi-comatose guppies. But when they at last formed themselves into a coherent sentence, this was an electric eel, jolting Loofah out of his trance.
'Sorry?' he blurted, blinking out from his quivering glob of jelly.
'Preparations for your Initiation.' Brother Jeremy now raised his voice, as if making a public announcement. 'For your Introduction to the Great Way.'
They had now been joined by a sharp faced woman with a grey bun and pointed nipples, who smiled liplessly as she drilled into Loofah's skull with diamond-hard eyes.
'I don't think I understand,' said Loofah, shaking his head to clear away the clogging globs of ectoplasm and sending a mass of swirling eddy currents out into the viscous air.
'You are an Initiate, my child,' intoned Brother Jeremy, 'A new Seeker about to begin the Holy Search, a neophyte taking his first step upon the Sublime Path.' A middle-aged man on a nearby pew paused mid-thrust, then hauled himself off his girl and came over to listen. 'Come, every second wasted is a second lost, yet more time to be spent in the mire of sensual torment.' A fat lady with unfeasibly large breasts grinned at Loofah and two youths, each still groping at the other's groin, nodded their heads in vigorous agreement with Brother Jeremy's words. 'The sooner you begin your work, my son, the sooner will your attainment to Liberation, to freedom from all desire.'
Four or five girls untangled themselves from a sacred conjunction of incomprehensible complexity while an elderly couple smiled benignly, beaming lascivious benediction from rheumy eyes. Loofah grinned blankly at the gathering audience.
'I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding,' he said, 'You see, what I really wanted was a few quick words with the Holy Shepherd.'
An eddy of surprise rippled through the little crowd of onlookers.
'You wish to see the Blessed One—in person?' asked Brother Jeremy.
'Um, yes, if that's at all possible.'
The contortionists began whispering among themselves and the fat lady shook her head, her breasts lolling on the jutting swell of her gut like a pair of beached elephant seals.
'I really don't think—' began Brother Jeremy, but was interrupted by the sharp faced woman, who pulled him to one side. While the two conferred, Loofah squirmed uncomfortably at the centre of a growing circle of curious acolytes.
'It's nice here, isn't it?' he gabbled, 'Ever so friendly. Of course, I'm not a big church-goer myself, but I do think it's good to take an interest in spiritual matters, especially these days when all most people are bothered about is money and—and—.'
'It seems that such an audience might be possible,' said Brother Jeremy, pushing back into the circle, 'Sister Abigail informs me that in certain exceptional cases the Shepherd will Himself initiate a new disciple into the Practice. Even as we speak she is petitioning the Master on your behalf.'
An admiring flutter passed through the gaggle of spectators; quite clearly this was no ordinary proselyte.
'Come, my child, if the Blessed One does grant your request, He will see you in the Sanctum Sanctorum.'
'Oh, thank you,' said Loofah, 'It's very good of you to ask Him—and I won't take up much of His time, I promise.'
'In the meantime, we must make ready. Tell me, my son, which is your preference: a girl or a lithe young boy?' Brother Jeremy's fleshy cheek twitched and a queer glow radiated from the dark caves of his eyes. 'Or perhaps both,' he purred, 'Ambitious for an Initiate to be sure, but no harm in aiming high is there?'