Part 12 (2/2)
”Exactly. Usually the scapegoats are outsiders-racial, ethnic, or religious groups that make others uneasy. Romans accused early Christians of incest and child sacrifice. Later Christian sects accused one another, then Christians pointed the same finger at Jews. Thousands died because of such beliefs. Think of the witch trials. Or the Holocaust. And it's not just old news. After the student uprising in France in the late sixties, Jewish shopkeepers were accused of kidnapping teenage girls from boutique dressing rooms.”
I vaguely remembered that.
”And most recently it's been Turkish and North African immigrants. Several years ago hundreds of French parents claimed children were being abducted, killed, and eviscerated by them, even though virtually no children had been reported missing in France.
”And that myth continues, even here in Montreal, only now there's a new bogeyman practicing ritual child killing.” She leaned forward, widening her eyes, and almost hissing the last word. ”Satanists.”
It was the most animated I'd seen her. Her words caused an image to take shape in my mind. Malachy lying on stainless steel.
”Not surprising, really,” she continued. ”Preoccupation with demonology always intensifies during periods of social change. And toward the end of millennia. But now the threat is from Satan.”
”Hasn't Hollywood created a lot of that?”
”Not intentionally, of course, but it has certainly contributed. Hollywood just wants to make commercially successful films. But that's an age-old question: Does art shape the times or merely reflect them? Rosemary's Baby, The Omen, The Exorcist Rosemary's Baby, The Omen, The Exorcist. What do these movies do? They explain social anxieties through the use of demonic imagery. And the public watches and listens.”
”But isn't that just part of the increasing interest in mysticism in American culture over the past three decades?”
”Of course. And what's the other trend that has taken place during the last generation?”
I felt as if I was being quizzed. What did all this have to do with Anna? I shook my head.
”The rise in popularity of fundamentalist Christianity. The economy had a lot to do with it, of course. Layoffs. Plant closings. Downsizing. Poverty and economic insecurity are very stressful. But that isn't the only source of worry. People at every economic level are feeling anxiety due to s.h.i.+fting social norms. Relations have changed between men and women, within families, between generations.”
She ticked the points off on her fingers.
”The old explanations are breaking down and new ones haven't been established yet. The fundamentalist churches provide solace by presenting simple answers to complex questions.”
”Satan.”
”Satan. All the world's evil is due to Satan. Teenagers are being recruited to devil wors.h.i.+p. Children are being abducted and killed in demonic rituals. Satanic livestock killing is spreading across the country. The Proctor and Gamble logo contains a secret satanic symbol. Gra.s.s roots frustration locks on to these rumors and feeds them so they grow.”
”So, are you suggesting that satanic cults don't exist?”
”I'm not saying that. There are a few, what shall we say, high-profile, organized Satanist groups, like that of Anton LaVey.”
”The Church of Satan, out in San Francisco.”
”Yes. But they're a small, small group. Most 'Satanists'”-she hooked both index fingers in the air, placing the term in quotation marks-”are probably just white, middle-cla.s.s kids playing at devil wors.h.i.+p. Occasionally these kids get out of line, of course, vandalize churches or cemeteries, or torture animals, but mostly they perform a lot of rituals, and go off on legend trips.”
”Legend trips?”
”I believe that term came from the sociologists. Visits to spooky sites, like cemeteries or haunted houses. They light bonfires, tell ghost stories, cast spells, maybe do some vandalism. That's about it. Later, when police find graffiti, an overturned gravestone, a campfire site, maybe a dead cat, they a.s.sume the local youth are all in a satanic cult. The press picks it up, the preachers sound the alarm, and another legend takes flight.”
She was, as usual, totally composed, but her nostrils dilated and contracted as she spoke, betraying a tension I hadn't seen before. I said nothing.
”I am suggesting that the threat of Satanism is vastly overblown. Another subversion myth, as your colleagues would say.”
Without warning her voice rose and sharpened, causing me to jump.
”David! Is that you?”
I hadn't heard a sound.
”Yes, ma'am.” m.u.f.fled.
A tall figure appeared in the doorway, his face concealed by the hood of his parka and an enormous m.u.f.fler wrapped around his neck. The hunched form looked vaguely familiar.
”Excuse me a moment.”
Jeannotte rose and disappeared through the doorway. I caught little of their conversation, but the man sounded agitated, his voice rising and falling like a whining child's. Jeannotte interrupted him frequently. She spoke in short bursts, her tone as steady as his was volatile. I could make out only one word. ”No.” She repeated it several times.
Then there was silence. In a moment, Jeannotte returned, but did not sit.
”Students,” she said, laughing and shaking her head.
”Let me guess. He needs more time to finish his paper.”
”Nothing ever changes.” She looked at her watch. ”So, Tempe, I hope your visit has been helpful. You will take care of the diaries? They are very dear.” I was being dismissed.
”Of course. I'll return them by Monday at the latest.” I rose, slid Jeannotte's materials into my briefcase, and collected my jacket and purse.
She smiled me out of the room.
In winter, the Montreal sky displays mainly gray tones, s.h.i.+fting from dove, to iron, to lead, to zinc. When I stepped out of Birks Hall moist clouds had turned the day a dull pewter.
I slung my purse and briefcase over my shoulder, stuffed my fists into my pockets, and turned downhill into a raw, damp wind. Before I'd taken twenty steps tears filled my eyes, making it hard to see. As I walked, an image of Fripp Island flashed across my mind. Palmetto palms. Sea oats. Sunlight glinting on the marsh.
Knock it off, Brennan. March is windy and cold in many parts of the planet. Stop using the Carolinas as a baseline against which to measure the weather of the world. It could be worse. It could be snowing. With that, the first fat flake struck my cheek.
As I opened the car door, I looked up to see a tall young man staring at me from the far side of the street. I recognized the parka and m.u.f.fler. The hunched form was that of David, Jeannotte's unhappy visitor.
Our gazes locked for a moment, and the raw anger in his eyes startled me. Then, without a word, the student turned and hurried off down the block. Unnerved, I climbed into the car and locked the doors, thankful he was Jeannotte's problem and not mine.
On the drive back to the lab my mind went through its usual paces, rehas.h.i.+ng the immediate, and worrying about things undone. Where was Anna? Should Sandy's concerns about a cult be seriously considered? Was Jeannotte right? Were satanic cults little more than youth clubs? Why had I not asked Jeannotte to elaborate on her remark that Anna was safe? Our conversation had gotten so fascinating I'd been sidetracked from asking further about Anna. Was that deliberate? Was Jeannotte purposefully concealing something? If so, what and why? Was the professor merely s.h.i.+elding her student from outsiders prying into a personal matter? What was Anna's ”impossible home situation”? Why did David's behavior seem so sinister?
How would I ever get through the ledgers by Monday? My flight was at 5 P.M P.M. Could I finish the Nicolet report today, do those for the babies tomorrow, and work through the ledgers on Sunday? No wonder I had no social life.
By the time I got to rue Parthenais, steadily falling snow was sticking to the street. I found a parking spot just outside the door, and said a prayer that the car wouldn't be plowed in when I came back.
The air in the lobby felt steamy and smelled of wet wool. I stomped my boots, contributing to the slick, shallow pool of melted snow spreading across the floor, and punched for an elevator. On the ride up I tried to clean streaked mascara from my lower lids.
There were two pink message slips on my desk. Sister Julienne had called. No doubt she wanted reports on Anna and elisabeth. I wasn't ready on either. Next. Ryan.
I dialed and he answered.
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