Part 1
Who then is our fourth card? See, here she is: Temperance, sister to Fortitude whom we have already met.
It is twilight, half light half dark, the time of balance, and also the time of changing. Here we see Temperance as a woman in white, winged like an angel, stepping from a field of lilies into the plashing water of a merry stream.
We see that she carries two cups or vessels, pouring water from the one into the wine of the other.
This could be the wisdom of moderation, taking not the wine too strong nor too weak. There again, it could be that she pours the life-giving waters from the Cup of Life. Or again, it could be the miracle of the Son of Man at Canaan, water into wine as wine into blood in the promise of the New Covenant.
To many, Temperance is a source of wisdom of whom we learn the secrets of the world of spirit, signified by the hermetic element of water blended with the more earthy virtues of the mortal wine. To others she is a guide, leading the souls of the departed to their final judgement: thus the lilies denote the field of the dead, and the innocent race is dire Styx, river border of Hades, and Temperance stands in the Twilight between two worlds, between life and death.
Behind her we see the setting of the sun and above her the evening star, which we know is Venus and see here, on each of her vessels, the symbol of Venus, which is also the symbol of Woman, which is also the symbol of Copper, the element found abundantly on Cyprus, the island sacred to Venus where she would bathe each dawn in the waters of the Mediterranean and her virginity would be restored.
And yet, see her supporters: below, a tower on the left, a garden on the right; above, an apple over the garden, a fig over the tower. Both are suggestive of mankind's earliest stories of man's disobedience to god.
Here is Babylon: the tower, the Tower of Babel the fig, symbol of all fleshy appetites, emblem of the Whore of Babylon. Here is Eden: the garden, the apple the fruit of the forbidden tree, the place where death began.
Thus, a woman of virtue, or of healing, standing between two worlds, or blending them, stepping from the garden into the valley of the shadow of death, and around her symbols of the Fall.
The card is edged in emerald.
Proud as Lucifer, Covetous as Eve, Lustful as Adam, Angry as Cain…
This is a story about Original Sin.
At Walker General in San Francisco there used to be a doctor on the ER team called Anna Balm. American, of Korean ancestry, her grandparents had been interred with the Japanese during the Second World War; the American authorities neither knew nor cared there was a difference.
She had a reputation for working hard and rarely socialising. She would go to the theatre, or preferably a concert, something loud and not too intimate. And, from time to time, she would obligingly sleep with one or other of the male orderlies or nurses, a practice she engaged in with every appearance of vigour and enjoyment, but never sought to complicate matters with anything approaching a relationship. And always at their place; no one was ever invited back to hers.
And every Sunday, she would go to Mass at St Michael's on Broad Street.
What no one noticed, until after she was gone, was that she never lost a single patient. Not one. Every living soul that passed through her hands, saving only those declared D.O.A, went on to make a full recovery. Even some for whom it was surprising.
On the day she went away, she was met on the flat steps outside her Church by someone she thought was a man called Justin.
But she was mistaken. He was not called Justin and he was not a man.
He wore a light grey suit with a thin black tie and mirrored sunglasses; he was kicking his heels as he seemed to stare up towards a stand of trees that didn't entirely shelter the sound of the freeway. He'd asked to walk her over to Lobos Street, to the park, to watch the Sunday League baseballers. She'd turned him down, but here he was anyway.
"I told you, I don't date my patients," she told him.
"Well, then, I am doubly blessed that I was never your patient and that I am not here on a date."
"I don't date my patients' significant others, either. Especially not in this town. How is Martin?"
"Martyr and I are not lovers, Dr Balm. We're just fellow travellers. And he will recover. Thanks to you."
She said: "It's just my job."
Turning away from him, she started down the street, but he followed.
"You should take pride in your work, Dr Balm."
"Pride is the first sin… I'm sorry, that's something someone used to say to me."
***
On the first night, Sister Adelaide had sat her down on a three-legged stool and asked her:
"Do you know why you are here?"
"No, Sister."
"It is because the Grace of God has the infinite capacity to forgive. Even sins such as yours."
This was a familiar thing to Anna; the man, who had called himself Solomon and David and Yusuf at various times, had often talked of sin. He had showed her the punishments for sinners. Among other things. She thought that she knew how to answer.
"Thank you, Sister. I will try harder."
"Try, little one? To do what?"
"I will try to live without sin."
"Poor child. Only God can save us, if he chooses. Do you think you are stronger than God? You must pray to Him and ask His forgiveness and His blessed grace may lift the burden of your sins… a little."
The Sisters were never cruel to her, but nor were they kind. They expected her to work hard, to clean and to cook and to do her schoolwork. They did not expect her to keep their Rule, but every day she was to pray with them and every Sunday to come to Church with them.
Every Sunday, before Church, Sister Zita would examine her hands, check she had cleaned her fingernails, grip her by the chin and stare down into her upturned face, before nodding in what may have been satisfaction.
And every week, though on differing days, Sister Adelaide would tell her: "Poor child, you have slipped a little further into sin, this week."
And Anna would always say: "I'm sorry, Sister. I will try harder."
And Sister Adelaide would tut and remind her again: "Pride was the first sin, little one. You must pray to God for His forgiveness."
***
She walked away. She tried to. Briskly, no nonsense. The crowd from the church had already thinned, but perhaps if she caught up to someone.
He followed her. Not intrusively, but close enough to suggest that they were stepping out together.
"What are you doing?" she hissed.
"Walking, Dr Balm."
"Can't you do it someplace else?"
"It is, I believe, a free world."
"That is the dumbest thing…"
"And to some a simple truth."
"Please, won't you just leave me alone."
"I am sorry, Dr Balm. But I cannot. I had hoped to talk with you first, but I see I needs must be more direct. I need you to come back with me, come back to Crater Lake."
She stopped dead and stared at him.
***
"My parents left me with their landlady, can you believe that?"
They were driving up to Oregon in his Jaguar with the top down.
"The woman Amanda Kayleigh?"
"Oh god, was that her real name? She was always Mama Quetzal to me. That's what she called herself anyway. Mama Quetzal: Bird of Paradise."
"I am familiar with the allusion."
"You talk real weird. Are you British or something?"
"Why would your parents abandon you?"
"Counter-culture blues, man. They joined the Youth International Party. Turned on, tuned in, and fucked off. Followed the Yippies up to Chicago in '68. They wanted to see Pigusus the Pig nominated for President."
They'd fought Mayor Daley and Chicago P.D. for the streets of the city; she'd never seen them again.
***
She stopped dead and stared at him.
"Who the hell are you? What would you know about Crater Lake?"
"I am called Justice Untempered Inexorable Decree."
Oh god, she thought, another refugee from Psychiatric.
She was wearing her blue, ankle-length, Sunday best dress, with a stockings and stout walking shoes since it was a long walk home. She had a big sunhat on her head. She did not have her bag with her, which meant she had neither her cellphone nor her Mace, and she suddenly felt naked.
"Would you believe that my parents were hippies?"
"Oh!" And she laughed with such relief.
***
The I5 was a long road, a winding grey stripe through grey-brown hills with only the endless ranks of conifers growing out the grey-brown dirt to look at. There was plenty of time to talk.
"What did you think? Of your parents' desertion?"
"I used to think…"
"Go on."
"I used to think they'd been eaten by a rhinoceros."
"Extraordinary! Why? What made you think that?"
"A book I read. Mama Quetzal got it for me. From the library, I think. Nonsense really. A boy and a giant peach. And all these giant bugs."
"Ah. Roald Dahl."
"You've read it?"
"Many times. Yes, the boy James has an idyllic childhood but is sent to his wicked aunts, is it not, when his parents are, as you remember, devoured by an escaped behemoth. Was it idyllic then, your childhood?"
"Well, more chaotic, I'd say. Mom and Dad were in and out of jobs all the time. And, you know, looking back, I guess there was a lot of drugs about. I could tell you the smell of six different kinds of weed before I was out of pigtails. I used to think…"
"Go on," he said again.
"I used to think it was my fault!"
***
"Our souls come from our parents, little one," Sister Adelaide told her, "And so our souls must bear the guilt of our parents' sins. And our parents' parents, and theirs before them, all the way back to the sin of Adam, who was the first man, and Eve, who was the first woman."
"Is that… is that fair, Sister Adelaide?"
"Fair? That is justice, child, God's justice. Do you think you can question Him?"
"No, Sister. It's just… how are we ever to make up for all those sins?"
"Ah, not but by the miracle of His mercy, little one. Love Him and pray hard that He lend you His grace to deserve His forgiveness."
"But… suppose I did nothing but good for the rest of my life?"
"You cannot buy His grace with good deeds, little one. He will see your motive is selfish. Instead, you must be humble before Him, and let his grace guide you. Do good deeds as He directs, my child, not because you think to curry favour."
***
When she was barely a teenager, Mama Quetzal sold up her boarding house. Together they moved to Oregon, to a lodge-cum-farmhouse in the forested hills below Crater Lake. Anna had nowhere else to go.
With the Jaguar parked as far up the trail as its low suspension would let it go, they'd hiked the rest of the way. She remembered walking in forests. She was glad she had her good shoes on. The place was gone now, anyway. Gutted by fire. Just a few walls left to be reclaimed by nature.
"She fell in with a cult." She felt the need to apologise for Mama Quetzal. "The dangerous kind."
"Dangerous how?"
"The sort that mixes religious brain-washing with libertarian survivalist sophistry in explosive quantities."
The cult possessed a cup that they were all indoctrinated to believe was the Grail itself, and they were Jehovah's chosen few, anointed to be its last line of defence.
"What happened here?"
"A Federal Agent came to the compound – it was a coincidence; the man wasn't even looking for us; he came to the wrong address on a different case."
There was a panic. There was a shooting. There was a mass suicide attempt.
"Most of them, uh, most of us survived, if… um… damaged."
Mutated would have been more honest. Drinking industrial solvent from the Cup of Life must have been an… interesting experiment.
***
"So why would anyone do good at all? I mean why should they bother? If it is all determined for them?"
She stared out of the car at the passing parade of trees, dark green rank upon rank. She didn't really have an answer for him, but she let him go on.
"If it is already decided that one man is to do good and another is to do evil, how can either deserve to be praised or blamed for their actions? If you have no free will, if you cannot choose to do good and to avoid evil, then how can you be held accountable?"
"So, you think there's no point to any of this?"
"On the contrary; I think the future is yet unwritten. It is ours to choose."
"And what about the sins of our parents? All that history. It weighs us down."
"If our souls are fresh minted for us in the moment of our creation, how can they be tainted with the burden of history?"
"Perhaps souls exist before us, just waiting for us to be born to find a body."
"Origen Adamantius thought thus. He said that incarnation was the punishment for those souls whose sin was to look down to the fleshy mortal realm."
"Isn't that a bit heretical?"
"Your Augustinian Sisters would have said so. The Argai would say it's the work of God to craft each soul, perfect and new. Or is it the delight of God? I forget."
"Who are the Argai?"
"Oh, a noble race from a distant land. They believe that souls are created free. That they have a choice to… to entangle themselves in the matter of the world. Is your soul not free, Anna?"
***
He had picked up a stick and started poking through the broken stones looking for she didn't know what amidst the remains of the foundations. She hadn't cared; she'd studied the trees.
"Mama died. Yusuf died."
"Yusuf?" He'd looked up from his diggings.
"He called himself Yusuf. And David. And Solomon sometimes."
"Ah. The leader of your 'cult'."
Father-Husband to all of them.
"Most of the others went… well, they took them away to the sanatorium. And the other grown-ups went to gaol."
"And you?"
"I thought I was going to gaol too."
"Clearly though, you did not."
"I was rescued by nuns."
More accurately, Sister Adelaide and Sister Zita were Augustinian Sisters but not nuns, for in the tradition of the most ancient of Roman Catholic religious orders only those in enclosed communities, foreswearing all dealings with the world, are truly named nuns.
"Hmm," he said.
"Sister Zita and Sister Adelaide."
"Really?"
"I got this letter saying I was to go with them. Saying I was to be taken into their care."
"Yes, I imagine it did."
"I wondered if they might take me back to the city."
"And did they?"
"No. Just to this little house they had in town, below the police station and the courthouse, beside the old lumber yard."
"They had a house here?"
"Well, near here."
"Would you show me?"
Richard Flowers
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