Pandora’s Bust
Ben Canaan lowered his head—to hide a smile? Perhaps, thought Mary, talking has lubricated his mouth. “I do God’s work as best I can. These men have also seen truth. Together we formed the Society of Early Christians to prepare ourselves for battle.”
All seven men fell to their knees. Michelangelo stayed silent now as his six colleagues implored the Blessed Virgin for acceptance. “Hail Mary. Hail Mary. We beg you, Holy Mother of God, don’t deny unworthy sinners.”
Mary laughed, reached out a fingertip to Michelangelo Ben Canaan’s chin, lifted up his humble face, and said, “How could I deny so proud an advocate?”
four
For the trek through the city Mary decided they’d best turn invisible after all, not for herself or the angels, but for Ben Canaan and his skinny crew. She felt angered when no Early Christian experimented with his new power. Ben Canaan only marched stolidly forward, his chin humbly tucked into his chest.
Just after they entered the city the Father manifested in a burning automobile to inform them they’d find the Beast in an abandoned sub-cellar under the World Trade Center. They reached the ancient building at noon, only to find it locked shut with a squad of guards—three workers and a robot captain—standing before the doors. A moment’s eavesdropping told them that the city had closed the building for fear of a ghetto attack. Apparently, the police interpreted the piles of bones nightly strewn about the trade center grounds as remnants of Afro-tribal murders.
The Angels looked to Mother Mary. “Blessed Virgin, you’ll have to do something.”
“I suppose so,” said Mary, who felt confused. For some reason her eyes would not focus property; the building appeared to waver.
“If you’ll permit me–” offered Ben Canaan.
“Certainly,” said Mary.
“If the holy servants–” the Angels raised their brows—“would each kiss a worker–”
“Profligate son,” said the Angels. “beware of blasphemy.”
“He’s speaking to me,” said Mary. “I’ll decide.”
Ben Canaan continued, “Then, if they’d run away the squad will follow.”
Mary squinted at him. “I’m not sure.”
“I am.”
“Good enough.” A nod to the angels. “Go.”
The holy servants stayed invisible until a foot away from the guards, then revealed themselves. “Black faces!” cried the robot. “Careful now.”
The honkies raised their guns. “Don’t you boys come no closer,” one said, while another whispered. “Jesus, look at them African get-ups. These must be the leaders.” The two Angels looked at each other, back at Mary, then at the squad; finally, each bent forward and kissed a worker on the cheek.
“Miscegenation!” screamed the robot. The angels leaped back. “Get them.”
“Keep your wings folded,” shouted Ben Canaan. “Stay on the ground.” The Angels ran down the block, the police close behind.
Michelangelo, Mary noticed, as she walked to the plate glass door, now stayed only one step behind her, in contrast to the six paces he’d kept earlier. She had no chance, however, for analysis. A queasiness overcame her as she reached up her hand to the glass. The whole building shimmied and quivered, ran together and dissolved like loose paint. The spasm passed quickly; a moment later Mary’s hand along the glass melted a doorway.
The blessed phalanx passed uneasily, almost embarrassed, through the quiet hall. Mary felt cow fused, less her own mistress than at any time since her death. She could not shake a conviction that nothing of the building really existed. Twice she spun around as if to catch the walls dissolving, but she only caught puzzled looks from the Early Christians. They moved slowly through the different levels. The stairwells were not continuous and all doors looked the same, so that each floor required a search for the passage down to the next one. After twenty minutes they’d only gone down seven levels below the street. On level nine the angels rejoined them and the ten crusaders continued downstairs.
By level eighteen they’d ceased to find any signs of habitation. The office doors had no nameplates, the water fountains didn’t work, no pictures of the king hung on the walls. Level twenty had no offices at all. Chips in the plaster wall showed stone rather than steel and concrete. By now the only light came from the angels’ halos. Still, they found a stairway, but on the next level, a cave-like hallway without even the pretense of plaster, they only found a sign which read, “Universally Restricted Area. No Admittance.”
