Chapter IV.10

The heavy oak door closed behind Brother Jeremy as he hurried back into the main Temple to attend to his own neglected devotions, and the manic mess of noise became once again a muffled throb. Loofah felt suddenly cool, as if he had just stepped out of a sauna. The room, dark panelled and dimly lit like the rest of the building, felt as bright and fresh as a mountaintop. He breathed deeply, spewing out sweat-sweet syrup and inhaling air, then wiped his hands over his face to sweep away sticky cobwebs of slime and flapped his gown open and closed to flush the clinging, musky miasma from the cloth. The scenes he had just witnessed still bubbled inside his skull like the contents of an overfilled cesspit, but he knew that in time, like the discomforting remnants of a bad dream, they would eventually fade. He sighed to himself, as a sparkling Alpine stream of relief washed though his veins.

It was only then that Loofah saw that he wasn't alone in the mountaintop room. As a green-robed presence emerged from the gloom, he pulled the front of his own gown tight across his body.

'Hello. My name is Felicity—it means happiness.'

The girl spoke with a slight lisp. Her feet were bare and her mouse coloured hair was tied into a loose ponytail.

'Happiness,' repeated Loofah, uncertainly, 'That's nice.'

She smiled up at him. He frowned and wriggled uncomfortably—how could he breathe the fresh air with her standing so close?

'Happiness comes when the Fires of Desire have been Quenched.'

'So I've been told.'

She sidled even closer; he could feel the warmth of her flesh through the thin cloth of his gown.

'And now you're going to Quench your Fires.'

A last clinging tendril of Temple miasma coiled up out of Loofah's gown and slithered over his face.

'It might be very difficult and you might not like it much.'

He wiped at his face, but only succeeded in getting slime all over his hands and sleeves.

'But don't worry—I'll be here to help you. You see, I'm your Companion in Bliss, your very special friend. We're going to walk together on the Sublime Path.'

'How—nice,' said Loofah, squirming miserably as his eyes melted to wet jelly and began to slide down over her face and neck, and under the loose front of her gown.

'Being a Companion in Bliss is the Holiest thing that a young person can do,' she lisped, 'It keeps us away from the horrid temptations of youth and it leads to Liberation so, so quickly—that's what Brother Jeremy says.'

'I'm sure he does,' whined Loofah, sucking hot syrup into his clogged lungs.

'I'm so looking forward to working with you.'

As the girl ran her fingertips over the front of his gown, the warm miasma crept over his skin, engulfing him like an overheated amoeba.

'Are looking forward to working with me?'

'Um, don't you think we should wait for the Holy Shepherd?' he stammered, lamely.

'We could warm up a little,' she suggested, rubbing a bare thigh against his leg, 'just to get ourselves ready for Him.'

But then, just as Loofah was beginning to melt and blend into the amoeba's warm jelly-flesh, the opening door crashed back into the panelling and the Alsatian, still wearing its ludicrous robe, stomped into the room.

As if sluiced away, the concupiscence vanished from Felicity's face. Her eyes filled with a misty wonder and, clasping her hands over her chest, she rushed forward with a cry of delight. The dog, however, did not seem to share her enthusiasm—its hackles went up and it snarled, showing a glittering row of jagged white teeth.

'Be careful, Felicity!' cried Loofah, 'It might bite you!'

The girl spun round and glared at him.

'Blasphemer!' she hissed, 'How dare you speak of the Blessed One in that way!'

'Yeah,' growled the Alsatian, somewhat listlessly, 'You watch yer lip.'

Loofah's jaw dropped. 'You mean—this is the Holy Shepherd?'

'Blessed One! Blessed One!' cried the girl, falling to her knees in front of the dog.

'Good Lord!' exclaimed Loofah.

'For God's sake don't you start as well,' snarled the dog, 'I get enough of that crap from this lot.'

'Sublime Master,' implored Felicity with outstretched arms, 'give a blessing to your humble servant and disciple, I beg—.'

The dog silenced her with a tired bark.

'Just leave me alone, will you?' it then added, curling its upper lip into a grimace of revulsion, 'I've just about had it up to here today.'

'Oh, Holy One, I thank You for Your words of great wisdom,' cried the girl, beside herself with joy, 'I shall obey your Sacred Command, I shall prepare myself for the Initiate on the Altar of Ecstasy.'

'Jesus H Christ,' muttered the dog under its breath—possibly invoking a senior power—and then sat down, shaking its head with drooping ears.

The young acolyte now got to her feet and, bowing continuously to her Master, backed away to far end of the room. Here there was a plinth of white marble strewn with lilies and with a tall brass candlestick at each corner. Hung above the altar was a drape of white silk embroidered with the now familiar dog's-head design. As she lay back among the flowers, the girl folded her arms over her chest and began chanting to herself in a pious monotone.

'Um, is this a bad time?' ventured Loofah, addressing the original of the ubiquitous logo.

'A bad time?' snapped the Alsatian, 'Of course it's a bad time—what other sort is there?'

'Oh dear. Would I be right in thinking that you don't much like being the Holy Shepherd, then?'

The dog blinked in tired amazement.

'Like it? Like it? You've seen it out there, haven't you? Would you like it, stuck here watching that stuff day after frigging day?'

Loofah shuddered. 'No, I don't think I would.'

'Well, neither do I. In fact, if you want the truth, the whole thing grosses me out.'

With this the dog sighed deeply and shook its head.

'I tell you, I'm not cut out for this, I'm not cut out for this at all. Just look at me, will you? I'm a dog, an ordinary dog, same as any other mutt you might meet in the street. I want to do what other dogs do—I can't remember the last time someone took me for a walk in the park.'

For a few moments the reluctant prophet stared into the middle distance, lost in melancholic reverie.

'I know it sounds naff,' it went on, 'but I dream of fetching a stick or chasing a Frisbee.'

'I can see it's not very nice for you here,' said Loofah, trying to be sympathetic.

'It's not that I mind a bit of hard work. I'm not saying I want to swan around all day in the lap of luxury like some ponced up little poodle. No, I'd love a job—a real job, I mean, a proper dog's job. Take my brother, for instance. In the Met he is, and has been since he was hardly out of puppyhood. Now that's what I call work: biting scum, chasing thieves, sniffing out smack and Semtex.'

The muffled noise throbbing in from the Temple was now blended with the low mumble of the girl's chanting.

'Or my cousin Sabre,' continued the Holy Shepherd, 'Night security officer at a scrap metal yard in New Cross. OK, so he's out in all weathers and the pay's not brilliant, but at least it's better than this.' The dog sighed again. 'I'd even swap places with my little sister, and all she does is look after some tatty little Paki shop down Rotherhithe way.'

It paused for a few moments, wistfully contemplating the life of a South London guard dog, then—with a sudden change of expression—looked hard at Loofah.

'Anyway, you took your time, didn't you?' it demanded abruptly.

'Oh—then you do know who I am?' said Loofah, taken aback.

'Course I know who you are,' growled the dog, 'Been expecting you for days—weeks, in fact. What kept you?'

Loofah was stung by the injustice its implied reproach.

'I got here as soon as I could,' he said with an edge of resentment, 'But the fact is I had a bit of trouble finding you. To put it bluntly, your colleague the pig was not very helpful at all. If he had briefed me properly in the first place, I wouldn't have had to get mixed up with that Stubbington chap and—.'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' interrupted the dog, with tired disdain, 'If you've got a complaint, put it in writing, will you? Right now we haven't the time—things are starting to happen, and happen quickly.'

A tight fist closed suddenly around Loofah's stomach.

'Starting to happen? What things?'

The dog, however, was again staring into the middle distance.

'Even the name,' it sighed, 'The Holy bloody Shepherd. Now what sort of a name is that for a self-respecting dog?'

'Please,' begged Loofah, with some urgency, 'you were telling me about something that's starting to happen.'

'Oh, yeah, so I was,' said the Blessed One, 'Intelligence reports just in—nothing definite, but they reckon the Ring of Slugs is about to appear. You'd better pull your finger out if you don't want to miss it, because by all accounts it won't be around for long.'

The words slipped in through Loofah's ears, formed themselves into sentences in his grey matter and then gave up their meaning—a nanosecond later a sword of ice slid down his spinal canal and the blood drained out of his veins into a cold pool at the base of his belly.

'What—? Where—? How—?' he gabbled, trembling all over, 'I'm not ready, I don't know what to do!'

The dog looked up at him with sad brown eyes.

'I never get a bone, you know,' it said, in a small distant voice, 'Seems that spiritual leaders shouldn't chew bones—not in keeping with the sacred way of life or some such crap.'

'Tell me what I should do!' cried Loofah, on the edge of hysteria.

'But I like bones,' said the dog, 'Show me a dog that doesn't.'

'Mr Shepherd, please!' Loofah shouted, and the dog jumped, its hackles rising. On the far side of the room the girl stopped her chanting and looked up in surprise.

'For Christ's sake calm down, will you?' hissed the dog, 'Getting in a big girl's flap isn't going to help anyone.'

'What's going on, Holy One?' called Felicity, 'Is the Initiate being blasphemous again?'

'It's alright, sweetie,' said her Master, in an emollient tone, 'We're just going over some the knottier points of the doctrine. You just keep saying your prayers and we'll be right with you.'

'I don't mean to be difficult,' said Loofah, as the girl returned to her devotions, 'And I'm sorry that you don't like the life of a church leader. But I really am in serious trouble—the Ring of Slugs is about to appear and I don't know where. And even if I did manage to get to it in time, I wouldn't have a clue what to do.'

The muffled pulse from the Temple now seemed to be throbbing with a new intensity, as if the random squeals and cries were falling in with the same steady, driving rhythm.

'No need to get so wound up—everything'll work out, you see if it doesn't.'

'But it's all so frustrating,' Loofah went on, 'You officials all say you want me to find The Woman Who Looks Both Ways, but then you just keep me in the dark. I appreciate that the government likes a bit of secrecy—they all do—but if you ask me this attitude of yours is endangering the whole project. I'm sorry to be blunt, but that's the way I feel.'

The rhythmic noise accelerated suddenly, pulsing like a tribal war chant and climbing to a higher pitch of controlled mania. Across the room, the girl sat up again.

'Holy One,' she called, 'The Temple ceremony is reaching the Heavenly Climax and I still haven't started work with Initiate.'

'Don't worry, love, we're nearly there—be with you in half a mo.'

The Sublime Master twisted his doggy lips into a brief smile of reassurance, then turned back to Loofah.

'Look, we're telling you everything we can,' it hissed, 'We can't tell you what we don't know, can we? Be reasonable, for Chri'sakes.'

Loofah sighed with resignation. 'I know I shouldn't take it out on you, but it is very frustrating—and I still haven't got any idea of what I'm supposed to do!'

'All you have to do is be at the right place at the right time and, like I say, everything will be alright. We don't exactly know how, but it will.' The dog paused. 'Or at least we think it will,' it added quickly, 'Now hurry, will you? You've wasted enough time as it is—the Ring of Slime may be forming even as we speak.'

The throbbing pulse became shriller still, resonating off the panelled walls of the Sanctum.

'But Master, I'm a new Companion of Bliss.' The girl now sounded close to tears. 'I mustn't miss my first Heavenly Climax, otherwise fresh desires of torment will spring up like weeds—Sister Abigail said so.'

'It's alright, darling, nearly finished,' cooed the canine ecclesiarch.

'But where exactly is the right place?' asked Loofah.

The dog wriggled with what might have been embarrassment. 'We don't know for absolute certain yet, but—.'

'Oh, no!'

'But our people are working on it. Stay cool, will you? We're professionals, we know what we're doing—wherever it is that you're supposed to be, we'll get you there. Or at any rate we'll bust a gut trying.'

This time, however, the Alsatian's implied doubt did not register; for as it was speaking, half-remembered snatches of an enigmatic poem were emerging , like wisps of marsh gas, from the swamp of Loofah's grey matter. Then, slowly, the fog cleared to reveal a figure, a human figure that was at once both intimately familiar and disturbingly strange.

'What about the other one?' asked Loofah quietly, 'The one like me. Will he be there too? At the Ring of Slugs, I mean.'

The dog looked puzzled. 'Like I just said, you'll be there,' it said.

Loofah stared at the weird figure, blinked twice and then saw it was—well, himself. His brow furrowed briefly; the moment he began to wrestle with his confusion, however, it was gone. Of course it was himself, he thought with a strange sense of relief, who else could it be?—the dog was right, it had been a silly question.

The noise from the Temple was now throbbing through the quiet air like a manic heartbeat, urgent and demanding.

'Please, Holy One,' sobbed Felicity from across the room, 'I mustn't miss it!'

But the Alsatian ignored her.

'Right then, sunshine,' it said to Loofah, 'time you were offski.'

'Off? Off to where? You still haven't told me where to go!'

'Start by just getting yourself out of this little hell hole. One of our agents will then make contact and take it from there. Now, for God's sake get going before it's too late.'

Loofah was about to take his leave, but then hesitated.

'Actually, before I go there is something else I wanted to ask about. Um, I don't really understand about all that stuff about—er, you know—with the double woman.'

'What on earth are you talking about?'

Loofah felt his cheeks beginning to glow. He coughed lightly.

'What your colleagues told me,' he mumbled, 'That she won't appear until I've been, um, intimate with her?'

'Ugh!' grunted the dog with a grimace, 'You hairless monkeys have got one track minds—don't you ever think about anything else?'

'I do think that's a bit unfair. I'm only repeating what your own colleagues have told me. Not all of us are like your congregation, you know, and—.'

'I think we should start right away,' interrupted a female voice from behind, 'Look, I'm ready.'

Loofah spun round. His Companion of Bliss was now standing in the middle of the room with the front of her gown hanging open. An alarm bell sounded at the back of skull, but too late; something warm and sweet spurted across his belly and with nanosecond swiftness the two mounds of rosebud-tipped softness enveloped him like a pair of silk-skinned phagocytes. The Alsatian said something, but it's words failed to register—for Loofah had already begun to melt, to blend into the pulsing mass of hot jelly, to flow slowly and gently…

A sharp bark jolted him back into the room.

'As I was saying,' said the dog in a cross growl, 'It's time you weren't here.'

'Right, um, of course,' stuttered Loofah, 'But…'

Felicity sidled closer, while the manic throb from beyond the room seemed to grow more intense still. Acting of their own volition, Loofah's eyes slid slowly down over the gentle swell of her belly.

'There's not a moment to lose,' cooed the girl, 'otherwise it'll be too late.'

'Think of the Circle of Slime,' snapped the dog, cutting into the trance, 'You can't hang around here all day gawping at her.'

'Are you ready to begin, Initiate?' The girl's voice trickled through him like melting syrup and she took his hand in hers. 'If we start right away we might just be in time.'

Warm jelly and soft breasts swam over him in a pulsing, sticky mélange.

'Remember who you are,' hissed the dog, 'Think of the project, think of your duty.'

The project—his duty—; the Alsatian's words somehow wormed their way into the sweet stickiness of his grey where they formed themselves into something hard and sharp. A nanosecond later the newly forged blade of cold steel sliced through the throbbing capsule of warm jelly that engulfed him, and on the outside, standing in the crisp clear light, he saw them all, waiting for him, depending on him: Cissy and Elspeth, the white deer, the pig and the giant flatworm. As the jelly fell away in melting globs, he felt the icy hardness of metal in his belly.

'Message understood—I'm one my way,' he said, then yanked his hand free from Felicity's grip and headed for the door.

'You stay here!' cried the girl, grabbing at his gown, 'Or I'll call Brother Jeremy!'

'Go!' hissed the dog, 'Before it's too late!'

Loofah pulled away, but as he did so Felicity sucked air into her far from incommodious chest.

'Sister Abigail!' she yelled, in a voice that could have shattered masonry.

'Please don't shout,' begged Loofah. From somewhere in the room a pitiful whine started up, harmonising oddly with the throbbing rhythm of the Temple.

'Brother Jer—.' The girl stopped mid-bellow and, at the sight of something behind Loofah's back, her expression of fury crumbled into girlish tenderness.

'Oh, you poor doggy!' she cried, 'Have you hurt your paw?'

As Loofah turned he saw that the spiritual leader of the Temple of the Quenched Fires was now sitting in the middle of the carpet, gazing up at its disciple with big droopy eyes and holding up its right forepaw. And it was whimpering as if its canine heart was about to burst with sorrow.

'I love animals,' gushed Felicity, 'and I can't bear to see them suffer.'

Then she pushed past Loofah and hurried to her Master's aid.

'It's alright, little doggy,' she cooed, 'I'll look after you, I'll make your poor paw better.'

Wave after climactic wave broke over him in a building crescendo, but he hardly heard a thing. The hot jelly air sucked at his feet and legs, and strings of slippery ectoplasm slithered down over his head and body. But nothing stuck to the shining steel of Loofah's armour and he pressed onward through the seething mass of sweating maggot bodies.

A naked woman emerged from the crowd and squeezed a sagging breast into his face with lascivious leer. He pushed her back with his shield and stepped into the nave, a chaste knight slogging through the slough of corruption. Two boys, sweat-slick twins, slid out from either side of a stone pillar; one tried to slip something sticky and stiff into Loofah's hand while the other bent over with his legs apart. With a cool smile, however, Loofah stepped back and, pulling the one over the other, sent them tumbling forward onto the stone-slabbed floor. As he strode over the writhing confusion of slippery limbs, he was St George standing astride the slain dragon.

He side-stepped a frenzied middle-aged lady with foam spattered lips and rolling eyes, then barged past a old man who grinned maniacally, clutching his empurpled genital cluster in both hands like a prize bloom. The congregation now seemed to throb as a one body, a single vast amoeba splayed out over the inside of the Temple, its hot protoplasm pulsing rhythmically, faster and faster, as it closed inexorably on its protozoal climax.

When he was halfway up the aisle a girl with long black hair managed to breach his defences; she slithered over him, entwining her olive-dark limbs round his body like a quartet of sex-starved anacondas. But as he began to untangle her, Loofah stopped suddenly—for, bobbing on the swaying mass of flesh to his left, like a black ball on choppy water, was a bowler hat. And under the bowler hat was a sweating, grease-shiny head—and under the head was a short, tubby body, now sadly devoid of its familiar dark suit.

Their eyes met across the throbbing tide. The little man froze for a second, then pushed rudely between two thrashing old ladies and headed for the aisle. With the girl still squirming herself around him like a species of slime-mould, Loofah smiled to himself. He should have guessed, of course—it would have been unlike the little toad to miss an event like this.

The fat man raised his hand in greeting and Loofah waved back. Then, in a torrent of outraged squealing and writhing limbs, he ripped the octopus girl off the front of his body and, just as his approaching enemy was opening his mouth to speak, he tossed her at him, a biological weapon of novel design. As Loofah made good his escape, the girl's serpentine limbs were already entwined around the slippery jelly-rolls of the fat body and the little man's efforts to extricate himself were becoming increasingly half-hearted.

This little victory, however, was short-lived. For as he pressed forward Loofah became aware of an island of detached cool in the overheated mess ahead. The young man was heading up the aisle towards him, unceremoniously forcing his way through the press of frantic worshippers. Troubled briefly by a strange sense of déjà vu, Loofah hesitated—and noticed another member of the congregation who was also failing to enter into the spirit of the gathering, struggling along the pews to the right of the aisle. The second man was in elegant middle age, patrician and distinguished, and this time the sense of familiarity was almost tangible, a near solid mass of cold dread.

The frenetic pulse of the crowd was jacking up steadily as the screams of women and grunts of men wove together into a single throbbing blanket of orgiastic noise. Loofah watched the approaching figure and the dark swamp of his memory bubbled and churned. The man had about him an air of poised professionalism—was he a lawyer perhaps, or an estate agent? But there was something in his bearing that was reassuring, even compassionate in a rehearsed sort of a way. Vague images gurgled out of the mud, of a flashing blue light—an ambulance, perhaps—and of a stupefying injection administered with professional élan. It was then that the swamp gave up its prize: a bandaged body tortured to close to death on an operating table, a body that was his own.

A fist of ice congealed in Loofah's bowels and he bared his teeth like an enraged panther, watching the approaching doctor with hate-narrowed eyes. Then, glancing quickly around, he saw that he was surrounded; for the paramedics—there were three of them—were closing in, through the pews and along the aisle. He ducked quickly out of sight and smiled thinly, focusing his hatred into a narrow beam. Although trapped, in his shell of polished steel he felt strangely unafraid. Something sweet trickled over his tongue, the taste of anticipated vengeance.

With four to deal with, however, the armour of virtue and the sword of righteousness might not be enough; no, a weapon of a more material nature was called for.

All around him, the mass of human protoplasm thrashed itself faster and faster, movement and noise fusing into a single throbbing pulse as the ceremony closed on its frenzied apogee. Loofah crouched down and peered through the forest of sweaty legs—nothing but discarded gowns splattered with nameless fluids and the occasional lost shoe, none of which promised great value in hand-to-hand combat. Then he noticed an old lady writhing on the stone floor under the next pew; she was clutching a brass candlestick, putting it a use for which no sacred ornament was ever intended. Loofah grimaced quickly, not relishing the slug-slimy grip—but as he reached forward to snatch away the old lady's toy, a hand closed over his wrist, a slim woman's hand.

'Sorry, sweetie,' he said, turning to the girl who crouched beside him, 'You'll have to find someone else to play with. I've got a bit of business to—sort…' He trailed into silence as a capsule of bright sunshine enveloped him and a surge of simple joy spread a smile across his face. 'It's you!' he said quietly, 'I haven't seen you for ages.'

The nymph smiled back and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Although, like the rest of the congregation, she was wearing a gown, hers was of the purest white, as if to emphasise her complete detachment from their devotions.

'It's lovely to see you again,' Loofah went on, 'But I'll be alright here, really I will—I can handle this little lot, no trouble.'

'Oh, I know you can—' a rush of boyish pride warmed his cheeks '—but there's no time for fighting, I'm afraid.'

Loofah glanced up at the doctor pushing across the aisle towards them and for a brief moment a delightful anticipated sensation of consecrated brass crunching through patrician cranium shuddered up his forearms. He sighed with disappointment.

'Come,' said the girl, coiling cool arms around his neck, 'It's time you weren't here.'

'The only thing is,' said Loofah, as she pulled him down onto the cold floor, 'I don't know—.'

'Shh! Don't worry,' she cooed softly, 'I'll be with you, we'll find it together.'

'Together?' Loofah looked up—the doctor was nearly upon them, now just yards away. All around, the pulsing roar climbed to an unbearable intensity. Even the air had joined the frenzy and throbbed maniacally against his flesh.

'Meet me at the Tree That Is Not,' whispered the girl, and then pressed her mouth over his.

At this very moment the throbbing ceased as the manic noise fused into a single extended scream of white jagged light that lacerated space and shattered the air. For a second it plateaued and then crumbled, falling over him in a tumbling cascade of splintered light and sparks that were extinguished in the cool dark lagoon of the nymph's kiss. In the far distance, he was vaguely aware of her legs twining around his, and then of a tumbling sensation, of cold hardness against his distant shoulder blades as he was rolled over on a stone floor.

He sank deeper and deeper, melting into her, blending with her. On the edge of infinity he sensed her winding herself around him like a hungry octopus.

Melting, sinking, blending.

At the very edge of his conscious realm, the tangle of limbs and flesh blurred into a fuzzy mesh until he could no longer tell which was him and which was her, until there just a single smooth skin of joint sensation. For a time there was still something that was definitely him at the centre, a resistant core of him-ness, but then this too began to soften and melt, and he felt tendrils of her-ness worming into this last vestige of what was him, fusing and mixing their two-ness into a single oneness.

A single oneness, a fused cell of life. But it was a cell that could not remain one, it was a cell that began to divide almost as soon as it had formed—tiny threads of living tissue coagulated out the blended homogeneity, then polarised and pulled apart, gelling into organs and flesh, bones and skin.

He swam upwards, the cold dark water sliding smoothly over the soft skin of his body. From far away, muffled noise drifted through the lagoon and he felt her relax her grip and unwind her limbs from his. Suddenly she pulled her mouth away from his—completing the mitosis—and he broke surface, sucking in the sticky hot air as a torrent of noise and sensation crashed in on him. For a long moment he lay on the cold stone, gasping like a landed fish among the sighs and groans of exhaustion from the spent congregation. Then he blinked, blinked again—and snapped his eyes tight shut.

A mirror?—was it a mirror? He peeped quickly. No, it wasn't a mirror.

His heart pumped like a mad thing as banshees of fear screamed through his skull and rivers of joy flooded his veins. Marshalling his panicked will, he forced open his eyes once again.

Yes, it true—he was lying there, beside himself, no more than a few feet away. Identical in every way and close enough to touch.

But how could this be? His guts clenched like a fist. There was one of him, he knew that now, and how could the one be two? There was something wrong here , something very wrong indeed—one was one, one was not two, and one did not lie next to itself on a stone floor.

The wrongness squirmed inside him like a rabid python: oneness is everything, two-ness is nothing; oneness is right, oneness is what is meant to be. A split second later, though, it came to him, in a blinding flash all was clear—a great calm descended over him, a blanket of infinite peace. For where there are two, said a far voice, let there be one, let the great wound be healed. Something gagged in Loofah's throat and he trembled all over with tears welling in his eyes—it was as if he had come home after a long, long journey. And then, with the certain knowledge that all would be right once more, he reached out to himself, reached out to embrace oneness, to restore his singularity.

Suddenly a cold-hard face loomed over the back of the pew above. The other him glanced up, smiled quickly at Loofah, then skidded away under the pew, diving past the legs of the surprised paramedic. A sharp dagger of loss stabbed through Loofah's throat but before he could follow, he saw that another gowned figure fighting between the pews towards him. It was too late to escape—he leapt to his feet to face his enemy.

'Get out of the way, you silly bitch!' snarled the doctor, barging him violently forward into the back of the pew.

Loofah pushed himself up, watching with confused amazement as the doctor and the three paramedics charged away through the sagging congregation in pursuit of the fleeing figure with dark thinning hair. He reached up to rub his bruised chest—and his heart stopped mid-beat. The satiated crowd, the doctor, the paramedics, they were all suddenly a million miles away. Slowly, very slowly, he looked down to see what was the strange mound of soft flesh that he had cupped in his hand.