FRANKS, Bill Read online

  To his left he saw, further along the downward slope of the footpath, what must be Bluebell Dell. Even from the distance, it offered a truly pleasing sight, with a virtual carpet of bluebells swaying gently in the light breeze with small, grassed areas peeping through.

  Rounding a bend on the footpath, Mary saw the Jesuit. Her heart missed a couple of beats. He was here! He had actually turned up! Why shouldn’t he? She thought, It’s not as if we are intending any wrong. I am here to seek solace and advice. My wrongdoings are in the past - but yet, why have I recently begun to touch myself in naughty places with the thought of the woman in the church in mind?

  She was now but twenty feet from him, her previous nervousness slipping from her as she observed his warm, embracing smile. His hands were reaching out to her in welcome. No, nothing wrong in this: after all, I prefer women, don’t I? Their hands met and clasped. Take me! Scourge me! Rape me! The thoughts impacted on her mind.

  The warm, Godly voice was speaking: “Thank you for coming, Mary.”

  He remembers my name! “Before we experience the Dell, I wondered if we could have a chat just through the trees here, behind me. It is quiet and private – perfect for contrition.” She allowed him to lead her, their hands still clasped. He walked backwards, perfectly certain of his step, even though this was his first visit to the area. She stumbled on, mesmerised by his gaze, unable to drag her eyes from his. Take me! Take me! Whip me for the sinner I am!

  They reached the small clearing and he induced her to sit. Remaining in a standing position before her, Ignatious placed both hands onto her head. “Have you given my words some thought, Mary?” he asked softly. She nodded quickly. “And what is your conclusion?”

  Mary croaked the words. “Well. W-well, Father, I agree that it is most probably due to reaching mid-life that I am experiencing these feelings. But…” She paused.

  “Yes, my child. Continue.”

  Mary quivered as the eyes of The Creator seeped into her; the warm aura had returned. “I am still thinking about women, Father.” She bowed her head in total abjection.

  “And what is it that you are thinking about women?” The voice was still warm, soothing, comforting.

  “Sex, Father. Having sex.” Unaccountably, tears had begun to trickle from her eyes.

  “You must not cry, Mary. You have done nothing wrong. Don’t forget, God knows all. He is prepared to forgive, as long as you love Him. And you do love Him, Mary, don’t you?”

  Mary hurried her reply. “Yes. Yes. Oh, yes, Father, I do love Him. I do. I really do.”

  “Mary. You have recognised that you are suffering from a mid-life crisis and, as I have said, this is not at all uncommon. It affects different women in different ways. You are simply behaving in a human way.” He smiled benignly. “Even so, you recognise also that you are not happy with your present feelings. Therefore, reject them! Remember how you were before. Be happy in what and who you are. You are no less the person because of your age. In fact, your age is an asset, Mary. Be content with it. Think of the experience; the knowledge you have gained in your years of life. You cannot go back and, if you could, would you? Really? Would you want to be a younger person in today’s difficult world? Think, Mary. Think. Are you better now than you were? Yes! Of course you are! You may feel you have missed out on something but imagine if you had had those things, where would you now be? Happier? More contented?” The Jesuit allowed a long pause for thought. “Kneel, my lovely child,” he then said. “Open your eyes. Look at me. Can you not tell me that your demons are now gone?”

  Mary raised herself to a kneeling position, looking up at Ignatious with absolute devotion in her eyes. It was as though she had been carrying a group of acrobats on her shoulders over the past months, but now, now they had tumbled! She felt strangely free, strangely contented. She no longer desired females, of that she was fully certain. This man, this God-like man, had exorcised the devil from her! She smiled as she met those eyes. They entered her whole being. Take me! Scourge me! Rape me! I’m yours! Don’t delay! Now!

  Ignatious continued to look down on the wayward woman as his hands once more settled on her head. He could feel his pulses racing through her. Her hands moved to the cotton blouse that she was wearing and began to unfasten the buttons. Completing the job, she slid it from her and unclipped the bra, letting it fall onto the floor. Her breasts stood proudly, the nipples erect. Mary then began to unfasten the skirt and manoeuvre out of it as Ignatious watched silently. When naked, she remained in the kneeling position awaiting her mentor’s instructions. He lowered the cotton trousers he wore, to expose his earthliness to her. Mary took the movement calmly, totally at ease.

  “To complete your path to normality, my child,” The tone was as before, unruffled, warm and soothing. “You must accept the staff of The Lord, after which you will be elevated to another plane. Then we will complete your journey.”

  The spellbound woman moved her head to her master as she ministered to his desires. Minutes later, she was engaged in frenzied lust, the like of which she had not been involved for many years. At the end, she lay with her legs unashamedly apart, her face flushed and smiling, her mind truly on another plane.

  Ignatious stroked each arm in turn, feeling and looking for the telltale signs of immunisation. The only one he found was high on the left arm, an ancient smallpox scar, too closed for his intended purpose. Unfazed, he raised his underpant and trousers from their position around his ankles and fastened them in place. Reaching into a pocket, he produced a slender, squat implement into which he poured a substance from a small phial. Replacing the phial, he bent to Mary. “You are now prepared for the final phase,” he said to her. “And, Mary.” She did not respond. “No matter, but you should refer to me as Brother, not Father.”

  Through the mists of her mind, the words clicked into place. “Yes, Father. Take me where you will.”

  “The Virgin Mary is awaiting you. She is the one woman whom you can truly love, with a love transcending that which you have experienced here in this miserable world. Go to her!” With that, he pressed the slender object to the scar and pushed on a square knob at the top of it. It travelled only half an inch with a sharp snap, injecting the fluid into the bloodstream with a burst of compressed air.

  Mary’s eyes fluttered open, as did her mouth, saying or doing nothing for several seconds. Her eyes then took on a dark hue and she looked with lasciviousness at the holy Brother, seeing him again as a sex object. Her tongue rolled around her lips as she began to smile. Then, suddenly, her body arched upwards, supported on feet and shoulders, and the dark eyes rolled back beyond the eyelids. The tongue protruded in a bizarre rasp as Mary’s breathing became fast and laboured. She uttered a weird snarling sound, then collapsed to the ground, her body shaking from head to toe. She died in minutes from Opium poisoning.

  From the top pocket of his shirt, Ignatious gently lifted out a perfectly preserved bunch of humming bird feathers and placed it next to her left thigh. He then replaced the discarded panties and closed her legs, resting the tip of the feathers beneath the thigh, holding it in position. Before leaving the scene, he said a prayer over the body, ending with: “Good Mother of God, receive your sinner and keep her safe.”

  Once back inside the motor home, Ignatious brought out one of two animal skin pouches. This contained sixteen well preserved bunches of humming bird feathers, all the same iridescent colours. The other pouch held a total of twenty. Ignatious never tired of looking at the collection; the mysteries of this particular bird’s flight patterns, studied when in the Amazon, left him in excited awe.

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  Apart from the morning’s activity, Ignatious had spent most of the time familiarising himself with his surroundings, enjoying the summers day. He had eaten sparsely, his appetite diminished due to the heat. Now it was night and he had gone to bed, slipping easily into a gradually deepening sleep.

  As in a serial, dreams, if dreams be the right description, begin wh
ere they leave off, each episode a continuation of the last.

  In flashes of wakefulness, Saviour opened his eyes and took in the scene around him. The storm was still raging; the howling wind, the slanting rain and the roaring thunder ferociously attacking his weakened and damaged body as he lay helplessly entangled in the thick tree branches that offered him support. He shook with fear as a blinding flash of lightning seared through a thick branch, not six feet from his position, the wind hurling it into the air above to be swallowed into it’s insatiable belly. He managed a fearful look to his right and saw the figure of Sister Vasquez, her clothing flapping like a hummingbird’s wings, suffering the storm as he was. He noticed a deliberate movement from her; a quick shift of position, a huddle deeper into the protective foliage – she was alive! Try as he may, Saviour could not see his other comrades, Fathers Christian and Ottomier. Suddenly the screeching hurricane reached a crescendo; Saviour’s head began to swim, his eyes blurred and he fell into unconsciousness.

  The jungle tribe that found the strangely attired people had a history going back many centuries. They had not developed as in the sense of the western world but their particular skills were finely honed. The men and boys were highly skilled hunters and clever at producing the necessary items of their existence, whilst the females of the tribe worked hard as farmers of the lands, cooks, nurses, weavers and, of course, mothers.

  They set about releasing the victims from their entangled prisons, checking that they were still alive before carrying them not too carefully back to the village on contraptions made from stout poles and animal hides, formed into elongated stretchers. Two men rested the front poles on their shoulders and, maintaining a strong grip, dragged the injured people at quick speed behind them.

  Saviour awoke several times during his fever but was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. His senses told him that he was being cared for, there being a feeling of comfort and the occasional suspicion of a young, deep-coffee-coloured face swimming in and out of his vision. Then the demons arrived again to extract their fun at his expense. He screamed in terror but it was not heard by the carers, the only sign being the renewal of the violent shuddering, coupled with unbelievable perspiring, as the fever bit forcefully.

  Fifteen days passed before Saviour finally awoke. Although his head ached, he was in command of his faculties once more. He lay still for a short while, gathering his wits, appreciating the pleasant smell of something burning – like smouldering cork. There was also the mouth-watering aroma of food being cooked; fish and beef it seemed. He found that he was lying on a comfortable bed made up of some kind of vegetation, covered over by a smooth cotton blanket with a sheet of the same material draped loosely over him. The air was warm and the summery sounds of carried voices and buzzing insects came to his ears. Looking around, he found that he was in some kind of primitive hut, the only wall decorations being various types of animal heads and two or three brightly coloured blankets placed in haphazard fashion.

  Forcing himself to move from his comfort, Ignatious rose unsteadily to his feet. Leaning against a wall for support, he rested for a couple of minutes before venturing forward to the entrance – the single opening in the hut. He found he was walking with half-closed eyes and he shook his head to clear the somewhat self-pitying feelings in which he was ensconced.

  His heart leapt alarmingly as he left the building and he had to grab at one of the thick bamboo poles forming a part of the structure’s entrance to save himself from crashing twenty feet or so to the ground below. The huts had been built on stilts! Quickly scrambling back inside, Ignatious knelt, looking forward out of the building at the camp below.

  There appeared to be no men around, just a few young boys. However, there were many women and girls to be seen, all busy at some task or other. Like ants, they seemed to be scurrying around, to and fro, bringing, fetching, and carrying. It was obvious the main job was cooking; hence the delectable aromas abounding.

  Looking to the Sun, Ignatious estimated the time to be around eleven in the morning. He was feeling ravenous. Clearing his head once more, he gingerly sought out the flimsy looking ladder with his foot and descended the almost vertical piece, holding tightly, body flat to the rungs, taking one slow step before the other. He began to sweat. The view from the top would have been quite magnificent had he been able to enjoy it, but his main concentration was surviving the journey to the ground, some thirty feet below.

  At last, he arrived on terra firma, his naked feet appreciating the warm earth. He turned to face the camp and was surprised to see that all the activity had ceased and all were staring intently at him. Standing at the foot of the ladder, he leaned against it, not certain of what to do next.

  To break the deathly silence, he waved an arm lamely, smiling at the onlookers. Nothing. He began to move slowly towards the group feeling foolish and embarrassed. For some unknown reason, and quite unnecessarily, he limped.

  The group finally moved – backwards and slowly, taking an equal pace to Saviour’s, their eyes never leaving him. He began then to worry about his comrades. If these people were so suspicious of him, it lent thought to the fact that the others had not survived or, dread the very thought, had been murdered!

  In the midst of this impasse, a strong female voice came from behind the huts at the side of the first group. It spoke in Portuguese. Ignatious had a smattering of knowledge in the language and was able to get the gist of it.

  “Stay where you are, man,” it said, as the bearer broke from the group. She was clearly one of the tribe, though taller than the others, none of whom exceeded five feet in height. The speaker was around five-feet seven inches. Unlike most of the rest, she was clothed in a loosely -fitting sarong, they being naked from the waist up, with the younger ones completely unclothed. It was only then that Ignatious realised that he, too, was naked! In his confused state, he had completely forgotten to search for clothing.

  “My friends are afraid of you,” she called out. “They only saw you as a sick man, being brought into our village. You now look recovered. Let me come to you first and we can meet. After that, it will be all right.”

  Ignatious stood where he was and waited as the woman came to him. She was no doubt beautiful to the tribe but, to his Western eyes, she was unattractive, having a rather pugilistic face. However, the rich, long black hair that cascaded down her back was a thing of beauty and, close up, Ignatious was drawn to the beauty of the large, dark and expressive eyes.

  Not knowing what to do, he held out both hands in front, ready to grip hers. Arriving, she slapped his hands down and moved to him, encircling him with her arms and rubbing her nose against his. Her breath came to him, sweet and aromatic, the source unknown. Mid way through the ritual, the woman stopped, looking intently into Saviour’s face. Her expression was one of shock and disbelief. The silence reigned deafeningly for many seconds before she spoke. “From where do you come?” she asked.

  Saviour had to have the question repeated slowly in Portuguese, as he did not know the languagein which she had first spoken. The woman did as asked, but haltingly, all the time staring into his eyes. “From the West, across the seas,” he stuttered, puzzled.

  Amazingly, the proud female dropped to her knees, her hands sliding down his sides. She bowed her head saying: “Man. You are not of this earth. Of which God are you?”

  Saviour could not believe his ears – was she seeing him as a God? “I am from the Christian faith and my God is the Creator of all things.” He hoped his Portuguese was good enough.

  The answer did not seem to satisfy. She backed away, still on her knees, saying: “Man. You come to teach us of your Gods and you are among them.”

  Just then, a figure appeared from the dense vegetation surrounding the village. It was a man, naked apart from a small loincloth, carrying a long spear and holding a bunch of dead birds. He was of the same attractive colouring as the women and not much taller, around five feet six inches. Then another, and another, an
d another, emerged from different parts, all bearing spears and carrying some kind of dead animal or birds.

  The women broke from their trance and began a loud cheering, raising and lowering their arms as if in worship. They were not worshipping the men, merely offering thanks to their Gods for the food that had arrived. It was a daily routine. The tall woman then stood and walked to the centre of the area where the tribesmen moved to her with their kill. She clearly held a position of importance with them.

  From the jungle, there then came a sight to warm Saviour’s heart; one by one, his colleagues emerged. They had survived! On seeing Igantious there, standing, clearly over the main effects of the illness, they ran to him, shouting greetings. Ignatious noticed that the clothes they had been wearing at the beginning of the journey were now replaced with crudely made shirts and shorts, and each wore a wide-brimmed straw hat on their heads. The group met, more collided, with their comrade, almost knocking him to the ground in their exuberance. Words poured out in an excited babble.

  Through the throng of his comrades, Ignatious glanced toward the tribe. All were stood, silently watching the proceedings. Sensing Ignatious’s tension, the missionaries ceased in their greetings and turned to follow his stare. For a few moments, the two groups stood, each motionless and silent.

  Then, a figure new to Ignatious appeared. From the mode of dress, he was obviously the witch doctor. He moved toward them with a tribesman and the tall woman following, a couple of feet behind.

  “What is happening?” Ignatious asked Father Christian.