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THE PHANTOM OF THE ALTAR
EDITOR’S FORWARD
I am mainly editing the diary of one Janus Day -- a stunningly beautiful lady in her mid-thirties -- who is a lounge singer on board the Phantom of the Seven Seas.
Note 1: For you out there who don’t know anything of the famed ship, The Phantom of the Seven Seas, I will briefly describe it to you. It is both a luxury liner and a floating University. But its most telling feature is its central structure which is patterned after the Opera of Paris. Of course the real Opera is much wider and this one is much narrower, compressing all its features on its breadth. Inside, the main Opera Hall -- with its stunning Chandelier -- looks exactly like its Paris counterpart. And, of course, they play Operas there and naturally it is the best place to play Webber’s Phantom, which is played at least once a week. This Liner only makes world cruises and is continually in operation (except for eight weeks of the year for maintenance) and it picks up and drops off passengers in all the world’s ports of call. Because there are not enough rich people to fill the ship, the owners also make their money by hosting a year-round on-board University. Of course, it has the best Opera school, but it offers all University courses with Medicine, Nursing, Engineering, Naval Studies and Undersea Exploration its other specialties. In addition, this ship, on the surface, is fitted out with 19th century technology to make people believe they are indeed in the 19th century. However, modern conveniences are there just below the surface. One unique feature is its inner communications system. This old fashion system (called 'the pipes') consists of these pipes and tubes where you speak into holes and your voice travels down through the tubes to the other side. In fact, the whole ship is interconnected with a maze of tubes. At times you may lose communication with the other side or you might pick up other conversations, but these are few and far between. The ship was built in Sydney and its base of operation is there in that famed city. However, there is a small branch office in New York City where the Liner's owner, Mr. Foster, sometimes stays for long periods of time. These, folks, are the amazing facts of the wondrous ship the Phantom of the Seven Seas.
Note 2: this diary holds several scraps of loose papers that are various letters and documents from other people that pertain to her adventure; I will refer to these on need. In addition, I've added the literary structure of acts and scenes.
Note 3: the dates, and sometimes the times, in the diary denote, more or less, when the actual event took place and not when the entry was written.
Note 4: Perhaps having some sort of premonition or intuition that her diary might be read one day, Janus sometimes writes as if speaking to some audience out there.
You know, it is funny, but this story reminds me of a rat running through a maze: sometimes it has to make many wrong choices to more fully filter out the wrong routes so that it eventually finds the right route or way. What am I saying? I am not exactly sure, but the following little tidbit might be the answer to this riddle: it seems that our heroine has some problems believing in a loving God which makes her choose, not too infrequently, in favour of temporal and transitory substitutes. However, does she stay the same or does she see the light and change her thinking? Read this story and tell me what you think.
PROLOGUE. The Worst of Times and the Best of Times.
Thursday, December 23, 2004. En Route to Sydney.
During this night's performance of The Phantom something very strange happened that cut short the production in a very bizarre and curt manner. It started, normal enough, but soon ended up somewhat ghoulish and quickly emptied the place. Why? Well, tonight's Phantom turned out to be literally a devil! How? Well, read on and find out, but I will say this now: I always thought the Lloyd Phantom a little devilish, especially when you consider all his lyrics, put all together, and especially in some in certain parts of the show. Yes, devilish! You don't think so. Well, read the lyrics carefully and you tell me:
CHRISTINE (In her bedroom, Christine is in her nightgown, when she hears the voice of the Phantom. In this Production they abridge and then combine four songs and place them all in this scene.) Father once spoke Of an angel I used to dream he’d Appear.. Now as I sing I can sense him And I know He’s here Here in this room He calls me softly Somewhere inside Hiding Angel of Music! Guide and guardian! Grant to me your glory! Angel of Music! Hide no longer! Secret and strange angel He’s with me, Even now All around me He frightens me Angel! I hear you! Speak – I listen Stay by my side, Guide me! Angel, my soul was weak – Forgive me Enter at last, Master!
PHANTOM. (At this point, I noticed a subtle change in the singing of the Phantom from its usual performance: the voice was stronger and deeper. And, ooo! the actress who plays Christine is, again, too immodestly dressed, for my tastes, at least, what with her revealing nightgown and low neckline; she looks like a whore. And the way she slinks and sways across the stage and then later how she caresses the Phantom... I just don't know how the director let's her get away with it! ) Flattering child, You shall know me, See why in shadow I hide! Look at your face In the mirror – I am there inside! I am your Angel...
CHRISTINE. Come to me Angel of Music... In sleep he sang to me, In dreams he came... That voice which calls to me And speaks my name... And do I dream again? For now I find The Phantom of the Opera Is there inside my mind...
PHANTOM (Then I noticed something about the actual figure of the Phantom. Though still in shadows at this point, the figure seemed bigger and “redder” if you will and he sang slightly "angrier.") Sing once again with me Our strange duet... My power over you grows stronger yet... And though you turn from me, To glance behind, The Phantom of the Opera Is there inside your mind...
CHRISTINE Those who have seen your face Draw back in fear I am the mask you wear...
PHANTOM It’s me they hear
CHRISTINE (At this point, the actress playing Christine notices something strange about her duet partner, but we have slipped onto stage, many a time in the past, strange and new understudies unbeknownst to her: she reacts as if saying, ' Oh no, some strange new understudy again, I know your tricks, my friends' and winks at us; but I know of no planned switch of actors this night. And speaking of unplanned switches, the lighting on stage is now switched from its usual usual bluish pallette to a sombre even red.) The Phantom of the Opera Is there inside my mind
PHANTOM Night time sharpens Heightens each sensation... Darkness wakes and stirs imagination Silently the senses Abandon their defences Helpless to resist The notes I write For I compose The Music of the night... Slowly, gently Night unfurls its splendour. Grasp it, sense it – Tremulous and tender Hearing is believing Music is deceiving Dare you trust The Music of the night... (Then the Phantom steps out into the full reddish light and he is not dressed as the Phantom, but as a full fledged devil, the Devil himself. In addition, the stage is now lit with a flickering, undulating red light much like fire. The actress playing Christine just shrugs this off -- she seems soused again -- and the band and audience just keep watching for a while, transfixed by this magnificent and charismatic monster.) Close your eyes For your eyes will only tell the Truth And the Truth Isn’t what you want to see In the night It is easy to pretend That the truth Is what it ought to be. (Slowly this Devil becomes more obscene and angrier. And so does the actress playing Christine, or maybe I just think so, for this is just perhaps her usual sensuous performance.) Softly, deftly Music shall caress you... Hear it, feel it Secretly possess you... Open up your mind Let your fantasies unwind In this darkness which You know you cannot fight – The darkness of The Music of the night... Close your eyes Start a journey through a Strange new world! Leave all thoughts Of the world You knew before! Close your eyes And let Music set you free... Only then can you belong to me... Floating, falling Sweet intoxication Touch me, trust me Savour each sensation... Let the dream begin Let your DARKER side give in To the power of The Music that I write – The power of The MUSIC OF THE NIIIIGHHHTTT!!!!! (And now this Devil stands in awful triumph upon the stage and licks his tongue at us. The audience laughs, but not for long as the be-underweared actor who usually plays the Phantom comes on stages and yells “Impostor, Impostor.” This starts an uproar and pandemonium ensues and in all this chaos the “Devil” dissipates away and so does the show, for it is quickly cancelled.
Whatever was that all about and who was that bedevilled Phantom?
(Later, I think it is possible that this devillishly-becostumed actor wasn't really devilish in himself, but was really only trying to make a point about this Opera: strange theory perhaps, but for some strange reason I get this impression from the performance tonight.)
Friday, December 24, 04. Sydney. 18:00
We get a new worker on board and we put him through the usual “Back to the Past” joke. LOL.
(Note: this consists of making the novice, on waking up, believe he has been transported in time to the 19th century. I have seen it work. It is very drool.– Editor.)
Saturday, Dec 25, 04. On land, Sydney. Midnight
Sang at Midnight Mass. (a Novus Ordo Mass). It was both joyous and sad. (sad because of the absence of Dad who died in ’91) Few presents received. Few friends. None close.
Saturday, Dec 25, 04. Sydney. Daytime
Spent the day, alone, in my cabin reading. Ohum.
Sunday, December 26, 04. Embarking from Sydney.
We embark today. I noticed that an old dear friend, Raelph (Count of Orsinio), came on board as a passenger. Reminders of good old times (in Italy) made me smile. Joyous. Didn’t recognize me. But I was well back in the crowd.
ACT I Ghostly Chastisements and Consolations
Monday, December 27, 04. En route.
Just heard news of the Tsunami near Indonesia. Terrible. Many shocked and saddened on board. Some continue on in their merriment. I sing sad songs to empathize and merry songs to cheer. Without a word Raelph joins in and I see that twinkle in his eyes of recognition. We console each other and reminisce long into the night. In ecstasy.
Tuesday, December 28, 04. Near Samarinda, Borneo.
We had to veer off our normal course, north of the Tsunami damage. The Captain has changed course now for the Philippines.
Wednesday, Dec. 29, 04. En route.
Passengers and crew heatedly discuss what we're to do next. Praying fervently. Thinking more of our mortality now. Raelph empathizes and seems closer than ever. Takes over some of my singing sessions. He always picks just the right song, perfectly balanced for this situation.
December 30, 04. Manila, Philippines.
The Captain speaks to crew: because many of our scheduled stops are wrecked, we will load up with supplies here and plan to bypass all effected ports until we pass India and hit Karachi, Pakistan; the indoor festivities are to be increased. Some passengers leave, but most stay, for this is a world cruise anyway. Raelph says this is for the best: life must go on; but I feel we should do something for the victims, for half our berths are vacant and we have an extensive clinic on board (this being partly a floating hands-on university.) I suggest this to the Captain, but he says he has his orders. OK, I’m a ‘bedient employee, but...I cry...for what...I don’t know exactly. All of it, I suppose.
Daytime Friday, December 31, 04. New Year’s Eve. Philippines.
[ From the Editor: this is what was written on a scrap of paper found tucked in the diary on this date:
Security Log Chief of Security December 31, 04
The rest of report was torn and gone. However, a few handwritten notes on a post-it note on the report revealed some more interesting information:
There was a commotion today in the Ship’s costume shop. Those silly clerk-girls, overcome by their silly over-active imaginations, started to weave before their very eyes the spectre of a Ship Ghost. They say the Ghost this time came and stole some costumes. However, the Ghost seems to be very scrupulous, for he followed all borrowing rules using a valid, though mysterious, membership number. Well, at least the ghosts on our ship are very proper. Ahh, but I have my own ghost. But more on that later.
Near Midnight Friday, Dec 31, 04 En Route. At the Masquerade Ball
At Midnight, Raelph -- perhaps understandably intoxicated with some of the ship’s fine bubbly -- turns a respectable New Year’s Eve kiss into a deep smooching session. I try to extricate myself from him, but can’t. However, I'm soon free, I know not how, with Raelph on the ground before me. Baffled, I feel a spectral swishing about me as a red caped figure moves quickly past me. Soon the caped figure is at a central place in the ballroom, commanding attention to him by certain unique machinations. All are riveted to him as he speaks. He makes a grand eloquent speech saying how we should now help our fellow man. Some from conviction, some from liquid compassion, some from boredom and wanting a diversion, agree and this helps start a swell of united compassion: all agree to help our fellow man.
Saturday Jan 1, 05 En Route.
The next day, Raelph was apologetic and said he had the same ideas as this Ship Ghost. I said good and kissed his forehead. He seemed to be one with the depths of my soul as was this Ship's Ghost who also sang to my soul...
Sunday, January 2, 05. En route. At Mass.
Looking around. Many good people here. However I also see many--who were strenuously cavorting on New Year’s Eve--now looking so pompously pious. This whole Mass now doesn’t seem reverent enough. The priest echoes the Ghost’s sentiments about helping our fellow man, but, in this context, I seem to want more. Many are now killed from the tsunami and the survivors, even if aided, have suffered and will suffer even more. Perhaps the priest can say more about the meaning of all this, this...this what... Well, later, I go for a nap in my room. I am half asleep and the voices (or voice) commence again and speak fine words of consolation and of eternity. No pat answers, but some depth here. This Angel of Music, who sings the Music of the Light, has spoken again. My father said he would. Am I awake or asleep, dreaming or really hearing this? I don’t now. Am I going crazy? If this is craziness, let me be the lunatic of all lunatics!!!
ACT II Concert-ed Love
Monday, January 3, 05. Banda Aceh, Indonesia. 12:00
Raelph and I both view the horrific damage done by the tsunami on the city here. I cry. Raelph consoles me. We go to a statue of Mary still miraculously standing up. We pray a Rosary. It doesn’t seem enough. I am devastated.
Tuesday, January 4, 05. Banda Aceh, Indonesia. On ship 03:00
In the night my angel of music sings me to sleep, but I have bad dreams: water swamps me; corpses with hollow eyes assail me; I am sent whirling over a beautiful beachfront toward a wall and then suddenly, before disaster erupts, I wake up in a cold sweat. Fortunately, somebody pats my forehead. “Thank you” I say to my comforter who then lullabies me into a deep calm sleep.
Tuesday, January 4, 05. Banda Aceh, Indonesia. Daytime
The captain decides to take in some foreign visitors trapped here unable to get out by plane. Good for him. On deck, I hear my name called over the pipes and I am drawn halfway across the ship to an old kindly lady playing solitaire. Later I find out her name is Madam Gracie, but I call her aunt Gracie because she reminds me of all of my aunts wrapped into one. She is kindly and right off the bat compliments me on my singing. We sit and have a great conversation. She finds out I am Catholic and waxes beautifully about the pure Latin Tridentine Mass and of the pristine theology bound up with it, speaking of blessed blood and expiatory suffering, of deadening sin and saving sacrifice; the very things that I needed to hear that very instant and that made much more sense than the tripe spoken by the priest the other day. I discuss this with Raelph. He agrees with me that the Latin Mass is beautiful; he especially likes the smell of incense. He sometimes goes to the Late FSSP Latin Mass. However, that night I yearn for more tradition and my angel of music raises my soul to heaven through Gregorian chant.
Wednesday, January 5, 05. En Route.
Today Aunt Gracie discusses her doubts about whether the host is even validly consecrated in the Novus Ordo Mass. I say that that's going too far, but she responds saying that some in the Church have gone too far, too far off the mark. I say, perhaps, I'm not sure, but I say in these troubled times it's a must to receive good and proper spiritual food. Raelph thinks this Gracie is nuts: how could the fine loving Church deceive us and give us ineffectual food. I ask my Angel of Light, but get no answer.
Thursday, January 6, 05. Phuket, Thailand.
At the beginning of the day, the Captain tells me to get ready to receive more refugees for that's his orders from HQ. I am happy but a little later, I hear, through the tubes in my room, a conversation between the Captain and some of the ships richest patrons. Although these patrons were polite and subtle, the gist of their message to the Captain was that,
Oh, that got me very mad, I think, if I interpreted correctly what they were so equivocally saying: that is, they were to disobey the orders from HQ. And I was right for a little later that same day, the Captain tells me that he now, so suddenly, refuses to take in anymore European and American tourist refugees. I protest, but he says he has his orders. Ya, from whom I wonder. I tell Raelph that I we should sneak in some anyway, but Raelph says we must obey orders: we are commanded by God to obey our superiors. “But I say...” but I can’t think of a good rebuttal; he is right after all: we must obey orders even if others, including those giving our orders, don't. So I go on my knees and start praying for the deliverance of some more tourist refugees.
Friday, January 7, 05. En Route.
A message from the Ghost was transmitted all over the ship, through the tubes, revealing the Captain’s decision to refuse entry to any more refugees. I join in by sending fiery echoes of the Ghost's speech to all public areas. Raelph heartily joins in, or at least seems to. All this eventually causes such a din by many of the passengers that the Oligarchy running the ship gives in and decides they will allow a few more refugees entry to the ship.
Saturday, January 8, 05. North Eastern Sri Lanka.
The ghost inspires me to raise money by putting on a special benefit concert for the refugees on board, money badly needed to pay for extra provisions we need to pick up along the way. I organize a show and get other singers, part of the opera troupe, and some of the passengers, into a great gala performance just for the benefit of the refugees. With this extra motivation and the love in me I perform the best I have ever done. I get universal acclaim, but I shun this: I only want the knowledge that we've performed a service to help the needy. However, I'm glad my musical gifts from God have shone so brightly and thank my Angel of Music for the small pointers that brought out the best of my divine Talents. Raelph proclaims that this Light shouldn’t be kept hidden under a bushel, that the whole world should hear this Divine Gift and that he would always be at my side to encourage me and inspire me. I thank him, but say I will take it one day at a time and that the needs of tsunami victims were more urgent. He states very forcefully that the poor will always be around us, but that we must always give glory to God by showing forth our God-given Talents. I say, I am not sure. Maybe. If true, then it can wait. He stamps out mad, mumbling about me being a procrastinator and such I cry. What am I to do? Then My Angel 'appears' (his voice at least) and states thatr we must rest in God’s Providence, in His hands and in His right Holy Time. I agree and I then sleep soundly.
Sunday, January 9, 05. North Eastern Sri Lanka.
Early in the morn, before Mass, I got a urgent visit from one distraught nun from a local psychiatric clinic in a nearby town; the clinic's patients are mainly mentally troubled young women, many very beautiful. Because of the chaos fomented by the recent tsunami--with the ongoing civil war not helping a bit--she was worried about the physical welfare of these girls and the threat to them by marauding bands who would not avoid the use of actions that I don’t want to get into here. I talked to the Captain, but he is adamant about not taking them in. I am furious. We have plenty of space under the Opera house. But he doesn’t want the orderly functioning of the lucrative Opera House to be altered. I walked out furious, distraught and frustrated. How can I obey such a Captain? I must simply bring them in. But how? I am not sure. I went to Mass, but this time to a Latin one. Maybe Aunt Gracie is right: maybe the spiritual 'Captain' in charge of the Church at the instigation of the Novus Ordo Church wasn’t doing the right thing, just as this present naval Captain is shirking his own duties. Anyway, I have my doubts about this new Mass, but not this Mass of all times. I went to this Mass and during it I prayed for the deliverance of these poor girls. And my prayers were answered when I read a note from the Angel of Light: 'Look under the Opera house for a gift of Love.' And there under the Opera house were my dear fifty girls and their loving nun mothers. I arranged with some of my co-working friends to tend to their needs and then I knelt at my favourite shrine to thank for their deliverance. I told Raelph about this. He objected: he said he won’t rat out on me, but that he's mightily disappointed at my going against the proper channels, “Look at you, skulking around stealthily like a common criminal. It all comes from that loner, anti-social Ghost, who lives in dark subterranean holes. He wants all of us to think he's good. But this way is not good. The end does not justify he means.” Maybe Raelph is right. Oh, but we do need to help the girls. I'm so mixed up. I slept fitfully that night.
ACT 3 Delivered and Sealed
Monday, January 10, 2005. At Sea.
The captain heard of the new refugees stowed away under the Opera and decided to turn the boat around to return them. Oh no! Not my dear girls. So he did just that and the boat seemed to turn around and head back to Sri Lanka, but just at the time we were supposed to land in port, the Captain had found out that they had not in fact turned around but had continued on in the same direction the whole time. Oh! It’s the Ghost, I thought at the time. He has done it. But How? It really seemed like this big ship turned around. Is he some amazing David Copperfield. Can he even so mesmerize us that he can make us see an entirely different landscape before us. Amazing? But is this good? What kind of svengali powers does he have. This scares me. But Raelph and the Captain consoled and told me the Ghost did this using ordinary magic tricks: first, he somehow effected a gradual addition of ninety degrees to the original course change which caused the ship to head south instead of east and then effected a gradual turn back to the original westerly course, offsetting the compasses using computers and magnetism (doing all this controlling the ship in an auxiliary bridge – now retaken over.) Then the Ghost misdirected us by making us chase him, thereby making us not pay any attention to the changing landscape outside. In a nutshell, he effected the turn while nobody noticed the change in direction through compasses or the sight of changing landscapes. “See," Raelph proclaimed, “this so holy ghost of yours is so immoral, stealing the control of a huge ship, what say you now...” I am so confused. Raelph is right, but my girls are saved, for the Captain decided not to turn back because they were extremely off-schedule by now. Thank you my holy or not so holy ghost!
Tuesday, January 11, 05. En Route.
I give food and drink to my darling refugees. They are so scared being in the strange and scary storage rooms below the opera house. I try to console them, but I don’t have much luck. I asked one of the nuns in charge why were there so may troubled inmates who were also such exceptionally beautiful girls; it is such a mystery to me. She told me this clinic was started by one Father McCready who saved many battered and abused prostitutes from 'temples' in the big cities in India and the surrounding countryside. Why? Because his mother was one such prostitute, a smart and wilful one. She eventually escaped and brought up her boy, from who knows what father, to be a good Catholic. (By the way, Father McReady didn't look Irish at all, for he was a typical Indian; for you see, his mother, knowing some good Irish Catholic missionaries, just gave him that nickname and it stuck) Many of these girls were the worst of the abused and consequently many are now deeply troubled: some worse than others, some almost sane, but all who have nowhere else to go. In addition, the nun says they are part of a traditional Catholic splinter group and she waxes eloquently about the problems of the Novus Ordo Mass and even the FSSP mass. I am quite struck by the cogency of some of her arguments, but some seem stilted and contrived; I'm more impressed by her polemics against the Novus Ordo and the FSSP.
Wednesday, January 12, 05. Kuwait City.
Because we docked at night and will be gone early in the morning, I took a chance to go out at night in this Muslim country for this is my only chance, once every year, to visit the grave of my father who was killed near here in 1991. I have done this many a time and used my favourite cabby, Ali, a real nice guy, to drive me to his grave. (For some reason my father didn't want to buried in the States. BTW, he was stationed in the Pacific area, mainly in the Phillipines, most of his military life.) Tonight it was somebody else, his cousin he says. OK, could be, but he had a strange look in his eyes. Ah, but I must go to Father. He remained nearby but not in view, for Muslims are superstitious of Romish graves (even if unmarked, which this one is.) Maybe, I should have been also (scared, that is): this place gave me the creeps at night. A nearby western-type bar played music in the background. I placed my flowers on my father's grave and prayed Then I heard beautiful violin music: strange for a western bar, but not impossible. I looked over to it; it seemed closed. Strange. My hair stood on end. Then it was all quiet. A silky finger caressed my neck and then I heard scuffling. The finger was gone and then I heard what sounded like the crashing of a violin on somebody’s head and then more fighting. Then an arm grabbed my shoulder and I turned around to punch him and I did give him a mighty whack; but it was Raelph and he had wooden splinters in his hair, supposedly from the fight with the ghost to save me. He said, “I say, the Ghost is around and I scared him off. You OK. He was here to do who knows what.” I responded, “But the beautiful music. He can’t...” “Don’t be deceived by his beautiful music...” “I don’t know...” “We’ll discuss this later.” And he brought me back to the ship. My Ghost. A thief and now, maybe something worse. Can’t be. I slept badly that night.
Thursday, January 13, 05. En Route to Suez Canal.
Early in the morning I heard voices coming from my tube: pipes sometimes get criss-crossed and you hear conversations from other rooms. I am no snoop and I tried to shut it off, but I couldn't. I heard three people speaking: the Captain, Richie Rich as I call him (the richest patron aboard) and a third garbled voice (coming probably from another room through a tube to this first room.) It could have been Raelph, the Ghost or some other voice: am I reading things into everything now. I need more sleep. Well the gist of what they said (and I didn’t get everything they said) was that they – and their leader seemed to be the garbled voice – that they intended on getting jurisdiction of the girls, my girls, and bring them to some swank villa in Italy and then put them into some service, a service I could not make out: it could be some maid service or it could be prostitution! No! that can’t be. Well let me think the worse and prepare for that: I mustn’t risk my girls getting into the hands of these guys. I even think I heard one say we must start, and start now, re-acclimatizing them to their old profession, getting them to be quite servile and submissive. No! And who was their leader. Raelph. No. My dear Ghost. No. No. Could it be. No, someone else. What can I do? I don’t know, but I went to the Opera House and held vigil with my dear girls. Father McCready performed an old traditional Mass and I received this Blessed Sacrament. This one must be valid. They are all so holy and sincere here. It became dark and cold below and I held my large flashlight...Then I slept...
Friday, January 14, 2005. En Route.
I awoke in my cabin. In my cabin! How! So, I rushed back to the Opera. There was quite a hubbub before the grand doors of the Opera. There I saw three persons in a tight little conspiratorial group: my Raelph, the Captain and Richie Rich. I asked them what's going on. They told me that the Ghost had somehow welded shut all entrances into the Opera and was holding the girls captive. I pulled Raelph aside and told him about what I just recently heard. He told me that he was there with the captain during that conversation and how the vile ghost tried to get the captain, Richie and him entangled in his vile scheme of making the girls return to their old profession and how all three naturally and vehemently declined that vile offer. The Ghost then said that he would fulfill his vile plan one way or other and here we are now standing before the results of his plan with him doing who knows what kind of acclimatizing to the girls. Raelph also told me to discount any message from the Ghost stating that he, the Ghost, was simply protecting the girls from the so called trinity of evil. "That’s us I guess," he said. "Ha, ha. What do you think, girl? " Well, I didn’t know what to think. Raelph continued, “The Ghost also said that he will have no sacrilegious Masses enacted in the Opera House, whether the Novus Ordo, or by the FSSP, or by this traditional splinter group for he says ALL Roman Masses and sacraments are invalid these days. Do you believe that. He says he has forcibly stopped the priest and nuns from performing these beautiful Masses. You hear his vile Protestant talk. With his vile paganism goes unrestrained sensuality and greed. He is vile and evil. He's liable to do anything. He must be stopped.” Oh! I did not know what to think.
Saturday, January 15, 05. Suez Canal.
The next day, Raelph came to my cabin and said that He and the Captain, looking over diagrams of the ship, had found a way into the Opera House. He thought I should go because I seem to have some sort of connection with the Ghost. I went with Raelph and one Inspector Clumseau, a famed French inspector on holiday, but who was gracious enough to offer his services. So we went through vast labyrinthine tunnels until we were below the Opera, one level below where the girls were usually kept. It is dark, but we heard some footsteps nearby. I continued on, but my partners stopped a while back. It was eerily quiet then. Then I felt a cape swish by: the Ghost! Ah, but even my two partners were wearing capes. He groped me very indecently. Then I felt a swirl of many capes and then I fainted Later, I woke up in a large bed. Before me I saw a strange sight: at a large organ a caped figure played a mournful dirge on a huge organ before a large mirror. He turned around and I beheld a horribly ugly face. It was truly horrific. I screamed and totally passed out...
Sunday, January 16, 05. Tel Aviv.
Later, I woke up in my own bed. Was it all a dream? No, for I saw a note pinned to my pillow:
And he went on and on in beautiful eloquence trying to convince me of his beautiful philosophy and how paradoxically the only way to be true to the Catholic Church is to shun those who seem to be apparently truest to the Faith and heading the Church. It did make sense, but could it be? Then that means that I have been horribly deceived all these years. He continues:
Oh, if I could just let go and fall into the ghost's mighty arms then I am sure I will be safe and loved... But can I trust him? Oh, it hurts my heart to be so torn and confused. Oh, dear Holy Light, true Light of Lights, be my guide. I fell asleep, but fitfully sometimes dreaming of vile ugly faces and sometimes of beauteous faces...
ACT 4 ONE JOHN TRIUMPHANT
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