«Patty explained it. “This crowd is just marks, dear — people here out of curiosity or maybe shilled in by people who have reached one of the inner circles.” Jubal, Mike has rigged the thing in nine circles, like lodge degrees — and nobody is told that there are circles farther in until they're ripe for it. “This is Michael's bally,” Pat told me, “which he does as easy as he breathes — while he's feeling them out and deciding which ones are possible. That's why he strings it out — Duke is up behind that grille and Michael tells him who might measure up, where he sits and everything. Michael's about to turn this tip … and spill the ones he doesn't want. Then Dawn takes over, after she gets the seating diagram from Duke.”»
«How did they work that?» asked Harshaw.
«I didn't see it, Jubal. There are a dozen ways they could cut from the herd as long as Mike knew which they were and had some way to signal Duke. Patty says Mike's clairvoyant — I won't deny the possibility. Then they took the collection. Mike doesn't do even this church style — you know, soft music and dignified ushers. He said nobody would believe this was a church if he didn't take a collection. Then, so help me, they passed collection baskets already loaded with money and Mike told them that this was what the last crowd had given, so help themselves — if they were broke or hungry and needed it. But if they felt like giving … give. Do one or the other — put something in, or take something out. I figured he had found one more way to get rid of too much money.»
Jubal said thoughtfully, «That pitch, properly given, should result in people giving more … while a few take just a little. Probably very few.»
«I don't know, Jubal. Patty whisked me away when Mike turned the service over to Dawn. She took me to a private auditorium where services were opening for the seventh circle — people who had belonged for months and had made progress. If it is progress.
«Jubal, we went straight from one to the other and it was hard to adjust. That outer meeting was half lecture, half entertainment — this one was almost a voodoo rite. Mike was in robes now; he looked taller, ascetic, and intense — his eyes gleamed. The place was dim, there was creepy music and yet it made you want to dance. Patty and I took a couch that was darn near a bed. What the service was I couldn't say. Mike would sing out in Martian, they would answer in Martian — except for chants of “Thou art God! Thou art God!” echoed by some Martian word that would make my throat sore to pronounce.»
Jubal made a croaking noise «Was that it?»
«Huh? I believe so. Jubal … are you hooked? Have you been stringing me along?»
«No. Stinky taught it to me — he says it's heresy of the blackest sort. By his lights I mean. It's the word Mike translates as “Thou art God”. Mahmoud says that isn't even close to a translation. It's the universe proclaiming its self-awareness … or it's “peccavimus” with a total absence of contrition … or a dozen other things. Stinky says that he doesn't understand it even in Martian — except that it is a bad word, the worst possible in his opinion … and closer to Satan's defiance than to the blessing of God. Go on. Was that all? Just a bunch of fanatics yelling Martian?»
«Uh … Jubal, they didn't yell and it wasn't fanatical. Sometimes they barely whispered. Then it might climb a little. They did it in a rhythm, a pattern, like a cantata … yet it didn't feel rehearsed; it felt more as if they were all one person, humming whatever he felt. Jubal, you've seen Fosterites work themselves up — »
«Too much, I'm sorry to say.»
«Well, this was not that sort of frenzy; this was quiet and easy, like dropping off to sleep. It was intense all right and got steadily more so, but — Jubal, ever try a spiritualist seance?»
«I have. I've tried everything I could, Ben.»
«Then you know how tension can grow without anybody moving or saying a word. This was more like that than like a revival, or even the most sedate church service. But it wasn't mild; it packed terrific wallop.»
«The word is “Apollonian”.»
«Huh?»
«As opposed to “Dionysian”. People simplify “Apollonian” into “mild”, and “calm”, and “cool”. But “Apollonian” and “Dionysian” are two sides of one coin — a nun kneeling in her cell, holding perfectly still, can be in ecstasy more frenzied than any priestess of Pan Priapus celebrating the vernal equinox. Ecstasy is in the skull, not the setting-up exercises.» Jubal frowned. «Another error is to identify “Apollonian” with “good” — merely because our most respectable sects are Apollonian in ritual and precept. Mere prejudice. Proceed.»
«Well … things weren't as quiet as a nun's devotions. They wandered about, swapped seats, and there was necking going on — nothing more, I believe, but the lighting was low. One gal started to join us, but Patty gave her some sign … so she kissed us and left.» Ben grinned. «Kissed quite well, too. I was the only person not in a robe; I felt conspicuous. But she didn't seem to notice.
«The whole thing was casual … and yet as coordinated as a ballerina's muscles. Mike kept busy, sometimes in front, sometimes wandering among the others — once he squeezed my shoulder and kissed Patty, unhurriedly but quickly. He didn't speak. Back of where he stood when he seemed to be leading was a dingus like a big stereo tank; he used it for “miracles”, only he never used the word — at least not in English. Jubal, every church promises miracles. But it's jam yesterday and jam tomorrow.»
«Exception,» Jubal interrupted. «Many of them deliver — exempli gratia among many: Christian Scientists and Roman Catholics.»
«Catholics? You mean Lourdes?»
«I had in mind the Miracle of Transubstantiation.»
«Hmm — I can't judge that subtle a miracle. As for Christian Scientists — if I break a leg, I want a sawbones.»
«Then watch where you put your feet,» Jubal growled. «Don't bother me.»
«Wouldn't think of it. I don't want a classmate of William Harvey.»
«Harvey could reduce a fracture.»
«Yeah, but how about his classmates? Jubal, those cases you cited may be miracles — but Mike offers splashy ones. He's either an expert illusionist, or an amazing hypnotist — »
«He might be both.»
« — or he's smoothed the bugs out of closed-circuit stereovision so that it cannot be told from reality.»
«How can you rule out real miracles, Ben?»
«It's not a theory I like. Whatever he used, it was good theater. Once the lights came up and here was a black-maned lion, as stately as a guardian for library steps, and little lambs wobbling around him. The lion just blinked and yawned. Sure, Hollywood can tape such effects — but I smelled lion. However, that can be faked, too.»
«Why insist on fakery?»
«Damn it. I'm trying to be judicial!»
«Then don't lean over backwards. Try to emulate Anne.»
«I'm not Anne. I wasn't judicial at the time; I just enjoyed it, in a warm glow. Mike did a lot of guxig-ho illusions. Levitation and such. Patty slipped away toward the end after whispering to me to stay. “Michael just told them that any who do not feel ready for the next circle should now leave,” she told me.
«I said, “I had better leave.”
She said, “Oh, no, dear! You're Ninth Circle. Stay seated, I'll be back.” And she left.»
«I don't think anybody chickened out. This group was Seventh-Circlers supposed to be promoted. But I didn't notice as lights came up again … and there was Jill!
«Jubal, it did not feel like stereovision. Jill picked me out and smiled at me. Oh, if an actor looks directly at camera, his eyes meet yours no matter where you're seated. But if Mike has it smoothed out this well, he should patent it. Jill was in an outlandish costume. Mike started intoning something, partly in English … stuff about the Mother of All, the unity of many, and started calling her a series of names … and with each name her costume changed — »