I chortled.
Mong turned me a scowling look. “I run a tight ship here, Rusco. Schedules, rules, strenuous physical activities, group sessions. Discipline invites obedience and cultivates an ordered mind.”
I gauged the territory, its lush opulence, careful attention to detail. Not a grass blade out of place. Ever an escape plan brewed in my mind. We stood roughly in the middle of the grounds. The odious ‘Temple of Light’ sprawled behind us, about five hundred yards to the east, laced in fine mist from the river. About the same distance to the west, the elegant prayer hall of acolytes loomed. Various pagodas with peaked roofs and ornate wooden scrollwork carved on their lintels, spread across the grounds; residents or followers milled about in numbers, steadfast in their business which seemed solitary and internal, judging from the glazed-eyed faces and the bird-like mannerisms.
The background whine of cicadas dulled my senses, as did the odd hoot of a grey tree monkey, or something like it, swinging in a nearby banyan. My mind absorbed the various-colored birds and the large butterflies flitting from bush to bush. All a so-called utopia.
The common ground or lawn, with its various bushes, terraced walkways, white-walled shrines wrapped in ivy, small gardens with fountains and ornamental boulders, created no less the illusion of a peaceful community. The final, definitive touch, the small, burbling creek that bisected the oval grounds and ran down to the river. Behind us terraced paddies rose before the domed hills of Othwan.
Mong beckoned me. “Here we are, Rusco. You’ll like it here.” We approached the prayer hall where a group of individuals stood, conversing in hushed tones and holding books.
“Listen, Mongo, I don’t want to swap bible stories with your hermits and balding pilgrims.”
He touched finger to lip. “Is that what you think of them, my meslars?”
“What in the hell else are they?”
He nodded and snapped his fingers at one of the members of the group—a brown-skinned woman with hand drum and small, wizened, chipmunk eyes. “Kazu, come here please.”
The shaven-headed lady approached, all gleaming pate with stubble bristling from her chin. The drum vanished and hands pushed together in a loose scarlet and green robe.
“Yes, lord?”
“Take Mr. Rusco to the ‘inauguration’ pagoda. See that he’s cleaned up and outfitted properly. I’m thinking it’s time he learns the Seven Serums like the other recruits. Truth, Pain, Vice, Love, Hate, Renunciation, Emptiness. How they slip off the tongue. I have a feeling, Pain, with a capital P, will be Rusco’s bugbear.”
“As you wish, lord.” The meslar bowed. She had a glazed look of emptiness, as if juiced on something. Myscol? Some happy drug? I hated that pervasive hush about these men and women. Looked like a bunch of busy little badgers. The men probably hadn’t gotten laid in a decade, if they’d ever been laid before. Judging from the look of ‘Kazu’, I didn’t blame them.
“I think you’re proud of that hair, Rusco,” remarked Mong. “We’ll take it off today sometime. You will wear simple clothes—an acolyte’s smock, gown and garb and say goodbye to your ‘streaked purple’ look. Acolytes undergo strict ordinance, ritual, fasting once every ten days and every day only one meal and no food after sunset. Toughens a body up. Needless to say, no extracurricular activities among males and females, as it dilutes the power and purity of worship.”
I gawped. What a bunch of baloney. “How do you expect to win over any recruits to your pagoda club under these strict rules? What if I have the hots for Kazoo?”
“It is traditional, Rusco, the way it has always been. Study the religions and sects of the past. My advice for you is to follow the ordered regimen. The penalties for disobedience are severe, as you can guess. I hope this gives you enough of an incentive to take the program seriously. I expect nothing but enthusiasm and acceptance of the teachings.”
Mong turned to leave, but paused with a thoughtful look. “I’ll let you in on a secret—because you gave me the amalgo, I tender you this ‘gift’ my master told me about years ago. It was about emptying one’s mind, going deep inside and probing the deepest layers of being. I laughed at my master, disrespected his mystical message. The last laugh was on me. I tried out this ‘spiritual purification’ and my mind became empty, one-pointed, a powerful instrument of execution.”
“Sure, Mong. I believe you. I really do.”
He clapped his hands. “So, shall we? You’re first up in the Medicine Wheel. Really this is a favor I’m doing you. If you do well, you’ll rise high in the realm of the brotherhood.”
I wagged my head in bright enthusiasm. “It’s everything and more I’ve ever wanted to do in my life.”
Mong slapped me on the back. “Excellent! Sister Kazu will brief you on the technique. Please keep your eye off her behind.” His expression grew dark, and the Mong I knew returned in full force. “Do anything you want here, Rusco. But do not ridicule the teachings. My wards do not appreciate it. They can be downright nasty when due respect is not bestowed.”
I gave a nod, seeing no need to goad Kazu or these other fucks into torturing me as Mong already had.
Mong strode off. Was the man confident I wouldn’t get into trouble? I laughed. I heard the chanting deep in the prayer hall. Low, guttural sounds rendered in monotones in some language foreign to my ears. A shiver of unease ran through my body. The rumbling unison of the subdued figures portended evil purposes and practices, endorsed by Mong.
“This way,” Kazu said, a singsong lilt to her voice. She beckoned me toward that house of chanting prayer.
I held up a hand, trying to keep my eyes off her
