“That’s good of you, Prez.”
He shot me a glance, casually acknowledged several youngsters loitering about in a not-so-aim less manner. Lads and lasses, they were long-haired, in sun specs. Two of them had rifles. Whatever he wasn’t, Gullenbenkian was astute.
“Necessary, Lovejoy. Your people wait here.”
“Tye, please. See your pal gets enough peanuts.”
Tye and Al stood watching as the gospeller and I trod to the verandah. I daresay Tye had planted some sort of recording gadget on me this time, expecting this. Better if he had, so it wouldn’t just be my word against anyone else’s.
“What hospitality may I offer you, Lovejoy? Not often I audience somebody from your neck of the woods.” He laughed, a practised, all-embracing laugh. I’d always thought only monarchs and popes gave audiences.
“Nothing, thanks, Prez. I just came to talk.”
“Talk how?” The interior echoed. Baronial wasn’t the word. It would have done for a duke, a prince. It was brand new, the ceilings vaulted, the stained-glass windows soaring, sweeping staircases curving upwards to a high domed ceiling. It was splendour so garish I almost couldn’t speak.
“A money offer, actually.”
We passed through the hall and out into a closed courtyard. Three youngsters faded at our approach. A girl emerged, served a tray of drinks, retired. I wondered why they were all so scruffy.
The gospeller caught me looking after her and smiled.
“Not my devotees, you understand. The Lord’s servants. They’re wonderfully motivated in our service.”
“Who’s our?”
“The Lord’s. And mine. Instruments of the Lord’s intentions here upon earth. Six months only.”
That old one. “What happens if they stay longer?”
He raised his eyebrows. Every hair on his head seemed mathematically inclined, devoted to giving proper service. Steel-grey hair, bright of eye, gold watch clinking on his wrist.
“They don’t. Many try, Lovejoy.”
“No second helpings, then?”
“None. Much better for them to live here a while, restore their flagging energies, the better to leap again into battle.”
He explained how each crusade into the major cities was organized, the thousand proselytizers who preceded him. “We organize bands, marches, spectacular events.”
“Showbiz?”
“Got to be, Lovejoy. The Lord can’t be made to hide.”
We chuckled, such friends. “Which brings in revenue to build the Own Decree Crystal Dome?”
“Praise God, yes it does, Lovejoy. I’m pleased you’ve heard of our little enterprise.”
“Cathedral, isn’t it?”
“They’re already calling it that?” He was delighted.
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen your television show, Prez. I haven’t been in the US very long.”
He snapped his fingers. A serf darted out, to be sent for a timetable of his broadcasts. For somebody not quite God, he was an impressive simulation.
“Your money offer, Lovejoy,” he reminded.
His lady—I’d seen photographs—joined us, bulbous and with the face of a doll. Disconcertingly, her voice was a shrill monotone. Her cosmetics were thickly trowelled on, lips protuberant with lipstick, her eyes deep in cream, liner, receder, heightener, lowerer, brighteners. I thought she was lovely.
“Annalou, Lovejoy,” God’s sub belled melodiously. “Come to see our Deus Deistic Theme Park, perhaps worship a little, and make an offer.”
“I’ll be right glad to show you round, Lovejoy,” Annalou said. “You be here for our broadcast?”
“Afraid not, Annalou. I’ve to be back in Manhattan within the day.” I stuffed the programme details in my pocket and we boarded a small electric car thing, driven by a long-haired kulak called Glad Tidings.
Annalou explained while Prez dispensed papal blessings to bystanders. “Our devotees abandon all their trappings of the World Without while they sojourn here. Including their names.”
And property, the articles said.
We drove slowly down a gravelled drive through rose gardens, out into lawns and fountain courts where hymns played on chimes. Recordings of unseen orchestras piously serenaded us. People began to appear, wandering and smiling. It was like a film set, the people affluent, blissful, contentedly calling “Praise the Lord” as we passed. I’m not used to holiness on this—indeed any—scale. I felt unnerved. Annalou fondly took my hand.
“The place gets to you, Lovejoy, don’t it? Peace divine.
“There’s the theme centre, Lovejoy.”
Prez’s voice was husky with pride. Turrets and towers formed a surround, for all the world resembling a child’s wooden fort rimming an enormous glass dome.
We drove up among the thickening crowds of visitors. Prez was telling me it would be finished in two years’ time, if investments kept coming.
“Contributions are investments in holiness, Lovejoy. Joy repays joy!”
To my alarm they began singing a hymn. People all around joined in. I went red, feeling a duckegg, not knowing the words and feeling too stupid to join in even if I did.
We stopped at the main entrance. “Praise all goodness, friends!” Prez said, shaking hands with anybody he could reach. People slapped backs, cried heavenly slogans. I nodded, tried to smile.
“Good be praised!” Annalou cried in her dreadful monotone, using her heavenly shape to wheedle a way through the crowd. I followed.
We were on a forecourt laid out with biblical scenes in mosaic, with tableaux showing prophetic events in grottoes lining the route. Close to, the glass Deus Whatnot grew to huge dimensions.
“So far, the only entrance we use is the small southern one, cloistered against evil of course by our famous Exhibition of Eternity.”
“It’s in connection with that, Prez, that my financial —”
“A second’s prayerful thought first, Lovejoy!” Prez intoned, hauling me towards the entrance. I understood: no money chat among devotees.
We paused before a waxwork tableau while he said a lengthy prayer. I paused respectfully, trapped by Annalou’s pressing figure and Prez’s athletic bulk. Visitors all about paused with us, praying along.
The entrance was done up like a church porch. “See that it’s Jerusalem, Lovejoy? Isn’t the symbolism just cute?”
“Great, Annalou.” I wished she wouldn’t crush my arm against herself so enthusiastically. Not in a church, even one like this. I was getting hot under the collar.
“Our Exhibition of Eternity reveals the splendour of God’s own times, Lovejoy,” Prez said in a blast of halleluiahs as the crowd unglued and we started in.
“The antiques?”
“Evidence of former times when Good walked the earth.”
“I’m so moved,” I said to Annalou. And I really was. I could have eaten her with a spoon. No wonder the contributions—well, investments—came rolling in with a bird like this fluttering her eyelashes on your television set.
“I can tell, Lovejoy,” she whispered. If only it hadn’t been in a monotone.
Somebody bumped against me, tripping me. I stumbled and would have fallen if Annalou hadn’t been so close. Magda’s angry face swam into my ken and vanished in a sea of devotees.
We had entered a kind of gloamy grotto. A waterfall cascaded before lights. Antiques were close. I felt a strong boom in my chest, and turned to see Zole ostentatiously swaggering out.
“Wait, Annalou!”
“Yes?” she breathed.
“You’re sure all the antiques are in here?”
“Why, yes, Lovejoy!”
“There’s one being carried out. By that little lad—”
She caught Glad Tidings, he pressed an alarm. Everybody froze. The hymns stopped. Lights bashed on. Devotees crowded in and marshalled us all along walls, whistles sounding outside. Annalou and Prez dragged me through the crowd out onto the forecourt.
“That way. I felt something really overpowering.”