Saint George - 15. Sacrifice

Families with daughters subject to the lottery were no less festally disposed than others. And in the girls who might fall a victim no trace of fear or depression ever showed either. They were so many, the chance of being picked by lot looked negligible and hardly counted against the pleasures in store.
Actually, it was a lottery with one single blank.
And even if you became the chosen one, at any rate, you still had a week in which the whole community's attentions would focus on only you and it would end in a show of your own sacrifice with its excess of suspense. Suspense already had mingled with lust to such degree that, somehow, terror gave way to temptation.
A motion, to surcharge stands and seats to the benefit of bereaved families, a kind of blood money, therefore, was turned down haughtily by all families combined.
After registrations had been completed, computations proved that this weekly sacrifice would hardly burden the population. The birthrate needed to be raised only slightly to compensate for the loss.

But let’s not mar this story by extensive descriptions of what to this nation, then, meant its greatest amusement, the highlights of life.

How was the dragon doing?
It manifested itself as a perfect mime, went the whole way, exploited every opportunity it was offered by the varying behaviour of its victims. It demonstrated its mastery by the way it knew, even in this macabre game, this awkward poise on the edge between caress and laceration, how to draw on humour, how, sometimes by the subtlest of gestures, to make the spectators roar with laughter.
Besides, time and again, it showed a perfect feeling for when the audience started to grow impatient and found it should now indeed come to business.

And what with the girls?
For a whole week they deported themselves as prima donnas. They could take their pick from the most precious of clothes, the finest of delicacies and wherever they came they were held in high esteem.
One of them got an idea of a game of ‘dragon’ by way of rehearsal. A good friend of hers was ‘dragon’. It didn’t take long for this game to come into vogue. Soon, men took up the dragon part as well. In those cases, endings became genuinely erotic. People of all ages could hardly wait to play along.
Usually, the week induced into them such a daze of wellbeing that they entered the arena still in its thrall.

And the relatives?
Those felt entitled to partake in the prima-donna status of their daughter or sister and reluctant to spoil her finest hour they, too, rendered themselves up to the daze, more or less.
Even so, an outburst of grief now and then, on the grandstand mostly, in plain sight of everyone.

And the fiancés?
They were proud all week and on the grandstand they fell, willy-nilly, into so ardent a state of excitement that most of the time they were unable to contain it.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2012 - 2013
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

The Gardener and Death

A Persian nobleman:

This morning, my gardener pale from fright,
‘Master, one moment, please’, came running inside.

‘In yonder rose-bush I was cutting shoot after shoot
And when I turned and looked, grim Death there stood.

I was appalled and by the other way I fled,
But still descried his hand casting a threat.

Master, your horse, and with godspeed let me ride
To Ispahan, which I may reach ere fall of night.’

This afternoon – long after he had sped -
In the park of cedars, Death it was I met.

‘Why,’ thus I asked, while he stood waiting there,
‘Did you, this morn, give my servant such a scare?’

Smilingly came his reply: ‘No threat, for sure, it was
That sent your gardener fleeing. Surprised I was

To find, in early morn, here still at work a man
Who, this same evening, I am to take in Ispahan.’


English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2009
from the Dutch, 'De Tuinman en de Dood' by P.N.van Eyck (1887-1954)
who took the theme from Jean Cocteau's 'Le grand écart'.

Compare a different translation by Kate Ashton which, afterwards, I happened upon at a blog called 'Books Do Furnish A Room'.

Saint George - 14. The Dragon's Bride

Who knows how many times the corrupting breath had been drifting across the town already, saturating its alleys and invading its dwelling-places. In any case, the sad fact must be told that everybody craved an escalation of suspense.
And so it came to pass that the Council took a decision even more monstrous than the monster itself. As it was providing the public with so much pleasure, they decided to treat the beast from now on to the tenderest titbit they could procure, a virgin of between twelve and eighteen. All of these should presently be registered and every time, whom it had to be would be chosen by lot.
This decision engendered a festive mood all over town. It promised a world of new, impetuous sensations. Not only because disposing of a girl - the more so, when she was pretty - would have a far more smashing impact but besides, the erotic element was to enter the scene. Shudders wouldn't be merely running down the spine, henceforth, the entire body would be involved. The deepest layer of feelings was burrowed.
And imagine the possibilities!
Would the beast be sensitive to feminine beauty? Would it approach its meal in the manner of a suitor?
For the first time, there was an opportunity to descry something of the inner beast, that it might give away a glimpse of its soul.
And the girls, how might they proceed? Would they play nice to him to soften his mood? And would he let them have their way, at least for a while? Or would they be screaming their heart out?
The prisoners always had been offered naked. With girls, this wasn't suitable. But how then? In their plain clothes? Or in a festive gown? Like a bride?
And would he peel it off beforehand? He could hardly eat them dress and all. Some remembered calling him 'the Convivant', in the early days. In this context, that would obtain a different meaning entirely. What an opportunity for the beast to put on a great show!
And there was another side to it as well. For the first time, sensations were no longer restricted to the mere protagonists. To the dragon's bride, as she was presently called, there was also her family. Her father and mother, the brothers and sisters and possibly, a fiancé. How would they bear themselves? To spy on their demeanour, wouldn't that be a special sensation? All that was happening within such a family now became a public affair to which the whole community was setting its heart on.

It was further decided that lots would be drawn on Sundays so that the family appointed by fate could spend six full days on preparations and the amplest of partings. It goes without saying that during these days such a family would be for ever in the public eye and that a fiancé, if any, would be under constant scrutiny from every perspective conceivable.
For these closest relatives the most outstanding places were reserved on the grandstand and by this arrangement, not only were they procured the best view of the spectacle below but also could they themselves be watched even better by everybody else.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2009
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Saint George - 13. Curtain-call

Don't ask for the scenes among the prisoners at drawing lots. The emotions of their relatives simply got lost in the entire community's mammoth shudder that reduced everything else to sheer insignificance. Should this be called a mass hysteria?
Nor ask for details of the performance itself. Their fleeing, the attempts at resistance, their injuries and when at last they were crunched, what was to be heard thereof.
As of today, this would only evoke disgust.
Incidentally, there had been one who didn't flee at all, who didn't resist and never uttered a sound. He just stayed down, without a stir, as if saying 'come and eat me,' like a bread roll.
A hoot of scorn went up from the audience. For a moment the monster stood undecided and by its next move captivated all hearts. It looked around, went to a coppice nearby, broke off a bough and sharpened the torn end with its fangs. It then returned to the crouching figure and laid the weapon down within his reach. Quick as lightning the man now jumped at his last opportunity, or whatever he thought it to be, seized the stick and stormed the dragon, aiming at its eye. Poor soul, to the other he meant nothing but a sparring partner. However, it all but saved the show.

When the last prisoner had been consumed, though, a new decision had to be made. How to proceed from here on? To fall back on sheep was doomed from the start. Not a living soul would turn up at such a turn off. To let it starve then or, even worse, to insidiously waylay the beast and seek its destruction by joint assault? This also, was out of the question. For at present the monster had become a popular figure, it procured the top entertainment of the week and when only properly fed it wouldn't harm anyone.
And wasn't it even beautiful! The bright colours of its head, the sheen on its claws and scales, the agile movement of its armoured body. It should be kept safe, this much was settled too.
Besides, it appeared that people no longer felt ashamed of their feelings, that they dared openly confess to how luscious they found these shivers running down their spine, men as much as women. During an offering, it sometimes happened that by their common mood the population as a whole was elevated to a state of unity, which a pious congregation may now and then reach under influence of an inspiring pastor.
They even went so far as to grant the beast a curtain-call for acts of striking cruelty. From pure elation, they couldn't forgo exchanging glances often still radiant, while on their way home.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2009
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Dan Brown - The Lost Symbol

I just finished Dan Brown's latest, The Lost Symbol. Three nights of terrific reading, and reviving old memories of the 1960s and 70s 'taser' novels by Colin Wilson, like The Mind Parasites and The Space Vampires.
It's all there, Masons, underground passageways, demons and darkness, as well as the idea of putting at work the powers of the mind in lock-step with others to move mountains or, in the case of Wilson, no less than the moon itself!
I liked all of Dan Brown's cliffhangers, but at their austere and breath-taking level of suspense, the particular qualities of the bogey is what's making the difference for me.
In his first novel, Digital Fortress, the bad guy is still a scientist, rather a stereotype of the over-ambitious, whereas Deception Point featured the blood-hounding Mute, Angels and Demons had its sadist Arab and The Da Vinci Code the hampered Monk.
Though the three of them are mere vehicles of violence, answering to a secret Master, the Mute is just a hired killer and the Monk a pathetic freak, whereas the Arab, indeed, is an embodiment of Evil, doing the job to satisfy his own pathological cravings and thus, a genuine creep. Therefore, I preferred Angels and Demons beyond the other novels on behalf of this convincingly spine-chilling character.

The demon of The Lost Symbol, though a freak of his own merit and a ruthless killer to that, equals the Arab in occult knowledge and malice, but beats him by far on the application of modern gadgetry and psychological trickery. Besides, he's self-employed. The disclosure of his true identity is a moment of shocking revelation.
The narrative starts with the familiar pattern of the telephone call at an ungodly hour, the rush by plane to a place of renown and the confrontation with a ghastly crime, shrouded in mystery. What is of note, however, the meeting of the hero and the local heroine-to-be remains long overdue. Whereas in the earlier thrillers, they're growing more and more close, so that at the last page they can't wait to spend the night as close as can be, in The Lost Symbol they happen to be old friends, who do embrace, incidentally, under emotional duress for support and consolation, but never in a way as to kindle the flame of passion. It may be their age.
Even the demon has taken precautions to avoid temptations of the flesh, a fact that doesn't harm his menacing powers, but puts him at a disadvantage with his Arab counter-part in Angels and Demons, whose sexual prowess, indeed, proved a convincing tool for rousing utter dread and desperation.
So, in the end, the only thing stirring is not the magic stick, but solely the spirit.

Saint George - 12. The Turn

People get used to anything. With time, everything loses its lustre, as happened here. Despite the monster's best effort to keep the audience spellbound, after the umpteenth sheep, interest really started to wane. Concourse to the stands kept decreasing to the great displeasure of those who were pocketing fat rents and of the sellers of lemonade and sweets there as well. Together, they reflected on new gimmicks.
One day, their faction - for in the council they had formed their own faction - brought in the following proposition.
'Why,' thus asked their spokesman,

'why are we to offer a precious sheep every single week, an innocent creature that is providing us food, whereas inside our prisons we keep a number of creatures not as innocent whom we ourselves must feed, whose very misdoings we remunerate with free board and lodging.
Whatever prevents us from exchanging them for the sheep! Thus, we'll dispose of them in a honourable fashion. As in each case they'll spare us a sheep, we enable them to wholly or partly square their due.
What we propose is a simple act of justice. Thereafter, our town will be free again of crime, even as before, and their empty lodgings we can put to a different use.'

Upon the real motive - to raise the yield from stands to former levels and, if possible, even to increase it - no words were wasted. On giving it away, they expected to meet with strong, moral opposition. However, this proved a gross miscalculation.
By the magistrate who, as mentioned before, possessed a major share in the stands the plan was welcomed with approval and others as well, disguised their real motives. The welfare of the state was all they cared for, or so they said. In reality, their motive was lust after a spectacle even more sensational by far.
Thus, the proposition of the stand-owners' faction was passed with a large majority of votes. Only the junior councillor, seeing with dread which way his own two proposals were leading, still tried to raise his voice in disapproval but this time, nobody was inclined to hear him out. The proclamation of the council's decision caused a general rebound and the next Saturday no stand was left empty though fees had doubled.
To the slaughtering of sheep everybody was used from childhood but now, a man was at stake, a human being just like oneself, whose anxiety and pain were all but empathetic, which made the horrors all the more exciting and the excitement all the more lustful.
When the monster, on that very Saturday, encountered a tied man instead of its usual sheep, there wasn't the slightest trace of amazement in its bearing, nor of hesitation. Rather, it seemed to have anticipated this turn.
It put on quite a show, alternating bites with growls and grins and at times, by a coarse laugh at which it raised its head heavenward and widely distended its jaws.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2009
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Saint George - 11. The Breath of the Beast

Strange as it may sound, between the monster and the crowd a bond evolved as between an actor and his audience. The at first altogether guileless behaviour of the animal developed into a genuine performance. At times, it played straight to the gallery, just showing off, making inane leaps, snapping in the air as if to crunch a bird in flight and playing cat-and-mouse with its prey for a while.
This latter quirk engendered a novelty. It was decided to extend the tether. In that way, the sheep would be given ampler dodging space so that it could put up a more interesting resistance. And this, in its turn, brought about another escalation, a revolution almost, to wit, it appeared that one sheep reacted completely different than the other. One of a flock a sheep may be, in these moments each animal was on its individual mettle.
For the first time now, the victim's behaviour and emotions became involved in the spectacle. It wasn't all about the strange and bewildering beast anymore, the plain little sheep became an object of fascination as well.
And next time, the tether would be eased off some more.

In this way they learned to live with the beast and there was no one to feel unhappy for it. On the contrary. The weekly show - if it be allowed to call it such - introduced to their minds and conversations a liveliness so far unknown and was both surprising and exciting each and every time to such an extent that everyone was longing for it the whole week over.
On going home, often people were heard saying 'Oh, how marvellous he was, never better' and 'But the sheep wasn't so bad either.'
This seemed the more remarkable as through the week daily life continued in the same old rut. Supposedly, the beast needed this whole time span to digest its meal. It was imagined as lying contentedly or sleeping perchance, in its subaqueous hidey-hole.
So, it was with a tinge of amazement indeed, when in the twilight of a late evening a shepherd who had been looking for a stray lamb for quite a while, heading for home along the pond, became aware of the monster's head in the centre of it, or rather only its skull, or rather still, the part of its head where its nostrils were. And what besides he saw was that from these openings jets of dark steam were spurting forth with great force.
The man quickly absconded and once home, didn't fail to realize that at the prevailing wind this steam was bound for the town straightaway and possibly, would be dispersed all over it. Although it upset him in no small way, he durst not mention it to anyone, afraid to make a fool out of himself.
Now, it is written in the chronicles of the monks that the breath of the beast was lethal. This can't be true, for during this entire stretch no one in the town died. Only to us, who know the sequel of the story, the true effect of the breath is apparent, namely, it didn't so much as kill people, it was corrupting their character.
We must assume that time and again, with favourable winds the monster let its breath drift across the town and had taken this up long before the shepherd had witnessed it.
The continuation of this tale unmistakably points in this direction.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2009
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983