Arden:Okay.
Ellis:Where did we leave off?
Arden:The initiation.
Ellis:Ah yes, the initiation. Obviously, I’ll lead it. It should be natural, yes? It’s areturnto nature. It should feel very rural. Bucolic.
Arden:Right.
Ellis:Southern Ohio, I think, don’t you? It’s where it was found. Not at the family property. A new one.
Arden:Okay.
Ellis:The initiation on the first night, and the offering the next day. A Friday and a Saturday, maybe. Tidy. It’s a new tradition. We’re not some old fogeys going on a fox hunt. That’s how it used to be, you know. Let the offering loose, a little chase for the initiates, then throw it to the big guy, watch the show. Profit. Not anymore. We’re civilized. We don’twantto do it, but we have to for the betterment of us and the world. It’s not fun. It’s not supposed to be. There are two sacrifices: the offering, and our innocence.
Arden:Right. Okay.
Ellis:You’ve said okay three times in this conversation. You might want to make that a goal. Addressing verbal parasites. You’re absolutely capable of it if you actually commit.
Arden:I—Yes. I didn’t notice. You’re right.
Ellis:I know. That’s why I said it. [laughter] The crate should be there. I want them to see it. We’ll go over the origin: how my great-great-grandfather trapped it, the molten lead, the inscription, how the company mark evolved, the abundance and tradition that followed, et cetera, et cetera. Do you think they should get tattoos?
Arden:A tattoo?
Ellis:Yeah. A crosshair tramp stamp. [laughter] It’d be appropriate. It wasn’t anything at first. Just how they marked the product. A symbol. The symbol gained power, as symbols do. The same concept. The longer we have them, the more they’re ours.
Arden:Indelible.
Ellis:Indelible. Yes. Anyway, we’ve got a few more years until it wakes up. What do you think about that? I don’t think I like it. Having to wait for it to decide to wake up. And so infrequently. We should probably control that too, don’t you think? Make the feedings more… robust.
Arden:Do you think that’ll help with its—?
Ellis:Itswhat?
Arden:I wasn’t trying to— In the photos it looked like it used to be a little more…
Ellis:That’s interesting. After viewing a few photographs, you think you can diagnose its condition. That’s very interesting.What do you think the source of that assumption is? Pride? Ego?
[Prolonged silence, the sound of quick walking]
Getting back on track: the feedings should be more robust and more frequent. Repetition reinforces reliance, don’t you agree?
Transcript, March 3, 2008
CHAPTER 17
The cultists trickle in one by one.
Each wears the same short-sleeved, maroon scrub shirt and drawstring pants. They look like they’ve been dipped in wine. Somehow their white limbs came out unstained.
There are twelve not counting Ellis and the two standing on either side of Emma. Greg walks in. He has an even bigger blocky white bandage across the bridge of his nose and a scowl on his lips. A few of the others occupy a familiar, vague spot in my memory: a tall, older woman with willow-thin wrists; a balding fortysomething man with dyed brown hair and an oval face; the young woman who sat at the registration table at the Ascent Discovery Weekend. It’s not her face that ignites the spark of recognition, but the clay honeybee earrings that dangle all the way to her collarbones. My memory of her is mixed with the glossed-over feeling of freshly printed pamphlets, coffee poured from carafes, and the hum of dozens of voices introducing themselves.
When Jena walks out, her eyes flick down to meet mine, then jerk up like a dog whose leash has been yanked. Even in the dark the flushed points high on her cheeks are visible. A sickly sweet and alcoholic scent wafts off her. Is she drunk? I’d probably get wasted too if I was about to sacrifice my coworker.
The holder of Jena’s leash follows a few feet behind. Arden makes eye contact immediately. How else could she impress upon me the shitty little smirk on her pink-painted mouth?
The humming in my head grows louder. I’m not even looking at the box. There’s so much hatred and rage in me. I allow all that hatred to pull my lips back till I’m baring my teeth. Some of it’s mine, but most of it isn’t. Most of it’s—
