"Evil," the priest said, after he had settled comfortably into Barrent's
best chair, "is that force within us which inspires men to acts of
strength and endurance. The worship of Evil is essentially the worship
of oneself, and therefore the only true worship. The self which one
worships is the ideal social being; the man content in his niche in
society, yet ready to grasp any opportunity for advancement; the man who
meets death with dignity, who kills without the demeaning vice of pity.
Evil is cruel, since it is a true reflection of the uncaring and
insensate universe. Evil is eternal and unchanging, although it comes to
us in the many forms of protean life."
"Would you care for a little wine, Uncle?" Barrent asked.
"Thank you, that's very thoughtful," Uncle Ingemar said. "How is
business?"
"Fair. A little slow this week."
"People don't take the same interest in poisoning," the priest said,
moodily sipping his drink. "Not like when I was a boy, newly unfrocked
and shipped out from Earth. However. I was speaking to you about Evil."
"Yes, Uncle."
"We worship Evil," Uncle Ingemar said, "in the incarnate form of The
Black One, that horned and horrid specter of our days and nights. In The
Black One we find the seven cardinal sins, the forty felonies, and the
hundred and one misdemeanors. There is no crime that The Black One has
not performed--faultlessly, as befits his nature. Therefore we imperfect
beings model ourselves upon his perfections. And sometimes, The Black
One rewards us by appearing before us in the awful beauty of his fiery
flesh. Yes, Nephew, I have actually been privileged to see him. Two
years ago he appeared at the conclusion of the Games, and he also
appeared the year before that."
The priest brooded for a moment over the divine appearance. Then he
said, "Since we recognize in the State man's highest potential for Evil,
we also worship the State as a suprahuman, though less than divine,
creation."
Barrent nodded. He was having a difficult time staying awake. Uncle
Ingemar's low, monotonous voice lecturing about so commonplace a thing
as Evil had a soporific effect on him. He struggled to keep his eyes
open.
"One might well ask," Uncle Ingemar droned on, "if Evil is the highest
attainment of the nature of man, why then did The Black One allow any
Good to exist in the universe? The problem of Good has bothered the
unenlightened for ages. I will now answer it for you."
"Yes, Uncle?" Barrent said, surreptitiously pinching himself on the
inside of the thigh in an effort to stay awake.
"But first," Uncle Ingemar said, "let us define our terms. Let us
examine the nature of Good. Let us boldly and fearlessly stare our great
opponent in the face and discover the true lineaments of his features."
"Yes," Barrent said, wondering if he should open a window. His eyes felt
incredibly heavy. He rubbed them hard and tried to pay attention.
"Good is a state of illusion," said Uncle Ingemar in his even,
monotonous voice, "which ascribes to man the nonexistent attributes of
altruism, humility, and piety. How can we recognize Good as being an
illusion? Because there is only man and The Black One in the universe,
and to worship The Black One is to worship the ultimate expression of
oneself. Thus, since we have proven Good to be an illusion, we
necessarily recognize its attributes as nonexistent. Understood?"
Barrent didn't answer.
"Do you understand?" the priest asked more sharply.
"Eh?" Barrent said. He had been dozing with his eyes open. He forced
himself awake and managed to say, "Yes, Uncle, I understand."
"Excellent. Understanding that, we ask, why did The Black One allow even
the illusion of Good to exist in an Evil universe? And the answer is
found in the Law of Necessary Opposites; for Evil could not be
recognized as such without something to contrast it with. The best
contrast is an opposite. And the opposite of Evil is Good." The priest
smiled triumphantly. "It's so simple and clear-cut, isn't it?"
"It certainly is, Uncle," Barrent said. "Would you like a little more
wine?"
"Just the tiniest drop," the priest said.
He talked to Barrent for another ten minutes about the natural and
charming Evil inherent in the beasts of the field and forest, and
counseled Barrent to pattern his behavior on those simple-minded
creatures. At last he rose to leave.
"I'm very glad we could have this little chat," the priest said, warmly
shaking Barrent's hand. "Can I count on your appearance at our Monday
night services?"
"Services?"
"Of course," Uncle Ingemar said. "Every Monday night--at midnight--we
hold Black Mass at the Wee Coven on Kirkwood Drive. After services, the
Ladies Auxiliary usually puts out a snack, and we have community dancing
and choir singing. It's all very jolly." He smiled broadly. "You see,
the worship of evil _can_ be fun."
"I'm sure it can," Barrent said. "I'll be there, Uncle."
He showed the priest to the door. After locking up, he thought carefully
about what Uncle Ingemar had said. No doubt about it, attendance at
services was necessary. Compulsory, in fact. He just hoped that the
Black Mass wouldn't be as infernally dull as Ingemar's exposition of
Evil.
That was Friday. Barrent was kept busy over the next two days. He
received a shipment of homeopathic herbs and roots from his agent in the
Bloodpit district. It took the better part of a day to sort and classify
them, and another day to store them in the proper jars.
On Monday, returning to his shop after lunch, Barrent thought he saw
the girl. He hurried after her, but lost her in the crowd.
When he got back to his store, Barrent found that a letter had been
slipped under his door. It was an invitation from his neighborhood Dream
Shop. The letter read:
Dear Citizen, We take this opportunity of welcoming you into
the neighborhood and extending to you the services of what we
believe to be the finest Dream on Omega.
All manner and type of dreams are available to you--and at a
surprisingly low cost. We specialize in memory-resurrecting
dreams of Earth. You can be assured that your neighborhood
Dream Shop offers you only the finest in vicarious living.
As a Free Citizen, you will surely wish to avail yourself of
these services. May we hope that you do so within the week?
The Proprietors.
Barrent put down the letter. He had no idea what a Dream Shop was, or
how the dreams were produced. He would have to find out. Even though the
invitation was graciously worded, it had a peremptory tone to it. Past a
doubt, a visit to a Dream Shop was one of the obligations of a Free
Citizen.
But of course, an obligation could be a pleasure, too. The Dream Shop
sounded interesting. And a genuine memory-resurrection dream of Earth
would be worth almost any price the proprietors wished to ask.
But that would have to wait. Tonight was Black Mass, and his attendance
there was definitely required.
Barrent left his store at eleven o'clock in the evening. He wanted time
for a stroll around Tetrahyde before going to the service, which began
at midnight.
He started his walk with a definite sense of well-being. And yet,
because of the irrational and unexpecting nature of Omega, he almost
died before reaching the Wee Coven on Kirkwood Drive.