He shot me a glance, casually acknowledged several youngsters loitering about in a not-so-aim less manner. Lads and lasses, they were long-haired, in sun specs. Two of them had rifles. Whatever he wasn’t, Gullenbenkian was astute.
“Necessary, Lovejoy. Your people wait here.”
“Tye, please. See your pal gets enough peanuts.”
Tye and Al stood watching as the gospeller and I trod to the verandah. I daresay Tye had planted some sort of recording gadget on me this time, expecting this. Better if he had, so it wouldn’t just be my word against anyone else’s.
“What hospitality may I offer you, Lovejoy? Not often I audience somebody from your neck of the woods.” He laughed, a practised, all-embracing laugh. I’d always thought only monarchs and popes gave audiences.
“Nothing, thanks, Prez. I just came to talk.”
“Talk how?” The interior echoed. Baronial wasn’t the word. It would have done for a duke, a prince. It was brand new, the ceilings vaulted, the stained-glass windows soaring, sweeping staircases curving upwards to a high domed ceiling. It was splendour so garish I almost couldn’t speak.
“A money offer, actually.”
We passed through the hall and out into a closed courtyard. Three youngsters faded at our approach. A girl emerged, served a tray of drinks, retired. I wondered why they were all so scruffy.
The gospeller caught me looking after her and smiled.
“Not
“Who’s our?”
“The Lord’s. And mine. Instruments of the Lord’s intentions here upon earth. Six months only.”
That old one. “What happens if they stay longer?”
He raised his eyebrows. Every hair on his head seemed mathematically inclined, devoted to giving proper service. Steel-grey hair, bright of eye, gold watch clinking on his wrist.
“They don’t. Many try, Lovejoy.”
“No second helpings, then?”
“None. Much better for them to live here a while, restore their flagging energies, the better to leap again into battle.”
He explained how each crusade into the major cities was organized, the thousand proselytizers who preceded him. “We organize bands, marches, spectacular events.”
“Showbiz?”
“Got to be, Lovejoy. The Lord can’t be made to hide.”
We chuckled, such friends. “Which brings in revenue to build the Own Decree Crystal Dome?”
“Praise God, yes it does, Lovejoy. I’m pleased you’ve heard of our little enterprise.”
“Cathedral, isn’t it?”
“They’re already calling it that?” He was delighted.
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen your television show, Prez. I haven’t been in the US very long.”
He snapped his fingers. A serf darted out, to be sent for a timetable of his broadcasts. For somebody not quite God, he was an impressive simulation.
“Your money offer, Lovejoy,” he reminded.
His lady—I’d seen photographs—joined us, bulbous and with the face of a doll. Disconcertingly, her voice was a shrill monotone. Her cosmetics were thickly trowelled on, lips protuberant with lipstick, her eyes deep in cream, liner, receder, heightener, lowerer, brighteners. I thought she was lovely.
“Annalou, Lovejoy,” God’s sub belled melodiously. “Come to see our Deus Deistic Theme Park, perhaps worship a little, and make an offer.”
“I’ll be right glad to show you round, Lovejoy,” Annalou said. “You be here for our broadcast?”
“Afraid not, Annalou. I’ve to be back in Manhattan within the day.” I stuffed the programme details in my pocket and we boarded a small electric car thing, driven by a long-haired kulak called Glad Tidings.
Annalou explained while Prez dispensed papal blessings to bystanders. “Our devotees abandon all their trappings of the World Without while they sojourn here. Including their names.”
And property, the articles said.
We drove slowly down a gravelled drive through rose gardens, out into lawns and fountain courts where hymns played on chimes. Recordings of unseen orchestras piously serenaded us. People began to appear, wandering and smiling. It was like a film set, the people affluent, blissful, contentedly calling “Praise the Lord” as we passed. I’m not used to holiness on this—indeed any—scale. I felt unnerved. Annalou fondly took my hand.
“The place gets to you, Lovejoy, don’t it? Peace divine.
“There’s the theme centre, Lovejoy.”
Prez’s voice was husky with pride. Turrets and towers formed a surround, for all the world resembling a child’s wooden fort rimming an enormous glass dome.
