Monday Service
Hope is the Dream
of a waking man.
Aristotle
It was Monday evening and the grand hall in the temple was crowded. Sycko had been to a driveller service before but Jeremiah had hinted that this service would be something special and so Sycko was eager to attend. The congregation was assembled and the entrance doors closed, the clank of the heavy doors being as always the signal to commence divine service. In the grand hall all those attending met upon the level, which meant that there was no raised altar or platform from where the master would speak. While the congregation were seated on cushions, anyone who had the word simply stood up. When the doors fell shut a hush of silence pervaded the hall. Then Jeremiah arose. He stood in silence for some moments until he felt a thousand eyes gazing upon him eagerly. As Temple Master he was permitted to wear the sacred top hat which gave him a highly distinguished appearance along with a black suit, a white stud collar shirt and a white bowtie.
“Monday,” Jeremiah said in a stentorian voice that rang clearly across the entire hall. “It is Monday, our holy day, the day of the moon which has since time immemorial been the symbol of our Lord God the most high, omniscient, almighty, infallible and divine.”
“Our wise master,” a voice called out to a round of applause at the words of wisdom that had come from Master Jeremiah’s lips.
Jeremiah raised his right hand commanding silence. “It is now time,” he said, “to renew the sacred bond that exists between us Dryvellers and our Lord. Let us drivel!”
With mucho gusto the entire congregation began to push saliva out of the corners of their mouths gladly renewing the bond with God.
“Rejoice, brethren, rejoice for you are now one with the Lord!” Jeremiah called out ecstatically. This was followed by loud cheers and calls for a hymn to be sung.
Sycko leapt to his feet. “Master Jeremiah, with your permission I would sing ‘Onward drooling Dryvellers’.”
“An excellent choice,” Jeremiah responded and sat down. Now Sycko was standing and led the congregation in singing the rousing hymn.
Onward drooling Dryvellers, as in days of yore,
With our Lord the moon, going on before.
Our master drivels, speaks against the foe;
Forward gormless sheep, let us all now go!
There were ten verses in all and when the hall fell silent again Sycko sat down to allow Jeremiah to continue the service.
“Wonderful,” Jeremiah said, “wonderful, splendid, oh how I can feel the power of the Lord reverberate through every last inch of myself. What a rousing hymn you have chosen, Sycko. Thank you for this excellent choice. Now, before we continue I would invite you to share our burden. As you all know freedom isn’t free and having the freedom to gather here in the eyes of our Lord means that we have burdens to shoulder and to put it in a nutshell it is time for a donation to the house of God.”
Suddenly thick black cloth bags appeared at the sides of the hall which were passed along from one Dryveller to another. The sound of many coins being dropped in the bags filled the hall with a myriad of little clanks that was music to Jeremiah’s ears. At last all the bags had passed through the crowd and were taken away by a number of temple assistants.
Jeremiah smiled and turned all around so that every single person in the crowd felt that Master Jeremiah’s gaze and smile was a personal token of gratitude.
“We are gathered here today,” Jeremiah said in a calm voice, “not only because we want to drivel, not only because we want to listen to drivel or even read from ‘The Holy Dryvel’. No my dear friends, my beloved Dryvellers, we are here for a higher purpose than even all that!”
Stupefied at the thought the congregation looked at Jeremiah agog.
Jeremiah pushed the sacred top hat slightly to the side of his head and then placed his hands on his hips. Arms akimbo he looked at the congregation full of determination.
“Some of you,” he said, “have asked me for help. They have asked me to intercede with our Lord in some very personal and serious matters. It is not a thing lightly done and I can assure you all that I personally made sure what I was being asked for were just requests.” He paused briefly and then held out his right hand towards one of the side entrances.
“Bring in the supplicant,” he called.
All eyes turned toward the door. Moments later a young woman in a wheelchair entered the hall. She pushed the wheels with her hands and very slowly made her way through the crowd towards Jeremiah.
“Make way, brethren, make way for this unfortunate young woman,” Jeremiah said.
“Now then,” Jeremiah said when she reached him, will you tell our congregation your name and why it is you are thus afflicted?”
She nodded. “My name’s Fraudula. I’m twenty-one years old and I come from a good Dryveller family.”
A round of applause welcomed her.
“Thank you. I don’t know what to say, I’m so overcome. She began to cry and Jeremiah patted her on the shoulder to comfort her.
“You’re amongst friends here, Fraudula. Will you tell us what happened to you.”
She wiped her nose with a tissue and went on. “When I was nine years old I lived as a happy girl with my loving Dryveller parents. But not everyone loved us. There were people whose hearts were filled with hate against us because of our beliefs.” Again she burst into tears and angry shouts rang our from the crowd.
“Then one day,” she sobbed, “I was standing at the bus stop when someone pushed me in front of the bus. A man pushed me because I was a Dryveller!”
The hall was in uproar.
“Calm, my brethren!” Jeremiah shouted. “Becalm yourselves I pray you.”
When the tumult had subsided Fraudula went on.
“The bus hit me and I was taken to hospital. The doctors saved my life, but what kind of life did they save for me? I am paralysed hip down, bound to a wheelchair, unable to walk and run and swim with my friends, unable to meet someone I love and have a family of my own. What kind of life is this? Did I deserve this simply because I am a Dryveller?”
Again there was uproar. Dryvellers jumped to their feet and shouted in fury.
“Nay, nay,” Jeremiah shouted. “Becalm your wrath I pray you. Let us not be blinded by anger. We are here for something much more important.”
Gradually the noise subsided and the Dryvellers took their seats again.
“My dear fellow Dryvellers,” Jeremiah said. “We are here today, on this most auspicious Monday, to unite in prayer for this unfortunate young woman. Poor Fraudula, who has not been able to do many of the things we all take for granted since she was an innocent little nine year old girl. I ask you all to follow me and kowtow while we speak the prayer ‘Have mercy, oh merciful Lord’.
Jeremiah got to his knees and kowtowed with the whole congregation following suit. After the prayer Jeremiah rose to his feet again and placed his right hand on Fraudula’s head.
“Affliction be gone!” Jeremiah called out. “Get thee hence vile affliction that hath blighted this young woman’s life. In the name of the Lord I command thee to leave.”
Jeremiah looked at Fraudula with kind eyes. “Thrice did I command, thrice did the Lord aid. Fraudula, give me your hand. Dare to, Fraudula, dare to move your foot.”
Slowly, ever so slowly her left leg moved forward, then her right. Jeremiah took firm hold of both her hands and pulled her up. Unsteady and wobbly on her feet Fraudula looked at her legs with wide open eyes. Jeremiah pulled her gently and she took a step forward, then another and another.
“A miracle!” Jeremiah exclaimed. “A miracle from God, my brethren. A true miracle in our day and age. Behold the power of our Lord!”
A jubilant cheer rang through the hall with the entire congregation jumping to their feet and applauding wildly.
While Jeremiah called on everyone to give thanks to the Lord, black cloth bags suddenly appeared again and this time the collection was silen
t as the bags passed through the crowd. Jeremiah smiled happily.
Thinner and lighter wallets were put back into their owners’ pockets quite easily. Bursting full black bags were carried away and when everyone looked to Jeremiah again Fraudula had vanished.
“My dear fellow Dryvellers,” Jeremiah said after a while. “Truly, it warms the heart to think that Fraudula can go back to living a life again. But I must ask you now to focus your attention on another task for there is more work to be done.”
Once again he held out his arm to the door where Fraudula had appeared. “Let the supplicant enter!”
There was absolute silence in the hall. Then a quiet tap, tap, tap sound heralded the arrival of the next supplicant. A man wearing a black suit and tie appeared. His eyes were concealed by very dark sunglasses and in his left hand he held a long white stick that made the tapping sound as he carefully made his way forward. A woman stood up and helped him walk over to Jeremiah.
“Thanks,” he said and turned to Jeremiah.
Jeremiah took his hand. “Welcome to our temple. We have just been witness to the most incredible thing and I have a great feeling. I really have a feeling that we’ll be able to help you. Can you tell us your name.”
“Mendax, my name’s Mendax and I’m thirty-four years old.”
“I see you are blind, is that right?”
“Yes, I’ve been blind since I was a little baby.”
“That’s terrible. Were you born blind?”
“No, I was quite healthy at my birth, but I had the misfortune to be born in Syldavia. As you may know the life we Dryvellers face in Syldavia is not an easy one.”
“Can you tell us something about it?”
“It can be dangerous to profess our faith openly. Simple things such as going to a restaurant can be life threatening. We can’t even drivel at the table before a meal without the risk of an anti-Dryveller riot.”
“I see,” Jeremiah said. “That’s shocking, dreadful, terrible. And what happened to you? Surely an innocent baby would not be the target of even a rabid mob?”
“Ah, if only it had been an angry mob!” Mendax shook his head and then buried his face in his hands.
Jeremiah put his arm around Mendax’s shoulders to comfort him. The congregation was quiet. Many Dryvellers covered their mouths with their hands horrified at the suffering of other Dryvellers and poor Mendax in particular.
“I’m sorry,” Mendax said. “I’m just so overcome with emotion to be standing here in a free country at last where I may drivel without risking my life.”
There was an outburst of cheering and applause.
“We understand,” Jeremiah said. “Can you tell us now what happened to you, why you are blind?”
“As a six month old baby I got a serious eye infection. Conditions in Syldavia are not always hygienic and it is a common enough ailment that is easily treated. But when the doctors at the hospital discovered that my family were Dryvellers, they turned us out and refused to help.”
Raucous shouting interrupted Mendax and Jeremiah had to raise his arms and repeatedly call for calm.
“By the time my parents found a private doctor, who was willing to treat me in spite of our beliefs, it was too late. The disease had damaged my eyes to such an extent that I was blind for life.”
“Did you ask for help when you managed to come to this country?”
“That I did, but the doctors at the hospital told me there was nothing they could do.”
“My brethren,” Jeremiah called out. “I ask you, is not the case of poor Mendax here worthy of our help? Shall we not help him and intercede with the Lord on his behalf?”
Loud cheers and calls for a special prayer came from the crowd.
“I am glad that you all feel this way. Let us then kowtow once again on this most auspicious and propitious Monday night, the night of a full moon, and speak the prayer ‘Have mercy, oh merciful Lord’.
After the prayer Jeremiah stood up. He took the sunglasses off Mendax and placed his hand over his eyes.
“Affliction be gone!” Jeremiah called out. “Get thee hence vile affliction that hath blighted this man’s life. In the name of the Lord I command thee to leave.”
Jeremiah looked at Mendax with gleaming eyes. “Thrice did I command, thrice did the Lord aid. Mendax, my friend, open your eyes. Dare to open your eyes and you shall see what you see.”
Mendax slowly opened first one eye and then the other. There was a look of shock on his face.
Jeremiah held out four fingers in front of Mendax’s face. “How many fingers do you see?”
“I can see,” Mendax called. “It’s incredible. I can see. There are four fingers, Jeremiah. Oh, the Lord be blessed thrice over. I can see!”
Ear deafening cheers filled the grand hall while black cloth bags quickly appeared yet again. They were filled with what money was left to be found in wallets and pockets as well as a large number of cheques made payable to the Dryvellers’ Temple.
It was a joyous evening that Dryvellers would speak of for years to come. And it was a great personal success for Master Jeremiah who had put so much hard work and effort into preparing everything.
After the last Dryveller had left and the doors were securely closed Jeremiah went to the back exit where Fraudula and Mendax were waiting for him.
“Excellent work, you two,” Jeremiah said with a satisfied smile. “A pity this sort of thing only works once or your careers would be a sure thing with me.”
The two actors sniggered and Jeremiah paid them a thousand in hard currency each. He also threw in two plane tickets for the same evening to make sure they were out of town and far away for good.