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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
Monday, January 17, 2005. Tel Aviv.
I am sick and feverish and stayed in bed all day. Raelph, ever good, attends to my needs, bringing me food, flowers and other niceties and keeps me abreast of the goings-on with the Ghost and my girls. First he told how they simply found me in my bed after a frantic search all over the ship. He said that the Ghost had told the Captain to continue on to Rome where he is to unload all the passengers and the whole crew. If he doesn’t, he will do something very nasty to the girls. Raelph told me, “Doesn’t this show the Ghost’s true colours?” I said, “Oh, I don’t know.” Then Raelph continued on with the Ghost’s story. Apparently the Ghost started to appear all over the ship, like a modern day John the Baptist, warning all to repent of their sins, especially the leaders of this unruly ship who have much to atone for. Also, the Ghost, in his arrogance and temerity, had invited everyone to a command performance at the Opera this Saturday Night for a performance of his own opera called 'John One Triumphant' where many secrets will be revealed. Raelph said that this is good. Clumseau is at this very instant organizing all the security on board and R. says that the Ghost’s vanity will be his downfall, for we will capture him during this very performance. In my fever I responded, “Don’t be so sure, I am sure the Ghost will have all bases covered.” Raelph responded, “I sometimes think that you are on his side.” I said, “No, but I do respect him. Do not underestimate him. My ear is always open to his voice.” And in my sleep I did hear the voice of the Ghost, but did I hear him or was I just dreaming. However, the only thing that He simply repeated is 'Be pure and then you will clearly see.' Was he saying that to me? I am pure. Or am I? Has he seen into my very soul? What blackness can there be? I look and I look and the more I looked the more blackness I did see...Or was this simply my black fever...
Tuesday, January 18, 2005. En Route.
Raelph brought me some very shocking news. Down in the bowels of the ship somebody was raping some pretty maids and one or two maids had now gone entirely missing. It looked like this Ghost was adding to his menagerie. I am shocked. In my fever, my mind seemed to be going a mile a minute and I blurted out an outrageous proposition, “Perhaps some dastardly person is using this crisis with the Ghost to do some mischief on his own and then blame the Ghost.” I saw Raelph go white for a minute and then he turned to me, “Has that Ghost been telling you lies about...” I interrupted, “About whom... No, he hasn’t. It was. It was just a thought. Why so interested in this?” He said, “Oh, I just had some suspicions that this fiend could be somebody very close to me. You are right to distrust this Captain and the one you call Richie Rich. These friends of mine are not as holy as I thought...” "Then why be friends with them at all...” “Oh, I must keep an eye on them...” “Oh”, I meekly said and fell again into a fitful sleep. I heard my voice and he said, 'Birds of a feather flock together...' over and over. Oh, Ghost, using trite little platitudes now. Come on. But it rang in my head, over and over. 'Flock. Feathers. Together. Birds. Together...'
Wednesday, January 19, 2005. Cyprus.
R. is very good and kind and seems very contrite and repentant and asks forgiveness for any impropriety he has infringed on me. He seems very sincere. He looks so sad at me. Why so sad? I am not dead yet. Yet! Then a priest entered with all his Last Rites paraphernalia. I think to myself, "No! I am not that far gone..." R. looked real sad and nodded his head in a forlorn affirmative. I continued thinking, "No. No. Yes! OK, I am dying, but I will have nothing to do with this pagan modernist nonsense." R. said, “Oh, dear Janus, I am so afraid you will die not in the state of grace. Are you going to risk your soul because of this silly philosophy of the Ghost which is so black that it swipes, with one dark black brush, all dear and holy and sincere priests, nay all your dear friends, all dear sincere Catholics: how can you think there are so many evil people in this world creating one large conspiracy of death and deception.” Oh, he makes sense. I am weak. How can I think such awful things of so many people? The Church can’t be so evil. Oh, if I die not in a state of grace...I must get absolution..the dark sins I have committed..including the sins of impatience and anger and even the lack of trust in....in...the very one I should be trusting with my whole might...but I haven't...O woe is me... I thought at the time, "Oh, dear holy priest, give me blessed, oh blessed absolution...” Then suddenly the walls of the room started to whirl before my very eyes: was I seeing this or was my fever getting the better of me. Quite as suddenly the walls stopped spinning and R. and the priest had vanished and standing before me was dear Madam Gracie who said, “Oh, dear me. Where am I? I was knitting a sweater ever so jollily and singing a jolly country and western song by...by...oh, I forget her name...you know my dear Janus, she was a teen when she started...very beautiful like you...and speaking of you... Oh my, you look so white and pale...Here, take a little of Auntie’s Lightning elixir, good for all that ails you.” And she gave me a sip and it went down smooth with a taste of peaches like ambrosia and then a nice warm feeling wound down my heart and I felt so nice and warm, especially with this kind sweet funny profound lady before me. “Oh, my! I think that this hit the spot.” I said, “How did you get here...” “No, never you mind about li'l ole me. It’s you I am a-troubled about. Apart from this little cold, which I am sure you will get over lickety-split, there’s something else that I can see is a-troubling your pour li’l soul. Am I right, little dear chile. Oh, I'm prying. Ya don’ have ta answer if you don’ wish.” “But I do, dear Auntie Gracie. Oh, you are so much like my dear aunts all wrapped into one.” And I told her my troubles and she responded by telling me that she was having ever so nice teas and talks with an ever so friendly Ghost, for the ghosts on this ever so nice ship seem to be ever so nice. “Oh, I do say ‘ever so nice’ ever so often. Hee, hee,” she laughed so demurely and softly that I couldn't help laughing and smiling too. And she said that the Ghost had been explaining his ever so nice philosophy and she is sure he is right for it talks about an ever so faithful and nice Friend ever at our side who is the source of all grace whether direct to us or indirect to us through the sacraments and that we must not fear that our dear Friend will forsake us but that we should be contrite and repentant and be a true heart that loves our Friend ever so much so that we will always receive His Fiery Love and He will always be there to forgive us. And I cried and cried and thanked Auntie Grace for this gracious advice and she said that she must leave for she saw that I needed to be alone with our dear Friend and she quietly vanished before my bleary sight and I closed my eyes and bent down on my knees in my mind and I was ever so contrite to my dear Friend of Friends and ever so sorry for having offended Him for I love Him so much and I know now that I am fully absolved, for He that Is What He Is, has told us what He would do for his friends that love Him, for this Friend can not deceive us. And I slept wonderfully.
Thursday, January 20, 2005. En Route.
Slept all day. I am actually writing this the next day.
Friday, January 21, 2005. Malta.
I feel much better and went out to dine on my own. I got the scuttlebutt about the Ghost from my co-worker friends. Oh, they are so friendly to me. They said there have been so many sightings of the Ghost--and what with Inspector Clumseau and his Keystone Cops, as the crew so funningly calls them, going up and down the ship indeed like the Keystone Cops of old trying to get the Ghost--that the crew thinks the Ghost is harrying them on purpose just to get a laugh. And I think so too. Hee, hee. Auntie Gracie thinks so too. But R. said that one shouldn’t make fun of one’s superiors, but I say, “Hush now, and have some fun. Lighten up.” “But he's raping and doing who knows what.” And I said, “You know, the only one who’s always talking about rape is you my dear R; I wonder why is that? Ha, ha.” And he wandered off mumbling, “I think the fever has quite undone her.” However, I think that the fever has quite Re-Done me for I feel quite whole and well now. Thank that Good Friend and that holy ghost.
Saturday, January 22, 2005. En Route to Rome.
Auntie Gracie came to visit me. I said I am gay and happy, but that I was still worried about those rapes and kidnappings and who-knows-what-else that have been happening in the bowels of the ship. Auntie said, “Oh my, some terrible stuff. Some could be true. But you know how rumours have a way of gettin’ exaggerated. Maybe we just should do some of our own ‘vestigatin’ down their in the intestines and vowels of this here ship.” And I agreed and down we went. And we knocked on many doors and talked to many maids and they all seem none too worried ‘bout no rapist. One said, “Why, the Ghost is always aroun’ to protec’ us li’l ones.” “How? I asked. “Well wen that ther’ rapierist comes do’n here, and there’s no one aroun’ this here bowls of the ship, the ghos’ comes and protec’s us and kinda sideways swishes the rapist here and then there and then hides us. Why two are hidden...” But another said, “Hush now, Mary Belle. The Ghost done gone and tell us to be quiet all about all dis.” And Auntie replie, “I think you can tell Miss Janus here. She’s a good friend of the ghost.” “Is she?” “Yes, she is, you can trust her.” “Yes, we trust you, Auntie and Miss Janus. Why Miss Janus has always been very kind to us.” “Oh, You mean those little things I do,” I shyly responded. “Oh, we like the little things the best, like the little candies on our pillows and such.” “Oh, I never thought it had such an effect.” “Well, it did.” “Well, go on chile and tell Miss Janus the whole story.” “OK, well actually there's nothing much to it. Now, look inta this room here.” And she pulled some books and a wall turned around to reveal a little room, and lo and behold, there were the two girls that had supposedly disappeared. “Well, the Ghost did this and kept these girls quite safe from the rapist.” And I asked, “Why did the rapist single out these girls?” “Why, don’ you see. They look pretty much like you.” “Like me. Why yes.” And Auntie said, “So this rapist has a thing for you.” “Yes, like the Ghost.” “Or Mr. Raelph,” added my Auntie. “Which one can it be?” I whispered lowly. One of the girls responded, “Maybe Rachel Bee can answer that question.” “Who’s she.” “She’s t’other that was supposedelly raped. And I ken take you to her.” And she did and we went to her cabin and she ‘fesses up pretty quick, “Yes, he raped me. Or better, I let him rape me. Ha ha,” she laughed in a weird way. “He’s my lover and I'm a better one than you’ll ever be.” I say, “What? You referring to me.” “Yes, I am ‘ferring to ya, darling. Why he likes me better ‘an you. Oh, he loves me, over and over and over until I am all bruised and sweaty...” “We’ll have none of that kind of talk here, young lady,” intersperses Auntie on my behoove. “We get the idea what he was doing to you and what you let him do. But tell us who was your lover? Was it the Ghost?” “Ah, not that stupid Ghost. I tried to seduce him, but he wouldn’t have none of me.” “But who was it,” I say with keen interest. “Why it was your dear old Count Orsinio, Count Raelph Orsinio: yes, he loves me, me! And not li'l ole you, ha, ha, ha. And he said I was an even better singer than you,” and she continued to cackle and cackle. And I said over and over, “Not my Raelph, not him.” I settled down and continued the questioning, “And was he the one who attempted the rape on the others?” “Yes, it was him, he’s a bull, no women can satisfy him. Ha, ha, ha. “ “No, it can’t be, not Raelph.” And Auntie took me away by the shoulder, “Maybe it isn’t him. That Rachel Bee’s a mean one and maybe she's just trying to goad you.” “Maybe, just maybe, but then who is the rapist, the Ghost?” “Who knows? But we know at least that none o’ the maids have really been raped and kidnapped or worst. At least whoever it was that has done something’ hasn’t done the worst. And they say the Ghost saved the rest. They seem to trust the Ghost down here.” “Yes, you are right,” I said sobbing with a mixture of sadness, relief and confusion. Auntie said, “Maybe tonight’s performance will clear things up.” I do hope so.
******
Later that night, all the crew and passengers rolled into the opera for the Ghost's production of 'One John Triumphant.' Just after the doors were opened Clumseau’s Keystone Cops tried to get back stage but found all avenues there effectively blocked.
So Clumseau placed
guards and sharpshooters all over the Opera. When the curtain went
up, some officers tried to get on stage but were either stopped by
electrical blockades or were shot at--but not hit--by the Ghost’s
own sharpshooters so effectively that Clumseau's
troops were totally stifled. I was sitting beside Raelph and he was acting kind and humble, but honestly from that day on I could hardly trust him one hundred percent. He had to earn my trust. But I felt for the ghost; oh I wished that I could have warned him about the many guns aimed at his poor broken heart. Oh, even if he was bad, he couldn’t be so bad. All those girls in the ‘bowls’ of the ship did trust him. At least Auntie was beside me. I liked her. She was a real comfort. (Incidentally, we were in a center booth up in the balcony, Auntie one side, R. on the other.) Well, the play was pretty pathetic: it was a court case and a very simple one; it was an allegory and a very bad one. The accused was a nugget of gold, played by the priest all dressed up badly in glittery yellow-gold tinsel or aluminum or something and gold paint for make-up. The judge was supposedly the Ghost, but he couldn’t be seen as he was high up on a high judges bench. The prosecutor and defence lawyer were two nuns dressed as men in wigs. They picked the most appropriate nuns for these formidable men of law, one Sister Fiery Eyes as the prosecutor and one Sister Stern Looks as the defence. As Father Gold was brought in and seated by Sister Stern Looks, the prosecution started the case by bringing out the first witness, a gold assayer played by one of my saner girls. “So you assayed this supposedly piece of Gold and what did you find?” “I found that it was not a piece of Gold.” “Prosecution rests.” A voice from the Judge’s benches says, “And the Defence case.” The defence stood up and said, “What more can be said. We give up the case and admit guilty to the charge of pretending to be gold when only being a piece of straw.” The judge bangs over, “Case over. Go to the fiery furnace where you will be tried. As you are not gold but straw you will be burned up.” Then the 'nugget' is thrown into a large tub. Fake fire shoots up and the 'nugget' is engulfed. Then the judge says, “All dismissed.” Everyone exited and the Curtain closed. A general murmur went through the Opera, “Is that all. Nothing more.” Then a flash of lightning and smoke appeared near me, almost right in my booth. Then I looked around and Auntie was gone to be replaced by the red masked and red caped Ghost hovering, on a rope, over R. with a sword to his neck. And, lo and behold, my dear R. had transformed into the very same bar of not too glittering gold that was played by the priest. On top of that, his arms and chest were wound with tight, thick ropes and his mouth was gagged; from his sequestered mouth I heard the muffled cries of indignation and pleas for help but I could do nothing or perhaps I didn’t want to do anything. None of the sharpshooters could or would shoot at the Phantom, for he was either effectively blocked by obstacles or they read (or at least Clumseau read) into the Phantom's looks, gestures and position that he would gore R. as he died by either purposely stabbing him, if he could, or, if all else failed, falling on him as he died; Clumseau was smart and, taking no chances, ordered none to fire unless dire circumstances would erupt. The Ghost continued, “Now we are going to assay this piece of Gold and see if he is wanting. Open the curtain.” And as the curtain was fully opened, we saw the same setup. The gold assayer was in the hot seat and the prosecutor asked the same questions to the Assayer. The Assayer--holding certain documents as if this was the evidence used to assay the accused--answered in the same negative way and the judge proclaimed the same fiery sentence. Then the Ghost turned his attention to the Count, “You have been found wanting, my dear Count Raelph Orsinio, and now you are to be banished to the fiery fires to assay your true worth to be placed into a real fire of molten steel. Hear that, I said real fire!” Then a large industrial pot that usually holds molten steel was lowered down into the opera just before our booth! R. became real frightened. However, there was no real danger to R., for I saw inside the pot and it was, in fact, not filled with any molten steel or any kind of fire whatsoever. On the other hand, a stream of simulated molten steel slowly oozed down the sides of the pot, and obviously, from this vantage point, an illusion, but from below it looked very real. And quick as a wink, a rope or hook took our little nugget of gold and hovered it over the pot and R. did try to speak very most eloquently, “Aaachh. Aggh. Uuuch.” The Ghost rebutted, “A most elegant defence, but it most won’t do,” and the audience ooo-ed and ahh-ed in transfixed awe at the sentence that was about to befall this very unfortunate man. And some in the audience giggled. Giggled, you say. How could they do that when somebody was just about to be burned alive? Well, you see, as I later found out, the Phantom, and his gang, had placed notes on almost all seats telling the audience to expect to see this scene and that it was all fixed and that he, the Ghost, was, in fact, a very friendly and good man. But certain personages in the audiences didn't get this note; and since they were so richly ensconced in their rich and prominent box seats, they couldn't hear anyone in the plebian audience making any comments about this upcoming trick: so when they saw the molten steel, they looked up at it in mighty fright. Who could be these mighty personages? We will see. The Ghost continued, "Quiet, now," and the audience hushed as the Ghost spoke, "You, Count, will not be placed in a fake fire, but into a real fire. Look at the hot molten lava here. And when you are done, Dear Count, I will deal with your two accomplices. Yes, you know who you are are." And speaking toward the audience as if toward these two accomplices, the Ghost added, "And all that you have to do to avoid this dire fate, is to give yourself up and confess your crimes, proving them by providing certain documents." At this point the Ghost espied the Captain and Richie Rich, surrounded by many large gun-wielding bodyguards, trying to sneak out of their opera box and eventually out of the opera, "Look, my dear audience, at who is trying to sneak out of the Opera." At that, the Ghost waved his hand and all in a short moment, this opera box exploded in smoke and noise and when the smoke dissipated, one of its bodyguards had disappeared to reappear, now hanging, all tied up and gagged, with R., over the pot. In addition, all opera exits slammed loudly shout at that instant, especially the one to that opera box. The Ghost continued, "Don't try to escape, my dear sirs, for you see what I am capable of. And where were you going, my dear friends, if you are, in fact, so innocent?" And at that the two felons just shrugged their shoulders. Then Orsinio let out many muffled cries trying to warn his confederates that there was really no fire and that this was only a scam to convict them, but from his confederates point of view, it only looked like that he was bewailing his horrific fate. This worked so well to convince the two criminals that his was real that when some of the audience, including some of his own bodyguards, shouted to them that this was all fake, they didn't believe any of them (of course any criminal's sense of paranoia and distrust of others is increased when they are in the act of committing crimes and in fact, it seems they distrust the ones closest to them even more. Well, who could trust their bodyguard if he says, "Duh, there is no molten steel in da pot. Ah, the ghost is a good egg, you know," especially when the Ghost is their sworn enemy, working against their plans and known by all to be evil. Well, if these two criminals were really good instead of evil then they would have trusted their plebian underlings and trusted their revelations, but the closer you are to the confining and mean fires of hell, the more you think this type of mean and confining hell is all about you. Well, all in all, it seems they deserved to be frightened out of their wits, for it was their own hell-obsessed wits that was frightening and terrifying them. In fact, Richie Rich grabbed a gun from a bodyguard, and backing into a dark corner, he held a shaking gun at all his former compadres, who now looked at their boss, with, at least, new and opened eyes.) Well, at this point, the Ghost almost accomplished the feat of convicting these two criminals, but this was not enough to fully convict those two; so at a signal by the Ghost thousands of leaflets were dropped from on high to the audience below. As the leaflets slowly descend in swaying curves, the startled audience grabbed them and read them. The leaflets consisted of many copies of two documents. One showed a message from the Liner's owner on official telegram paper signed by two honest and reliable telegraph officers. The contents told how the owner of the ship instructed the Captain to continue collecting tsunami survivors long after the Captain ordered these actions to be stopped. This without a doubt convicted the captain of wrongdoing and by the looks of the people in the audience they believed it. A top officer of the ship ordered his men to arrest the captain and he was soon held in custody. The second document was another official and signed telegram from a top official in the Italian government to Ritchie Rich. It passed on to R.R. the message that the papers giving R. R. legal custody of the fifty women would be ready for him when he arrived in Rome and the villa in the nearby countryside was ready for their occupation where R.R. could do anything he wished with the girls without any government scrutiny and with impunity. Since this wasn't enough to convict Richie Rich, for the document was vague, he was not touched; however, he was scared enough about his reputation and about future entanglements with the law and especially he was scared at what the ghost might do that he shouted out, "It was all the Count's idea. He's the leader. I just went along with it to ferret out this monster. He wanted to sell the girls off to a prostitution ring of the vilest kind..." At his point the gag came off the Count's mouth, "No, Richie Rich was in on the whole plot and it is his governmental connections that makes it all possible." "Hear that, inspector. Arrest him." And the inspector did in fact arrest him. And quick as a wink the pot, the Ghost and the actors were all gone in a flash with R. still hanging in his underwear from a thin little rope; this rope now slowly unwound until R. fell slowly to the lower level into the lap of a rather indignant dowager lady who simply said, “Umphh.” And he too was arrested and taken away. As the Opera house was slowly emptied of its audience--the doors now mysteriously unlocked--the police searched hard and long until one 'police officer' gave the word that the Ghost was spotted below. After the Opera house was completely emptied of police by this announcement, all the doors of the Opera House suddenly slammed shut again, preventing the police from entering again. Then the Ghost said his last words through some speaker system, “Aha, tricked you again, Inspector Clumseau. Ha ha. And now I have another prize, Miss Janus.” And he did have that prize for I now was in his strong arms and I was most exceedingly passed out.
Sunday, January 23, 2005. Rome.
I remember it so well as if I am almost there... I wake up and I find myself high up in the periphery of some large open area covered by a large dome. I look down, way down, to some large marbled-floored area, covered by a large four-posted canopied structured: yes Bernini’s...What! Am I in St. Peter’s? Beside me is the Ghost, red masked and caped and glowering. He speaks, “see the so-called Pope performing the Mass: in Latin and done in reverence it does not look too bad, but anyhow I wished they were facing the tabernacle and not the People of God... But let’s look at the dark underbelly of this so-called New Church of the People and of all religions...” The next moment he grabbed my hands and led me, not unwillingly I might add, down dark and beautiful corridors and also dark and noisome ones, until we were way below St. Peter’s somewhere, I believe in some subterranean cave. I see arched niches here and there and plaques at points. The Ghost speaks, “you thought that I might show you some definitive paperwork in the vaults below the Vatican that would, without a doubt, prove the vast sacrilegious conspiracy that has been underfoot for many a dark year. No! They cover their tracks too well. No, I brought you to the catacombs. See the bones of true martyrs of the faith here, those who were not so one with world, but had to scramble in the dark cold caves below to keep their faith pure. Look at the bones of these faithful ones. We are all mortal. We die. We must prepare for that final consummation.” I sob, “Why, do you show me this! Why do you rub my nose in the dirt of death? Why? Why?“ I cry and then I faint. In a little while I wake up and I am better. The Ghost gives me a few sips of cool clear wine. I feel better now. I sit on his cape on a bench or mound with my back to a wall. He sits close by. I see the searing eyes beyond the mask. I could almost trust them. He speaks, "No, there isn’t some foolproof piece of evidence that will convict these monsters. It's when you've put all the little bits together in one whole degraded system of death, that one sees the Truth." And he went on to tell that awful story of the smoke of Satan entering the Church: I heard it all before, but he said it with an eloquence that I've never heard before and he put it all together in such a way that the mere juxtaposition of insidious elements increased the evil potency of the tale until I did believe in his story and in his eyes. And I cried, "How awful! How could people be so evil and mean?" I almost said like a little child in the arms of her daddy. “Oh, please protect me from them...” I said as a shiver ran through my being, feeling for the first time the aura of evil that surrounds us day in and day out. I was weak, I had a cold and this was all too much and I fainted.
ACT 5 A Sinking of Titanic Proportions
Monday, January 24, 2005. En Route to Gibraltar.
I awake in a nice bright clean bedroom-cabin. I am weak and I try the door, but find it locked. However, I can see out into the Ghost’s lair through a few windows, but these windows are placed badly and I can see into his lair only at bad angles. Then the pipes in my room begin to speak and I hear the Ghost and some of his accomplices. This must be a malfunction, for I do not believe the Ghost would have purposely allowed me to hear his words and learn of his escapades. Even if I, to a certain extent, believe his tale of dark doings, I am not wholly one with his methods and modus operendi. Aren’t we supposed to love our enemies and even if we fight them, shouldn’t we do it morally – the end doesn’t justify the means: I disapprove of his lurking and his tricky machinations and his acts that hurt others, innocent others that fall into the path of his plans. Also, in the light of day, I am starting to doubt his dark tale of the infiltrated, fractured Rome. OK, it may be true to some extent, but perhaps those men there in their long robes are sincere in their beliefs, perhaps not so bad; we must meet them with love and patience...I do not know. Is the Ghost perhaps a little extreme, paranoid, and unnecessarily angry? So I hear the words of the Ghost and his ‘complices. The voices are low and scratchy and I can’t make out who’s speaking. And I get only bits and pieces of their communications with each other. I will give you the pieces I heard at various times over this day:
Then I heard what seemed like a message from the ship to those helicopters: “Don’t come near or else the girls will be killed one by one.” He’s using the girls as hostages! The lengths he will go to protect himself and to work out his nefarious plans! What are his plans? I can not think on it. Some of his ‘complices sound female. Has he hypnotised the nuns... “Behold one girl. I will hang her. Here goes.” I hear a scream and then a neck snap. Nooo!” No! He has gone much too far. It is night. I see the Ghost come in. He's unmasked. What an awful face. I turn away in horror. I fall asleep exhausted, crying for my poor girls, 'Leave them alone, alone...' I repeat in my fitful sleep for who knows how long...
Tuesday, January 25, 2005. Gibraltar.
I wake up, all bent out of shape, a crick in my neck, from sleepin’ fitfully all night. I rub my bleary, blurry, tear stained eyes, now too dry to cry another little morsel. Out through my little window I see my girls and the nuns and Father McCready. All my pipes are silent now: I can not hear them, but it is like watching some silent movie show. They are all there, I believe. I count the girls and the nuns and they are indeed all there, I believe, for they move in and out of my vision. They all seemed huddled around a set of pipes leaning in to hear something from above perhaps, most likely from the Ghost. They wait in steady expectation. Then all of sudden they all jump for joy. Then the Ghost in all his unmasked horrorfulness comes in and they all hug and kiss him. Strange. How could they? Are they all hypnotized and mesmerized like the all followers of that Branch Davidian Koresh in Waco Texas? Then they all hurry upstairs and all are gone. I see and hear nothing more this day.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005. In the Atlantic.
I awake and I find myself on some bench in a bright white kitchen-cabin with the windows letting in bright sunshine and a fresh Atlantic breeze. There, just past the Kitchen table, at the Kitchen cooking area, stands a plain middle aged man. He seems about 40 or so and is a little bald and a little paunchy. His teeth are a little crooked and a little yellow, but there is a kindness in his eyes that I have seen before. I perhaps don’t look my best, but I seem to be wearing a bright, but modest summer dress, my hair seems combed and my face nice and squeaky clean. Who has done this to me? Not the Ghost or this man, I hope. The table is set and he brings some steaming hot coffee and plain but wonderful grub to the table. He invites me to sit down. I comply and he holds the chair for me and tucks the chair in as I sit. He then sits across from me. I try to discern the voice from the few words that I hear, but they do not sound familiar. He sits across from me and offers me some grub and then I see into his eyes and I am reminded of something, but I can’t really put my finger on it. He says to simply enjoy the food and the air and the sunshine and I let go and do just that. He keeps silent, but looks at me in a way that makes me a little uncomfortable, but I’m not ‘plaining. He reads a paper and I see his profile and have a good look at him. Nothing spectacular, a plain face on a plain, podgy body. Plain hair and plain eyes. Did I say he was plain? Nothing about him was a bit extra-ordinaire; nothing like the extra-ordinaire males I have been keeping company for the last little while. It was good to have this little bit of domestic normalcy. When we both finished our little breakfast, we had a little talk. We talked of plain things, like the weather, the heading of the ship, how we felt, whether we had a good sleep. As we talked of these little things, I started to look intently into this man’s eyes and then I was startled and then I was taken aback. No, it can’t be. This was the Ghost! “You are the Ghost, non?” And he said plainly, “Yes, I am.” “But how? You look so normal.” “Yes, I am normal. This is really me. The horrific face is my persona. A good makeup job, non.” And we speak with French accents for I don’t know what reason. “Qui, a very good job.” “Yes, a mask over a mask over a very plain face.” “But why?” “The crew and passengers were so constantly filled with notions about a horrible Ghost from watching that opera so many times, that I thought It would be a good idea to create this awe-ful Ghost in order to work out my plans.” “Yes, your plans!” I blurt out loudly with a touch of anger in my voice. “You enjoy lurking around scaring and deceiving people, like me, for your...” “Perhaps you should hear my story first.” “Well, go on.” “I’ll make it short. First, the owner of the ship sent a message to the captain to pick up as many stranded victims of the tsunami as possible, an order that the captain disregarded. I then communicated with the owner and told him all this and he gave me leave to do whatever I liked to both disclose the evil machinations of the captain and to help whatever tsunami victims I could. Here are the dispatches. They are all signed properly by the Communications officer, a friend of mine.” They all seemed in proper order. "But what about your deliberate spying on people, especially me; that was uncalled for." "Well, I didn’t want to, but my pipes in my cabin kept malfunctioning all the time and I tried to fix them, but it was of no use. I kept hearing things all over the ship.” “You could have avoided your room.” “Where was I to sleep? As a lowly security guard I had to sleep where I was assigned.” “But why did you...” at this point I started to falter... "why did you lurk around in my life?” “Well, I couldn't help it for I thought you had a beautiful voice and a beautiful...” “Come on, I can take the truth.” “...yes, a beautiful soul and smile and face.” And I turned all red. I have to admit I liked this kind of disclosure of the truth, but I had to put my foot down, "Why didn’t you come out in full view and in public and face me, uhh, face to face.” “Oh, I am sorry, you've properly chastised me. I am such a scared little man. Who could love me? I didn’t want to lose you.” I dare say, I liked the compliments, but his behaviour was just too much and I replied, “You must be a man and be willing to lose sometimes and that means coming out to meet people face to face. You scare too many people, the way you lurk.” And he turned red and he couldn’t look at me. “Yes, you are right. You have looked into my soul...” “But there was more. The way you exposed Raelph and the Captain and Richie Rich wasn't entirely kosher. Of course, they deserved to be exposed, but not in the tricky way that you did, not facing up to them, scaring them and some of the people in the opera including me and auntie...oh! I forgot all about her. What did you do to her?" And he put a small device to his throat and his voice came out just like aunty. “Oh, you're Auntie! Well, there's a good side to you after all. “ “Well, was Auntie the only good in me...” “Like I said your lurkiness and tricky machinations aren’t quite really up to snuff.” “Yes, it all sinks in now. In the hurly burly of saving the girls and exposing the vile conspiracy, I never had time to think of my methods. I can see them now... It is true...” And a sad, guilty face darkens his once bright face and I feel a little sorry, “It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t mean to...” “No, I must think on this. Please, excuse me for a minute or two." "Sure..." And he and his sad forlorn face leaves me.
***
In a few minutes 'Father' McCready comes in. “Elijah is telling me I should be keeping you company.” “That's nice of him.” “Yes, he's a nice fellow, you know. But I've been counselling him very much on his methods. He has not been hearing me, but I think he has been hearing you. If I still had the very legal jurisdiction to hear the very sacred confessions, I believe he would be kneeling before me very contritely now, you know.” “Oh, my! I didn’t mean to...” “It is very OK, don't be thinking too much on it; you have done him very much good. But I am thinking we should be talking of other good things at this very precious moment. I will now be filling you in on the status of this very good ship and its very good passengers.” “Oh do. Are all my girls OK? I suppose they are. Oh, the awful things I thought of, of Elijah, oh Elijah, a most wonderful name. Obviously, that ruse about hanging the girls was only a way of keeping those helicopters away. Who is chasing us?” “Why it is being Raelph and his most dastardly gang.” “Raelph! I thought he was exposed.” “He and his partners are having some mighty powerful friends in Europe. In Europe, Elijah is still being a criminal and a fugitive who has been kidnapping these girls.” “Oh, my!” “Elijah has been keeping R. and his many nasty helicopters away for now, but a large very nasty fleet of ships is keeping at following us.” “My! What are to do now?” “Elijah, has been in contact with the owner of this mighty shipping line and he will be meeting us in the fine city of New York, U.S.A, where he will be taking over custody of the girls and doing everything in his mighty and honorable power to exonerate Elijah. We are having much faith in the Owner.” “I do too. Or else I hope it very much.” “Come, Elijah has been planning to put on a very fine concert tomorrow-eve to so mightily entertain and console our fine and honorable girls. He is wanting you to be the centerpiece. Come, we must be practicing now.” “OK.” And we went to be practicing now, ho, ho.
20:00. Thursday, January 26, 2005. Mid-Atlantic.
The show starts. At first the girls put on show for Elijah, Father and me. Very funny. This is followed by two or three duets between the Ghost and I. We put on costumes from the Webber Opera and use its sets. We sing some of Webber’s songs, but with some slight differences. The Ghost and I are close and apart just as in the original. Why are my cheeks so red? Note that Elijah doesn’t have a good voice, but uses his electronic throat thingy to produce a great mellifluous voice: a great invention of his. Well, our duet went like this. We weren’t on stage, but in balcony at the back of the Opera Hall, much like a choir loft in a Church. Before we began, the grand curtains were closed and the stage reverently prepared (mainly by 'Father' McCready.) When it opened all that we saw was a veil of dark material obscuring the back of the stage (Later we found out that there was three or four layers of this black veil and after each song one veil was removed or opened.) Well, we started singing and all the audience was signalled to kneel for some reason. Then we sang lyrics from the A. L. Webber’s Phantom, but these were slightly altered. As we began the first song, we couldn’t see anything through the veils, but everyone in the audience knew we were singing about what was behind them:
JANUS. 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 enlightens me... (One veil opens. The audience vaguely sees some holy shape, but what can it be?) Angel! I hear you! Speak – I listen... Stay by my side, Guide me! Angel, my soul was weak – Forgive me Enter at last, Master!
ELIJAH. (Elijah sings, perhaps, both as his Phantom Character and also, perhaps more so, as that Holy Something behind the veil) Frittering child, You shall know me, See why in shadow I hide! Look at your soul In My mirror – I am there inside!
JANUS. Angel of Music! Guide and Guardian! Grant me your glory Angel of Music! Hide no longer! Come to me, Strong Angel...
ELIJAH I am your Angel...
JANUS. Come to me Angel of Music... (One more veil opens and one can discern an altar and a host in a sacred monstrance upon the altar, but not too clearly) In words He sang to me, In flesh 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 Altar Is there inside my mind...
ELIJAH Sing once again with ME Our strong duet... My claim to your 'bedience grows strong yet And though you turn from Me, To glance behind, The Spirit of the Altar Is there inside your mind...
JANUS Those who have seen Your Face Kneel down in Love You are the one I ‘dore...
ELIJAH It’s Me they hear
JANUS The Phantom of the Altar Is there inside my mind
(The last veil is removed to reveal the Holy Host, in a monstrance, The Body of Christ, and as the Body is one with the Soul and Spirit of Christ, so there, on the Altar, is also the Spirit of Christ, the Spirit or Ghost of the Altar, the Phantom of the Altar.)
ELIJAH Day time sharpens Heightens each devotion... Loving wakes and stirs to meditation Silently the senses Abandon their offences Hope you don’t resist The Words I write For I compose The Music of the Light... Slowly, gently Day unfurls its splendour. Grasp it, take it – Tremulous and tender Hearing is believing Music is refreshing Hard as lightning Soft as candlelight Dare you trust The Music of the Light... Open up your eyes For your eyes will surely tell the Truth And the Truth Is what you want to see In the Light It is easy to believe That the Truth Is what it ought to be. (At this point, the Host strangely glows. Elijah has certainly set this up, but even he seems a little surprised at this.) Softly, deftly Music shall caress you... Hear it, feel it Freely let it draw you... Open up your mind Let It’s Truthfulness in-wind In this Loving which You know you mustn't fight – The Loving of The Music of the Light Open up your eyes Start a journey through a Strange new world! Leave all thoughts Of the world You knew before! Open up your eyes And let the Music set you free Only then can you belong to Me...
Floating, falling Sweet intoxication Touch me, trust me Savour each emotion Praying, kneeling Deep in contemplation Know me, trust me Savour each devotion Let the Day begin Let your Loving side give in To the power of The Music that I write – The power of The MUSIC OF THE LIIIIGHHHTTT!!!!!
(The music crescendos. Then all is quiet as all silently adore the Phantom of the Altar. Then we all slowly withdraw for some sweet private meditation, devotion and contemplation.)
Friday, January 28, 2005. Mid-Atlantic.
We near the point where the Titanic sank. Auxiliary Bridge. I am with Elijah when we get an urgent message from McCready, “Oh no! Raelph, Clumseau and some others have somehow gotten aboard. They are now near the bow and we are holding them back.” Elijah responds, “Get back to the opera house. Once inside I’ll close all doors. We will control the ship from this aux. bridge.” “Yes, sir.” A little later, we meet a hard breathing McCready and some nuns. They get into the opera house just in time and Elijah closes down all doors. We head to the Aux. bridge which is located just beside the opera house; recently Elijah had just made a tunnel between the aux. bridge and the opera house. From this bridge we can scan all TV security monitors and mikes on board. Usually, this bridge hasn’t access to all the security monitors, but Elijah has been working on it for a while, pulling all security wires here and away from the main bridge. Not only that, but he has added monitors and mikes in places the original plans of the ship didn’t call for and he has also rigged it so that he has control over the opening and closing and locking and unlocking of many doors on board. Elijah turns to me and says, “You are not disapproving of this level of lurking, are you my dear Janus?” “No, we must do whatever it takes, within limits, to keep my girls safe.” “Well, you can be my conscience, my dear.” “Aye, aye, sir.”
***
Well, eventually, we herd R. and Clumseau and the rest into one room and lock all its doors. Since they have no idea we can hear them, they talk freely. Clumseau seems to be a truly honest cop, for he is here to capture that criminal mastermind, the Ghost, who has kidnapped so many girls and is doing who knows what to them. However, they are in a big room and R. sidles up to a few of the others which I will call R’s henchmen. (A few other men are true policemen under Clumseau.) Switching to the mikes near R. we overhear his nefarious plans. First he plans to recapture the girls and then once he and the girls are safely off the ship he plans to scuttle the ship to bury any evidence of his past wrongdoings. We all laugh. How can he carry off these plans? No way. Suddenly, a large explosion rings out and the ship fills up slowly with water. The room with R. starts to fill up and we bring R. and the rest into the Opera House. The ship sinks, but that is no problem, for the Opera House is one self contained unit and no water comes in. However, in the confusion, R. and a few henchmen get loose and hide themselves in the large confines of the Opera House. They even have a few of the girls. My girls, with guns to their heads. At least they haven’t taken control of the Aux. Bridge. However they have somehow extinguished the lights and deactivated any mikes or cameras near them. At the same time we softly land with a thud on the bottom of the ocean. All is quiet. Nothing happens much in the night, although it is now a kind of perpetual night.
Saturday, January 29, 2005. On the floor of the Atlantic.
In the morning McCready leads us all in a round of prayers. It is still all quiet. Then we hear a boring in the side of the ship. Then the lights come on and R. lets the girls go who now return to the aux. bridge. Then R. speaks to us from the Opera house through a reactivated camera, “A submarine has now made a hole directly into the Opera House. My men are aboard, fully armed. However, we won’t attack you. We are offering you freedom back to the topside world. Come with us. Any of you? We are not bad men. This Elijah is paranoid. Yes, there are problems with the world. But is it as bad as that. Am I as bad as that? Yes, I wanted to take care of the girls. Make them actresses and models and marry them off to rich men and maybe kiss a few of their naughty sweet cheeks. But to think I would be so vile and so mean as to... I blush to think of it. You must have a real dark side to so project unto poor little me. Come on. I offer you freedom. I promise, on my solemn word, I will not do anything nefarious, Ha, ha." And he smiled with such a charming smile, I started to believe him. “You must risk it. You must trust me. You can’t stay here. Yes, the water won’t get in; yes, you have provisions and oil for the generators; but when all that runs out? What then. Are you going to die down here in the dark cold depths of the ocean for a wild theory of the utter darkness and vileness of the world?" And he started to make sense. And many of the girls believed him and they left Elijah on the bridge and headed for that bright clean submarine of hope and as they left I heard them say things like “An actress! wow; oh, to be a model; to be married to a rich man.” And I knew that R. had won and soon most of the girls had left and the nuns too because their duty was for the girls and they risked whatever hardship for them and McCready also left for his duty was for the nuns (even tho’ he wasn’t a proper priest anymore) and that left just Elijah and I. Elijah said, “You must have faith in me. Stay my dear, Janus.” But then R. spoke and he said, “Look around you, what can he offer? There is no hope down here. I promise, Janus, on all the pure love that we had between us that I will take care of you.” “No, I don’t trust you.” “Who do you think blew up the ship. Not I. Why would I want to destroy such a precious cargo? And how could I know the Opera House was watertight? No, it was your dear Elijah that did it. He wanted to keep you at whatever cost. Ponder over all his tricky machinations. I'm not perfect. You know me. I have always been up front with you. Not this dark lurker who only wants his greedy hands on you.” And I thought. Maybe he has something there and I looked into Elijah’s eyes and I waited expecting that he would speak up and exonerate himself, but he just looked down with a sad face, saying what, I could not fathom. So I decided to take R's offer. He wasn’t perfect, the world up top wasn’t, I didn’t fully trust him, but what could I do. Stay down here and then what. So I took R's hand and went with him. And the last thing I saw was a tear going down Elijah’s face as he walked into the darkness of this hopeless cold undersea tomb.
Sunday, January 30, 2005. En Route to New York City.
We were all in a room inside the ultramodern research ship owned by Richie Rich. There, R., the Captain, and Richie Rich stood before all of us and R. told us bluntly that he had bold facedly lied and was taking us to a world of servile prostitution with some of the richest and vilest of men and that the Owner, Mr. Foster, had been killed and their life of servitude would start as they passed the merry face of the Statue of Liberty. How ironic he said. Oh, no! I should have trusted Elijah. Suddenly the ship stopped, it shuddered, the lights went out and we all went out as gas spread to all the ship. After I woke up I looked all around the room and everyone was gone--including the girls, the Father and the nuns-- and all that remained were Richie, The Captain and R. And there was a short note:
Oh, but dear Ghost, I do want to go with you....I do trust you. Oh what a fool I've been.
Epilogue. From J's diary February
Well, it's been a month since I lost my dear Elijah, but I've been busy. Taking all my savings I've hired a private investigator and he went around and asked questions of the islanders who lived near the wreck of the Phantom--for there were rumours of strange men or women who would, every now and then, appear at some small store to buy provisions. And my P.I. asked questions and he tracked some of these sightings and at one point he got a story of a strange sea monster that coughed up people one time on shore, then submerged and re-emerged to re-eat one person. And all the sightings were, more or less a equal distance from one central point which in fact was where the ship had sunk. In addition, the inspector found evidence of some beautiful Indian women scattered about the Azores living with their auntees, although there papers showed that they were all proper immigrants (however, these papers could have been faked.) So, perhaps, Elijah may have gotten my girls and nuns out and there was even evidence of somebody fitting Father McCready's description. But not even a sign of Elijah anywhere. So Elijah must be still there, in the ship no doubt for that's what the cryptic message meant, a message meant only for me. For 'Beyond The Seas' could only mean the Opera House for the Opera House was just beyond the word 'Seas' that was written on the side of the ship: it was our little in-joke. But why was he still hiding there: could he be hiding from the police and those evil three, perhaps waiting until the heat would die down. Or perhaps it was something different, perhaps something more. The answer is perhaps in the song 'Beyond The Sea', the song which we played often when we were together. Now what were the lyrics. Uhum. Beyond the Sea, you will be waiting for me..something about not sailing anymore once he has his love...he is waiting for...for me! Yes! That's it! He is waiting for me down there! Yes! I need to get down there! However, I needed money to go down to the ship and I went to Mr. Foster, the very owner of this ship, the Phantom of the Seven Seas. (R. lied about Mr. Foster being killed, to scare us at the time, I suppose.) Well, anyway, Mr. Foster wanted to eventually salvage the Phantom, for he wanted to retrieve some valuable technological trinkets that were developed by scientists working in the ship's university research labs. I convinced him that now would be as good a time as any to salvage the ship and he agreed, but he didn't have much hope in Elijah still being alive. He asked, “You don’t think he's still down there, surviving after all this time?” “Yes, I do.” “I really doubt the Ghost is still alive." "Then who do you think saved my girls on Richie Rich's ship?" "Well, I believe that R. could have staged the whole thing in order to make the girls quietly disappear, "Why do you say that?" "It all make perfect and consistent sense. First, the girls were on their way out of R's hands when they would have reached N.Y. City; there he would have lost the girls and in addition some of them could have testified against him. This disappearance was in fact very useful to him: no accusing girls and the same girls now making profit for him. Second, he used the incident to blame it all on the ghost: for if the ghost was dead, then this ploy would shift attention away from him and if the Ghost is alive, which I doubt, then he could sick the police on him and hinder and hamper any operations the Ghost would have against him." "But the note to me..." "R. could have planted it." "But it was so personal: the writer knew my soul." "So does R." "Oh, he couldn't, for only same knows same, and how could evil know good. No, it was from my Ghost, from Elijah." "Well, I don't know..." "But who pops up every now and then in a fancy submersible?" "Well, there was a highly advanced submersible down in the ship. Elijah could have used it? But, on the other hand, how did he learn to use it and how did he survive all this time? How did he prevent water from coming in the ship and where did he get the energy to power the parts of the ship he was in? And that is not mentioning hundreds of other problems. Too many ifs. Just because some strangers appear in some resort towns doesn't mean it is Elijah and his gang; just because some locals talk of a whale spitting up people doesn't mean it is them. Why, these days, locals aren't as unsophisticated as they were in the past; they don't mistake submarines for a whales these days: it all sounds like a publicity stunt to me, and pretty bad one at that. No, Elijah couldn't have survived." "Well, he's one amazing and versatile man. I guess we will see when we get down there. "Yes, we will see."
AFTERWORD. By: Inspector Clumsea Date: January 1, 2006 Happy New Year
And here I am, your dear Inspector Clumseau. Well, who did you dink was the editor of dee Janus’ diaries. Well, do you believe Janus went down to the cold death in a cold tomb, or deed she meet with the Music of the Light that was Beyond the Sea? Oui? Non? Well just today I got dees strange letter, postmarked from one of the Azorean Islands. Yes, I deed! Oh, but non, you don't even believe I got a letter. Oh, you dink I am jeest making it all up. Well, read it and tell me if it doesn't come from the very soul of J. And, pooh on vous, don't tell me you do not believe that the Ghost still survives. Oui? Non?
Finis? Oui? Non?
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